Norm
Senior FZ6 Advisor
The Road and The Biker
I never gave the road much thought. Not in my car anyway. On my bike I’ve thought about it quite often. I remember some of the old cars when I was growing up. The ones that would actually rust through and you could see the ground, sometimes right through the floor of the car. Seeing the ground at speed was a little scary. When you first start riding, especially when you’re no longer an invincible kid, seeing that road fly by is a little intimidating: “If my foot falls off the pegs I’m going to be in big trouble.” And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You certainly don’t want to fall either.
The road goes by several names. Asphalt, tar, tarmac are but a few. It is technically man made, but even in its making the process is harsh, as only the most hearty of men or woman would dare do this for a living. Boiling and steamy they dump tar from rugged dump trucks, eager to unload this liquid fury. Enormous machines of even more enormous weight roll over the briefly malleable mixture, pressing, compressing, raking, and shoveling; and the newly created road hisses back its resentment, burning the soles of shoes and gloves of men, who rugged as they are, have the wisdom to keep their distance from this angry creation. I liken it to the lion tamer, in the cage, surrounded by five roaring beasts, seemingly held at bay by a small whip and a chair. It is an uneven match to say the least but the lions seem to know they will have their time, their meal of meat, in large quantities. So the nascent road bides its time.
In the combat of its creation the road receives great attention as the forgers of this being wrestle it into the earth and in the process block all others from its surface. Barriers are placed. Signs ward off intruders, as do crew, who guard its borders. It is a paradox, that once created, the road will then go mostly ignored for many years. All that is unappreciated ultimately goes its own way: humans, animals, money, resources, and the road. And so it goes that the road, man made, is reclaimed by nature. And nature and time can be unkind. Icy cold, scorching heat, pelting hail, rain, snow, sand, dirt, and all manner of human creation will beat at the road. And soon, too soon, the road cannot be beaten any further. It is fully condensed and will be compressed no further. Every push and every pound, every whack and every kick will be dealt back to all transgressors in kind. Sand, and debris, even road kill become its allies as they conspire to derail those unsuspecting travelers, those that would not respect it as they would the lion or the wolf, indeed those that disrespect the road.
What have we then to deal with this traitor, this man made but nature reclaimed passageway? Rubber! When the rubber HITS the road. Yes, in his infinite ingenuity, man has created rubber to conquer tar. Rubber remains our friend. It delights in taming the road. It sticks and squeals and leaves its residue, as it holds fast to the road. And the road resents us for this. It looks for sand and water and ice to interpose between itself and rubber because rubber is the mongoose and it is the snake. It can’t beat rubber, but it can cheat and will cheat when it can. And what of this cheating? Well, we have our wits. Watch for sand, slow for wet, and, well, just leave the road alone when it has stacked the odds against us, in the sightless nights, the frosty days, the leafy falls; and leave aggression and mindless speed behind, because none are more aggressive or more speed stealing than falling to the naked road. You cannot beat the road. You can only ride, inconspicuous and gently over it. Don’t draw its attention and it might not draw yours in return.
I never gave the road much thought. Not in my car anyway. On my bike I’ve thought about it quite often. I remember some of the old cars when I was growing up. The ones that would actually rust through and you could see the ground, sometimes right through the floor of the car. Seeing the ground at speed was a little scary. When you first start riding, especially when you’re no longer an invincible kid, seeing that road fly by is a little intimidating: “If my foot falls off the pegs I’m going to be in big trouble.” And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You certainly don’t want to fall either.
The road goes by several names. Asphalt, tar, tarmac are but a few. It is technically man made, but even in its making the process is harsh, as only the most hearty of men or woman would dare do this for a living. Boiling and steamy they dump tar from rugged dump trucks, eager to unload this liquid fury. Enormous machines of even more enormous weight roll over the briefly malleable mixture, pressing, compressing, raking, and shoveling; and the newly created road hisses back its resentment, burning the soles of shoes and gloves of men, who rugged as they are, have the wisdom to keep their distance from this angry creation. I liken it to the lion tamer, in the cage, surrounded by five roaring beasts, seemingly held at bay by a small whip and a chair. It is an uneven match to say the least but the lions seem to know they will have their time, their meal of meat, in large quantities. So the nascent road bides its time.
In the combat of its creation the road receives great attention as the forgers of this being wrestle it into the earth and in the process block all others from its surface. Barriers are placed. Signs ward off intruders, as do crew, who guard its borders. It is a paradox, that once created, the road will then go mostly ignored for many years. All that is unappreciated ultimately goes its own way: humans, animals, money, resources, and the road. And so it goes that the road, man made, is reclaimed by nature. And nature and time can be unkind. Icy cold, scorching heat, pelting hail, rain, snow, sand, dirt, and all manner of human creation will beat at the road. And soon, too soon, the road cannot be beaten any further. It is fully condensed and will be compressed no further. Every push and every pound, every whack and every kick will be dealt back to all transgressors in kind. Sand, and debris, even road kill become its allies as they conspire to derail those unsuspecting travelers, those that would not respect it as they would the lion or the wolf, indeed those that disrespect the road.
What have we then to deal with this traitor, this man made but nature reclaimed passageway? Rubber! When the rubber HITS the road. Yes, in his infinite ingenuity, man has created rubber to conquer tar. Rubber remains our friend. It delights in taming the road. It sticks and squeals and leaves its residue, as it holds fast to the road. And the road resents us for this. It looks for sand and water and ice to interpose between itself and rubber because rubber is the mongoose and it is the snake. It can’t beat rubber, but it can cheat and will cheat when it can. And what of this cheating? Well, we have our wits. Watch for sand, slow for wet, and, well, just leave the road alone when it has stacked the odds against us, in the sightless nights, the frosty days, the leafy falls; and leave aggression and mindless speed behind, because none are more aggressive or more speed stealing than falling to the naked road. You cannot beat the road. You can only ride, inconspicuous and gently over it. Don’t draw its attention and it might not draw yours in return.
