This is from a friend that I used to ride GMR and Ortega with. I remember his beater Honda CB350. It had rigid foot-pegs and they were beveled to the metal from him dragging them so much. I always thought he was fast. Crazy fast. Not many could (or would) keep up. There are a lot of stories that I don't tell...
I used to pride myself on how fast I was in the canyons. I was a member of the illustrious “Primer Grey Crew.” To be in the PGC you had to be **** fast and also own a bike that was not considered top-notch machinery. The bike needed a small engine, cheap suspension, or just had to be a few generations old from the latest kit that was being lauded in the magazines.
The fast guys all had primer grey paint somewhere on their bike. It was because they crashed and had to repair the damage. They had the time to make the bike functional, but the effort to add paint was beyond their means or desire. Paint is used to keep rust away, so the only practical reason to paint plastic is to sell testosterone-laden men a new motorcycle, or to convince estrogen-laden women to talk to the owners of such motorcycles. The PGC had no time for this. We did not cruise the boulevards for approval of outsiders… we cruised the cliff-lined canyons in search of corners so tight our footpegs and exhausts would shower sparks behind us as we leaned impossibly through rock-strewn hairpins.
I was king of this environment. I had no fear, made no apologies. I took no quarter and I gave none. I have shoved my body through the tall grass lining a corner because it was the fast way through, simply assuming no tall rocks were hidden in their depths. I have left skidmarks in my wake, along with the baffled faces of slack-jawed pretenders who tried to keep up. The PGC made no apologies. Speed was the goal and the dragon we had to slay.
Read the rest here - Thoughts On Risk And Death… |
It will be worth your time.
I found this from another forum and wanted to share with you guys.