There is a road in Naples, NY that is not terribly well-known. My memory of it involved being in a car and being convinced we were going to fall into a crevasse. It was the type of twisty, scary, one-lane road that makes a "fire road" seem like a freshly paved highway. This is the first road I had on my list when I bought my Buell. I had to conquer it.
The Ulysses is not a true dual sport. Certainly not the Touring variation I have. Nine thousand miles on factory original tires also meant that the term "aged" applied to not only the road, but my bike's rubber shoes as well. Yet I had complete confidence in the bike, if not my own abilities. If the Buell XB models are known for one thing it is their stunning chassis. The Ulysses XT is perhaps the pinnacle of the XB range - though as my GPS indicated I was nearing the death trap road, I was wondering if the Ulysses X, with several inches more of suspension travel, would have been a better option.
I arrived at the mouth of the beast. It had been widened since last I was here. Now it was easily two lanes wide and, to add to the sense that it had been waiting for my bike and I to arrive, it was paved not with dirt but rather a mix of pea-stone and that one inch gravel that makes even the most stable car skitter and swerve on the rocky ball bearings. I stopped at the shoulder for a moment, Brünnhilde settling into her paint-shaker idle that I'm so fond of.
Most Buells don't ask you any questions. They tell you, simply, "Do it". No hesitation or hiccups. This is handy in the twisties and most Buell riders will explain that nothing on earth can corner like a Buell. They are right, of course, but they fail to mention that while most bikes will warn you if you are asking too much... a Buell won't run out of capability. At least not before you do. It can be unnerving. I overcooked what should have been a low speed 90 degree turn on wet pavement and committed to the fact that Brünnhilde would slide out from underneath me just shy of the apex. She didn't, instead performing a 3-foot drift before finding purchase once again with not so much as a wobble. I was already leaned far enough over that there should have been a simple low-side crash and skid. It was not my skill that kept the bike in control. It was Brünnhilde herself.
Back to the image of the gravelly road in front of me. A few thousand feet ahead it climbed up the side of the hill and began the turns and twists and climb angles that made me hesitate here at the shoulder. The road was dry which made me slightly nervous. It would help in the turns but any ruts would be that much more dangerous - a little bit of slip might make the difference between my front wheel wandering off on its own and staying upright.
I made a decision, shifted out of neutral and started off up a road I shouldn't be on.
The flat portion was easy but the combination of bronze-era tires and the insane amount of gravel meant that I could feel the bike shifting around underneath me. It felt not unlike driving over a grated bridge - predictable but still strange. The first rise in elevation arrived as well as a sweeping right hand turn, gentle and with plenty of road to wander around on. If it had been a single-lane I would have gone from edge to edge on this maddeningly slippery surface. But this was the easy part of the road. The elevation changes came rapidly, rising steadily to what we shall now refer to as "the turn that should be outlawed". This was the turn that seemed like it would snap a car in half. I approached it in first gear, hand far away from the brake, but my left hand ready to feather the clutch with fighter-pilot like reflexes.
I kept the wheel pointed steadily where I wanted to go and to my astonishment (and no small amount of tail-wagging from Brünnhilde), the turn was complete and I was almost to the top of the hill. I stopped when I reached the flat, straight pinnacle and shut the bike off. That was too easy. It took several minutes to stop from shaking. Did I just go up that thing without a single scary moment? Not one hint of tipping, skidding, low-siding, or anything else I was rightfully expecting to happen. Just the predictable sliding and easily settled tail wagging on the hellishly weird main corner.
I rode away further down the hill and was greeted to several homeowners out doing yard chores. Every last one waved at me. Perhaps it wasn't common to see a bike come from that direction, or maybe they were just a friendly bunch. Thinking back I understand how many times I should have just fallen. It is one of the reasons I have such admiration for my bike.
Other roads await. And as my skill improves I understand more and more the depths of the Ulysses' capabilities. It forgives novices and rewards experience.
