East Coast Motojournalists constantly struggle with one major problem - obtaining test bikes.
My options: either fly out to California and ride a bike back (actually not such a bad option), or find press fleets here on the East Coast, hopefully in relative distance to my hometown in Northeastern Pennsylvania.
The last time the three of us were in the same car together was during our music days, probably heading to Philadelphia to play a show about five years ago.
Throughout my 31 years, only two incidents prevented me from piloting a motorcycle for extended periods of time - a rod in the femur (car accident, ‘94) and some ripped and torn ligaments in my throttle thumb (street motorcycle accident, ‘09).
The night before leaving, I had four words written down on a pocketsize notebook: five days, four nights. That's how my solo-motorcycle trip began last week for AMA Pro Road Racing at Mid-Ohio.
I then poked around Google Maps for an hour or so, jotting down various roads I've never traveled.
The pain shot straight from the groin to the upper chest as I accelerated off a long, left-hand sweeper on my personal "Mountain Course."
On a short, early-morning ride today aboard the VFR, a few bugs hit me - both physically and psychologically.
The first few as I traveled my self-described "Mountain Course" were physical bugs, which spotted the Arai's visor with cream-colored splats, followed by some greens and reds.
With June halfway over, my plans for purchasing a 2011 Ducati 848EVO by summer have suddenly vanished. Well, unless I hit the lottery by the Summer Solstice this Tuesday. But since I no longer play the lottery, this is 100-percent doubtful thinking.
If there's one race event that I anticipate more than anything throughout the year, it's the Isle of Man TT. To put this in perspective: if John McGuinness and Valentino Rossi were together, I'd shake the throttle hand of the 16-time TT winner first.
If I can attribute one trip that changed my entire outlook on life, and fueled my endless (and sometimes mad) need for traveling American roads, it was the 2002 Honda Hoot.
For the past seven days it did nothing but rain here in Northeastern Pennsylvania. There were peaks of sun on certain days, but dark clouds quickly swallowed this brightness, spitting endless streams to the ground.
At the unofficial start of riding season here in Northeastern Pennsylvania, two men were killed in separate motorcycle crashes. The early May incidents - one a single bike crash, the other involving a car - happened within a few days of each other.
The best lessons hurt, especially in the world of motorcycle racing. And yes, this was an accident, but one that hurt the pocket book, not necessarily the body.
I'll be honest. I'm sick of some blogs in the motorcycle industry, and hearing a bunch of garbage from people who have no passion for two wheels. Actually, I'm sick of blogs in general; most of them give weak minds a venue to vent.
One word throttles into mind: boring.