What’s the magic of a curve?

The curve – loved, feared, hated and enjoyed. To me, a nice corner is THE number one reason to ride a motorcycle, and maybe the only reason motorcycles have to exist. Can this magic be described? I’ll try.

Before you read, please note: this post was translated with the help of Deepl.
If you find any errors – please have fun first and then give me a hint.

I drove countless curves on two wheels. After 30 years of motor-accelerated life, there is one thing I do not know: their number. Even counting how many times I’ve ridden the Stelvio – it would be a gray estimate, gray like the concrete slabs in the 48 magical hairpin bends in the summer of ’93 when I pushed my first motorcycle up to the pass.

Only a small proportion of us motorcyclists don’t like cornering – that was the same for me in the first few weeks of my centaur existence. Despite the monster engine, the moped that had been driven up to that point did not need to be tilted, and I was not aware of the tilting of the horizon. Wheelies – ok, I’ve ridden them on the toddler tricycle. But leaning was something completely new, and my little blue and white sports vehicle, the Suzuki RGV 250 Γ, lusted after it.

The first corners – the line I drove was still too bumpy for “curves” – around which I trembled with the 60 hp strong and 130 kg light motorcycle were those from Schluderns to Mals and vice versa. I always preferred to skip the first, at the end of the village of Schluderns, and chose the straight through the agricultural slums of my home village, over cobblestones and cattle legacies.

I think I have made the experience that curves always start on the straights. On day one of my motorcycling life, that was definitely the case, because the first time I grabbed the Suzuki brakes, I almost went off the front, well before the turn-in. At some point, years later, it was because the brakes were too effective that the bend was still far away but the bike was already too slow.

What is the attraction
 of a curve?

Is it the sometimes somewhat rapid emergence after a hearty straight? Is it the adrenaline rush when you pull on the brake that one famous metre too late? Is it the search for the most beautiful line through the curve?

Or is it the weight shift to the inside, fractions of a second before turning in? Is it the splaying of the inner knee?

Is it the pull on the handlebar, the coordination of clutch, gear lever, throttle, foot and hand brake that car drivers have no idea about? Is it the positioning of the tips of the feet on the pegs, the shifting of the buttocks into the right place on the seat?

Is it the whirring of the brake discs, the dip of the fork, the increasing weight on the wrists? Is it the slow slide into lean? The leaving of the upright, the falling towards the rough asphalt?

Is it reaching that magic point where the bike doesn’t want to lean any further? Is it the force that now pushes you lightly into the seat?

This
 magical point ..

Is it the rough plucking and scratching at the knee slider, in the very deep moments? Is it the pouring out of that very special stuff that then flows through the body? Is it the change from riding to easy gliding as soon as the knee kisses the ground?

Is it the look ahead, around the round, the search for the most beautiful tangential path, the circling on the imaginary line in front of the front wheel? Is it the at best jerk-free re-application of the throttle? Is it the change from braking to pushing engine power? Is it the weight shifting from front to rear?

Is it this feeling into the rear tyre, into the grip between road and rubber? Is it the waiting for the slightest slip, the hope for a slide, is it the joy at the end when grip was on the safe side?

Is it the tugging on the wrists, the pulling of the backpack straps on the shoulders? Is it the fork’s rebound, the front wheel’s lightness? Is it the twitching of the rev counter needle? Is it the engine getting hotter, the exhaust getting louder, the gearbox singing?

Dancing
 in leather

Is it the dancing in leather, with 200 km of metal, plastic and rubber, 15 litres of petrol and 4 litres of oil? Is it the weightless flying on thousands of euros? Is it the painting of invisible lines on roads, paths, trails?

Is it the pain in the forearms, from clutching, braking, holding on, turning in, bracing? Is it the burning muscles in the upper and lower legs from shifting, pushing the footrest, lifting the body back and forth?

It’s
 somehow ..

.. all of it, it remains indescribable, special. Every bend is always unique, and you drive it a thousand times. The one pothole, in this one curve, you hit reliably, ALWAYS.

The curve: the essence
 of motorcycling

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