F-Blog – Effortless

F’d off yesterday on the bike for the late afternoon, having completed all obligations for my lovely wife’s 40th birthday party — a raucous, squealy, flash-bulby bash at the Drake Hotel’s Sky Yard.

I’d like to just get this one off: What has come over humanity? A bizarrely huge percentage of its members now feel the need to document every hour of their lives with stills and moving images, and then when a special occasion comes, you’re forced into one ceaseless pose for its entirety. It was absurd, watching these people preen and tilt and hug and fluff for a dozen cameras. Just when I’d settle into a decent conversation, someone would stick a lens into my face and demand I yell cheese. Such narcissism sinks empires. ‘Nuff said.

Hungover and spent, I needed the kind of fresh air you have to leave town for. Mind was a blank on where to go, so I took the Allen north through all the fugliness till I hit my first dirt road, and took it. Ended up driving around the Holland Marsh and then west of it through some okay scenery. On one stretch of deserted blacktop I was in sixth, doing 100kph and decided to crank it all the way just to see what would happen. In about two seconds I was doing 160 with no end in sight. Effortless.

Now I normally drive like a granny, in part to feel out my machine and the driving culture here as it applies to bikes, but also because I’m scared of cops and death. But when I hit a spot where I have a full view and there’s minimal chance of connecting with anything, short of falling meteorites, I open her up. I am not disappointed.

The bike’s exhaust tuning, let it be said, is a work of genius. Drive sensibly and you have a pleasing humble rumble; your neighbours remain friendly and even admiring. You could go for decades without annoying a single granny. But call on some horsepower and it’s like somebody uncorked a Spitfire. Bwaaaaaaaaawwwwwwggggggg, hails the F-bike. “Hurt me way more!” it screams, like that girl you once had who showed a bedroom madness that shook you so much you never went back for seconds (and always regretted it). The F-bike also backfires and spits and grumbles on the long decell in a manner that puts a naughty smile on my mug.

Its effortlessness of power and torque still amaze me. It seems not to obey a universal physics property known as resistance — neither the road nor air varieties. Always keen for anything sporting, like a mad puppy, F-bike knows no hesitation, no complications, requires no deal-making. And there’s no stoop ‘n scoop.

Paul Fenn

paulfenn.com

F-Blog – Effortless