Suches Loop and Unexpected Challenges

At Neels Gap, GA, almost finished with the Suches Loop, before I got really challenged.

Yesterday I passed 7000 miles of riding since I bought my motorcycle last year. I guess 7000 isn't really a milestone, but I did pass it while on a day trip to Suches Loop in the north Georgia mountains. The Loop is 11 miles of winding mountain roads that involves 318 curves, its sometimes called the "Georgia's Dragon's Tail."

I had the day off, and the weather was looking perfect, so I took the opportunity to drive the two hours north of Atlanta to experience the loop for my first time. I went solo, as always, I don't have any close friends in Atlanta that ride. Heading out solo on a motorcycle for any distance away from home always produces some anxiety. But it also creates a real feeling of accomplishment when you get home. 

I was a little anxious about this trip. Curves are one of the funnest parts of riding, but also can be the most challenging, especially when faced with back-to-back curves, sloping roads, blind curves around cliffs and through woods, long drop offs, narrow roads, down hill sharp curves, spots of gravel and whatever else the world wants to throw at you. Driving a bike through such roads takes focus and really test the skills of an inexperienced rider. Which is what I was looking for. 

Despite the perfect weather forecast, I did decided to take along my chaps and a rain liner for my Kevlar mesh jacket (it provides protection in a slide, but no protection from rain without a liner). It was a good call.

About 30 minutes from my destination, in the middle of nowhere, under mostly blue skies, a cloud decided to open up and dump buckets on me. Fortunately, I could see it coming about a half mile off and was able to pull off on a side road under a tree for some shelter. I pulled on my rain gear and saw blue skies ahead, so I pulled back out onto the four lane state road and continued on. 

I hate riding in rain. I avoid as much as possible. Besides just being uncomfortable, its scary. Helmets don't have windshield wipers, so visibility is impaired along with tire traction, and braking becomes far more dependent on the less powerful rear brakes. I've gotten caught out in the rain a few times, but only on city streets. The worst was in stop and go traffic, where I basically just got soaked for an hour. This was my first time riding on a highway at speed in the rain. Fortunately, traffic was light and the road was long and fairly straight.  

A few minutes later, the rain stopped and I kept riding until I was dry. Challenge faced and conquered! On to the curves!

I stopped for gas and headed into the mountains, north of Dehlonega, GA. The Appalachian Trail passes through this area. Its mostly national forest and park, lots of green trees, parting for occasional overlooks -- and LOTS of curves. 

The first stretch wasn't bad. I arrived at Two Wheels of Suches, a burger joint and camp ground for bikers only. What I didn't know was that the restaurant was only open Friday through Sunday, so I wasn't going to get the burger I had planned on. Having missed my chance for lunch in Dehlonega, I opted for a soda and candy bar from the gas station across the road and figured I'd get food after finishing the loop. There really weren't any other options. 

I headed up Wolf Pen Gap Road, the heart of the loop. This is a well maintained, if narrow, two lane road where the curves come fast, with banked roads, steep drop offs, switchbacks, steep dropping curves and lots blind curves. It was challenging, constantly managing the brakes and shifting up and down between 2nd and 3rd gear to manage speed and power as I went up hills, then engine braked on steep declines. 

One of the most critical skills of motorcycle riding is managing brakes and turning. Bikes have separate front and rear brakes, which affect the handling of the bike differently, and which must be handled differently in the event of a skid. Braking and turning both require increased traction, and tires only have so much traction to use. You cannot brake hard while turning, that's a good way to wreck. One of the cardinal rules of motorcycle riding is brake before the curve, accelerate (slightly) through the curve. Needless to say, coordinating both brakes, gears and throttle through constantly changing directions and elevations tests ones ability to keep it all upright. 

Add in the distraction of cliff faces and long drop offs, plus on coming traffic and you have another issue: Target fixation. One truism of riding is that the bike goes where you look. If you get fixed on looking at something that scares you, like an on coming car as you go around a curve, your body unconsciously tends to steer the bike toward the car... Or off the cliff, or where ever it is your mind and eyes have fixated.  This is the mental, and emotion challenge, of riding something like the Suches Loop. In my opinion, its the more critical part of the equation. You must be in control of your mind.

I'm proud to say I managed it all, including a few unexpected things, like spotting a gravel patch at the apex of a downhill set of switchbacks, which I had to navigate around at the last second while avoiding an oncoming car that was very close to the yellow line, with a drop off on my right. A scary moment, but I was impressed with how calmly and smoothly I handled it. Of course, my instant of self-congratulations was short lived because I had to immediately lean the bike the other ways and enter the next curve. Focus.

At the end of Wolf Pen Gap Road, I turned south onto Georgia 19, which is still a curvy mountain road, but wider (three lanes in some places) and most of the curves are not as intense. Following this up hill, I finally stopped at Neels Gap, the top of the mountain, for a scenic over look and to stretch my legs and hips. 

The view from Neel Gap, GA

From there, I figured it was relatively easy riding to the bottom and on to lunch. I head down through more curves. But those fluffy clouds had other plans, and I found myself looking down hill, into steep declining curves on fairly new (read "slick") black top as rain began to fall.

It was the kind of rain that you see like a curtain crossing the road ahead. Only I didn't see it until I rounded a curve and it was right there, and I didn't have time to stop. I found a spot to pull off under a tree where it seemed a little dryer to decide what to do.

Decision time: Wait it out, or make for the blue sky in the distance.

I had two choices, wait it out under the tree (which wasn't providing much protection), or brave the wet, curvy mountain roads to try to get out from under it. I could see blue sky not far away, but with all the switchback on the road, who know how far the drive actually was?

I decided to ride and face my fear. I knew the real risks were higher than on dry road, but I also knew they were not as high as my anxiety riddled brain was screaming. I had learned, and had some practice, with rain riding techniques and the roads were mostly free of other cars, so I set out.

Ten minutes or so later, I was on dry pavement that hadn't seen a drop all day. I had faced the challenge and over come it.

Challenges come in different ways in life. Riding a motorcycle, like many other things, is objectively a skill that anyone can learn. Taken in progressive steps and with practice, the skill can be mastered. But the real challenge is overcoming your fear. Your mind gets filled with images and ideas of everything that can go wrong, and you think about that, instead of what you need to do to be safe.

I chose to ride the Suches Loop to challenge my fears. I knew I was capable of riding curves. I wasn't trying to take them at full speed or prove what a bad ass I was. I just wanted to prove to myself that I had the skills and experience to take curve after curve after curve, of all variety of sizes, slopes, lengths, diameters, etc. And I did, the small fears of falling, of skidding, etc, that I feel every time I get on the bike were still there, I just had to push them down and focus on the task, like I do every time.

But the unexpected challenge of rain... That brought up a whole other level of fear. I would not have faulted myself if I decided to wait it out. It wasn't what I had set out to do, I had not mentally prepared myself for it, and it wasn't "do or die." I 'm glad I decided to face that fear, too.

There are challenges in life that we choose, like riding the Loop, and there are those life chooses for us, like riding in the rain. But a challenge is a challenge, whether we choose it or not, it is faced the same way: with courage and thought. Courage to acknowledge your fear, and thought to navigate the challenge safely.

The more challenges I set for myself in life, the more easily I find I can overcome the ones life throws at me. And that is how I create an amazing and interesting life for myself.

The Daily Scare - Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Fear

"Do something every day that scares you."

 -- Mary Schmich

 (not Eleanor Roosevelt) 

This is a lesson I've tried to apply in my life for years, but its so general, that it can be difficult to understand exactly how to employ it. For me, it took learning to ride a motorcycle to finally crystallize in my mind the best way to really do this.

When I first heard this years ago, I thought it meant doing something NEW that scared me everyday. The problem with that, is that I tended to look for big, new things I hadn't done before and that becomes difficult to keep up. Often time, big things, like skydiving for example, take a lot of time and effort to set up and follow through on. Its impossible to do something like that every day. 

This spring, I decided it was time I learned to ride a motorcycle, which is a big thing, not an every day level activity. It was something I'd long wanted to do, and had made various excuses to put it off for years. That time was over, the time to do it had come. So I signed up for an MSF class. I bought a riding jacket, complete with armor pads to protect myself, and ridding gloves. I had ankle height hiking boots, to protect my feet, so I was good to go. The class provided the helmets and motorcycles. 

The day of the class I was a little nervous, but mostly excited, and I expected to do well. I'd studied all my materials, read the course book cover to cover. I'm in good shape, generally athletic, and I got a good night's sleep. I was ready. 

The class consisted of classroom and practical riding on a closed parking lot. The classroom work was easy for me, I'd read the whole book, I knew the materials. The riding seemed easy at first, too. We started with starting the bike.

That sounds simple, but its a little more complicated than starting a car. Everything on a motorcycle comes with a higher price of failure. You're not protected by a metal cocoon with airbags and safety belts. You DO have several hundred pounds of metal and plastic between your legs capable of moving very quickly. Pop the clutch in a car and the car jumps and lurches and stalls and its embarrassing. Pop the clutch on a motorcycle and it could go rocketing off, possibly with you on it, out of control until it falls over, possible with you still on it. You could not only break the bike, bending the handle bars, scratching the paint, etc., you could hurt yourself or someone else very seriously. So you take extra steps with everything.

By the time we broke for lunch we were cruising around the lot in first gear, everything was fine. 

After lunch, things were getting more and more complicated, each skill building on the last. As we started up the bikes and moved out to line up for the next skill, I accidentally throttled the bike hard. I began to panic, but followed my instructor's first lesson, "The clutch is your friend." So I pulled the clutch. With the throttle open, the engine revved up high, screaming loudly and terrified me. The bike was still rolling, and I was panicked. I didn't think the clutch was working, so I let it out to try it again. 

Letting the clutch out with the engine racing on a 300cc sport bike is the perfect recipe for a wheelie, which is exactly what the bike did. The front wheel popped up, straight up into the air, throwing me off like a bucking bronco, and sending the bike careening forward into a fence. Fortunately, no one else was hurt. 

The incident scared the living shit out of me. My instructors nearly bounced me from the class, rightfully so. I was boarder-line, I was becoming a danger to myself and others. Nervously, I finished the day, having lost confidence in myself, I was re-thinking the entire motorcycle idea. Maybe this wasn't for me? Maybe I should stick to cars?

I showed up the next day and finished the class. Still anxious about the power of the bike, I was cautious about everything I did. I passed the written exam with a perfect score and got the lowest possible score on the practical riding exam to pass. Literally, one point lower and I would have failed. 

Humbled, I headed home. I stopped on the way home and bought a helmet. Leaving the class I wasn't sure I was going to continue riding, but spending a couple hundred dollars on a good helmet would force me to keep going. I made the decision that when I learned to ride safely and confidently, then I could quit. Buying the helmet was a commitment to that. I would prove I COULD do it, then not doing it would be a choice rather than a default.

A week or so later, new license in hand, I went to buy my first motorcycle, a used cruiser. Less powerful than the sport bike I'd learned on, but bigger. When I took it for a test ride around the owner's neighborhood, I did a similar thing to the accident in class. I lost control and ditched it in someone's front yard. No one saw me, the bike was fine, so I rode it back and bought it. 

I had a buddy drive it home a few days later. I was not ready for the 45 minutes on the highway. I'd never been out of 2nd gear before. 

Now I had a motorcycle. I'd been reading books about riding skills and safety for two weeks. I'd been listening to pod casts on the same subjects, and watching videos online.Now I had to put it into practice.

My first day out, I carefully rode it to a near by parking lot and began drilling the basic skills. Breaking, low speed cornering, clutching... Over and over and over. 

The next day, I woke up, had breakfast and headed out to do the same thing. The only road time the bike saw that first week was the mile and a half to the parking lot and back, at no more than 25 miles an hour. Then I began riding it to work and back, 2 miles each way. Then touring around town, even getting up into third gear. Every day I pushed a little harder. Every couple days I was back in a parking lot drilling skills. 

40 mph was the the next big scare. There seemed to be a big change in the amount of wind between 35 and 40. It was pushing me harder, buffeting me and bike, trying to turn me and push me off the bike. It was loud and scary. But I got used to it. 

Then I took it out on a little stretch of highway, up to 65 miles an hour! What was slow driving speed for me in my car, was terrifying on a motorcycle. I made it to my exit 3 miles down, turned off, and limped home on surface roads, too scared to go back the way I came. 

But the next day I did it again. Then again. Then again. Reaching out further and further every time, 5 miles then 10. Then came the day I was comfortable at 65, so I took it out for day trip. 220 miles round trip on highways and state roads.  By the end of the day I was exhausted from tension, but I'd also had those moments of bliss just cruising with my machine, the moments every biker rides for.

Over the course of the summer I made a point to ride every single day. My bike is 2004 model, and had 24,600 miles on it when I bought. The previous owners had put about 2000 miles a year on it. By the time I left for my end of August vacation, I had ridden all but two day since buying it and logged over 3,500 miles. More miles in a three months than that bike usually saw a year, and more than many riders ride in a year. 

I made a point to push myself every day. Not to the point of utter terror. I learned to sense my own tension, and to just touch on it a bit every ride. Maybe go a little faster, or further, maybe find a curvy road and practice riding curves. I learned to recognize when a specific skill made me nervous and increased my tension level, like entering a tight turn, the I'd head to a parking lot drill that skill over and over.

I learned to see situations that made me uncomfortable, like fast traffic, and spend a part of each ride in that situation until I got more comfortable. I learned to look for trouble, and spot potential problems and look for escape routes just in case, and practice specific skills that would help in those situations, like swerving and emergency stopping. 

Then the day came when I was riding to a friend's house. I headed up the on-ramp to the highway, twisted the throttle open, shifted up through the gears, merged into traffic, slide over a lane, then another, then another, until I was in the HOV lane, sliding past cars. Only then did I look down and see I was up to 80 mph, buffeted by wind, cruising in heavy traffic, around bends in the highway, and feeling fine. I was alert, aware, but not worried, not tense.

I had done something every day that scared me. It was the same thing, riding a motorcycle, but it was also always a different thing, a new challenge, a little faster, a little further, ride the highway, ride the curves, brake harder, turn tighter. I learned to sense my fear, and to use it as a guide. I learned to read it, to know when it was telling me "this is what you need to practice," and when it was saying, "back off, take a break."

Looking back, I've applied this approach to a lot of things in my life, but I didn't realize it. Now that I do, I can continue to apply it, in a conscious way, from now on -- Doing something every day that scares me. But I learned something else when I learned to acknowledge my fears and to be guided by them.

I learned that the feeling I got that guided me to work on my turning skills, is the same feeling I get in other situations in life, like when I need to apologize to someone when I'm mad. Well, not exactly the same, but similar. That's a fear, too, fear of being vulnerable, of admitting wrong, of setting myself up to be yelled at and shamed. Doing those things also falls under the category of "things that scare me."

Doing something that scares me everyday turns out to be easier than I thought, because every day I find things that scare me, maybe even the same thing that scared me yesterday. It doesn't have to be a big thing, or something I planned. I just need to acknowledge that I am feeling fear, anxiety, uncertainty, and then understand that feeling and figure out if its telling me to move forward and grow, or to slow down and not push too hard. 

Everyone can see the use of using fear to learn a new skill. Now I can ride a motorcycle with confidence, and I have the sense to know when I should take it easy, and when I need to practice, but the end result is easy for everyone to see. Its measurable, demonstrable. 

The other kinds of things, the little daily fears that I use to guide me now, are not so easy for others to see, but the changes following them has made in me are no less an improvement in my life and in my character. I'm more open, more forgiving, more loving, I'm friendlier. 

So I have learned to embrace my fears, to feel them, to question them, and to follow them. Every day I do something that scares me, and that is changing who I am for the better.