by Sonny » Monday Sep 19, 2011 5:03 pm
Two weeks ago over a Sunday morning coffee at a reputable bike rider's cafe, a friend of a friend offered me a ride at Wakefield Park as his support rider in a one hour endurance event. This was like a dream come true for me as I had ceased racing 250 proddie bikes at the age of 18 following a very short and half hearted attempt under the old ACU, and I have forever since regretted my young and uneducated decision which was due to none other than poor commitment and my brain having been formed inside my penis. I therefore had just two weeks to join a club, get an MA license and have it all put together for the weekend of 17/18Sep 2011.
Many thanks to the PCRA and MNSW, as this was practically done by the following Wednesday only three days after receiving the offer.
I had never been to Wakefield Park and thought I was to be riding a Period 6 Forgotton Era racebike, not that I knew what one was. So the family had to drop all their plans and come join me for a weekend in the lovely city of Goulburn. Well they didn't have to, but it was really nice that they did and decided to enjoy this awesome experience with me.
Friday night I couldn't sleep, this I remember as the normal behaviour for a motorcycle racer. We departed for the southern town early Saturday morning to arrive to a nicely sorted F1 classed, GSXR750 and a paddock pit bay only a stones throw from the track. I was here to face head on the demons of my past and to satisfy my guilty mind!
Immediately I got myself scrutineered and paid my dues owed for entry, whilst my family bolted to town for a day of adventure among the sheep shaggers.
My new good buddy Mick then went out for a practice session to ensure that the bike and it's gearing was right. Upon his return he realised that there would be no session for me to learn the bike or the track, so I was then placed on the grid for a 5 lap race and staring down the end of the straight where I knew there was a ninety degree right hand bend. Then bang! we were gone.
I rode that mutha so smoothly just like I ride my boxer, consistently running 1:19's for the entire short race. Dead last at the finish due to the bloke behind me not actually finishing, but it was great all the same just to be on holy ground. Yes, it is a race track.
Mick was a bit peeved when I brought the bike back. The rear slick was tearing up. I said 'sorry but isn't that good'? Apparently not, these things are designed to run at a certain temperature, if they are not running at the required temperature you'll ruin the tyre like you have this one! He tells me. You have to ride it harder! What revs are you pulling? What gears are you using? Why are you using the clutch? Stop it! Stop it, and ride it properly!
That night in my rented metal cabin not far from the track, I was awoken often seeing tacho's pulling 13 thousand rpm and hearing Mick's voice and the roar of his bike screaming in anger. This was obviously my minds way of psyching me up to perform properly and as a racer. Awakening in the morn after stuff all sleep, I was hyped. The anxiety was building. Take me to the track.
Trackside, I was there first and getting everything together in our paddock pit bay. I then realised there was a rider brief going on and I promptly attended, finding my old mate Chuck hiding behind a thick growth of hair strategically placed upon his face. I gave him a cuddle and he wished me well.
I got 20mins on track practice that morning, this brought my total bike and track time up to nearly 30mins and my lap time dropping somewhat (?) due to my newly learned riding style in which I had been practicing intently during my sleepless hours of the night prior whilst I was tucked up in bed in my little rented metal cabin.
The rear tyre was doing ok, I hadn't made it any worse. This was considered better and Mick was going to qualify on the race tyre that we had, that way during the final race stint I would be welcomed to actually do what ever damage I wished to this piece of demanding super rubber.
Without going into detail as to why, but we missed qualifying due to the bike being in pieces. Let's say stuff didn't happen quite as planned in the 60mins Mick allocated to certain machine changes. We were going to be starting at the rear of the Le Manns grid. This we would both acknowledge would at least allow for a safe start to our mission.
The race strategy: Micks job was to go 'as fast as he bloody could' for 29mins, before being signalled to pit for the rider change. We had at the final moments agreed to go with a full tank of go go juice and not bother with a refuelling effort that would see us lose about 11 seconds.
My job was similar, it was to go 'as fast as I bloody could' for the remainder of the race, bringing the bike home in one piece and hopefully in an improved position to where we begun. This we would consider successful.
So following on from the Le Mans start, Chuck came and wished me even more luck. I sipped H2O because it is good in times of like this and I went to the toilet where I emptied myself of anything that could be of slight embarrassment or annoyance in the moments soon to follow. Meanwhile Mick was tearing the track a new arsehole and progressively working his way up to 7th position, and in which is where I took the Suzuki's controls in a superbly executed rider transition. It was now 'my' time to learn.
It was time to show my two boys that their daddy can play at this game too. That their daddy can scream past them down the main straight in a deafening roar and a flash, just like all of those other maniacs riding those super fast bikes had been doing for the last 30mins.
It was a very long 30min or so stint. My mouth was fully parched by my fourth lap, not a skerrick of moisture remained inside. I would soon forget about my dry mouth as I spied a bike not that far in front of me that was looking bigger and bigger, I decided that I should possibly try and pass at least one rider if any at all today. Well from there I just kept passing bikes, and some passed me. Some lapped me, some others I may have even lapped. Sometimes they'd pass me and I whipp those buggers with my mutharootintootin' thoroughbreds down that short straight. Yes, this bike was fast! Apparently not as fast as it should have been, but I'm telling you that it was a damn sight bloody faster than my boxer twin.
Screaming down the main straight and into the turn one kink as fast as you may dare before crashing down the ratios and peeling on the anchors to slot a squirming, not entirely happy motorcycle into the ninety degree right hander is really something addictive, before you begin slamming that right hand so hard towards you sliding, spinning or flexing that rear tyre whilst you're still on the side of it is just the most amazing feeling as you are focussed entirely on the job at hand that nothing, absolutely nothing at all matters anymore other than that bike in front that you are trying to make grow so big that you need to get in front of it to see the next corner.
Sometimes I tried so hard that I hit the rev limiter. Sometimes I was going so fast that I'd forget when to slow down. After about 15 minutes I was so rooted, that I would forget what gear I was in, or even what gear I needed to be in. Sometimes I got so sideways from trying to fix the bad shit that I did with being so tired, that I'd be sideways and I still wasn't worried about it as I was too tired to even care. Do you know what I mean? I had blisters on my toes from the up changes and they were hurting, but it didn't matter as you still keep changing gears. Sometimes the bike wouldn't even change up gears, then when it finally did the front wheel lofted and the rear would break loose, but I'd just hold it pinned and ready for the next gear. Sometimes I ran slightly wide, sometimes I got it dead right. Sometimes I thought I was going to crash, but then I didn't but I thought I might. At least I'd get a rest and a lay down.
I soon became so tired that I was just totally mentally exhausted. I wanted a rest, I needed a drink. I checked the clock on the main straight-away and there was another 3:54mins to go. I did some more laps, I don't know how many but they were really long laps. Then I checked the time board again and there was about 1:20 to go. I thought that was good. When I did finally make the chequered flag two laps later, I promptly slowed down and popped up my visor for some much needed fresh and cooler air. I was really happy that I hadn't crashed. I then crawled back totally shagged and very slowly. The marshals around the track were clapping. I nodded in acknowledgement of their clapping and then I almost ran off the track and crashed. I was glad that I recovered control and I decided I would not acknowledge any more marshals until I had reached pit lane.
Entering the pits people were smiling and nodding, I then saw my man Chuck applauding. There is just isn't no better feeling than being applauded by Chuck after such a gruelling motorcycle ride. Thanks Chuck, you completed my afternoon.
I promptly ran out of fuel right as I approached my team, the owner and co-rider Mick, manager and pit crew (my lovely wife Melissa), support staff (the offspring JR & TJ), where I was then told that we had come home in 10th place. I was very pleased. Mick was pleased too, as his bike still looked like a motorcycle and the rear tyre looked so much nicer than the one I had wrecked the day previous. I had improved a lot during the race, returning a best time of 1:11.5, just two seconds down on my riding partners race pace best.
Am I happy..............................No I'm not, I'm so damn excited that I can't get myself down from the ceiling!
- Sonny.
http://forums.bikeme.tv/the copper said that he'd 'been waiting all day for me to come along', I replied I got here as
faaaast as I could!
