Everyone who races undoubtedly has a bad day at the track once in a while. What is interesting to me is the way people react to "bad" days of racing. Barring a serious injury, how bad can it get? I personally am under the assumption that racing is expensive - luckily our motor sport is more accessible than others; but racing things is inherently expensive. And each time we line up on the gate, we should be prepared for the possibility that our gear and / or machinery may be damaged. Some people, I've discovered recently, don't react as positively to the misfortunes experienced on the race course as well as others. One GP I participated in last year is a good example. Practice was a melee, as usual, and I remember thinking to myself that this was probably the most dangerous part of the day. A portion of the course had a short but steep uphill with a tight 180 degree right hand turn at the top- which was slightly off camber. As I approached this section I saw that there was a group of riders bottlenecked at the top, and many were struggling for balance and footing. I could not stop at the bottom of the hill and wait for the section to clear as I was surrounded by So Cal’s finest blazing by in their efforts to win practice. If I had stopped, I figure roughly 14 vet novices would have likely also stopped, only I would have served as the method by which their forward motion was impeded rather than their common sense or brakes. As I crested the hill my fear was realized: there was nowhere for me to go. I slowed and came to a stop in the apex of the turn just as a single file line of riders passed on the highside. I tilted and eventually fell toward the low side. The momentum and direction of my fall, which had been initiated by gravity and bad timing, vaulted my bike and me toward the ground in a manner which I was quickly able to perceive as uncorrectable. I really did feel bad for the guy when I cleaned him out. He was just trying to pass in the only spot available to him. It wasn't his fault it was below me and in the exact azimuth of which I was being projectiled. I hit him, and I hit him hard. Before I even knew the true aftermath of the collision and could get my head back off of the ground I was apologizing. Profusely. I really did feel bad - even if there was no damage to body or bike. Unfortunately the rising steam kind of gave me the feeling that something might have broke. I thought "man, who brings extra radiator hoses to the races? I probably ruined his day!" It was worse than that and I was quickly brought up to speed on the extent of the damage by my new riding buddy. In between my stream of apologies he interrupted me in what I felt was a rather hostile voice. Two things became apparent at that point: Turns out I punched a hole in the case with my handlebar (or something), and he was not very accepting of my apology. I looked for him after practice in the pits to try to work things out but as it turned out that wasn't really necessary as he found me. Well, him and a few of his friends. After a couple of walk-bys (you know where the guy walks by you, REAL CLOSE, like he's gonna bump you if you don't move) he finally showed up with his posse and a camera and introduced himself officially. The camera was too much. I asked what his deal was and they replied by asking me to pose with my bike so he could procure a permanent record of the guy that ruined his day. I stood for a moment contemplating my next comment or action. I was alone; could I take these three guys? I'll probably be kicked out of the promoting club if I have to fight, and I don't really fancy myself as much of a brawler anyway. Funny thing is, before this situation came to be I was actually considering offering to help him with the repair costs. A few months later, back at Glen Helen, I’m in open practice and thoroughly regretting it when I get cleaned out in an almost identical accident. If you’ve ever had to walk down Mt. St. Helens to retrieve your bike at the bottom, I can personally attest that it’s kind of embarrassing. Several turns later a guy comes by me on flounder freeway and, after a few moments of this metallic crunching sound, I pick myself back up out of the mud and pull off the track. Later I'm back in the pits and find the following: a bent brake lever, a torn throttle grip, and a HUGE gash in the slider of my left fork tube. Most would consider the replacement of one of these as a rather expensive repair and would prefer to avoid it. It did take a few minutes for me to get over it. I certainly was not pleased that someone crashed into me, but I never had the urge to go mess with him about it. I guess I knew that kind of thing might happen when I lined up on the gate. And to the biggest crybaby I've ever ridden practice with: Shame on you.
10/11/2006 6:59am
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