kinetic playgounds

mt. bachelor, my former office

I woke this morning out of dreams of winding roads and learning to control my conveyance, a motorbike, by sitting in through each curve and allowing the bike to wend its way, allowing centrifugal and centripetal forces to do the work. I ended my ride by finding myself on a snowy incline, icy and badly tracked out by multitudes of skiers and snowboarders, and successfully guided the bike down a rutted trail in a sort of controlled fall, gliding gracefully to a stop once reaching the bottom.

Funny that the two disciplines of snowboarding and riding a motorbike should meld in my dreams, and I wonder if guiding a motorbike around a curve is a little like allowing a snowboard to do what its designed to do when you sit quiet atop it, let your weight drop into the turn and down into the board, and let it rip in a perfect semi-circle (with the intention of straightening and entering a turn in the opposite direction, of course). The only two wheel experience I have to equate would be, obviously, on a pushbike. As a kid I used to ride great freewheeling loops, feeling the opposing forces at work, and it was a sensation that I relished. I imagine that a motorbike would be similar, especially since it propels itself... its a case of not fighting against it, just feeling the acceleration and allowing the bike to carry through.

Momentum.
Resistance.
Centrifugal force.
Centripetal force.
Mass.
Gravity.
Inertia.

The science of play.
I love the sensation of kinetic forces.

I remember days spent snowboarding with my friend Paco, a fellow snowboard instructor and one of our more senior members, a man who lived to ride the frozen wave. He was a soul boarder. I loved riding with him. There was such a lack of pretense and one-upmanship. We just rode the mountain, and he encouraged me to really feel the terrain and the board under me and let them guide my movements, and not the the reverse.

I remember Mt Bachelor's "Rainbow" chairlift on the far east face of the mountain which was usually a quiet area because it was an antiquated fixed grip chair, not fast and slick like the high speed lifts that serviced the next set of trails over. On the Rainbow chair you wouldn't get black diamond steep, but you got peace and quiet, and enough short steep sections to satisfy your desire for untracked powder and a thrill or two. It was a relaxed spot. It had to be, because you had to be relaxed about the time the ride to the top took. It was worth it.

Paco and I spent hours one day on a wide, gentle run off of Rainbow, Paco on his race board and me on my long freeriding board, giggling and laughing as he taught me to let the board go and do what it's made to do, which is carve a perfect circle. He would point his board down the fall line and gather speed and then he would lay his weight over the rail and flex into the turn and go around a huge, deep turn, eventually pointing back up hill. He could complete an entire circle if he had enough speed up, but the finish usually entailed a hop into position back down the fall line and executing another turn in the opposite direction.

And then we'd spend the lower, flatter half of the run switching between riding forward and fakie (riding with your back foot forward) and practicing nose and tail slides. Paco put the fun back into riding when riding had become an every day task to get yourself paid enough so you could buy food and the occasional beer.

I could follow Paco for hours letting all the kinetic forces have their way with me and it was sheer, unblemished bliss.

Now I'm here where there's no snow and no mountain, and I'm wondering if the thing to do would be to get on that motorbike and find myself a new sensation?