Downshift

Did I mention that there's two main things that we learn in riding schools?  I probably did.  After learning about the racing line, we learn about downshifting.

Because that's pretty much the only technical manoeuvre that we have to learn.  Everything else we already know, we just have to perfect.  That's the same for cars, mind you.  If you can downshift, you can pilot.  If you can't, you can't.

When upshifting, we go to a situation where the engine will turn slower for a given wheel speed.  The gearbox does that transition, usually going from a 1st gear ratio where the engine turns many times before the wheel do, to a high one where they're close to the same speed.

As we normally change gear, our speed doesn't change.  So when upshifting the engine speed must go down.   And that's exactly what happen, whether you're aware of it or not.  The engine, disconnected from the wheels and by the clutch and being choked by a close throttle, quickly loose speed.  The average time it takes to shift a gear is the average time it takes for the engine to loose about 1,000 RPM, which is about what is usually needed.  So it all works out mostly transparently.

But when downshifting, it's the other way around. Because we're going one gear lower, the engine has to turn faster.  Otherwise, when the clutch disengage, the adjustment will be unsmooth.  The bike will jerk as the wheel try to speed the engine up, which acts as a brake, and often traction is lost and the rear wheel jumps around.  If you ride, do you sometimes do that on purpose?  I found myself botching my downshifts recently, to get a bit of fun from the bouncing rear… street driving can be so damn boring sometimes :(

So, to downshift we « blip » the throttle.  That means giving it a shot of gas, quickly opening and closing it.  So that while we're clutched and the engine speed is going down, we send it up a bit.  About a 2,000 RPM bit.  Because it's naturally loosing about one thousand, and we want it about a thousand higher.  So we clutch in, change the gear with the left foot, blip the throttle, and smoothly let go of the clutch to ease the transition and erase any little speed mismatch.

On a bike it's fun because we're braking with the right fingers, and have to give it gas with the right hand.  Grab the lever with just the palm and thumb, and precisely turn it while keeping a precise and constant force on the brake lever.  And the harder we're braking, the stronger the force pushing us forward on the handles and levers.  And on track we have to lean while doing all that.  So it's hard at first, and with enough practice it can become second nature.  Like tying shoes or writing our name.

In cars also, but it's hairier to start with.   Because the three controls involved are pedals, and they all have to be used at the same time.  First, you're braking with your right foot.   Then you clutch in with your left foot.  And your right foot have to give a precise push to the gas pedal without changing the pressure on the brake pedal.  I suggest practicing a bit on a PC simulator with good controls if you want to get it right, since it can make your ride a bit chaotic on your first tries :-P

Isn't that like meditation?  That thing that not everybody does, that we can learn and practice and that makes turns so much easier to handle?  That let us smoothly decelerate for turns, and be in the right gear to exit into the following straight?  And after learning meditation, the rest is mostly perfecting the things we already do?  And having more energy for them, and more fun doing them?   Sound like a good analogy to make.

It seem like it's very hard to do, and it requires efforts to get it, and it eventually becomes second nature.  We just always keep control.  Keep that clear and focused mind that's so efficient.  And consciously enjoy the moments, feel them and treasure them.  Every situation being clearer and easier to deal with.  Emotions being accepted and lived right away, communications being kept clear, and generally being playful and open.  Accepting every moment, tasting it, and letting it go.

And I think that's nirvana.   Not being afraid of the stuff in the news, not being stressed by our bank account, not distracted thinking about insignificant things, not accepting an unpleasant state of mind, just being present.  Open and true.  Yes, I think it's a good analogy.  We learned what we needed to get here, and we may have everything more or less settled, but to go faster that's the thing to add.  To have more control and more fun.   Not to keep fighting the controls to keep things going, but let things flow smoothly and enjoy the show.   To really taste that bite or to really connect with that person.

Isn't it funny that high level athletes have to meditate to reach their peak but that most of us don't even really hear about it?  Like it's a secret for super people?   We don't need it to survive, I know, but we may very well need it to live.  I think it should be taught to every kid and done by everybody.   You learn to blip the bike throttle and “Heel and toe” the car pedals to get your license.

Wouldn't there be less accidents then?  Have you ever seen happy people fight?   Did an insult ever come out of a smile?  Maybe we'd need less laws then?   And less people to check on us and give us fines?   Ok, enough utopia, back to the program.

If you haven't tried it, borrow a book or maybe try some audio guided meditation.  Or ask someone you know who does it.  Give it a shot, I guarantee you'll love it.

Enjoy your day!

Ligne de course

Dans un cours de pilotage, il y a deux choses principales qu'on apprends.   La première, c'est la ligne de course.

Qu'est-ce que la ligne de course?  C'est un peu comme un chemin à suivre.  C'est une ligne qui fait le tour du circuit de manière « idéale ».  C'est à dire que c'est le chemin le plus rapide.  En voici le principe de base :

Dans une courbe, et le principe est le même peu importe le véhicule, plus le rayon de courbure est grand et plus la courbe peut être prise rapidement.  C'est assez évident quand on pense à la vitesse à laquelle on peut tourner un coin de rue vs. la vitesse à laquelle on peut négocier un léger changement de direction sur l'autoroute.

Donc conduire à l'intérieur de la courbe impose un rayon court et force une vitesse plus basse.  Conduire à l'extérieur permet d'aller un peu plus rapidement, et « allonger » la courbe en suivant extérieur – intérieur – extérieur permet de conserver la maximum de vélocité.

Le principe est simple et son application deviens intéressante lors d'enchaînements de courbes.  On peut faire un compromis et viser le milieu des deux lignes entres les courbes.  Ou on peut en sacrifier une pour favoriser l'autre.  Celle suivie d'une droite est plus importante parce que la vitesse de sortie va être conservée plus longtemps, et un meilleur régime moteur en début de droite va avoir un effet cumulatif un peu comme des intérêts composés.  De plus, l'inclinaison de la voie va influencer la ligne, comme une partie de la surface plus ou moins adhérente qu'une autre.

On apprends les principes, puis on apprends la ligne du circuit sur lequel on se trouve, puis on y va.  On l'essaye et on trouve le moyen de le suivre de manière régulière.  Puis on joue peut-être avec, pour l'adapter à notre moto et à l'utilisation qu'on en fait.

Avec de la pratique, on y arrive généralement assez rapidement.   Puis ont commence à bien sentir le circuit et à y voir la fluidité.   Quand ça c'est maîtrisé, on à toute notre concentration pour raffiner le pilotage.   Se concentrer à mieux sentir la machine et à mieux la guider.  À lui laisser plus de liberté, en terme de moteur et de mouvement, et à la restreindre d'une manière plus efficace, seulement lorsque c'est vraiment nécessaire.   À la laisser s'exprimer au maximum et à être arrêtée juste pour éviter les catastrophes.  Quand j'y pense, c'est un peu comme élever des enfants, non?

Donc c'est ce qu'on fait dans les cours et les trackdays.  Du moins la plupart du temps.  Parce que ça fonctionne merveilleusement bien lorsqu'on est seul.  On peut rouler où on veut, à la vitesse qu'on veut.  Mais pas quand on est dans un groupe et qu'on veut tous s’entre dépasser.  Parce que si on roule tous sur la même ligne, on va juste se suivre en file indienne.  Donc, pour aller plus vite que le gars d'en avant (le pronom masculin inclut ici les pilotes féminines), il faut arrêter de suivre le trajet idéal et emprunter un chemin plus dangereux.  C'est parfois intéressant, comme par exemple entrer en courbe par l'intérieur; il faut y freiner beaucoup plus et gaspiller pas mal d'énergie cinétique, ce qui nous pénalise encore plus en sortie de courbe.  Mais le gars qui était juste en avant et qui voulait suivre sa ligne peut plus y aller, parce qu'on est dans ces jambes… il doit freiner encore plus pour éviter de nous rentrer dedans.  Et faut avouer qu'on espère fort qu'il va le faire, sinon notre game va mal finir.  Mais s'il le fait, il est maintenant en arrière.   On peut maintenant reprendre la ligne.   Mais pas tout à fait, parce qu'il va nous faire le même coup à la prochaine courbe.  Ou un peu plus tard, pour pas qu'on perde notre temps à se chamailler et que d'autre nous rattrapent pour se joindre à la partie.  Peut-être qu'il va attendre quelque tours.  Mais pour être prêt, on peut préférer arriver plus à l'intérieur et laisser moins de place disponible pour se faire passer.

Donc il faut faire pleins de compromis.   Pas parce qu'on manque de concentration, mais de manière stratégique.

Je pense que c'est pareil dans ma vie.  J'ai appris pleins de choses qui me permettent de tracer ma ligne.   Et pleins de gens m'ont montré une partie de leur ligne.   Des fois c'est évident; je dors assez, je me sens bien.   Je fais de l’exercice, je me sens bien.  Je médite, je me sens bien.  D'autre fois, c'est moins évident.  Je veux bien manger, et c'est pas comme de choisir parmi les légumes de mon jardin… faut savoir quoi acheter, et pour ça faut savoir quoi manger.

Et cette ligne la, elle est tracée haut et fort par les compagnies qui on un profit à faire avec ce qu'on mange... Elle nous est tracée dans les médias et sur les tablettes d'épiceries, elle nous est tracée consciemment et inconsciemment.  Mais c'est pas une ligne à notre avantage.   Pour trouver notre ligne, il faut chercher puis il faut expérimenter.  Je sais pas encore c'est quoi exactement du glutène, mais je semble pas avoir de problème avec ça donc c'est pas prioritaire.   Par contre j'pense que je commence à comprendre les protéines, le glucides et quelques autres affaires.

Et ça aussi c'est le genre d'affaires qui fonctionne bien quand on est seul.  On se couche à l'heure qu'on veut, on médite quand on veut et on mange ce qu'on veut, quand on veut.  Mais à plusieurs ça fonctionne pas toujours.  Peut-être qu'on roule avec quelqu'un dont la ligne allergique ou morale dévie pas mal de la notre, ou peut-être avec quelqu'un qui suit une ligne plus commerciale ou dont la machine carbure différemment.  Dans tous les cas, faut s'adapter.   Pas oublier notre ligne et suivre par fixation, y dévier pour l'occasion et y revenir ensuite.

Ma ligne à moi, j'essaie de la compléter.  J'en ai trouvé quelque bouts, et j'en ai tout plein de bouts pas idéaux que je veux changer.  Et j'y dévie pas mal souvent en plus.   Mais quand je regarde le trajet que j'ai parcouru, j'suis fier de pas mal de mes courbes, surtout les plus récentes.  Et pour plein d'autres, soit j'm'y met (c'est-tu légal un mot avec deux apostrophes?) ou soit j'espère y repenser quand les courbes plus importantes seront maîtrisées.  A chaque bout de track maîtrisé j'ai plus d'énergie à mettre sur le reste.  J'ai plus de vitesse en sortie de courbe et j'ai plus de concentration à mettre sur la prochaine.  Je me sens mieux et j'ai de nouvelles prioritées pour m'occuper.

J'pense que j'ai assez tracé le parallèle; finissons avec un koan pour vos méditations : « Quel est le son d'une ligne rouge traversée? »

Billy

Comfort braking

Something happens when we approach a curve.  We put on the brakes.  It's called comfort braking.  Not when we're coming in fast and have to decelerate to take the turn.  When everything's fine, there is a slight direction change we can make without a sweat, but we still touch the brake.  Maybe just a bit, maybe enough to really feel it.  Like it's to confirm that the brakes still work, that we're still in control.  Once it's done, it's good, we can keep riding.  That curve's all right, cool.  But it had to happen, that moment of doubt, that automatic reflex.  Shit, grab the brakes.  Feww, thanks.

But it's for nothing.  The brakes still work every time.  And it was too late to test them anyway.  The curve was right, the speed was right, everything was good, so why that reflex to hit the brakes?

That robs us of speed, it robs us of concentration and fluidity.  And in extreme situations it can be dangerous.  On a first track day of the year, when I was all cocky from last year exploits but still in slumber from the winter motorcycle starvation, I went all the way through Mirabel's front stretch and hit the brake to get my comfort right.  Only the guy behind me, apparently in less of a slumber and less inclined to give his inner kid that over braking to make it feel better, rammed into me.  We didn't crash, and the other rider didn't apologize for ramming into my left leg to get me out of his way.  We both knew that in the fast group, there's no place for taking it cozy and smelling flowers on the way.  It's for riding, riding hard, and getting your fix all the way through.  I licked my wound and moved on down to a slower group, subtly encourage to do so by the witnesses and those who heard that racer's story of how that guy just braked in front of him for no reason.  At least for the time I'd need to shed the weight of my hibernation and enter in communion with my machine again.

Sometimes, I feel like I put on the brakes for nothing.  Life offering something new or unexpected, something unplanned for.  Life goes on, whether I resist it or not.  And the harder I resist, the harder it gets.  Are people out to get me?  Is life too dangerous to let if flow through full speed?  Why do I sometimes prevent myself from doing those thing I want to do?  What's that part of me that put on the brakes, just in case?  What's the worst that can happen anyway?  What's the best that can happen?  The answer to both of those question is life.  In all it's unrestrained fullness.  We carry all those learned reflexes around like a life jacket.  Like it'll keep us alive and well, keep our head out of the water.  But the truth is, that jacket is often what's sinking us down.

That reflex to brake from life may the only thing that keeps us from growing into our true potential and helping make the world a better place for ourselves and those around us.  It's not an easy habit to let go of, but it's definitely worth giving it a shot.  Enlightenment may be just around the corner, and no matter where we consider ourselves to be, if on that path at all, every small step into letting go brings us one step closer to that more fulfilling life.  To that life where everything is all right, even when going through obstacles that may seem insurmountable.  For every time you're tested, every single time you ease off resistance you've made another step.  And you know it, you can feel it inside.  Like a job well done.  Like having a better functioning and more efficient machine.  Having gotten rid of that gunk in the carburetors, or that cruft under the mouse that makes it stick down instead of floating smoothly over the desk.  Having succeeded in living another moment without inhibition, and probably of having shared that moment with someone.  Having shown a little light their way.  Maybe having shared a smile with them, which is more than money can do.

Full Speed Ahead Captain!

Grounding

Let there be light!

I once ran a short-lived blog about android software, and one post was about apps turning your phone's camera flash into a flashlight.  Super practical.  The title of that post was "Let there be light".  This have nothing to do with it.

5. Use your legs

Riding on a bike, your body should hold on using five points of contact.  The ass on the seat and the feet on the pegs are the obvious ones.  The common error is to use the hands on the handles.  It seems like the obvious way to go, right?  But it's best to tighten the knees on each side of the tank and open the hands.  Best doesn't do it justice.  It's very important, even critical.

 Let's get one thing straight.  As strange as it may seem, the bike wants to go straight.  It may be the engineered-in suspension's rake and trail, it may be the wheels' gyroscopic force, it may be the bike's will or it may be god's will.  Whatever it is.  Even on one wheel, the thing feels like a train.  And at high speed, it handles like one.  That's on a sports bike; and since having a chopper take a turn at low speed take about a meal's worth of energy, I won't try having one change direction at high speed.

My first memory of letting a bike do it's think is from a summer vacation rental scooter.  I was riding and a friend was sitting behind.  Not that I had any experience riding one before that day, we probably either randomly drew riders and backseats at the rental place or went with self-confidence.  So whatever happened, I'm figuring out this thing with a guy sitting behind who's as clueless about it all as I am.  Everything's going smoothly until the road ends and we drop on sand.  Like there's just no asphalt for a little while, just sand.  Not a hard surface, more like a beach, with your feet sinking in the hot surface.  So our scooter, going at a not-really-spectacular speed anyway, start plowing through.  Here's what happens then, in case you've never experienced it before.  The bike comes alive.  Like it doesn't want to go down, or it just figured out you were too dumb to make it go straight and it had to take control back, or some daemon from hell just possessed it to perform some violent ritual.  However you want to see it, the handlebar starts shaking, following it's own rhythm.  A much faster rhythm that you'd rhyme to.  So you become a powerless witness to the bike riding itself in a wild way.  But you know what?  It goes straight.  As incredibly mad as it may sound, that Parkinson machine plows through in a straight line.  Asphalt eventually appears under the wheels and the daemon disappear and the bike, autopilot disabled, just hands control back to you.

But that's not what happened that day; at least not right away.  Back to the point where the machine's going wild under my hands.  Luckily, my young brain of the time gets the sensory feedback from my arms signaling they'd been taken hostage by a brick-filled washing machine on an uneven floor, and from my eyes, saying everything was cool as we were traveling in a smooth straight line under a beautiful summer evening sky.  So my thinking organ figured out that it was best to keep calm, not negotiate ransom for the arms and just go on.

Not so lucky was my riding buddy, who had different information to go on.  Lacking some of the feedback I was privy to, he relied on two pieces of visual feedback: the sand pit we were digging into, and the wild movements of my arms following the handlebar's erratic dance.  Just then his savior side surfaced, born to save us from a most depressing fate, destined to help me steer the thing.  If the guy in front of you can't steer the bike, you'd better grab his arms and use him as a puppet to steer it right?  So he grabbed my arms to help me, keeping them as still as he possibly can.

Who's unhappy now?  Yeah, the bike.  Don't try to visualize it.  And I can't think of a good metaphor either.  Anyway, we got through to the asphalt on the other side of the pit.  We explained ourselves and nobody choked anybody to death.

So let's get back to the point; holding on the bike with our knees.  With the knees holding us tightly coupled to the bike, we get very clear sensation from the suspension and from the road.  And with the hands lightly resting on the handles, we apply light and deliberate pressure.  The other way around, the seat padding and our shoe's soles do their best to limit the feedback we get, and by grabbing the bars we resist the natural way of the bike.  Which gets the bike less stable, which gets you stressed and tensed.  Rinse and repeat.

Slack the grip on the handlebars.  Relax a bit.  More than that actually, relax a lot, relax inside-out.  Open your hands and use the controls with a gentle and sensible touch.  Listening to the feedback as much, and preferable more, than you put strength to impose your will.  Always be ready to do something else, should the front wheel react to an unforeseen event.  Or if the rear one begins to slip and slide.  Or when the front end is high enough to be comfortably balanced.  For the record, I haven`t found the balance point where the bike's in perfect equilibrium and rides on it's rear end forever.  But I haven't given up, and with all that commute time... :-P

Holding tight down low frees up the upper part.  Less death-grab on the future,  less head control, less pushing and pulling, less fighting.  More letting things be and accepting what is.  A smoother, more enjoyable ride.  And the fun of doing things without straining and fighting, by just enjoying it and letting it be.

If you're not already doing your best to ground yourself and free your mind, start doing it.  If you are, already doing it, do more of it.  You're welcome.

Yours truly,

the racebike philosopher

Sneeze!

Ever sneezed in your helmet? When it's humid and cold?  When it insta-fogs your visor so don't see anything ahead?  Not that you see behind either, but that can really be a bitch.  Happened to me turning a street corner, I went completely blind.  Not a fun feeling.  All I had to go on was inertia, the speed and direction and lean angle of the bike.  And the bit of brain processing left from being increasingly busy with the unfortunate situation.  Ok, damn, helmet finally opened.  Ahhhhhhhhh

While this fun anecdote is rare, getting fogged-up and loosing sight of the goal is quite frequent.  At least for me, and other people who use their thinking brain a lot.  That cloud of thoughts cuts our sight like a knife.  And then we're on autopilot while said thoughts play their play.  Autopilot programmed through childhood, when everything was so totally different than it is now.  Those thoughts are playing just for us, only they're not helping.  Like, not helping at all.  Because while in our thoughts we don't see ahead and have very little attention for our environment.  For the road ahead, the cars around and the ditches and the wives and the bosses and the kids and life and joy.  Accidents make for great anecdotes but they're not actually fun.  Better be avoided if you ask me. They can still make pretty interesting anecdotes then.  Like that time I was on the highway and took an exit ramp right and nothing happened, as I described in glorious details in my 1st post.  Didn't have to die to get it published!  And the way to do that is to keep our eyes on the road ahead with a visor as free of fog and road grime as possible.  Maybe wash that helmet in the morning, a little meditation never hurts.  Evening polish is great too, meditation is always easier and more pleasurable at the end of the day.  Don't hold back to doing what it takes to have and keep a clear, unobstructed sight.

That was a quickie.  Not as good as a long intercourse, but satisfying nonetheless :p