Eyeing
the goose
The Mongoose eyes me balefully each morning as I wander past and snick the key
into Shaun the ST. It, the goose, is a nice alloy job with big wheels, 24 push-button
gears, and pedals. About two evenings a week I dodge Shaun and take the goose
for a ride up to the local pool, where a fair amount of thrashing in chlorine
happens, sans goose.
I'd like to say this is part of a health kick, though continued interest in
tobacco and alcohol puts a lie to that. Ever a sucker for a good line, I wandered
into the local bicycle shop and enquired after a replacement for an ageing mountain
bike. Only wanted to spend $400 or so, used was fine, but I really wanted something
that actually fitted me.
A tiny woman came to help, insisting I sample a few frames, with her holding
the bike while I put my feet on the pedals. Thought I'd crush her, but greatly
underestimated her experience and ability.
We discussed a mix of frames, wheels, and chassis types and came to a happy
compromise. So, $800 later, I walked out with something which I love and am
always seeking opportunities to ride. The contrast between this and last issue's
whinge about lousy service while seeking a small motorcycle for Ms A is stark.
The goose has become part of a greater plan, which is simply getting faster
on a racetrack. Having been advised ad nauseam by assorted race track trainers
that I've reached the outer limits of my current riding style (sit still, and
no slurpees rolled down the aisle), something has to change.
If any further evidence was needed, it was provided by Ed Woose at the recent
R6 Yam launch. Two-and-a-half-hours of full-on track time gives you plenty of
opportunities to think and analyse. I was happy with what I did – go moderately
fast and bring it home in one piece.
In the last session, I was feeling a little tired and pulled the pace back accordingly.
I got overtaken by the flying W at Warp 10, out of turn two at Phillip Island.
A wake-up call too loud to ignore, so I wicked up the R and tucked in behind.
Hmmm, didn't know you could go that fast through turn three – 210-ish instead
of 190-ish, eh? Bastard!
Okay, so I exited a lot wider than planned, but the Honda switchback (turn four)
has plenty of run-off, which I was eyeing-off as an emergency measure. Ahh,
stuff the bike in and see what happened...yep, it worked.
Enough, let the W go and live to ride another day.
That was it. Something had to change. Steve Brouggy, of the Oz Superbike School,
when moi demanded to learn how to drag a knee some months ago, replied with
the perfectly reasonable question, "Why?" I didn't have an answer...well,
not a clear one.
Now I do. Because I can, and want to. Previously the reply was some namby drivel
along the lines of "me mates do".
It'll take a bit of work, this knee-dragging gig. Some weight loss and, more
importantly, some fitness. While I'm motorcycle fit – described roughly
as being able to concentrate on and operate a bike for hours at a time - I'm
not track fit. The last will take some building up of the thigh muscles, for
a start, as I can see it all ending in tears when it comes to shifting my hulk
from one side of the saddle to another, lap after lap.
Somewhere along the way I'll need a track bike and, contrary to the usual wisdom,
Ducati's 600 Monster, Honda's 600 Hornet and Yamaha's 600 Fazer are my ideal
choices. Until I can nail one, I should go out and pedal the goose. I really
can't stand that baleful look any more...
A little housekeeping now. Apologies to Grant of Rip Curl – he could live
with the "sick puppy" tag awarded last ish, but objected to my changing
of his surname from Forbes to Morgan. Geez, you get to be chief designer of
a cutting edge surf-wear house, and suddenly you get fussy about people getting
your name right...
Grant, inspired by last issue's mention of Hodaka, has promised us a few exclusive
pics of his Ace 100B Tennant Creek adventure. And I've promised him a ride...don't
ask.
Meanwhile regular correspondents the Pennykids have been in touch, and I'll
bring you their thoughts next episurd.
Guy "Guido" Allen
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