I thought of this today when I rode into the city to run a few errands. I was travelling a two-lane country road at about 60 mph, coming up to a crossroads. There were cars waiting at the stop signs on both sides of the road, ready to cross as soon as there was a break in traffic. I saw them in plenty of time and was obviously watching them as I approached the intersection, but it wasn’t until I had passed them that I realised that I had, unconsciously, covered both the front and rear brakes and the clutch lever. A habit so ingrained that it actually caught me a bit by surprise to realize what I had done. It may not have helped much if one of them did pull out, but that split second extra response time could make the difference. In fact, as I look back upon that incident referred to earlier (Two-legged, four-wheeled buffalo) I’m now thinking that my little voice probably didn’t desert me at all, but was fully functional, buying me those few milliseconds between a near miss and disaster by making sure that I was ready for the worst – whether I knew it or not.
What I also know for sure is that voice is fragile. The slightest impairment, whether caused by exhaustion, stress, alcohol, drugs, or even an overabundance of testosterone, will see it shut down and go into hibernation, leaving the rider without that most important yet usually over-looked defence. Totally exposed. Like a knight going into battle without his chain-maille.
So when I see novice riders out there (of any age) I wonder how long it will take them to develop those skills and learn to listen, subconsciously, to what years of experience will teach them. Taking an accredited rider training program will give them a good head start, but time in the saddle is the true teacher. I only hope they make it that far.