Juxtaposition

“...it ain't about how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. . It's how much you can take, and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done” - Sylvester Stallone

This was my first race since graduating; this was my first race weekend where I didn’t have to do school work on the drive up, at the hotel, and between races. My brain and body were very confused about what to do with the extra stress and focus usually reserved for these weekends. I decided to use this extra stress on throwing a wrench in the works by changing an important variable on the bike at the last minute; maybe I thrive on stress, maybe I am simply not familiar with anything else.

The week leading up to this race I had received some messages from friends stating that it appeared I was running my gearing to tall, killing my drive. I have run stock gearing since day one of owning the gsx-r because I wanted to focus on improving as a rider and not playing around with changing gearing all the time. I simply didn’t want to lose focus on working on the most important factor, me.

This weekend I decided to give into temptation and run the front sprocket down one tooth. I knew this would change certain behavior in the bike, but hoped the net effect was beneficial. I ran the first session with stock gearing just to wake up and shake off the cobwebs since the last race weekend. After pulling in, I immediately changed out my gearing to 15/45 and began mentally preparing for what changes would occur and how I would handle them. Years of football had taught me to visualize variable change; I had to picture and think my way through new shift points, different throttle responses, and a quicker winding rear end. What I failed to calculate for haunted me all through Saturday, increased engine compression and change in engine braking behavior.

Middleweight (no video)

Middleweight was a disaster for me. Figuring out the gearing at practice speed worked out well for me, but race speed was a whole other animal. I found myself stuck running a few seconds slower than normal and being unable to reassess the changes needed to improve. I started in forth position, but by the end of the first lap I had fallen to sixth place. This progression continued and I fell back one more spot on the following lap; by lap five I had fallen back all the way to ninth place, where I eventually finished.

When I sat down at my pit area after the race, I was incredibly distraught with my riding. The entire race I struggled with adjusting my entry speed into corners with this new gearing. I don’t have a fancy-dancy slipper clutch so my clutch control rhythm associated with corner entry was completely out of whack. Any chance I had of taking a top three in the middleweight championship has likely gone out the window with one poor performance.  

Final results 9^th place out of 30, best lap of 1:59.2

Middleweight Solo Endurance (N) (no video)

The solo race is a race I looked forward to having for quite some time. Despite the fact that I had to abandon my gym routine for the last few months due to an insane school and work load in the final semester, I find that I still retain my athleticism and have really good endurance; often hitting faster times the longer I ride. the solo race would be a LeMans start race, meaning we had to start off the bike and run across the track, start the bike, and take off.

I was rather pissed after my crappy performance 40 minutes earlier and there was no way I was going to let anyone beat me to my bike in a foot race. I have many, many years of football training for the first few steps of explosion. One of these 140 lb guys may beat me in a one mile run, but I own the first 40 yards.

When the green flag drops I take off and jam to my bike, I flip my leg over the bike and hear my girlfriend (who was holding the bike) yell, “CLEAR, CLEAR, CLEAR!”. I take off like a bat out of hell, first of the yellow plates and right behind two experts. In my mind I remind myself to get up and fight; I was not going to let my crappy racing earlier bog my mind. I get around #402 Rob Brown in the first lap and put my head down. I knew that if I broke the rest of the field I could easily maintain the rest of the race while the field tires out.

As I come around the front straight, I see my girlfriend signaling from the pits that I have a substantial lead. I couldn’t believe it, for the first time ever I am leading a race! I found myself losing focus to the utter excitement of possibility, as though I was a 15 boy who brought a porn star to the prom. I focused the rest of the race on simply maintaining a distance from the pack. I could have tried to go faster, but I wanted to conserve my tires for the rest of the endurance race because I had three races on Sunday which I must also run with this same set. Furthermore, it was completely senseless to crash in a race which I held a sizable lead.

Coming around turn 15 for the final time I found myself in unfamiliar territory. I didn’t have to worry about someone flying by me in the straightaway and stealing my win. The checkered flag meant something totally different; it went from saying the race is over, to meaning I had won. This time the checkered flag was actually for me!

I rolled into the pits not believing what happened. There was no way I won, someone had to have taken off before me and I never saw them. I honestly wasn’t even sure if I had won or not. After my girlfriend had lifted the bike up on the rear stand I asked, “Did I win? I think I won”. She confirmed it with a smile, a hug, and some tears. 

Despite the win, I still felt like I had only wounded my unicorn, shot him with an arrow in the distance. I knew my battle was not yet done.

750 Superbike (N)

The start of 750 Superbike left in 3^rd place going into turn one behind the redcoats, #400 Micah Larson and #861 Ramsey Junaid. I kept pace with them around the track, plotting and planning where I can possibly make a move on these two. On the first lap, I test a few lines here and there to test differentials but it looks like it will be tough to find anything, especially if they stay paced with each other.

The three of us head up the hill out of turn eight and I get one of the best drives up the hill I had ever gotten. Just then, Ramsey moves to his left and reveals a bike right in front of me on the exit area. Berto Wollridge #115 had taken a big spill in the expert wave and his bike decided to rest right on the exit are of this critical turn, giving and interesting twist to the race.

Travis Trevethick #644 comes blaring by me in the straights as usual and I am quickly shuffled down to 4^th place. I ride their tails for the next few laps, poking in my nose where I can. Inside of three, outside of nine, a near high-side exiting turn two; a jab here and a jab there but I miss the knockout punch and quickly find myself caught behind slower traffic, #971 Tom Wilbert, separating me from the fight. I end up in fourth place just missing the podium yet again, with a best time of 1:57.5.

https://contour.com/stories/afm-round-3-2012-june-3-2012-750-superbike

600 Superbike (N)

For 600 SB I am gridded in 5^th place and get an ok start, I am shuffled back to 6^th place by turn one (which strange enough had a yellow flag waving, how do you start a race with a yellow flag and not get penalized for passing?) In the opening lap I find myself caught behind #914 Ricardo Villegas and can see the lead pack begin to pull away. I try to find was around Ricardo but have to wait to make a move in turn 14 turn get by on the inside, just to find him sneaking in the inside on me in turn one after a run down the front straight. I again find myself having to get by on the inside of 14 but this time I began my turn in a little earlier for turn one and shut the door on letting him pass me on the inside. Knowing my lap ahead of me is now open, I focus on catching the front pack.

I end up battling with #771 Sergio Fernandez for the remainder of the race eventually ending in 4^th place. But after a lap or so of battling with Sergio, I begin feeling a weird vibration in my rear end. Is my tire out of balance? Is my suspension having issues? I continue fighting on but the vibration is getting worse. I then begin to hear a tick, did I spin a bearing? Is it just an exhaust leak? Is it just in my head? After crossing the finish line and slowing down I begin to hear the ticking more loudly, the engine is no longer covering the sound. I can feel the tick in my handlebars and it dawns on me that the countershaft sprocket has probably loosened form the gear change from yesterday. I cruise my way back toward the pits just to hear the noise even more pronounced as I enter turn 14. (Watch the video all the way to the end if you want to hear the noise for yourself) As I come into the pits I see my girlfriend walking back and suddenly turn around when hearing the noise. I park the bike quickly and yell, “got to fix it, I got 20 minutes!”


https://contour.com/stories/afm-round-3-2012-june-3-2012-600-superbike

Formula 1 (N)

I am now stuck with a broken bike and a race in 20 minutes. I figure I have just enough time to remove the lower fairing, pull the countershaft cover and tighten the nut (hopefully it is still there), and get the bike back together in time to make the next race. I pull open the cover to discover the sprocket is just fine and hasn’t loosened in any way. We fire up the motor and don’t hear any unusual noises.

I then spin the rear wheel to hear the screech of Freddy Krueger’s bladed glove dragging against a chalkboard and see the wheel seize in place. I begin tearing into the rear caliper and rotor area, expecting the pads to be catching, or a warped rotor, or pads which have worn down to the metal. I see nothing of the sort. What I do see is a fresh scratch mark on the inner area of the rotor, indicating something is rubbing. I grab a flathead screwdriver and pry open the rear pads, spin the rear wheel and still the wheel screeches each time that mark is within the caliper area. I don’t see any warp of the rotor visually, but taking no chances I begin to try and manipulate the rotor back into a usable shape. I use every trick in the book, but no matter what I do the terrible drag and screech remains. Looking at the pads from underneath the bike, I notice that the outside pad moves dramatically during each rotation at this exact same spot.

I hear second call for the race and know I have to fix what was wrong, there is no way I am giving up; there is no way I am giving in. I know this is my race, I know I must fight. I forgo the opportunity for a warm up lap and try to get a view of the pads from the other side, through the inside of the wheel. Just then I see that a bolt for the rear sprocket has broken off and wiggled its way out of the threading, thereby rubbing against the swingarm and mangling itself and the swingarm in the process.

I grab the tools I need and hear the ominous voice of defeat over my left shoulder, “Race 12, formula 1, this is your FINAL CALL!”. But in my head I hear the voice of Mickey from the Rocky movies yelling, “Get up, one more round. I didn’t hear no bell; get up you son of a bitch!”. I refuse to miss this race, I refuse to be told I won’t, I refuse to let one more thing keep me from my goal.

I finish getting the bike together just in time to make it out to the race. I take the grid and knowing that my tires are cold, I realize I will need to go easy in the beginning of the race. I fall back a few spots and find myself battling with #424 Sergio Sanchez-Chopitea and #607 Jeff Keohen. I wish I had the camera on for this race because I made moves like I have never before. I was making passes on lap traffic around the outside on the paint, I made passes for position on the outside of turn one while my back end was slipping around behind me, I was sliding on my excessively worn tires in every single turn (thank goodness I did that supermoto training a year ago). Once I broke free from Sergio and Jeff from a move in turn 5, I was quickly catching up to #861 Ramsey Junaid and #644 Travis Trevethick; putting them in striking distance, but the race ended too soon.

It was by far the most hard fought race in my short racing career. I didn’t run my fastest times, nor did I win, but I refused to lay down when all seemed lost. I refused to accept anything less than my best because of the tires sliding or any other excuse. It brought back memories of a college football bowl game I played in years ago, where we stopped our opponent on the one yard line four times in a row during sudden death overtime to take the win. As I crossed the checkered flag, I wasn’t sure if I had counted right. I figured someone might be in front of these two and I am actually in forth once again. But when I came in the pits and confirmed I had third, I leaned over my tank and thought, “Fuck you, Unicorn”.