Me and Motorcycling (Continued)

I'm now way overdue on at least three promised posts: The Estoril MotoGP final, Fujitsu Tablet PC user impressions, Shanghai MotoGP preview, and Shanghai MotoGP final (procrastination rules!). In fairness (to me), I haven't actually seen the Shanghai MotoGP yet -- nor, as penance, will I, until I have done the Estoril post. By way of proving my world-class procrastination skills once again, I'm going to post yet another chapter of my personal motorcycle journey. Don't like it? Tough! Or you could just leave me a comment saying that you don't like it; which I will immediately action, by ignoring.

When I began to ride the Hawk, I quickly realized that it was the best-handling bike that I had ever owned. As I rode it more, I began to realize that it was the best handling bike that I had ever ridden. When I analyzed the accident, I kept coming back to one inescapable conclusion: Reaction time. If I had only used ¼ second to analyze the situation and reacted, rather than ½, I might have been able to (just) squeak ahead of the car's front bumper and avoid the impact entirely. Yes, I'm estimating the elapsed time, but that's not really the point: I had done all of the right things, but the next time I had to be able to do them quicker. This meant that I had to become better. This meant that I had to get advanced training.

I had been a fan of motorcycle racing for many years already, some of my friends having raced, and I knew that there were two bike racing schools housed at the nearby Shannonville Racetrack: FAST, which provided a bike and all required protective gear, and excellent instruction; and RACE, which provided excellent instruction, but demands that you have your own race-prepped bike and gear, for one quarter the price. Guess which one I chose? Late the next spring, still recovering from my accident, I found myself preparing the Hawk for the racetrack.

I was assisted in getting the bike prepped by my friend Iain McSomething, who had had some success racing a Yamaha RZ350 in the amateur ranks. He also agreed to be my crew chief - my entire crew in fact - for the track training session. The preparation process was tedious and arduous, and mostly consisted of drilling tiny holes through all of the crucial bolts on the bike, so that they could be threaded with safety wire, and wired shut. All bolts which are too small to be drilled are sealed with a conspicuous dab of clear silicone. The suspension settings were left as is, as they worked pretty well with my light weight. The chain was replaced with a fresh one, and the sprockets were checked for wear and left as-is. Soft and sticky street-legal race tires were fitted, and brake pads replaced.

The tires are one of the crucial determiners of a bike's performance and safety on the track, and one of the places where you shouldn't economise. So I did anyway. I got a pair of used tires from a racer, relatively cheap, which had only been used in one race. They were no longer good for true race conditions at 10/10ths, but were great for track day (or school) use at an 8/10ths pace. And let's face it: My performance, as a beginner, was going to be limited by my lack of experience, not by my tires. This is actually a common practice, since racers go through an obscene amount of barely used, but very expensive tires.

The engine cooling system was flushed, and the coolant replaced with distilled water. Coolant isn't allowed on racetracks, since it is very slippery when it leaks. All other fluids on the bike (the brake fluid, engine oil and fork oil) were replaced as well. All lights and mirrors were removed from the bike, as were the centrestand and passenger pegs. The empty headlight housing was covered with cardboard and duct tape, to make it aerodynamically flat. Iain advised that I also make sure that I had a full roll of duct tape in my toolbox, as it is a heavily used item/emergency repair tool. I packed a spare roll as well.

When all other preparation was complete, the bike was thoroughly cleaned and polished, top to bottom. Iain pointed out that beyond the aesthetics, a clean bike showed that it had been properly prepared, in the meticulous fashion that is required in any endeavour that incorporates an element of danger. The tech inspectors view dirt as evidence of a sloppy attitude, and consequently scrutinize the bike to a much greater degree. I looked at my beautiful gleaming silver bike in the fading sunlight, before loading it onto the truck for the trip to Shannonville early the next morning, and sighed with happiness, reflecting on how close I had come to not making it to this point. When we had completed the mechanical work two weeks previously, Iain asked if he could be the one to take the bike on it's test ride, as it was his wedding anniversary that day, and he wanted to have his own celebration before he joined his wife later.

Like many racers, Iain didn't ride very much on the street - hardly ever, in fact. Ironically, racers find the street to be a dangerous place to ride, and avoid it where possible. Many of the best motorcycle rider on the planet, ironically (and by consequence), have never even ridden a street-legal motorcycle, on the street. Your chances of falling at the racetrack are high, but the chances of survival are 100% to all intents and purposes. Tracks for motorcycle racing are designed with generous runoff areas; and walls, where they have to exist, have a lot of padding (airwalls and hay bales) to absorb impact. On the street, you have to contend with oncoming traffic, dogs, blind drivers; with many immovable objects (trees, curbs, fire hydrants, Chinese restaurants) to run into when you do fall off.

A high-speed accident at the track usually results in a lot of bruises and a much damaged bike, with broken bones on occasion. A moderate to low-speed accident on the street often leads to death. The condition of the bike is irrelevant at that point. In addition, on the track, everyone is highly skilled (compared to an untutored street rider), and is heading in the same direction, with the same goal in mind: To get to the finish line as quickly as possible. There is no hesitation and no indecision. You know what the person beside you is going to do. Mostly.

In any case, I readily agreed that Iain should be the one to take the Hawk out for a spin. I was anxious to get his feedback on the bike. He got his leathers and returned, having just managed to squeeze into them. He had been married for two years and hadn't raced during that time (but hadn't yet admitted to himself that he was retired), and had apparently put on a little weight. All of this prep work on my Hawk had fired up his adrenaline and made him anxious to get back on a bike. We fired up the engine; he got on, and wheeled it out the driveway, and onto the street. I heard him dancing through the gears as the sound receded in the distance.

An hour later, the bike slowly purred into the driveway, and Iain met me at the back door. "I'm really sorry" he said, "but I've just dropped your bike."

To be continued...