I am not sure why mid October always finds me aboard the RC51. Perhaps it is the prospect of limited riding days ahead. Perhaps it is the way the cool air feels at speed juxtaposed against a bright blue sky. Whatever the reason, the Honda completes the picture. There is nothing congruent about it. Like the cold air and the suggested warmth of a bright sunny day, it is a stark contrast. It rips an industrial tear into the quiet masterpiece of color and falling leaves. It blends with nothing. It is disruptive and proud of it. It declares itself to be its own masterpiece.