morbidelli17
Sun 11/19/06, 8:25PM
WSMC, November, 2006
Warning: Now even longer and more self-indulgent!
WSMC, November round:
Every racer needs a weekend like this – shattering their personal best lap times, leading every lap, and taking home the big trophy.
If only it were that drama-free.
This weekend would provide a shining example of the highs and lows of racing – at least, the lows that don’t involve injury or death.
ZenSandy, the world’s finest riding coach/umbrella girl, Sparky, Little Man and I showed up Saturday with a few new gadgets to try out. I’d sent Silver, my uber-trick SV500, to Andy at West Coast GP Cycles. And Andy made her lift weights and eat Wheaties for a while. Enough people had finally suggested tire warmers as a way to cure the cold-tear problem I was having with both DOT and slick race tires that I broke down and bought a used set, and the world’s tiniest generator to power them. Zoran at Twin Works Factory, as usual, was a font of help for sorting out suspensions and tires.
And during the last month, as I’d mentioned to some of you guys, we had to euthanize our pet rabbit, Shiloh. We had to amputate a leg to give her a few more months, but the time had come, so – for the first time in my life – I was present for the death of a pet. She was on my lap when she died. She extended the research into care for rabbits, and she was brave beyond words up to the end, so we etched her name inside the fairing, a reminder to be brave.
Saturday went great. I had been told that with warmers, when the green flag dropped, it was time to go – so every practice session, I went out and hammered from the flag as hard as I could. I found myself dicing with Jamie Lenore on an Aprilia 250 cup bike, and chasing him led me to chop a full second off my best-ever lap time – and that was on a flipped DOT rear. The only thing that went wrong was that I left my gloves at home – West Coast GP Cycles to the rescue once again. Andy’s friggin’ dad loaned me some. Wow.
Oh yeah, there was a big pow-wow about rules changes for BOTT Light for next year. I walked in, pointed at ZenSandy at my side and said, “I know how racing works. I’ve brought my lawyer.” We kept huddling and confabbing throughout the meeting. I kept interjecting, “My lawyer advises me that …” It was hilarious.
Sunday morning, I put on a new slick and went out for Race 3, Battle of the Twins Middleweights. I thought they’d clear out and give me some empty track to run on. Instead, I wound up chasing a guy on a Ducati 748, wondering when he was going to leave me. It never happened. I turned a 1:36.1 in that race, when my best prior to the weekend was a 1:37:9.
I was very confident when BOTT Lights came up later (much later) in the day. No one was anywhere near my lap times in practice. But always, I’m thinking, never, ever count Monsterdood out. As I’ve said, he’s got the killer instinct.
I got a rocking start. I slammed past a Vintage Heavyweight rider going into Turn One, slid past another in Turn Two, and led into – and out of – Turn Three. And I never saw anyone the entire race – until Monsterdood came by in Turn Six on the last lap. I’d like to say I was shocked, but I’ve learned never to count him out.
Following a faster guy and letting them show you around is one thing. Leading is something entirely different. Utterly unbeknownst to me, I’d slowed by more than a second a lap from that morning, and Chris had me to chase. His last lap, I swear, was the most amazing event of the weekend – a 1:36.2 on a stock-engine, sliding, coughing EX500. Unbelievable. If Chris beats me in the championship, I’ve lost to a better rider – period.
I got a run on Chris down the back straight, tried the outside of Eight, saw him start to slide and tucked back in. He got a better drive than I expected out of the last turn; I got a worse one. And once again, there we are, side-by-side, heading for the checkered flag. I swear, I tried to physically push the bike forward. We stared at each other as we crossed the line. I thought I’d won. He thought he’d won. We shook hands on the cool-down lap and pulled into the pits in front of the announcer tower. I saw someone point to me and motion with two fingers, just as the announcement came over the P.A. I was second – by 9/1000 of a second. (They were wrong; on transponder time, it was 3/1000 of a second.) I just dropped my head on the tank for a moment. Then I went over to Chris and gave him a hug. I had no excuses, I was beat. I have little experience leading races; I mean, the six laps I led today doubled the number of laps I’ve led in my lifetime. And it bit me. I went over to Andy and apologized to him for making his team look bad.
But it was alright, ZenSandy and I were having a good time as we packed up and drove over to the club office to get our second-place trophy. As we drove up, Chris and his wife were there.
I told him again how impressed I was with his last-lap charge. And he just told me, “Congratulations.”
When I asked why, he showed me his trophy.
Second.
Apparently, at Willow, the transponder scoring point is about 10 feet before the start-finish line. Chris crossed the transponder point first. After 15 miles of racing, somewhere in the 10 feet between the transponder point and the finish line, I passed him back. That’s the way all four scorers from the club scored the finish. I was named winner. I ran back to the West Coast GP Cycles guys, and Andy hugged me like I was his own kid.
I now have two wins to my name. I’m three points behind Chris with one race to go.
Unbelievable.
Warning: Now even longer and more self-indulgent!
WSMC, November round:
Every racer needs a weekend like this – shattering their personal best lap times, leading every lap, and taking home the big trophy.
If only it were that drama-free.
This weekend would provide a shining example of the highs and lows of racing – at least, the lows that don’t involve injury or death.
ZenSandy, the world’s finest riding coach/umbrella girl, Sparky, Little Man and I showed up Saturday with a few new gadgets to try out. I’d sent Silver, my uber-trick SV500, to Andy at West Coast GP Cycles. And Andy made her lift weights and eat Wheaties for a while. Enough people had finally suggested tire warmers as a way to cure the cold-tear problem I was having with both DOT and slick race tires that I broke down and bought a used set, and the world’s tiniest generator to power them. Zoran at Twin Works Factory, as usual, was a font of help for sorting out suspensions and tires.
And during the last month, as I’d mentioned to some of you guys, we had to euthanize our pet rabbit, Shiloh. We had to amputate a leg to give her a few more months, but the time had come, so – for the first time in my life – I was present for the death of a pet. She was on my lap when she died. She extended the research into care for rabbits, and she was brave beyond words up to the end, so we etched her name inside the fairing, a reminder to be brave.
Saturday went great. I had been told that with warmers, when the green flag dropped, it was time to go – so every practice session, I went out and hammered from the flag as hard as I could. I found myself dicing with Jamie Lenore on an Aprilia 250 cup bike, and chasing him led me to chop a full second off my best-ever lap time – and that was on a flipped DOT rear. The only thing that went wrong was that I left my gloves at home – West Coast GP Cycles to the rescue once again. Andy’s friggin’ dad loaned me some. Wow.
Oh yeah, there was a big pow-wow about rules changes for BOTT Light for next year. I walked in, pointed at ZenSandy at my side and said, “I know how racing works. I’ve brought my lawyer.” We kept huddling and confabbing throughout the meeting. I kept interjecting, “My lawyer advises me that …” It was hilarious.
Sunday morning, I put on a new slick and went out for Race 3, Battle of the Twins Middleweights. I thought they’d clear out and give me some empty track to run on. Instead, I wound up chasing a guy on a Ducati 748, wondering when he was going to leave me. It never happened. I turned a 1:36.1 in that race, when my best prior to the weekend was a 1:37:9.
I was very confident when BOTT Lights came up later (much later) in the day. No one was anywhere near my lap times in practice. But always, I’m thinking, never, ever count Monsterdood out. As I’ve said, he’s got the killer instinct.
I got a rocking start. I slammed past a Vintage Heavyweight rider going into Turn One, slid past another in Turn Two, and led into – and out of – Turn Three. And I never saw anyone the entire race – until Monsterdood came by in Turn Six on the last lap. I’d like to say I was shocked, but I’ve learned never to count him out.
Following a faster guy and letting them show you around is one thing. Leading is something entirely different. Utterly unbeknownst to me, I’d slowed by more than a second a lap from that morning, and Chris had me to chase. His last lap, I swear, was the most amazing event of the weekend – a 1:36.2 on a stock-engine, sliding, coughing EX500. Unbelievable. If Chris beats me in the championship, I’ve lost to a better rider – period.
I got a run on Chris down the back straight, tried the outside of Eight, saw him start to slide and tucked back in. He got a better drive than I expected out of the last turn; I got a worse one. And once again, there we are, side-by-side, heading for the checkered flag. I swear, I tried to physically push the bike forward. We stared at each other as we crossed the line. I thought I’d won. He thought he’d won. We shook hands on the cool-down lap and pulled into the pits in front of the announcer tower. I saw someone point to me and motion with two fingers, just as the announcement came over the P.A. I was second – by 9/1000 of a second. (They were wrong; on transponder time, it was 3/1000 of a second.) I just dropped my head on the tank for a moment. Then I went over to Chris and gave him a hug. I had no excuses, I was beat. I have little experience leading races; I mean, the six laps I led today doubled the number of laps I’ve led in my lifetime. And it bit me. I went over to Andy and apologized to him for making his team look bad.
But it was alright, ZenSandy and I were having a good time as we packed up and drove over to the club office to get our second-place trophy. As we drove up, Chris and his wife were there.
I told him again how impressed I was with his last-lap charge. And he just told me, “Congratulations.”
When I asked why, he showed me his trophy.
Second.
Apparently, at Willow, the transponder scoring point is about 10 feet before the start-finish line. Chris crossed the transponder point first. After 15 miles of racing, somewhere in the 10 feet between the transponder point and the finish line, I passed him back. That’s the way all four scorers from the club scored the finish. I was named winner. I ran back to the West Coast GP Cycles guys, and Andy hugged me like I was his own kid.
I now have two wins to my name. I’m three points behind Chris with one race to go.
Unbelievable.