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Cornering Lesson

I wrote this after a trip to the Falling Leaf Rally in Missouri in October of 2003

I thought that something was wrong with my bike when Jimmy took off his helmet and walked over to me rather than just shouting over the gas pumps. I was on the way to my first Falling Leaf Rally this past October with Jimmy G., Ritche Miller, and Greg Radtke. We had overshot the rally site in Potosi, Missouri so that we could ride in from the west on Hwy 185.

 Jimmy walked up, looked me in the eye, and said “You need to be careful on this road.” I looked at him, feeling awkward, but he was sincere. “Oh!” I said “I‘m always very careful, and...” He interrupted me - “Just be careful. Ride your own ride on this road – OK?” I thought about babbling on a bit more but decided against it.  “OK,” I said. “I will.”  

 You may have ridden or even heard of Hwy 185 – it’s a small, twisty back road whose southern portion runs from Sullivan, Mo (just off I-44) directly to the Falling Leaf rally site. Ritche tells a great story about getting sick in the rolling hills (“pukers”) of 185 and not having to pull over because he had on a flip-up helmet. It’s a great story. Let Ritche tell it to you from the top.  

We filed out of the Sullivan gas station, went over a small hill, and were on Hwy 185.  The first thing I saw was a big sign detailing the injuries and deaths on the road. Then I saw a couple of homemade memorials - Styrofoam crosses, plastic flowers, candles, snapshots. That made me nervous. I was NOT going to be a statistic today.  

So I was taking it easy. Ritche was leading and left us behind almost immediately. The road was beautiful and it was a perfect fall day, but I didn’t feel entirely comfortable on the challenging road. In fact, I was downright stressed out. It was a short 35 miles from Sullivan to Potosi, but it seemed like much longer. Not only was the narrow, twisty highway intimidating, but every once in a while there was a big turtle in the road and I kept imagining what would happen if my front tire hit one of them…  

Eventually, Jimmy passed me, and I was figuring that we had to be almost to the rally site when Jimmy started flapping his clutch hand up and down. Flashing lights. There was an ambulance on the side of the road and an RT on its side. Fortunately there were no serious injuries, and I was glad to pull safely into the rally site soon after.   

The next morning, the four of us went to breakfast a few towns over. After big mugs of coffee were in front of us, the subject of Hwy 185 came up. I apologized for holding up the group. “You have to learn to pick a line.” Jimmy said while looking at the menu. I had no idea what that was. Grabbing a pen from the waitress, he drew a diagram on a napkin. “You enter a turn on the outside, cut in, then exit on the outside again – sort of straighten it out.” I looked at the U-shaped drawing. “On the way back from breakfast, follow my line. Put your tires exactly where I put my tires.”  “OK,” I said. “I will.” 

I followed Jimmy’s line on the way back and a little light went off in my brain. I could see further into the corner. I was more in control. I was faster! As we headed out for a day of riding, Jimmy said “Now I’ll follow you to see if you’ve got it.” At the next stop, he critiqued my riding: I needed to cut in sooner, but otherwise I was getting it.   

We had a great day of riding and exploring, and returned to the campground in the afternoon. Jimmy hit the showers and Greg went in search of a beer. I didn’t feel like I was done for the day though. I wanted to head back out and test my new-found skills on Hwy 185 and Ritche was easily convinced to ride along. Ritche led, and although he quickly pulled away from me in the twisties, I wasn’t far behind and caught up with him in the “pukers.” The sky was a vivid blue, and the yellow leaves swirled up and all around me as I rode by. It was exhilarating – I knew that I was a more skilled and confident rider than when I had been on this road just yesterday.

 We took a break at the Sullivan gas station before heading back. While we sipped water we agreed that this beautiful day of riding in the Missouri hills would be a nice memory for the dead of winter. Ritche offered to let me lead on the way back. “But you can take it a bit slower than I did.” “OK!” I said. “I will.” But we didn’t.