Better Line.
#1
12-09-2005 | 07:08 AM
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From: So Cal
Better Line.
From another forum, kind of long but a nice read. Enjoy.
by Dan Axton
EARLY ONE FINE MORNING at one of our local gathering places, two riders could be heard discussing the ability of a third. The party not present, a middle-aged gentleman who had arrived on a relatively new sport touring machine, was inside getting a cup of coffee. As he waited for the hot beverage, he removed a weathered jacket and hung it on a rack near the door. A young couple at an adjacent booth watched the man surreptitiously as he removed his outer clothing, noting that under the jacket, the rider was wearing a curious protective vest. His trousers, which fit neatly inside boots worn soft with use, were fitted with thick pads in the hip area, with bulging cups over the knees. The man's helmet and gloves were nearly new, a contrast with the faded but functional jacket. Meanwhile, the two experts outside assessed his ability by inspecting his bone-stock machine.
"Look at that," the first rider proclaimed as knelt next to the machine, pointing at a pristine peg feeler. "He's not even touching the pegs down."
The second rider confirmed the conclusion. "Yeah, see the tires? There's still a little tread left on the sides. Probably some guy with bucks that likes new toys. Oh, well -- as long as he's having fun. It's kind of a waste of a good bike, though."
The pair of footpeg inspectors, who were mounted on modern sportbikes, meandered to another corner of the parking lot to finish their own coffee and plan the day's ride. While they were talking, the owner of the bike they'd just inspected walked over and politely introduced himself.
"I'm Nate," he said, extending a hand. The two riders, surprised at the friendly overture, each shook his hand in turn.
"I'm Chuck, and this is Walter. Is that your bike over there?" Chuck asked, motioning to the machine they'd looked over while Nate had been getting his coffee.
"Yeah -- I picked it up last month. Just turned over a thousand miles," Nate replied. "Are you guys doing any riding today?
"Sure," Chuck responded. "You're welcome to join us if you like. We're heading up Convoluted Canyon Road, and then we'll probably loop back down Gnarly Mountain Grade to Winding Way. They're pretty tight, with some dirt here and there, but if you take it easy you'll be fine."
"Great!" Nate beamed. "I've been on those roads before, but that sounds like good advice. Ready when you are."
As the trio pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the hill, Chuck and Walt were thinking exactly the same thing. They were two of the fastest riders in these parts. They'd let Nate lead for a while, just to let him feel like he was out front for a time, and then they'd pass him. If he could keep up, fine, but judging from the looks of his tires and footpegs, that would be unlikely.
The three riders were an interesting contrast. Chuck and Walter stood up and down on the footpegs several times, stretching and squirming into their leathers. From behind, the two looked almost bowlegged because of the racing crouch their aftermarket clip-ons and rearsets demanded. Once they'd become comfortable, the twain began an exaggerated swerving from one side of the lane to the other to warm their race-compound tires to operating temperature. In the lead, Nate glanced in his mirrors and noted the headlights of the two machines darting about like drunken fireflies. He moved slightly, optimizing the position of comfortable control the stock bars and pegs on his new machine provided.
As they approached the first turn, Nate leaned almost imperceptibly into the cockpit and led a bit with his shoulder, but held his speed. Chuck and Walt were surprised as they watched him arc smoothly through the bend and accelerate into the next. There had not even been the briefest flash of a brake light, no hint of moving off the machine; just a seamless entry and exit.
As the road unfolded, Nate crouched a bit more into the bars, bending his elbows. He began to place more of his weight on the ***** of his feet, smoothly shifting his weight just a few inches to either side as his speed increased through the relentless onslaught of left and right turns. Occasionally he would lightly trail the front brake just before rolling into a turn, enough to shift a bit of weight to the front tire, but not enough to upset the machine's composure. Behind him, Chuck and Walt were getting quite a workout. The pair were engaging in a remarkable display of histrionics, hanging dramatically off their bikes while alternately wringing the throttles and yanking the brake levers of their modern hypersports machines. Yet, inexplicably, the rider ahead of them on the street-soft sport tourer was pulling steadily away. How could it be? was the thought running mightily through each of their puzzled minds as they calculated the amounts of money they'd spent on magnesium wheels, carbon fiber bodywork, titanium exhaust systems, premium suspension components, and the latest race rubber.
How, indeed. Chuck and Walt got sucked in by ignoring an important rule: don't judge a book by its cover. Or in this case, a rider by his footpegs or choice of machines. They were also victims of an extremely common misconception held by many street riders: the more parts you're scraping, the faster you must be going.
While it's true that some quick riders do grind the footpegs and centerstand from time to time, the very best riders -- the ones who ride year after year at a deceptively rapid pace -- rarely, if ever, touch any part of the bike to the pavement. Such riders also demonstrate a relaxed but functional economy of motion, in stark contrast to the shenanigans displayed by Chuck and Walt.
Why? This seems to go against everything the bench racer and aspiring sport rider believe, right? It's because the line a rider takes is far more important than how many degrees of lean angle he's achieving. Choosing the correct line -- that is, one that can shorten the corner, minimize lean angle, optimize the drive past the apex, and maximize safety -- is the secret to being responsibly fast. Contrary to another misconception, there is no such thing as a single, ideal line for either street or racetrack riding. In particular, the street is so variable in terms of what the rider must put together to execute a fast, safe line that there is no ironclad rule, such as "late apexing," that will hold true for even a majority of the corners.
Unlike Chuck and Walt, who pumped thousands of dollars into gear, Nate spent his money on track time. He attended the schools, paid attention, and applied what he learned in between excursions onto the racetrack. And he did it frequently, not just once a year or once in a while. By using his funds where it counted -- in learning to actually ride the motorcycle -- Nate reaped amazing dividends. He could not only ride faster, he could do it more responsibly. He could also feel the tremendous sense of accomplishment and satisfaction of having learned to do something very well. And the glances and words of admiration and respect from riders who'd ridden with him weren't hard to live with either.
Nate isn't the fastest rider on the racetrack -- far from it. Top racers lap the track where he practices twenty seconds faster than he ever will. But like them, he's learning a new angle: don't think about lean, think about your line.
by Dan Axton
EARLY ONE FINE MORNING at one of our local gathering places, two riders could be heard discussing the ability of a third. The party not present, a middle-aged gentleman who had arrived on a relatively new sport touring machine, was inside getting a cup of coffee. As he waited for the hot beverage, he removed a weathered jacket and hung it on a rack near the door. A young couple at an adjacent booth watched the man surreptitiously as he removed his outer clothing, noting that under the jacket, the rider was wearing a curious protective vest. His trousers, which fit neatly inside boots worn soft with use, were fitted with thick pads in the hip area, with bulging cups over the knees. The man's helmet and gloves were nearly new, a contrast with the faded but functional jacket. Meanwhile, the two experts outside assessed his ability by inspecting his bone-stock machine.
"Look at that," the first rider proclaimed as knelt next to the machine, pointing at a pristine peg feeler. "He's not even touching the pegs down."
The second rider confirmed the conclusion. "Yeah, see the tires? There's still a little tread left on the sides. Probably some guy with bucks that likes new toys. Oh, well -- as long as he's having fun. It's kind of a waste of a good bike, though."
The pair of footpeg inspectors, who were mounted on modern sportbikes, meandered to another corner of the parking lot to finish their own coffee and plan the day's ride. While they were talking, the owner of the bike they'd just inspected walked over and politely introduced himself.
"I'm Nate," he said, extending a hand. The two riders, surprised at the friendly overture, each shook his hand in turn.
"I'm Chuck, and this is Walter. Is that your bike over there?" Chuck asked, motioning to the machine they'd looked over while Nate had been getting his coffee.
"Yeah -- I picked it up last month. Just turned over a thousand miles," Nate replied. "Are you guys doing any riding today?
"Sure," Chuck responded. "You're welcome to join us if you like. We're heading up Convoluted Canyon Road, and then we'll probably loop back down Gnarly Mountain Grade to Winding Way. They're pretty tight, with some dirt here and there, but if you take it easy you'll be fine."
"Great!" Nate beamed. "I've been on those roads before, but that sounds like good advice. Ready when you are."
As the trio pulled out of the parking lot and headed up the hill, Chuck and Walt were thinking exactly the same thing. They were two of the fastest riders in these parts. They'd let Nate lead for a while, just to let him feel like he was out front for a time, and then they'd pass him. If he could keep up, fine, but judging from the looks of his tires and footpegs, that would be unlikely.
The three riders were an interesting contrast. Chuck and Walter stood up and down on the footpegs several times, stretching and squirming into their leathers. From behind, the two looked almost bowlegged because of the racing crouch their aftermarket clip-ons and rearsets demanded. Once they'd become comfortable, the twain began an exaggerated swerving from one side of the lane to the other to warm their race-compound tires to operating temperature. In the lead, Nate glanced in his mirrors and noted the headlights of the two machines darting about like drunken fireflies. He moved slightly, optimizing the position of comfortable control the stock bars and pegs on his new machine provided.
As they approached the first turn, Nate leaned almost imperceptibly into the cockpit and led a bit with his shoulder, but held his speed. Chuck and Walt were surprised as they watched him arc smoothly through the bend and accelerate into the next. There had not even been the briefest flash of a brake light, no hint of moving off the machine; just a seamless entry and exit.
As the road unfolded, Nate crouched a bit more into the bars, bending his elbows. He began to place more of his weight on the ***** of his feet, smoothly shifting his weight just a few inches to either side as his speed increased through the relentless onslaught of left and right turns. Occasionally he would lightly trail the front brake just before rolling into a turn, enough to shift a bit of weight to the front tire, but not enough to upset the machine's composure. Behind him, Chuck and Walt were getting quite a workout. The pair were engaging in a remarkable display of histrionics, hanging dramatically off their bikes while alternately wringing the throttles and yanking the brake levers of their modern hypersports machines. Yet, inexplicably, the rider ahead of them on the street-soft sport tourer was pulling steadily away. How could it be? was the thought running mightily through each of their puzzled minds as they calculated the amounts of money they'd spent on magnesium wheels, carbon fiber bodywork, titanium exhaust systems, premium suspension components, and the latest race rubber.
How, indeed. Chuck and Walt got sucked in by ignoring an important rule: don't judge a book by its cover. Or in this case, a rider by his footpegs or choice of machines. They were also victims of an extremely common misconception held by many street riders: the more parts you're scraping, the faster you must be going.
While it's true that some quick riders do grind the footpegs and centerstand from time to time, the very best riders -- the ones who ride year after year at a deceptively rapid pace -- rarely, if ever, touch any part of the bike to the pavement. Such riders also demonstrate a relaxed but functional economy of motion, in stark contrast to the shenanigans displayed by Chuck and Walt.
Why? This seems to go against everything the bench racer and aspiring sport rider believe, right? It's because the line a rider takes is far more important than how many degrees of lean angle he's achieving. Choosing the correct line -- that is, one that can shorten the corner, minimize lean angle, optimize the drive past the apex, and maximize safety -- is the secret to being responsibly fast. Contrary to another misconception, there is no such thing as a single, ideal line for either street or racetrack riding. In particular, the street is so variable in terms of what the rider must put together to execute a fast, safe line that there is no ironclad rule, such as "late apexing," that will hold true for even a majority of the corners.
Unlike Chuck and Walt, who pumped thousands of dollars into gear, Nate spent his money on track time. He attended the schools, paid attention, and applied what he learned in between excursions onto the racetrack. And he did it frequently, not just once a year or once in a while. By using his funds where it counted -- in learning to actually ride the motorcycle -- Nate reaped amazing dividends. He could not only ride faster, he could do it more responsibly. He could also feel the tremendous sense of accomplishment and satisfaction of having learned to do something very well. And the glances and words of admiration and respect from riders who'd ridden with him weren't hard to live with either.
Nate isn't the fastest rider on the racetrack -- far from it. Top racers lap the track where he practices twenty seconds faster than he ever will. But like them, he's learning a new angle: don't think about lean, think about your line.
#2
12-09-2005 | 08:01 AM
Super Moderator
Joined: Jun 2005
Posts: 5,470
From:
RE: Better Line.
dude that was great.... thanks for putting that up.... we could all learn from this, i know i did... you can never say you've had enough experiance.... theres alway room to learn more.... thanks bro...
