Going fast

Thanks to Netflix, we received a rental copy of "The World's Fastest Indian" on the day it was released in DVD format.
That was Tuesday. We found time to watch it last night.
Several of my BMW-riding friends had seen it earlier this year when it was in theatrical release and raved about it, so I was eager to see what I'd missed.
For those who don't already know, it's the story of New Zealander Burt Munro and his obsession with tweaking an outrageous amount of speed and power out of a 1920 Indian Scout motorcycle that he bought new when he was 21. Munro perseveres in his shed in Invercargill, the southernmost city in the British Empire, to the point where he's ready to take it to the Bonneville Salt Flats in 1962 to assault the world speed record for bikes under 1,000cc piston displacement.
He gets there with the help of friends and strangers and manages to rack up the first of a series of speed records, the one set in 1967 still standing today.
At one point, he gets the bike - largely rebuilt with homemade pistons and other parts - up past 200 mph.
And he was in his early 60s when he did it.
One of the things I like about seeing films in DVD form rather than in a theater is that you get lots of supplemental materials, like the documentary made featuring the real Burt Munro back in 1973.
Among Burt's memorable observations is a statement that you live more in five minutes at speed on a motorcycle than some people live in an entire lifetime - or words to that effect.
I know a little about speed on a motorcycle, enough to be in awe of Burt Monro.
My personal best is 146 mph, according to the speedometer on my old '91 BMW K100RS. I did it on U.S. southwest of Tonopah, Nev. It was a stretch of road that ran laser-straight across a shallow bowl of a desert valley that gave me a good view of the road for miles. The landscape was devoid of any vegetation large enough to hide a deer or other large animal, the sky was clear and there was no traffic on the road.
So I gave the bike her head and watched the speedo needle swing to the right past 100, 110, 120, 125, 130, 135, 140, 145...
The mile markers were whipping past at a rate of one every 20-some seconds and my Shoei helmet was generating enough lift that it felt like the chinstrap was going to choke me. The wind was a river of noise flowing around me and the road beneath me was a gray asphalt blur.
Finally, after a few seconds above the 145 mph mark, I decided I'd had enough. The bike had more speed left, but that was enough for me.
Backing off the throttle, I watched the speedo drop to 120 and had the distinct impression that I was now going painfully slow. 100 mph felt like crawling, so I wicked it back up to 110 and rode the rest of the way to Tonopah.
My current ride, an '03 BMW K1200GT, not to be confused with the much-improved K1200S, which holds the world speed record for its class.
I opened it up a couple of years ago on U.S.,50 in Nevada, but only could manage 135 mph because I had a big waterproof duffle bag lashed crosswise on the luggage rack, acting like a giant airbrake. I'm still curious to see what the bike will do in a more aerodynamically clean configuration.
But that will have to wait until the next time I'm in Nevada.

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Sent from my Treo