It was on the descent of Sherando Mountain that the old man came upon the group of five sportbikes. On seeing the extra headlight behind them the lead rider bumped the pace, so the old man made no effort to pass. He simply hung at the rear, enjoying the road and the visual choreography of the bikes in front of him.
He quickly observed that these were good riders, except for the fellow in the rear, the one right in front of him. This guy was obviously struggling to stay with his mates. He blew the line on many corners and nearly ran off the road more than once. After a bit the old man backed off a ways, fearing that his presence might be contributing to the struggling rider's anxiety.
He didn't intend to stay hooked up with these riders, but after 40 minutes of watching the numerous miscues of the fellow in the rear he was convinced that this was a disaster in the making. When the group pulled into a gas station, the old man followed them in.
After fueling, the old man walked over to the bench outside the door where the riders were milling around. Nodding to the young men, he introduced himself. They were a friendly bunch, obviously impressed with his ability to match their pace, and quickly included him in their laughing discussion of the road just run. When they began to suit up a few minutes later Jeremy, the young fellow in the rear, asked if the old man wanted to ride with them. He didn't really want to, but the plaintive look on the young man's face made him reconsider.
"Sure," he said, after a moment. Then turning so the others couldn't hear, the old man added, "You need to take it easy out there."
With a slightly pained look, Jeremy nodded. "I know."
The old man hung with them for the rest of the afternoon. Despite his admonition to Jeremy, the young man continued to struggle. It was obvious he was determined to stay with his faster friends but had neither the skill nor the experience to do so. The old man, convinced throughout the afternoon that he was soon to be an eyewitness to tragedy, breathed a sigh of relief when they finally pulled into the motel parking lot.
Two to a room, the ride leader tossed the key card to the old man. "You and Jeremy, OK?" After dinner and a couple of beers at the restaurant across the street, the riders wandered back to their rooms.
Inside, the old man finished stowing his gear. Turning to Jeremy, he looked at the earnest young man. "How long have you been riding, son?"
"About six months."
The old man nodded, the answer having affirmed what he expected. "You know you're going to get hurt, don't you?"
Jeremy looked at him blankly. "Look, I know I'm not the best rider in the world. But my friends tell me I'm doing OK. They're all pretty experienced, and they say that all I have to do is keep riding with them and do what they do and pretty soon . . . " His voice trailed off.
The old man gave him a hard look. "You believe that?"
Jeremy shrugged. "I dunno." He looked down, and then back at the old man. "How else do you get to be fast?"
The old man let the question hang in the air for a moment before he answered. "You need to take a track school. And then you need to do another one. And then another. Then you need to do a bunch of regular track days." He paused. "And you have to live through the early days. That's how you get to be fast."
"I don't know. The racetrack seems pretty extreme. And anyway, I can't afford it."
The old man sighed, shaking his head. He pondered for a moment, then sat down on the bed, nodding at Jeremy to sit on the other. "Look, there aren't any short cuts." He started to say something else, then began again. "Listen, Jeremy, when you go out tomorrow you need to do a few things. First, you need to stop hauling ass deep into the corner and then grabbing a big handful of brakes just before you pitch your bike into the turn. The time you think you're saving by doing that is immediately stolen back from you-with interest-as you roll through the corner with less than optimum corner speed. Your exit velocity is less than it might have been, and you pay for that long after the corner is behind you.
"Forget trail braking," the old man went on. "Forget going deep into the corner even as your anxiety level shoots through the roof. Do this instead: Way before the turn decide what your entrance speed needs to be and set it. Then simply maintain that speed all the way through to the apex, at which point you can begin to add throttle as you power out. This does three things. It settles the suspension early, allowing higher corner speed with a whole lot less drama. It eliminates the distraction of braking, allowing you to pay more attention to things like tire feedback and the appropriateness of the line you've chosen. And it has a calming effect. Since you're no longer hurling yourself deep into the corner at a speed you know is not sustainable, a speed which has to diminish before you actually get into the turn, you'll automatically relax."
The old man paused. "Motorcycles are really great at doing one thing really well-be that accelerating, braking, shifting or turning. They're a whole lot less happy about having to do multiple things at the same time. So set your entrance speed early. You think you can do that?"
Jeremy nodded.