By ERIC TROW

“ Oh man, this is bad.”

My heart, beating at redline, sprang into my throat, attempting to hide behind my uvula as the edge of the road and embankment sprinted directly at me.

Quickly running out of roadway, I cut the throttle and tried to heel the bike over more. Solidly mounted parts now gouged deep into the asphalt, producing a guttural, abrasive scream of metal. Yeah, this was bad.

Only a few minutes earlier, I was laughing with family members in the driveway of my dad’ s place in rural southwestern Pennsylvania. It was an idyllic setting for riding, which also made it a perfect destination for my older cousins who had bikes. This weekend they had ridden in from out of town to visit Uncle Bob( my dad), and I hopped over from my place to visit them all. We were standing around admiring the gorgeous new Harley-Davidson that my cousin Denny had just acquired. It was distinctly different than the airhead BMWs my dad and I rode, but it was fabulous. More like the old bikes that rolled in and out of my grandfather’ s Indian dealership when I was a little kid, the Harley had smooth curves and produced a soul-stirring sound. It also had a stunning paint scheme complemented by buckets of glittering chrome.

As I crouched down to take in the details of the new Harley, Cuz said,“ Take it for a ride.” I looked up at him, wondering if I’ d heard that correctly. He nodded his head and extended his arm in my direction, dangling the key in front of me. I grinned and snatched it from his hand, swung my leg over the stepped seat, and embraced the buckhorn handlebar.

I was still young at that time – in my early 20s – but these guys knew I’ d grown up around motorcycles and had been riding for years. They trusted my ability. They probably should have questioned my judgment.

Heeled over in the middle of that curve, immediately and now painfully aware I had entered the turn too fast( and equally aware that any decision about turn-entry speed was

I’ d bet that nearly every one of us who rides has had at least one rude moment when we’ ve entered a turn too quickly. Or abruptly discovered a bend becoming uncomfortably tight.

now dreadfully moot), I was faced with a crushing dilemma. Would I be sending this gleaming new Harley hurtling to inevitable disaster? Or would I dig deep and somehow find a way to make it through?

I’ d bet that nearly every one of us who rides has had at least one rude moment when we’ ve entered a turn too quickly. Or abruptly discovered a bend becoming uncomfortably tight. And many could tell stories of what came next( including the classic,“ I had to lay it down.”). But I have come to wholeheartedly believe that we riders have more control than we may realize. And being acutely averse to pain and the abrupt ruination of a perfectly good day of riding, I will always opt for any survival opportunity available.

What can we do when the air between the pavement and the pegs gets dangerously thin? There are a few tools available to us, even when crashing out of a curve seems hopelessly inevitable.

In a tense situation, the first physical response is full-body stiffening. Sensing danger, we clench our fists, lock our arms, hold our breath, and go into some crazy form of early-onset rigor mortis. When that happens, we no longer have control and are merely along for the ride. Fortunately, we can quickly reverse that with a deliberate exhale while loosening every muscle as the air escapes, lightening the grip on the bars, and sinking like a lump into the seat.

As we do that, we can tap into another helpful tool. Lowering our head and shifting our body weight to the inside( toward the curve) moves mass off the bike and into the corner, minimizing the amount of lean angle required( it’ s why racers do it). It also orients us away from the threat.

Simultaneously, in tense moments we tend to stare directly at what we sense is a threat, like the edge of the road. But remember, we go where we look. Hurtling along while locking in on the threat only points us directly to it. But when we stubbornly resist that instinct and instead focus on where we want to go, the bike follows. Every time.

Somewhere along the way I discovered another visual tool: the glance-over-the-shoulder trick. When we feel the bike isn’ t responding or turning in enough, try snapping a momentary glance over the inside shoulder. You’ ll be amazed how the bike instantly responds and gets in line.

10 / MARCH 2026 / RIDERMAGAZINE. COM