morbidelli17
Mon 9/18/06, 9:19AM
The SV500, Redux:
I felt sick and numb; sitting on the edge of the track at Turn One, watching Monsterdood clear off to about a 20-bike length lead. We'd gone into the turn side by side on the next-to-last lap of BOTT Light; I'd drafted him down the front straight, set up on the inside of him, and waited far later than I ever have to let off the gas and grab the brake. It was impossibly late for me; but Chris wanted that corner more than I did. He waited even later, and when he dove for the apex in front of me, I stood the bike up and went straight. That was the end of the race, and maybe my championship hopes, as far as I was concerned.
The day started well. I pulled the bike off the truck and hit the starter, and it - started. Practice saw me right at my best times ever. Zoran from Twin Works Factory was down and he worked on the bike a bit, and I was having a lot of fun on the racetrack. My new RacinTeach Products rearset plates kept my feet off the ground. In Formula Twins Lightweight, I had a lot of fun on a clean, clear track, caught and passed some people, and was feeling pretty good when I came in. Even bashing my knee in Turn One and ripping off a knee slider didn't sully my mood.
Then things got weird. I looked at my rear tire and noticed an abnormal wear pattern; cold-tearing, some call it. I know nothing about slicks, so I cruised down to the Dunlop tent and asked one of the guys, "Hey, you think it's time to flip this rear?"
"BAH!!!" he said. "Man, you've got to manage those things better, you'll get more wear out of them. You can flip it, but that right side's gone."
Last month, I watched my friend Dan flip a rear tire and get into a big, nasty slide in Turn Three. No friggin' thank you! I reached into my wallet and popped for a new slick. So now I've got a brand new tire and no time to scrub it in before BOTT Light.
So we're buying ZenSandy some mexican food and we run into Andy from West Coast GP Cycles (notice the aggressive sponsor plugging? Thank you. Thank you.) He mentions that he's gone a little airborne and bashed up his critter, and that he's done for the day. Andy's quick, so I ask him about how to deal with new slicks. His answer was simple: He grabbed a set of tire warmers, a front stand and a generator, and marched over to my pits. Wow.
I'm feeling confident, and when the flag drops, I get an excellent start and lead into Turn One. I lead through Turn Two. Then I leave the door open to get a wide line through Three, and half the field comes through - Monsterdood, Zoran, Jim Rau, I swear I think a catering truck came past.
Well, I know that Jim and Zoran are going a bit better than I, so I settle in and chase them until it's Monsterdood and I, once again. We pass back and forth a bit; I seem quicker, but he manages to find a way to stuff it back around me every time I get past. He really does seem to be able to reach down and find something that I lack; a bit of the killer instinct, perhaps.
After the Turn One snafu, I get going again, it takes a couple corners to get my brain focused again. But I'm not giving up; there's traffic ahead. On the last lap, I push, push, and run the fastest lap I've ever run at Willow, a 1:37.9, seven-tenths quicker than I've ever gone, and this was in a stiff breeze. On any other day, I'd have been thrilled. But that leaves me about five bike-lengths short of Monsterdood at the line. Fourth. No trophy, no contingency money, nothing. ZenSandy tells me, "When you crossed the line, your whole body just slumped."
Yeah.
I gave Chris a hug after the race; he'd earned it. My best lap was nearly a second quicker than his, but he had the position at the right time on the right lap; good on him. Zoran came by and bitch-slapped me a bit for leaving the door open in Three; actually, he gave me a lot to think about, and I appreciated it.
And I just have to push as hard as I can for the rest of the season. You never know what will happen. After all, that's why they run the races.
p.s. RIP, Jesus ...
I felt sick and numb; sitting on the edge of the track at Turn One, watching Monsterdood clear off to about a 20-bike length lead. We'd gone into the turn side by side on the next-to-last lap of BOTT Light; I'd drafted him down the front straight, set up on the inside of him, and waited far later than I ever have to let off the gas and grab the brake. It was impossibly late for me; but Chris wanted that corner more than I did. He waited even later, and when he dove for the apex in front of me, I stood the bike up and went straight. That was the end of the race, and maybe my championship hopes, as far as I was concerned.
The day started well. I pulled the bike off the truck and hit the starter, and it - started. Practice saw me right at my best times ever. Zoran from Twin Works Factory was down and he worked on the bike a bit, and I was having a lot of fun on the racetrack. My new RacinTeach Products rearset plates kept my feet off the ground. In Formula Twins Lightweight, I had a lot of fun on a clean, clear track, caught and passed some people, and was feeling pretty good when I came in. Even bashing my knee in Turn One and ripping off a knee slider didn't sully my mood.
Then things got weird. I looked at my rear tire and noticed an abnormal wear pattern; cold-tearing, some call it. I know nothing about slicks, so I cruised down to the Dunlop tent and asked one of the guys, "Hey, you think it's time to flip this rear?"
"BAH!!!" he said. "Man, you've got to manage those things better, you'll get more wear out of them. You can flip it, but that right side's gone."
Last month, I watched my friend Dan flip a rear tire and get into a big, nasty slide in Turn Three. No friggin' thank you! I reached into my wallet and popped for a new slick. So now I've got a brand new tire and no time to scrub it in before BOTT Light.
So we're buying ZenSandy some mexican food and we run into Andy from West Coast GP Cycles (notice the aggressive sponsor plugging? Thank you. Thank you.) He mentions that he's gone a little airborne and bashed up his critter, and that he's done for the day. Andy's quick, so I ask him about how to deal with new slicks. His answer was simple: He grabbed a set of tire warmers, a front stand and a generator, and marched over to my pits. Wow.
I'm feeling confident, and when the flag drops, I get an excellent start and lead into Turn One. I lead through Turn Two. Then I leave the door open to get a wide line through Three, and half the field comes through - Monsterdood, Zoran, Jim Rau, I swear I think a catering truck came past.
Well, I know that Jim and Zoran are going a bit better than I, so I settle in and chase them until it's Monsterdood and I, once again. We pass back and forth a bit; I seem quicker, but he manages to find a way to stuff it back around me every time I get past. He really does seem to be able to reach down and find something that I lack; a bit of the killer instinct, perhaps.
After the Turn One snafu, I get going again, it takes a couple corners to get my brain focused again. But I'm not giving up; there's traffic ahead. On the last lap, I push, push, and run the fastest lap I've ever run at Willow, a 1:37.9, seven-tenths quicker than I've ever gone, and this was in a stiff breeze. On any other day, I'd have been thrilled. But that leaves me about five bike-lengths short of Monsterdood at the line. Fourth. No trophy, no contingency money, nothing. ZenSandy tells me, "When you crossed the line, your whole body just slumped."
Yeah.
I gave Chris a hug after the race; he'd earned it. My best lap was nearly a second quicker than his, but he had the position at the right time on the right lap; good on him. Zoran came by and bitch-slapped me a bit for leaving the door open in Three; actually, he gave me a lot to think about, and I appreciated it.
And I just have to push as hard as I can for the rest of the season. You never know what will happen. After all, that's why they run the races.
p.s. RIP, Jesus ...