The CHP officer is standing in front of the cruiser parked facing traffic in my lane, his hand out palm flat in the universal symbol for stop. I’m confused and more than a little worried. With no plate, and papers only in electronic form on the laptop, I’m thinking a world of not good thoughts. I’m stunned and point to my chest as if to say, “Me?” Even, as I idle the 1098S to the side of the road.

The incredulity isn’t feigned. A supreme act of self-control on a bike that’s seemingly incapable of anything under 65mph, I’ve been behaving through neighborhoods and towns. So other than the obvious documentation issues what would be wrong?

“They’re shooting a movie. It’s going to be a few minutes.” How do you spell relief?
For me today it’s “C-I-N-E-M-A”.

I don’t deal with officialdom well, authority sends me for a loop, and all I can think about is keeping the officer away from the back of the bike.

“A few minutes?” Out comes the map.

“Can you give me some directions? I’m looking for a road that runs between Maricopa and the turn off to the 33…”

“I’m not sure, I don’t go out that way much. Cerro Noroeste?”

“That’s it.”

The officer looks on at the 1098S, “You’ll like it out there, a nice road.” He is so right.

Cerro Noroeste is a rollercoaster of curves, swoops, mid-corner elevation changes and complex sweepers. How complex? How does 5 apexes grab you. Even encumbered by the backpack and I the 1098S is making good work of the challenging road… or so I think until a local on a Mille passes me like I was walking – slowly.

Oh, to have foreknowledge of these roads, just a little. That would take a fair amount of practice – but I’m willing to try. Certainly the Mille Rider has, resting in the shade I ask him for directions… a consistent theme today.