After all that buildup, it turned out that while the wind over Lake Washington was howling away, inshore it was just another breeze. No problems, no worries.

Very little riding this weekend; the winter has officially started. Real rain, rather than the mizzle (mist plus drizzle is mizzle, fo' shizzle!) that we normally get 'round here. Saturday was all housework and a delicious sushi dinner; Sunday, i just took a quick run out to do a few errands. Nothing particularly fun. Instead, I've been boning up on my technical knowledge; I just got a bunch more books to study.

Kevin Cameron's Sportbike Performance Handbook is amazingly technical. I never thought I'd describe a book as being maybe too technical, but this one just might be. It's all very interesting and I know a whole lot more about the engineering challenges behind designing carbs and exhaust systems and the difference between horizontal and vertical fuel mixing inside cylinders and the like, but I don't think most of this is going to affect the way I ride or maintain my bike. If you're looking for a broad understanding of the physics behind cycles and their engines, well, this is a good place to start. The author has a good, sort of subtle sense of humor that pops out surprisingly in the middle of a long and complex technical overview, and clearly knows his stuff. Just don't get discouraged when he spends two pages explaining how spark at 33° BTDC is superior to spark at 25°.

Evans Brasfield's 101 Sportbike Performance Projects is aimed much more squarely at the layman. The "projects" range from checking that your lights work to swapping out your entire brake system for a mad sexy aftermarket package. The pictures are great and the writing is clear, although Brasfield doesn't seem to go into quite as much detail as to why these modifications work as I would like. Nevertheless, this book is a great compilation of modifications and maintenance tasks, and though much of it is aimed at the higher-end tuner set, at least some of the book will be of great use to me. Used in combination with Cameron's book, it's much easier to understand the reasoning behind some of the projects, especially in the engine and exhaust sections.

The final book for this set of mini-reviews is Keith Code's Soft Science of Road Racing Motorcycles and I can't contribute much to this one, just yet. I've only read one page, as I started too late at night to really get into it. Seems to be aimed quite clearly at beginning racers, but hopefully there's enough general riding tips in there that I can get something out of it.

I am sorry to report that I can't in good faith recommend Soft Science of Road Racing Motorcycles. Again I try, and again I fail to get through it. I guess I was expecting a lot more, well, science, given the name, but it seems to focus on the premise that you have to THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'RE DOING OR IT WON'T WORK. Well, at the risk of sounding pedantic: no shit, Sherlock. I have heard lots of positive things about Code's other books, and he's clearly a very well-respected riding instructor, but this book just doesn't seem valuable to me.

Try as I might, I just can't manage to get my mind around inside-arm-only steering corrections. I'm still doing a lot of my maneuvering by shifting my weight ("body english") and I know it's not very effective, and my countersteering usually seems to take the form of pulling with my outside arm, rather than pushing with the inside. When I consciously remind myself to do it right, I have a much crisper turn response; I just need to internalize this process, so that I'll do it right when I really need it. I'm making progress refining my riding position; scooting my ass back to the rear of the seat and keeping my upper body canted forward, so that my arms can relax a little bit. It's not quite there, but it's getting better.

A nice day today - a bit of a surprise. No rain!

Well, now that I've had a real exposure to it, I think it's safe to say that rain kinda sucks. Late-ish work day today; I got out around 6:15 and headed to the bike. This time of year, it's full dark by then, and the rain was coming down pretty seriously - seriously, at least, for Seattle, but it'd been going on long enough that there was a fair bit of water on the roadway. Traffic was slow and fairly heavy on I5, and you could see the rainbow sheen of oil or gas or whatever in the center-track of the lane. Real good incentive to stay at one of the edges, in the wheeltracks where the water was lessened.

I made the journey home without incident, but with a fair bit of discomfort. Vision is pretty difficult in heavy rain at night, with the water beading up on your visor and the anemic low-beam on Zoë, and I found myself trying to wipe it clear about every 20 seconds with the palm of my glove. I need to look into whether there's some sort of plastic treatment that'll keep the rain from sticking, or something. Drivers were doing their usual clueless tailgating; I had one tool in a Civic right up on me for some time. I guess he objected to my long following distance, but there was no way for me to let him pass, and flashing my brake lights only got him back about a car length. I was very glad when a space opened up for me to pull aside and let him go.

I saw another rider on a Harley see an open space in traffic, roll on the throttle hard to get into it, and lose the back wheel immediately in a skid. He managed not to lose the bike as well; wish I'd seen exactly what he did, but the wheel snapped back to center without tossing him off, so I guess what he did was right. A few other riders were around as well, everyone being really cautious and leaving a lot of space, but I couldn't help but feel really vulnerable. I didn't feel the bike act much differently than usual in the rain, but then I don't have a good sense of just how much grip I have when it's wet, and I'm not sure how to figure that out.

And to think we've got another six months or so of this...damn, I miss the summer.

(Yes, I know it's a trashy reference in the title of this post. Name the song and you get a cookie, and then you get to feel terrible for recognizing it.)

Had to get in my car yesterday for a groceries run, as there's really no space on the bike for bags and bags of mango mochi and the like. I really only drive once a week, now, for errands where I'll need lots of storage space, and it's always odd to start the car and just drive off. No warming-up time, no TCLOCS check, no gear to put on... I find that my riding is a positive thing in terms of safety in the Volvo; the scanning for dangers and keeping aware of my surroundings translates straight across. I do have to remind myself not to wander in the lane for best visibility, as I already fill the whole thing, and not to try for quick acceleration or braking, as the Volvo can't do either very well.

I have noticed a very unusual psychological change, though - when I'm in the car with the windows rolled up and the radio on, or talking to my passenger or (God forbid) on a cell phone, I really have to constantly remind myself that I'm hurtling down the road and not sitting quietly at home. I miss the feedback I get from the engine and the windblast and the noise of the road, and subconsciously I think that's what keeps me grounded and aware on the bike. Seeing the pavement hurtling past me is much less visceral than hearing my passage. When I roll down the windows and get a chance to hear the world around me, I'm much more in tune with it.

On my ride on the Olympic Peninsula a few weeks ago, I briefly tried wearing a pair of foam earplugs, as lots of folks have told me that not doing so can lead to hearing damage. I found that though I could still hear fairly clearly, the muted sounds that came through the plugs weren't enough to trigger that sense of speed and urgency that I normally have. After putting them in I only rode about a mile before I realized I just wasn't in the ride, wasn't paying the kind of attention to the road that I needed to, and I wasn't feeling safe. I pulled the plugs and instantly I was right there again. I find it strange that so much seems to stem from the sound of the ride.

I'm sure I could train myself to ride with the plugs in, but I'm not sure if I ought to. I really feel so much safer without them. Clearly there's some instinctual alertness that's getting triggered, here, and it seems foolish not to make use of it.

Had to come in to work tonight (yes, a full week with overtime, and then back in on Sunday night - sucks) and it was really blowing out there. Wind buffeting me back and forth across the lane. I actually had to suck it up and try for a sportbiker crouch to get behind the mostly-decorative windscreen, and that really didn't help much.

Spent most of the afternoon putting up a polypropylene shed-thing - basically a fabric awning car-cover with walls - to keep Zoë in when it rains. It's so ghetto. I really wish we could put a garage in, or something - I really don't get much of a kick out of that giant gray tarp, 10'10'x8', out in front of my house. At least I can change my oil in the rain, though.

A woman in a white panel van was reading the newspaper while merging onto I5 this morning. She had it all spread out over the steering wheel and up into the windshield. Needless to say I gave her a nice wide berth.

This weekend's exciting plan: Mount St Helens. A little group of riders from Sport-Touring.net is heading down that way on Sunday, and I plan to tag along as the resident newbie. The folks there have been very welcoming and are under no illusions as to my skill level, and so hopefully this will be a good mentoring experience rather than a "keep up with the Hayabusa riders" type of trip. At least, that's going to be my plan.

Our destination is Johnston Ridge, on the west side of the mountain, as it's supposed to be a bit of a less technical, easier route than the eastern side. Meeting first at Beth's Cafe in Seattle, which seems a bit of a sketchy place - hopefully the good kind of sketchy. Reading the message board linked on their website, one of the posts consisted of "you should all hurry down to the cafe, there's a chick at the next table over giving free blowjobs." And they have 6- and 12-egg omelettes. Umm...

I've a bit of concern about the group aspect of this thing - well, honestly, I don't have much concern about it, but it seems the general wisdom consists of "don't go on a group ride, all you newbies." I guess the tendancy is for new riders to really fixate on the rider in front of you, to the exclusion of all else, and to end up getting in over their heads. Riding too fast and too close would seem to lead to that. I think the focus for these sorts of things needs to be on riding your own ride, as they say - none of the pretty-but risky staggered formation 5' behind the other fellow's bumper for me. I'm confidant that if I approach this as "going for a ride that happens to be headed for the same place as others," rather than "going on a ride with others," I'll be fine and have a good time. I believe we'll probably end up a very loose federation of solo bikers, rather than a long train, and that's a good thing.

Plus it will be very nice to meet some other riders in my area. I've never been out with any other riders, and while I love the solitude of being on a bike alone with the road, I'd like to give the other side of the coin a try. This will definitely be a longer ride than any single day I've had to this point, and it ought to be a real good time.

Hopefully I can get myself a digital camera before the ride and get some good pictures - my old cam seems to have given up the ghost. After four years of service, though, it's not too surprising.

proposed route, as best as I can figure:

Everyone can stop sending emails and leaving comments telling me to wear earplugs. I've gotten the message. Ear plugs are apparently good, going deaf is apparently bad, and I'll give 'em another try this weekend.

I am so sore.

Today's ride to Mount St. Helens was pretty damn amazing. I got out of the house around 7:30 this morning; roads were moist from last night's rain and nobody else was on 'em. Breakfast at Beth's (I didn't chance the 12-egg omelette, thank god) and we were off and on the roads by nine. A couple of S-T.N members who couldn't make the ride met us for breakfast as well. From Beth's it was onto I5 and south to meet up with some more folks from the south Sound area. I was by far the newest rider here; the sheer amount of experience in this group was staggering. I wish I could have spent more of the ride watching others and learning how they rode, but I was too busy keeping the shiny side up.

The group stretched itself out pretty quickly, as folks set their own paces, but reconvened at various turnoff points to make sure no-one got lost. This was a perfect atmosphere for a group ride; I don't think anyone was getting pushed beyond their comfort zone. I tried to make a point of keeping a nice big bubble of empty space around me and focusing on my own ride, and I think it worked fairly well.

I've already forgotten the exact route we took down to the mountain; I believe the majority of it was down rte 7. A little chunk of that route, near Alder Lake, was composed of just nutty little twisties. I've never before ridden a road with real S-curves, the kind where you need to flick the bike over the instant you come out of the first turn and drop right into the second, and they were a blast. With the exception of that area, the ride down was pretty straightforward - mostly 2-lane roads with a 50 or 55 limit. Go ahead, ask me if this crew rode at the speed limit. :)

Johnston Ridge itself was an absolutely perfect ride. Long sweepers, a lot of elevation gain (up to 3800, I believe), and what would have been amazing vistas out over the wasteland around Mt St Helens, if the fog wasn't here. The fog was the most startling part of this ride. I'd be whipping around a turn at 70 or 75, catch a glimpse of a bank of fog just above me, climb into it, and suddenly visibility was 15' in front of my bike. It was all I could do sometimes to pick out the fog line and stay on my course. I cut my speed down pretty hard in the fog, but all the same it was quite uncomfortable at times and I was glad to be out of it.

Coming out of the first heavy fogbank was the most breathtaking part of this ride. It had been gray and rainy all morning, and to emerge from that fogbank into bright (if not clear) sky and a view for miles down and out from the ridge was one of those moments that reminds you how wonderful it is to be alive.

After reaching the Ridge we took a quick break for group photos, hot coffee/chocolate/chai from the odd little trolley that served as a cafe, and stretching of legs. By this point (around 2 PM I believe) I was starting to feel pretty tired, sore, and cold, and a warm drink and quick little walk was a great thing. We started our descent shortly thereafter, heading for a pub in Toledo that supposedly had fine burgers to offer to tired bikers.

The descent was very much like the climb, although the fog seemed to have gotten worse. I was quite a bit surprised at just how much power Zoë lost as we gained elevation, and feeling that power return as we headed down made it a challenge to keep my speed under control. I stayed pretty much at the back of the pack - the sweep and one other were behind me - hoping to inconvenience the least number of riders with my staunch refusal to go 140 mph. :)

After the aforementioned burger (good, but no Red Mill) we headed back to I5 and turned north. As much fun as the Alder twisties were on the way down, I wouldn't have wanted to face them again after such a long day, and I think everyone was in a hurry to get home. About an hour and a half on the slab found me back at my door, 11 hours and 45 minutes after I left. I wasn't able to hang with the pack on the ride home, but that's probably for the best, given their predilection for highway speed well beyond my meager skills.

I think today was one of those paradigm shifts, a quantum leap in riding skill. I rode pretty hard today, and at some points in the Alder twisties I was well beyond any riding I'd done before. I wasn't dragging knees or anything of the sort, but I know I was leaned a lot further at higher speed than I'm used to, and you never know if you can do something until you try it. I knew my technique was right (for the most part) and I knew intellectually that at the speed I was riding, I could flick the bike over and get through the turn safely, but that didn't stop me from some real uneasiness when I finally tried it. I have a much better idea of how Zoë handles sharper turns and wet pavement than I did before, and I feel a lot more comfortable with her than I did yesterday.

My back and legs are tremendously sore. My gear has been weighed in the balance and found wanting; my "waterproof" gloves were soaked through in an hour, the new Firstgear pants leak in the crotch, and my Rocket jacket had a puddle under it when I hung it up at lunch. My boots held up well, though, so that's something. I rode with earplugs today (for the first time) and all of you who were harassing me about it can rest easy; it's a good thing, I feel comfortable with them, and I'll stick to 'em in the future. They were pretty distracting for the first half hour, but after that it wasn't a problem.

Total distance traveled today: just under 400 miles.

All in all I feel great. The S-T.N folks were wonderful hosts to this poor newbie, and I feel like I've really learned a lot. Hopefully the next ride will be soon - and with luck there'll be plenty of 'em once the weather finally gets nice again!

Pics. I don't have many - I didn't want to stop and take 'em on the ride, given that I was already the resident slowpoke - but here's a shot of the crew assembled in a McDonalds parking lot:

...and here's some of the crew at the summit:

...and I also stitched together a panorama shot of the view from the Johnston Ridge visitor's center. I apologise for the bad colormatching, but I lose at Photoshop. It's huge, so you'll have to click here to see it.

Zoë was feeling a little squirrely yesterday; it felt like she just wanted to be flicked over. It took very little shifting of weight or movement of the bars to start her leaning, and I honestly felt a bit uncomfortable. This morning I checked her tire pressure, and both were just a touch low (about 30 PSI rather than the recommended 33 for the front tire, and 32 instead of 36 on the rear). I topped her up this morning (and now am probably a bit high, given that I have to ride to the gas station to add pressure) and she feels much more stable. I'm quite surprised that such a small difference in pressure leads to such a dramatic change in handling. Today I need to look into buying a cheap pressure pump; topping up at home would be so much easier, and I wouldn't have to guess at how much to add to a warm tire.

Lots of fog on I5 this morning; nothing like the pea-souper at St Helens on Sunday, but still heavy enough to slow traffic to a crawl. Every day I ride I'm grateful for the HOV lane, and the cutting in half of my commute that it leads to.

This was posted on S-T.N this morning; originally from a column in Car magazine by Mark Walton. I like it, so I stole it. I think we all tend to break out the resigned head-shake on some occasions - like the BMW X5 driver merging from behind me onto the freeway yesterday evening, who decided that we could share the lane. I ended up riding along right next to her, about two feet from her drivers-side window, amazed as she seemed to intentionally ignore me - it's tough to miss a bright red-armored guy a couple of feet from your head. Soon as there was space to gun it and get away, I did, but at 15 mph that took a little while. Until then I was torn - should I just wave at her? Should I reach out and tap her window? She wasn't even on a cell phone; just an idiot.

"Bikers are a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites. And I should know - I'm a biker myself. Now, I know that car enthusiasts are a bit tribal, and you're all starting to feel suspicious about a car journalist who's turned to The Dark Side, but don't worry, I still prefer four wheels to two.

Bikes aren't in my blood, you see. But riding a bike for my daily commute does combat the frustrations of rush hour traffic, it saves time, and also gives me great insight into the mind of a biker. A bit like an undercover agent spying on the Russians.

And I've concluded that bikers are unbelievably arrogant. Honestly, they behave as though they were the living embodiment of the Highway Code itself, the Knights Templar of Road Users, with all the high-minded moral superiority of a bike-riding Pope Anyone who infringes the rules receives that dread verdict, the slow shake of the head as they ride past As a car driver, nothing cuts you down to size quite like a biker, cruising past, shaking his head in that resigned, contemptuous way:'You pathetic steering-wheel hugging worm'

And I'm not talking life-or-death situations - I know bikers have a right to feel mortal out there; they have a right to get angry with idiots who pull out in front of them.

No, I'm talking about a biker riding up the centre of a dual carriageway, in between slow-moving traffic, shaking his head at a woman because she didn't leave him a big enough gap to ride through.

Or there's the driver who safely changes lanes on a motorway, but then forgets to turn his indicator off. Bikers hate these small misdemeanors. I've followed bikers up a motorway and watched their helmets shake non-stop for miles, disgusted by all the filthy low-life drivers they have to endure

So why does all this bother me? Well here's the bizarre thing - when I ride a bike, I'm like that too. I get on the bike and suddenly I'm like the old AA patrolman, with his cap and goggles, his perfect hand signals and stiff upper lip. The vehicles we drive definitely affect our characters.

Anyway - and this is my final point - when I'm on my bike feeling smug, I don't shake my head at car drivers for their infringements. Partly because bikers are far from perfect themselves (terrible lane discipline, and I hate the way they hange their heels on the footpegs so they almost drag their toes on the ground); but also because tomorrow I'll be driving a car and other bikers will be riding past shaking their heads at me. And when they do, I'll want to wind down my window and shout,'Oi! I'm one of you!' But I won't, because that would probably make me swerve all over the road, provoking yet more crushing rebukes

But in the same way, when I'm on a bike and I see another rider shaking his head, I think,'Hang on, you're one of us too.' That guy in front in his black leathers, sitting astride his CGDBX-RR 1000 with a back tire like a Formula 1 car's and exhausts like howitzers, he's on his way home now, where he'll climb into his Nissan Almera, pull out of his drive and chug all the way down the street with his indicator still blinking.

So what I'm saying is, we're all guilty, aren't we? Deep down, we're all the same. It's just that some of us like to dress in tight leather cat suits and wear lime green, pointy toed boots, that's all.

Riding home on the freeway on Friday night, after a lateish night at work, I was lucky enough to find myself faced with a dry night, open road, and an opportunity for a smooth ride rather than a stop-and-go traffic fest. I remember my early freeway rides, just a few months ago, and a very distinct feeling that while 55 was a comfortable speed, 65 was terrifying and unsafe. I remember being so concerned by the fairing vibration on Zoë that I'd short-shift her to keep the RPMs below 5K; I needed 6th gear just to keep up on the freeway, that way. It took a very slow hand on the throttle to keep below that magic rev number, and she really didn't feel like she had much in the way of guts, down that low.

It's amazing how much of a difference the last month has made. With my posture a bit improved, earplugs, experience, and a little bit of faith in Zoë, I find myself at 85 on the freeway, feeling totally relaxed, gliding along in the midrange of the tachometer. I've yet to find the need to redline it, but between 8000 and 8500 rpm that engine really comes alive, the bike settles into a comfortable cruise, and I feel right at home. Now that I've had the chance to lean her over in a turn at speed, I know how she can move if I need her to, and that calms me on the freeway. Ever since I started adding emergency stop practice to my daily ride - if there's no-one behind me, I e-stop for yellow lights when I can - I feel a lot more secure in my braking, and I spend a lot less mental effort on "omigod what will happen if that guy stops?!?!" and can free my mind up to really understand the road, see everyone around me, know my escape routes, and try to be at one with the whole experience. Honestly, I'm feeling really, really good.

Riding has a really strange learning curve; it seems like it alternates between being really steep and being almost flat. In the flat spots, you can't help but think "Wow, this is easy! I've learned all there is to learn!", and then a few days or a week later, the curve takes off again, and you realize how much there still is that you haven't even thought about. Keeping a diary, log, or whatever has been very interesting to me; I can look back at the posts from my first days and remember when shifting was a task that didn't always work and 45 was a speed that felt on the edge of control, and it makes me proud to see what strides I've made, limited as they are.

Here's to another steep slope on the learning curve, right around the corner.