morbidelli17
Sun 12/17/06, 10:08PM
Almost Perfect.
Once again, best lap time ever, every lap led, and took the win in BOTT Lightweight. The only thing that went wrong was that Monsterdood finished second, thus securing the class championship for the season. Good on him!
Thanks to the weathermotherfuckers complete inability to sort out what was going to happen when this weekend, I rented garage space for ZenSandy and I from JadeBlue (Shandra). We shared space - I hope successfully - with a fellow racer named Amy and a gentleman from England named Tim. We joked about murdering and eating people who owned horses.
Seeing as how it was flippin' cold, I skipped the first practice session on Saturday. I went out with a flipped rear slick, and promptly proceeded to get into a big hinky slide in Turn Three - and came in for a new rear. Screw this sliding around crap - I'd rather spend the money on rubber than plaster casts. I put on new rubber and worked and worked on a couple of corners where I tend to just get lazy/scared. I pushed the front, I drifted both wheels, and I popped off a 1:35.8 - all by myself. That, in and of itself, was an accomplishment of one of my goals this year, to drop down into the 1:35 range. Light rain put an end to the day's festivities. Later, in the garage, Shandra and I had a nice heart-to-heart talk about racing, and I hope it helped her - she might not know it, but she helped me.
We spent Saturday night in the trailer of a guy, Tim Hurley, who races a Buell Blast out there. We ate Slaughter's tri-tip, sucked down cake and cider, and watched "The World's Fastest Indian" as the rain came down. Hurley has a trailer the size of my condo and his bike takes tires that cost a measly $65 a set. His tire budget was less than $200 for the season. And his trophies look just like mine. I hate him.
Just as a backup plan, I took my old slick and had it hand-grooved, in case I needed something to race in the rain. So, of course, Sunday is cloudless and beautiful, unless you want to count the patches of ice on the track. Warm-ups were a grotesque misnomer; it was just damned cold. Tim put it best when he said, "There's nothing about being out there that makes you want to go fast."
Yeah. And HE'S from friggin' England!
But I tried anyway. We were the first race up, and when the flag dropped, I got the jump on Monsterdood; I think we were the only twins racing in the class. I got a good first lap in, then got stuck behind Denny Fryer, whose big Suzuki vintage bike hauled serious ass down the straights, then slid all the way around the corners as I tried to re-pass him on the outside. Moderately horrifying. Finally, as I'm trying to pass him in Turn Nine, his bike just quits running and he throws a hand up. I dive for the apex, pin the throttle, and try to put some distance on Monsterdood. I manage to pull out a lead - I honestly didn't think he'd be pushing that hard. All he had to do was finish behind me. But I couldn't count on it - he's got the killer instinct.
On the last lap, I pulled up right behind the two guys fighting in 250 Production, and I'm thinking, "Outta the way! Chris's probably right on my ass!" Coming out of Turn Three, one of the 250 riders does just that. He slides the rear, it catches, and highsides him high and hard onto the track. I slip past, and I'm thinking, "His bike's on the track, that means red flags" - and at about that second, the reds came out - "and that means the race is over, and I've won."
Correct.
As I cruise off the track, I'm wondering where Monsterdood was when the reds came out. The track announcer tells me that he's second; that means he's champ. I go get ZenSandy from the stands, and ride her on the back of the race bike back to the pits. She's been my constant companion, friend, coach, and confidant this season; it seemed only fitting that she got to take the last ride of the season on the bike.
I said at the beginning of the season, 12 races, 12 checkereds, let's see where it gets us.
It got us a fantastic new race bike, a bunch of new friends, a competitor to push me far beyond my limits, a trip to Reno, hard lessons in track rules and regs, heartbreak and elation. I wound up with three wins, a stack of seconds and thirds. I had a chance right up to the end. It's funny, but I thought I'd be more disappointed. I'm not. I might have come up short, but I made it a lot - a lot - further than I ever thought I might. I feel like this year, I went from being some guy who'd cruise around to being a racer.
Interesting tidbit: Ever since I had our wedding band tattoo symbol sewn onto the back of my leathers, I've nailed a second and two wins.
Not bad.
Roll on, 2007.
Thanks to Zoran at Twin Works Factory for building a fantastic SV; Andy, Chris and the crew at West Coast GP Cycles for tuning it and pumping it (and me!) up; to Crago Racing for helping Spyder survive as long as she did; to Dunlop for their tires; and to everyone who offered help, advice and assistance or a sympathetic ear in the past 11 months. And especially to the best umbrella girl in the world, the uberhot ZenSandy.
RIP, Jesus.
Once again, best lap time ever, every lap led, and took the win in BOTT Lightweight. The only thing that went wrong was that Monsterdood finished second, thus securing the class championship for the season. Good on him!
Thanks to the weathermotherfuckers complete inability to sort out what was going to happen when this weekend, I rented garage space for ZenSandy and I from JadeBlue (Shandra). We shared space - I hope successfully - with a fellow racer named Amy and a gentleman from England named Tim. We joked about murdering and eating people who owned horses.
Seeing as how it was flippin' cold, I skipped the first practice session on Saturday. I went out with a flipped rear slick, and promptly proceeded to get into a big hinky slide in Turn Three - and came in for a new rear. Screw this sliding around crap - I'd rather spend the money on rubber than plaster casts. I put on new rubber and worked and worked on a couple of corners where I tend to just get lazy/scared. I pushed the front, I drifted both wheels, and I popped off a 1:35.8 - all by myself. That, in and of itself, was an accomplishment of one of my goals this year, to drop down into the 1:35 range. Light rain put an end to the day's festivities. Later, in the garage, Shandra and I had a nice heart-to-heart talk about racing, and I hope it helped her - she might not know it, but she helped me.
We spent Saturday night in the trailer of a guy, Tim Hurley, who races a Buell Blast out there. We ate Slaughter's tri-tip, sucked down cake and cider, and watched "The World's Fastest Indian" as the rain came down. Hurley has a trailer the size of my condo and his bike takes tires that cost a measly $65 a set. His tire budget was less than $200 for the season. And his trophies look just like mine. I hate him.
Just as a backup plan, I took my old slick and had it hand-grooved, in case I needed something to race in the rain. So, of course, Sunday is cloudless and beautiful, unless you want to count the patches of ice on the track. Warm-ups were a grotesque misnomer; it was just damned cold. Tim put it best when he said, "There's nothing about being out there that makes you want to go fast."
Yeah. And HE'S from friggin' England!
But I tried anyway. We were the first race up, and when the flag dropped, I got the jump on Monsterdood; I think we were the only twins racing in the class. I got a good first lap in, then got stuck behind Denny Fryer, whose big Suzuki vintage bike hauled serious ass down the straights, then slid all the way around the corners as I tried to re-pass him on the outside. Moderately horrifying. Finally, as I'm trying to pass him in Turn Nine, his bike just quits running and he throws a hand up. I dive for the apex, pin the throttle, and try to put some distance on Monsterdood. I manage to pull out a lead - I honestly didn't think he'd be pushing that hard. All he had to do was finish behind me. But I couldn't count on it - he's got the killer instinct.
On the last lap, I pulled up right behind the two guys fighting in 250 Production, and I'm thinking, "Outta the way! Chris's probably right on my ass!" Coming out of Turn Three, one of the 250 riders does just that. He slides the rear, it catches, and highsides him high and hard onto the track. I slip past, and I'm thinking, "His bike's on the track, that means red flags" - and at about that second, the reds came out - "and that means the race is over, and I've won."
Correct.
As I cruise off the track, I'm wondering where Monsterdood was when the reds came out. The track announcer tells me that he's second; that means he's champ. I go get ZenSandy from the stands, and ride her on the back of the race bike back to the pits. She's been my constant companion, friend, coach, and confidant this season; it seemed only fitting that she got to take the last ride of the season on the bike.
I said at the beginning of the season, 12 races, 12 checkereds, let's see where it gets us.
It got us a fantastic new race bike, a bunch of new friends, a competitor to push me far beyond my limits, a trip to Reno, hard lessons in track rules and regs, heartbreak and elation. I wound up with three wins, a stack of seconds and thirds. I had a chance right up to the end. It's funny, but I thought I'd be more disappointed. I'm not. I might have come up short, but I made it a lot - a lot - further than I ever thought I might. I feel like this year, I went from being some guy who'd cruise around to being a racer.
Interesting tidbit: Ever since I had our wedding band tattoo symbol sewn onto the back of my leathers, I've nailed a second and two wins.
Not bad.
Roll on, 2007.
Thanks to Zoran at Twin Works Factory for building a fantastic SV; Andy, Chris and the crew at West Coast GP Cycles for tuning it and pumping it (and me!) up; to Crago Racing for helping Spyder survive as long as she did; to Dunlop for their tires; and to everyone who offered help, advice and assistance or a sympathetic ear in the past 11 months. And especially to the best umbrella girl in the world, the uberhot ZenSandy.
RIP, Jesus.