We were on the fourth drill of the day. It was called "Relax." Sounds easy enough. Right?
Except we weren't rolling along big back country sweepers at a leisurely speed, enjoying the scenery and watching the cows watch us pass by.
We were riding BMW S1000RR sportbikes on the Virginia International Raceway north track, which even moving at 80-percent speed, allowing us to focus on a particular skill, was plenty fast enough to render any bystanding cow a white blotch in the periphery field of vision.
Welcome to the California Superbike School.
"Relax"? Well, that translates into letting the bike go do its thing through a turn once you get it set at the entry point.
"Letting it do its thing"? Think of it as barely holding the bars and pretending you're the bystanding cow.
Yikes!
Thirty-minutes earlier, the Green Group - Level I - had been sitting in the "Relax" classroom session. Dylan Code, son of Keith Code, who is the school's founder and innovator of the unique teaching methods employed there, was about to absolve my Ducati 848Evo of half the rotten things I've claimed about it.
"Have you even been leaned over in a turn, pushing hard on the inside bar, and the bike isn't leaning any further?" He asked.
The gears in my head are beginning a slow grind forward; could this have something to do why it feels like my Duc is always fighting me in turns?
He continued, "There is only one reason this would happen." Blank stares from the students, much shifting in chairs. I'm thinking that I should know the answer to this, maybe from personal experience...
Another student grasps Dylan's point first: "Because you're pulling with the other arm?"
And let there be light!
I made the decision to attend the class because my turning was a mess. I never knew how a turn was going to play out, which of course, wrecked havoc with my confidence going in.
The inconsistency is hardly a shocker given that, among other issues, I had a death grip on the bars the entire turn, pushing with the inside arm, pulling with the outside, fighting myself. Even the slightest give by either side was going to shift the line.
After that, who knew where the bike would end up? I sure didn't.
For years, I was able to get away with poor fundamentals, but as I moved up the vehicular food chain and my motorcycles became faster and more powerful, and the guys I rode with better, I simply wasn't able to compensate for my own shortcomings anymore.
It was frustrating. And it certainly didn't increase riding enjoyment. I watch races, ride with good motorcyclists, and had a pretty solid idea of what ingredients are necessary for a smooth, controlled turn. But it was all sort of jumbled together in a tangled unhappy mess.
The jumbled mess, in turn (no pun intended, sort of), led to a very early entry point and slow lean, the idea being to provide myself with more time in case things went wrong. Of course, with a slow lean and early entry point, it doesn't need to go wrong mid-turn because it starts off a ready-made disaster.
Disasters-in-the-making result in the mid-turn death grip. Death grips lead to rather un-smooth, and untimely mid-turn corrections, scaring the bejeezus out of me, which meant rolling off the throttle, and the unhappy spiral would continue through the rest of the turn.
And I wondered why I could never find that elusive Good Line?
As Dylan Code pointed out, if we had mastered the skills we practiced that day, we would be in the top percentile of the world's riders. Not going to happen. I still have a long way to go and much to learn.
(Um, braking? My Duc's Brembo monobloc brake calipers may as well be old drum brakes for how I use them.)
But what the school did for me in one day was pull apart and isolate my jumble of turn components, allowing me to focus on each one in a succession of drills, become comfortable with them individually, and then eventually line them all up in to one smooth continuum.
Do you know what happens when you have a smooth, controlled continuum? You get a Good Line.
In sum, a day at the California Superbike School was the best thing I ever could have done for my riding, and my poor beleaguered motorcycles.
Everyone learns differently, but the teaching method there is the best one possible for how I prefer to process and implement new skills and information. The instructors were helpful, encouraging, and knowledgeable. I loved the BMW.
As for the students, everyone was there to learn to improve, and after the first few minutes I didn't feel awkward at all, despite being alone and one of only a few women.
My only complaint? I should have signed up for two-days of instruction instead of one.
(As for the Relax Drill, it was an amazing revelation: drop the bike into a turn, set the bars, and it will arc right through that turn. No questions, no complaints, and no extra steering input necessary from the rider.
In fact, the rider is only going to screw things up if she's messing with the bars. Freed from steering concerns I could focus on a smooth rolling on of the throttle, where I was looking, and what was coming up next. All I had to do was trust the motorcycle. Brilliant!
I owe my Ducati an apology.)
Except we weren't rolling along big back country sweepers at a leisurely speed, enjoying the scenery and watching the cows watch us pass by.
We were riding BMW S1000RR sportbikes on the Virginia International Raceway north track, which even moving at 80-percent speed, allowing us to focus on a particular skill, was plenty fast enough to render any bystanding cow a white blotch in the periphery field of vision.
Welcome to the California Superbike School.
"Relax"? Well, that translates into letting the bike go do its thing through a turn once you get it set at the entry point.
"Letting it do its thing"? Think of it as barely holding the bars and pretending you're the bystanding cow.
Yikes!
Thirty-minutes earlier, the Green Group - Level I - had been sitting in the "Relax" classroom session. Dylan Code, son of Keith Code, who is the school's founder and innovator of the unique teaching methods employed there, was about to absolve my Ducati 848Evo of half the rotten things I've claimed about it.
"Have you even been leaned over in a turn, pushing hard on the inside bar, and the bike isn't leaning any further?" He asked.
The gears in my head are beginning a slow grind forward; could this have something to do why it feels like my Duc is always fighting me in turns?
He continued, "There is only one reason this would happen." Blank stares from the students, much shifting in chairs. I'm thinking that I should know the answer to this, maybe from personal experience...
Another student grasps Dylan's point first: "Because you're pulling with the other arm?"
And let there be light!
I made the decision to attend the class because my turning was a mess. I never knew how a turn was going to play out, which of course, wrecked havoc with my confidence going in.
The inconsistency is hardly a shocker given that, among other issues, I had a death grip on the bars the entire turn, pushing with the inside arm, pulling with the outside, fighting myself. Even the slightest give by either side was going to shift the line.
After that, who knew where the bike would end up? I sure didn't.
For years, I was able to get away with poor fundamentals, but as I moved up the vehicular food chain and my motorcycles became faster and more powerful, and the guys I rode with better, I simply wasn't able to compensate for my own shortcomings anymore.
It was frustrating. And it certainly didn't increase riding enjoyment. I watch races, ride with good motorcyclists, and had a pretty solid idea of what ingredients are necessary for a smooth, controlled turn. But it was all sort of jumbled together in a tangled unhappy mess.
The jumbled mess, in turn (no pun intended, sort of), led to a very early entry point and slow lean, the idea being to provide myself with more time in case things went wrong. Of course, with a slow lean and early entry point, it doesn't need to go wrong mid-turn because it starts off a ready-made disaster.
Disasters-in-the-making result in the mid-turn death grip. Death grips lead to rather un-smooth, and untimely mid-turn corrections, scaring the bejeezus out of me, which meant rolling off the throttle, and the unhappy spiral would continue through the rest of the turn.
And I wondered why I could never find that elusive Good Line?
As Dylan Code pointed out, if we had mastered the skills we practiced that day, we would be in the top percentile of the world's riders. Not going to happen. I still have a long way to go and much to learn.
(Um, braking? My Duc's Brembo monobloc brake calipers may as well be old drum brakes for how I use them.)
But what the school did for me in one day was pull apart and isolate my jumble of turn components, allowing me to focus on each one in a succession of drills, become comfortable with them individually, and then eventually line them all up in to one smooth continuum.
Do you know what happens when you have a smooth, controlled continuum? You get a Good Line.
In sum, a day at the California Superbike School was the best thing I ever could have done for my riding, and my poor beleaguered motorcycles.
Everyone learns differently, but the teaching method there is the best one possible for how I prefer to process and implement new skills and information. The instructors were helpful, encouraging, and knowledgeable. I loved the BMW.
As for the students, everyone was there to learn to improve, and after the first few minutes I didn't feel awkward at all, despite being alone and one of only a few women.
My only complaint? I should have signed up for two-days of instruction instead of one.
(As for the Relax Drill, it was an amazing revelation: drop the bike into a turn, set the bars, and it will arc right through that turn. No questions, no complaints, and no extra steering input necessary from the rider.
In fact, the rider is only going to screw things up if she's messing with the bars. Freed from steering concerns I could focus on a smooth rolling on of the throttle, where I was looking, and what was coming up next. All I had to do was trust the motorcycle. Brilliant!
I owe my Ducati an apology.)