The Moment
You know the one;
A beautiful Sunday morning, you have a nice long ride planned and are heading towards Calabogie to work the kinks out on the twisties;
The moment
The sun has warmed the morning air to 25 degrees, and your machine is purring beneath you, almost begging to be unleashed;
The moment
You hang a right off of Wolf Grove onto Tatlock road, engine braking as you shift down into 2nd and release the clutch just as you begin to make the turn;
The moment
You are certain that you hear a Cicada somewhere off to the left, but that could be the whine of 1000cc’s straining with 100 horsepower as you twist the throttle hard;
The moment
You shift quickly through the gears, each movement of your toe coming just before the tach hits the redline;
The moment
When all of your senses have sharpened, but your pulse has slowed as you enter that place where you, the road and your machine have become one entity;
The moment
When you feel that satisfying ‘snick’ as you shift into 6th . . .
And immediately feel your shifter fall away beneath your boot as you lose your linkage.
Joe
