Yamaha on ice

I almost came down this morning. I did my usual survey on the way to my bike, looking for frost and ice, but everything looked nice and wet and grippy. It was cold though, so I pulled a careful little turn out of the driveway. No problems: the road surface seemed fine. I made it a block down the street before I realized that not was all as it seemed. I was going around 30mph in a straight line, with no load on, and suddenly the bike got really snaky. I corrected a couple of times with balance and steering, but there was nothing, no grip anywhere. The front end began fishtailing – shit, maybe I’ve overcompensated. For a second I thought for sure we were going down. I checked my mirrors, looking for bonus danger as I got ready to go tobogganing. My heart beat faster, but I kept my cool and remained loose. Somehow we remained upright.

Stupidly I kept going (slower now), hoping the main roads were in better shape. I needed to get to work. Indeed the main roads seemed fine at first, but I started noticing that the pavement on the edges of the normal driving line looked a little darker and not as wet. It wasn’t shiny or white like normal ice – this was the mythical black ice looking at me, not offering even a glint of a wink of reflection. Right! We’ll just stay on the main driving line! No problem. Two wheels is always do-able.

I love living in a climate where year-round riding is possible. It’s a good reason to get up and go to work. I don’t mind the cold (if my electrics are working right) and I enjoy the challenge, the buzz, the control. Driving on two wheels is now such an ingrained part of my day that I feel lost when I’m forced to take the car. But sometimes it gets tricky.

I stopped for gas. On the way back out I put my feet down as I waited for a gap in the traffic. The pavement under my feet was slick as snot. The slightest readjustment of weight and I would have dropped the bike right there. I was glad I wasn’t on the Dragon.

My concern was growing, but my stubbornness couldn’t be quelled. A little ice? Pah. I’m gonna drive this bike till I get where I’m going. Sure, maybe we’ll slide around a little, but I’ll get there, in style, just like I always do. But all that bravado couldn’t deny the growing certainty: these conditions were not biker-friendly.

Naught for it, gotta get to work, so I accelerated onto the A8. I soon pulled out to pass, taking it very gingerly. A mistake. As soon I crossed the white lines the rear end came out. What? I put my foot down and slowly let off the gas until we reacquired stability and some semblance of traction. Fuuuck. On a dual carriageway? Where were the spreaders? It showed 5 degrees on my browser widget when I left. Surely the ice was melted by now? Maybe I need a better widget.

I should have turned back long before, but I stupidly kept going. Hell, I’ve driven in icy conditions before. You just have to pay attention. Sure, on this morning I couldn’t even see the ice, but as I puttered along in the slow lane (an unusual and somewhat humiliating experience), I was starting to glean its intentions. I could see slightly darker patches of pavement, lacking in shine, and there: barely visible frost crystals around the perimeter. It wasn’t full-on ice – just thick invisible frost pulling that old masquerade. Slippery trickster.

Less than a mile later I spotted two lanes of stopped traffic ahead. Someone off the road, no doubt the ice. I snaked my way through the middle. Not the best move – the ice was thickest here, and mostly undisturbed. And still invisible. My feet were down, going slow, let’s just get past. I kept thinking about the rest of the roads on the way to work. I could take my usual B-road, but surely it would be even worse – much worse. Every other option I could think of left me with a bad feeling.

So I decided to just get through that accident and turn the fuck around and go home. I should have done just that after my first heart failure on my own street. When I finally made it through the traffic I could see the carnage: one small car up on the guardrail, side and front smashed to hell; another car facing backwards with a few scrapes; and a big 18-wheeler with no apparent damage. I saw a woman leaning against one of the cars talking on her cell phone, so I just kept going. There was broken plastic and crap all over the road – aha! – finally some traction! No cops or ambulances yet, and what with only a short line of traffic, it had probably just happened.

So I got on by, made a U-turn at the roundabout, and slowly headed for home. Well, not always slowly – there was some good traction here and there, some good continuous texture on the pavement – what, like I wasn’t going to let that engine breath a little? There’s a relationship between a man and his ride. She needs to be let loose at every good opportunity, lest we lose the passion for each other. I gave her what she needed for a few moments and then settled down for a crash-free ride home.

I was glad to finally slot my Yamaha into her little spot. I’d made it. It was still only 9:30 am but I was knackered. I called in to work and told them I’d be working at home for the day. Nice if you can get it.

The thing is I enjoyed that ride. I liked the challenge of learning the ice’s tells. I liked my movements, I liked how the bike responded. It was a ridiculous exercise of course, and I’m lucky to have not dumped her. But next time I think I’ll just take the snowmobile.

Update
The accident I saw on the M8 turned out to be lethal. An off-duty police officer had lost control of her car and was killed. I sure didn’t see that kind of carnage as I passed by, but I wasn’t rubber-necking – I was studying the surface and trying to remain upright.
Spooky, tragic, sad. Maybe it’s a message: I made the right decision in returning home.
To my wife: I promise that next time I’ll make that decision sooner.