Going fast on a straight line on a Motorbike is easy. You just need the nerve, twist your wrist and the bike will do the rest. Bikes want to go in straight lines.

The thing is life, like roads, does not run in straight lines.

When I got back on a Motorbike for the first time in 20 years, I went and got some good quality training. Bikes are more powerful now, and traffic is as hazardous as ever. I had better know what I am doing.

What I got told about corners was great advice; slow down. Get your braking in before the corner and then glide through it. Experience gets you to know what speed is right to enter a corner; then just lean in – the bike knows what to do, just counter-steer and let the bike do its thing.

It is great advice; it has you being cautious and slowly stretching into what you and the bike can do.

It is not the whole story. Arguably the whole craft of the Motorbike is the science and art of cornering. I continue to learn.

In July I travelled with some other enthusiasts down to Mt. Rainer for a week to do some riding around some incredible scenery on some beautiful roads. There was a mix of experience, some great advice and plenty of space to practice. My cornering improved dramatically.

Before the trip I had talked with people, studied and started experimenting with trail-braking. Instead of killing all your speed before the corner, heavy braking just before turning in is carried into the corner; diminishing to zero as you apex and bring the power back on. Combined with practice of shifting your attention in the curve to where you want the bike to go next it creates a smooth, swift ballet. It optimizes the loading on the bike increasing the front contact patch on entering the corner giving better traction and control, then smoothly transferring the weight to the rear tire on exit. It takes practice. I am just learning.

On the afternoon in question I had put some serious time into practice; probably about 4 hours of intense riding up until this point. I was happy with how it was going; I was exhilarated, pleased. And I was getting tired. It was hot. I was also getting dehydrated.

And then it happened. I came into a corner which had a sharply reducing radius. Hot. I trail-braked in and then instead of keeping my eyes through the corner I had a momentary panic. I realized I was fast and the corner was tightening on me; I felt I was loosing my line. The right thing to do was look through the corner, push the inside grip away from me and lean in harder. The wrong thing to do was panic-brake.

In a corner if you increase the pressure on the massively powerful front brake, the contact patch which is on the inside of the turn will force the front wheel to turn into the corner, which stands the bike upright unless you deliberately counter the force. An upright bike goes straight. Towards the outside edge of the road. And whatever is beyond it.

I realized that I was going off the road. I braked until the last moment and then relaxed. I remember being in the air and coming down hard on my left knee and visor. I rolled over onto my back. My bike was on its side about six feet further back. A few seconds later the buddy who was following me (Hi Dan!) stopped and came to check in with me. A few minutes later the group had both me and the bike checked over, back on my feet.

My bike was intact except for a front indicator which pulled off, some dirt and scrapes. My helmet took a hit which led to me replacing it. The armour on my knee took the impact and the stiffness in my neck dissipated within a couple of hours. I was lucky.

Looking around where came off, there was a flat area about sixty feet across. My companions looked around and kept finding bits from Bikes that were not from mine. Apparently I was not the only one who had a similar breakdown in that place.

The thing is – when I panicked, I was trying to survive. Strong survival reaction had kicked in which shut down the part of me which trusted the flow, the bike, the art and science of cornering and instead tried to stop all of that flow. It did not work.

I am now wiser, and further committed to training myself to the highest level I can because biking is a truly beautiful art-form.

There is an analogy for life here, and a practice. The practice is being vulnerable. I am a biker who got it wrong. I got away with it.

The analogy? Well going fast along the straights is, I think, how us humans generally try to do life. If we can just line everything up then life will be easy and we can go fast. The thing is, Life has curves. Lots of them.

So what do we do when a curve comes along? We have never met this curve before, so perhaps we come in cautiously so we can get through it back to the safety of the straight lines we know.

Or maybe we come into it aggressively, we beat up the curve and smash our way around it. Cursing its smooth challenge to our straight-line focus.

Maybe we come into it too hot, panic and try to stop ourselves; use our survival reactions to try and keep us alive. Even though our survival reactions may be the opposite of what is needed…

Or maybe we practice accepting them, these curves. We feel into them, play with them, learn to love the unpredictability and turn our movement into a ballet of sweep, speed and power that leaves a smile on our faces, feeds the joy in our hearts of being truly alive as we glide effortlessly towards the next. And the next. And the next.

I am learning to lean in. Hard.