On The Mark

It happened fast, as those things do. As the bicycle race approached the finish in Fort Bayard, New Mexico, there was an intersection where the amateurs were to go straight and the pros were to turn left. Normally, that wouldn’t be a challenge as the amateurs and pros wouldn’t be anywhere near each other at the finish of the race. Unfortunately, there were amateur stragglers that were so far off the back of their race that the pro field caught them just before the crucial junction. Marshals were desperately trying to sort out the two groups as they approached the left/straight for the pros/amateurs, respectively, but their mixed messages of “go left” and “go straight” were misconstrued by riders and support vehicles from each group, resulting in what is known in military circles as a “clusterf***.”

I was riding a Suzuki Vstrom 650 replete with a wheel rack holding five wheels and a mechanic riding pillion holding three more wheels strapped to his person. Our job was to stop for riders who crashed or had a flat tire so my mechanic could jump off, render assistance, and get the rider back into the fray as quickly as possible. It had been an eventful day in the area of the Pinos Altos and Black Peak mountains, with lots of challenging twists and steep climbs/descents but fortunately, not many services were required. Swaddled in our full gear, we were both hot and tired, two things that don’t enhance one’s response to adversity. Add to that a mixture of cyclists and support cars, some of which were driven by nearly-insane team directors, all trying to sort out the situation as quickly as possible, and the stress level rose accordingly.

Of course, that’s when “it” happened: one of the other motos, carrying an official, stopped in the lane, hoping to find a space into which they could make a sharp left turn to rejoin the proper race. My plan was to proceed straight until the “cluster” was more resolved and then make a calm 180 and subsequent right turn to get back on course. I certainly did not expect the other moto to suddenly stop in our line of travel. It happened so fast that coordination between the two of us, which had been very successful all day given our respective jobs, was not possible. My mechanic passenger later said, “I just knew we were going to hit them.” A two-up Vstrom hitting a two-up BMW GS wasn’t going to make a pretty picture.

If you ever took the Motorcycle Safety Foundation’s Basic (BRC) or Experienced Rider Courses (ERC), there was a drill where you rode at a cone placed on the range. An instructor, stationed well beyond the cone, would wait until you were almost upon it and then raise one arm or the other, indicating in which direction you were to make a quick turn to avoid the cone. “Push right to go right, push left to go left” was the mantra they sang. That drill was repeated over and over at different speeds and in different directions until you were able to avoid the cone despite a last-minute indication from the instructor on which way to go. After the MSF BRC and multiple years of the ERC, apparently, the technique was ingrained in the part of my amygdala sometimes called “the lizard brain” – the part that allows action without conscious thought.

That must have been the case, because my body autonomously introduced a sharp shove on the right bar, followed by an equally sharp one on the left and my hardy passenger and I missed the other machine by inches. I am not exaggerating: my perception is that it was less than a foot. I didn’t think “I better go around them on the right” or anything of that nature. In fact, I didn’t think at all. What’s the line from “Top Gun: Maverick?” “Don’t think, just do.” I credit the repetitive training for the success of the rapid, abrupt maneuver under those circumstances: it trained my “lizard brain” to react in a way that no conscious effort could. Moreover, it was a lasting training given that I haven’t taken the ERC in years. I had it frequently and thoroughly enough so that the response was clearly imprinted on that part of my brain and when it was desperately needed, it operated perfectly without any intrusion of conscious thought. So, when are we going to go train our lizard brains again? You never know when that lizard might be needed