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Approaching a right-hand curve, I hear a little voice inside my helmet:
"Clear the view. Set your entry speed."
I move closer to the centerline, allowing me to see farther into the curve. And I let engine braking slow me.
"Outside, inside, outside," says the voice.
I lean the bike with deliberate countersteering, arcing away from the centerline toward the shoulder of the road, which gives me an extra margin of safety when an oncoming pickup truck appears around the bend.
"Now roll on the power and whoooosh through the turn."
Still leaned over, I dial in more throttle as smoothly as I can, letting acceleration naturally straighten the bike as I drift back toward the centerline. I'm already reading the terrain ahead, scanning for hazards and setting up for the next curve. It all feels so smooth.
The funny thing is that, for once, the voice in my head isn't my own. It belongs to Lawrence Grodsky, founder and chief instructor for the Stayin' Safe Motorcycle Training program.
He's on the bike behind me, seeing everything I see, pointing out road hazards, and coaching me through a series of tight corners by way of a radio connected to an earphone inside my helmet.
It's day one of the Stayin' Safe Neo-Alpine Tour, a two-day guided ride that offers great roads, charming accommodations and, as I'm finding out, a lesson around every turn.
The idea behind the Stayin' Safe Tours is to combine good riding with personal instruction, right where you spend most of your riding time: on the road. The tours are offered in great riding areas across the United States, plus one in Spain.
Except for the week-long Spain trip, the Stayin' Safe Tours last two or three days and prices start at $650, which includes some of your meals and lodging.
I signed up for the Neo-Alpine Tour, based in the Appalachian foothills of Pennsylvania and Ohio. A few weeks before the tour, I received my homework: a 30-page booklet that outlines Grodsky's approach to riding safely and smoothly. Rather than trying to cover this material in class sessions, Grodsky asks students to review it in advance. Then, when the riders assemble for the on-bike instruction, he concentrates on three simple messages:
--First, 360-degree awareness. This means constantly scanning the road ahead for potential hazards, and checking your mirrors at least once every five seconds, more frequently in city traffic.
--Second, put the bike where they can't hit you. Manage the space around you by adjusting your lane position and your speed to maintain the maximum safety margin.
--Third, no surprises. Combine the first two and, says Grodsky, you can eliminate many situations that could turn into emergencies.
In fact, he argues that these simple rules-recognizing potential threats in advance and putting yourself in the best possible position to deal with them-make nearly all crashes avoidable.
At first, that sounds overly optimistic. On the other hand, it's the perfect mental attitude for safer riding, since it makes you realize that you alone are responsible for our own safety.
Now, I have two days to see how it works on the road.
Day one starts with a 7:30 a.m. breakfast at a restaurant outside Pittsburgh, where introductions take place over scrambled eggs and coffee.
On this tour, Grodsky is joined by fellow instructor Leon Winfrey. Together, they will guide just six of us-four men and two women-on our instructional ride. In every Grodsky school, the student-teacher ratio is three to one.
The other students range from a young lawyer with a year and a half of riding experience to a retired aerospace engineer who has already ridden his BMW R1150GS across Asia and Europe.
All are aboard modern sport-touring or standard bikes. All, that is, except me. I'm on a loaner Victory Classic Cruiser, complete with a flame paint job.
I notice some surprised glances at the big cruiser from my fellow students, but it makes sense to me. Cruisers account for most of the motorcycle sales in this country, so why not learn on the type of bike most of us actually ride?
Real-world lessons, here I come.
The first of those lessons is not on the open road, but rather in a large, empty movie-theater parking lot. Grodsky fits us with our one-way radios-we can listen, but we can't talk-and has us circle the lot to get loosened up.
"Light grip on the handlebar. Relax your arms. Let your elbows fall as if there were no muscles in your arms."
I find that the radio chatter really isn't distracting, since the words are reinforcing the things I should be thinking about anyway. In fact, it helps me focus.
Then Grodsky runs us through a series of standard countersteering maneuvers. The drills serve two purposes.
First, they give us a chance to relearn these basic skills away from the distractions of the street. And second, they allow Grodsky and Winfrey to assess strengths and weaknesses to be addressed later.
Soon, we're ready to take to the road. Grodsky splits us into two groups, and I follow him on a two-lane headed west.
The radio chatter is nearly non-stop as we head from the outer Pittsburgh suburbs into the country. Grodsky points out literally dozens of potential hazards: the parked truck that could obscure a vehicle pulling out of a side road; the glimpse of a stop sign peeking through the trees, indicating a hidden intersection ahead; changes of color or contrast in the roadway that warn of a possible change in traction.
And then there's the subtle stuff: the slope of the land, the angle of a roof, the direction of utility lines, fences or a row of trees, all of which can give you clues about what to expect over a blind crest, long before you can see the road itself.
I quickly realize that there's more to see than I ever imagined. And I thought I was a pretty observant rider.
It's all part of Grodsky's mantra: 360-degree awareness equals no surprises.
At lunchtime, we buy sandwiches and drinks at a roadside store, then gather under a picnic shelter at a local park. It becomes a working lunch as Grodsky pulls colored chalk from his saddlebag and begins diagramming concepts on the concrete floor.
On a two-lane road, he says, the left tire-track of your lane is the "home position." All else being equal, that's where you want to be.
But Grodsky notes that all else is rarely equal. As a result, the best lane position changes constantly, depending on curves ahead, traffic, road conditions and potential hazards.
He reinforces that lesson in the next riding session, directing each of us to take a turn in the lead, with him right behind and the other two students following.
Since we can all hear his voice on the radio, everyone gets the benefit of the leading student's one-on-one instruction.
"Clear the view," Grodsky says. That means moving to the left side of the lane entering a right turn to maximize your line of sight through the corner, or adjusting your lane position to see around a car or truck ahead.
"Present yourself." That means putting your bike in a position where car drivers can see you.
"Slow going in; out with a grin." That's Grodsky's way of reminding you to bring your speed down before entering a corner, then get on the throttle smoothly while still in the curve.
Do it right, and it all adds up to a smooth flow through corners that Grodsky sums up in a single word: "Whoosh."
Instruction comes in real time. If I wobble through a curve, advice reaches my ears before I forget the feeling.
At the end of the day, we dump our gear in our rooms at a historic inn that used to be a mill on the Muskingum River. A car takes us to a classy restaurant in the small town of McConnelsville. After dinner, there's time for a stroll around the old downtown and a peek at the 1800s opera house.
But back in my room, with my balcony door open to let in the soothing roar of water rushing over the dam, I fall asleep to the memory of "whooshing" through a thousand curves.
After breakfast on day two, we review the previous day's riding. Grodsky has a digital camera mounted on his motorcycle, and he shows us video clips on his laptop computer. We can actually see what he sees on the road, both our mistakes and our improvement.
As we resume riding, there's less talk on the radio. The tour begins to feel more like a ride in the country with friends. But instruction is still there when needed.
At one point, I'm behind a truck hauling a horse trailer, looking for a passing opportunity. An oncoming car is stopped, waiting for the truck to pass before turning left.
Over the radio, Grodsky warns of the hidden hazard. If the oncoming driver can't see me behind the truck, he may start his turn as soon as the trailer passes. The solution? Drop back so my headlight is visible to the car driver, and to give myself extra room in case he turns anyway.
"That's the kind of situation that can turn ugly," Grodsky notes.
We finish the second day of riding with iced tea at a restaurant near the interstate. Before we all scatter homeward, Grodsky hands out certificates noting our completion of what he terms the "most intensive real-world motorcycle training in the United States of America."
But it's more than that. It's a mini-vacation where you stay in pleasant hotels and share great roads with other riders. In other words, it's the kind of ride that leaves you with fond memories.
And some of those memories just might keep you alive on the road.-Lance Oliver
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