loudbike

Angry Old Man…

I was having a crummy ride anyway – between the traffic volume and the frequent occurrence of idiots in cages pulling out in front of me; I’d had enough and was making my way back home to find something more rewarding to do with my Saturday afternoon. 

For years I’d been ranting about the traffic and poor driving in Ottawa, but these past few months sharing the roads with Maryland drivers had me convinced that my home state was setting a new standard for incredibly bad driving.  Actually, they don’t drive around here; they sit in automobiles and roll down the road while they do other things.  Turn signals are beyond optional – I think that the act of using them is considered to be bad form. 

So anyway, as if to punctuate my grumbling…

One minute I was sitting at a red light – and a heartbeat, two loud crashes and a bright flash of white light later I was on my hands and knees in the next lane looking at my bike lying smoking under the front end of a Japanese compact car.  And I don’t mean kind of under – I mean the passenger side front wheel was testing the strength of my Rizoma billet clutch cover.

I’m upright and alive to tell this wretched tale because I had the bike in neutral and my arms crossed when the idiot sideswiped a parked car and then plowed into me at about 30mph.  The impact cartwheeled me up and over the back of the Hyperstra so I could bounce off of the hood and windshield of buddy’s car and then into the rear bumper of the car in front of me.  While I was airborne and moving forward, the Hyperstrada – having bounced off the bumper the I was about to hit – was on its side sliding under me and back into the front end of the still moving car that hit us in the first place.

Kind of like a pin ball machine, but without the flashing lights, sound effects and scoreboard.

The bike’s a write-off, and everything I’ve injured in the last two years hurts like Hell, but it could have been much worse I imagine – had I been holding onto the bars when the impact occurred.

With a distinct lack of weekend track days in these parts and street riding off the menu, golf is starting to look like a fine way to spend a Saturday or Sunday afternoon..

The damage?

Handlebars - Bent
Rizoma Bar Ends - Scraped
Mirrors - Broken / Scraped
Rearsets  - Broken 
STM slave - Scraped
Fairing/headlight - Broken / Scraped
Fairing mounts - Broken
License plate mount - Broken / Scraped
Forks - Bent
Triple Clamps - Bent
F Fender - Broken
Pass Seat  - Scraped
Turn Signals - Broken / Scraped
Main rear set hang bolt - Scraped
Sproket cover  - Bent
Side Stand - Bent
Hugger - Broken / Scraped
Rear Wheel - Scraped
Front Wheel - Bent
Rear cowlings - Broken
Sproket Carrier - Scraped
Rear Sprocket cover - Scraped
Frame tube - Dent
Steering lock - Bent
Paint  - Trashed
Brake Lever - Broken
Clutch Lever - Scraped
Exhaust System - Dented/Scraped
Front Seat - Scraped
Rear Seat - Scraped

Grumpy Old Man...

As I get older, I seem to be less inclined to embrace new stuff as an adventure – rather viewing the unknown as an unwelcome distraction from my routines, habits and familiar people, places and things.  Like I said, I’m getting older…

So more often than not, I find myself acting like a borderline-grumpy-old-man these days given that here in Bethesda (more a state of mind these days than a physical location), nothing has even the remotest sense of familiarity yet.

No Tim Horton’s, no Canadian Tire…  What’s a girl to do?

But it’s not all bad.  The weather is a marked improvement over the obscene amount of snow I would have suffered back in Ottawa - and through the local Ducati community, I’m making new friends.  But, when you get down to it, the thing that probably gives me the most amount of stress is (and has been for as long as I can remember) the prospect of learning a new race track.

It seems to take me forever to learn a new venue and due to the limits I’ve set for myself on the track, this means I have to live through a frustrating period of restraint before I can get up to my full pace.  I have a strange way of seeing race tracks and it has nothing to do with corner numbers.  In fact, even though I can run at a very respectable pace at Calabogie and Mt. Tremblant, I’d be hard pressed to talk to someone about either track in that context.  Mosport’s a different story, but it should be after 11 years of going round and round…. So I memorize a new track in terms of its flow and various components (which are usually large combinations) and then over time, start a process of solving each combination like a problem; beginning with the easiest.  Bottom line is that it takes more time to go fast, but I spend far less time frustrated with my inability to do so.

Logistically speaking, my trip down to Virginia International Raceway (VIR) with the Mid-Atlantic Ducati (MAD) club last week went a whole lot better than expected.  Most of my energy in the days preceding the event was tied up in trying to trace down an annoying cyclical vibration from Adam’s trailer at speeds over 65mph and it was only the day before the event – after replacing the trailer bearing and race sets, balancing the wheels and shimming the backside of the right side castle nut with a 900SS swing arm pin shim that I rid the package of the vibration.  The Passat V6 seemed to pull the trailer beautifully with the F1 and my gear inside, but the F1 and the Hyperstrada was a complete unknown.  Turns out it was a piece of cake and with the load balanced for about 130lbs on the tongue, the whole kit performed better than expected.  So, the 3.5 hour trip down to VIR was down right comfortable, stress-free and enhanced by a concert of non-stop, high-volume Zappa.

Did I mention that once again I packed in the rain?  I wonder why I even set myself up to expect anything different these days.. 

When I rolled up to the track at 4PM, it was still raining and surprisingly cold – maybe 10 degrees C.  Not encouraging, but hey – I’m from the Great White North and Mosport at the end of May has been known to be seriously frigid.  The MAD group numbered some 80 – 90 participants I think, and I was amazed to see everyone set-up and the community BBQs fired up by around 6PM.  The group had the garages and adjoining pit area and I was lucky enough to be able to share garage space with club President Gene Hunt and six other members including my old Grattan buddy Courtney Collins.  The pot luck supper went on long past my usual bedtime and I was having so much fun that it was more the cold than fatigue that drove me to my room in the Lodge.  The high point of the evening was meeting Bill Deitz, owner of a fire breathing bevel, an F1 racer and a couple of other interesting pieces.

The MAD club contracts with Cornerspeed to run their VIR events and they delivered one of the most efficient, smooth and trouble-free track day experiences I’ve encountered in 11 years.  ..Especially considering the conditions; best described as wretchedly cold and miserable.  I wisely bumped down to the Intermediate group and arranged for Cornerspeed coach Steve Broadhead to show me around the track for the first session.  Although the YouTube videos that I studied helped somewhat, nothing could really prepare me for the dynamics of the track.  While similar to Calabogie in the complexity of the elevation changes and multi-corner combinations, the pavement has seen better days and this further complicated the art of getting around the track smoothly.  What a brilliant layout, though.  We were on the North course which with at least 17 turns, a front straight that isn’t and some breathtaking elevations changes puts it right up there with Mt. Tremblant and Calabogie.  What really sets it apart though is the resort like setting replete with lodge, tavern and above-garage suites.

I followed my plan of simply memorizing the track on the first day; ignoring the nagging temptation to work on speed, and by the end of the day I was having fun chasing club member Mike Iadicola around and making some serious noise.  With Calabogie’s strict sound regulations, I didn’t get a lot of quality seat time on the F1 with the open megga last year and I’d forgotten how much faster the bike is when unmuffled.  ..Or maybe the motor’s just getting a little looser or the air density had the jetting in the sweet spot - but the bike was literally leaping out of corners.  The only downside to the day (both days for that matter) was that the cold and damp conditions were wreaking havoc with my elbow, and limiting me to 15 minute sessions.

I got some time in meeting new Ducatisti Monday night and spent more than a few minutes hunkered down by the F1 with Donnie Unger – owner of Duc Pond Motorsports yakking about Pantahs, broken backs and the surprisingly broad circle of mutual friends we have in the community.  Speaking of surprises, Donnie had one of the ex-Canadian Thunder PSRs in his pit and just seeing the bike made me feel more at home in my new surroundings.

Tuesday was to be warmer and brighter but alas – ended up as a repeat of Monday.  Despite this, everyone was on the track by mid-morning and by the first session after lunch, I had the track memorized and was starting to pick up the pace.  I elected to forego any serious work on the combinations that were giving me problems and simply continue to circulate – although I got noticeably faster and more confident as the day wore on.  And I had a boatload of fun as a result.  I decide to quit while I as ahead of the game around 3:30 and went out with Eric Ettare who had his on-bike camera set to catch a few laps of me during the session.  I put my head down and got some really good laps in that put a nice finishing touch on an already excellent first excursion on this fine old racetrack.  Paul Newman was quoted as saying something like “if there’s a heaven on earth, VIR is it” and if I hadn’t had the pleasure of experiencing Calabogie, I would have agreed with him.

I can’t wait to get back there.

So, while I pine for the comfort and familiarity of the tribe back home and the tracks we rode, the MAD group’s hospitality has taken the edge off the whole experience of trying to drop in to a new community.  The thing that most impressed me was the club dynamic at the track – it truly felt like a group of friends getting together to do something cool for a few days.

And while Bethesda ain’t quite home yet, it’s a far cry from feeling like I’m trapped in never ending business trip where I’m staying in the house of somebody who has very, very similar taste in furniture, art, music and Mexican women.

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Virginia International Raceway, Mid-atlantic Ducati Owners Club, CornerSpeed, Calabogie Motorsports Park, Mosport International Raceway, Hyperstrada, loudbike

It's not like no one warned me....

Deep down inside I’ve always wondered just how bad riding in the rain with slicks REALLY is.  Kind of like that thing when you’re a kid growing up in The Great White North and they tell you not to stick your tongue on a doorknob in the dead of January.  Intellectually, you kinda get it, but it’s one of those things that somehow requires first-hand, empirical evidence.

This past Monday I found out.

Back in the good old days, when Spring started in April and we didn’t get on the track until late May (mid-April if you were really desperate), I’d be putting the finishing touches on my gear and watching the snow melt.  But down here, the trees are sprouting leaves and folks are going to track days.  Always keen to work with what I got, I booked in to a day at Summit Point with TPM and last Sunday afternoon, I ignored the crummy weather forecast and loaded the F1 into trailer. 

I almost didn’t leave the driveway Monday morning when I saw how appalling the conditions were:  foggy with a depressing drizzly mist and temperatures just above 5 degrees Celsius.  But, I made the 80 minute trip up through the Shenandoah and rolled up to the track just as the riders’ meeting ended – noting that the temperature was now up to 8 degrees and the mist showed no signs of letting up.  Close examination showed the pavement to be dampish, so I registered, pitted and went off in search of coffee while I waited for the weather to go one way or the other.

I’d fueled the bike, set the tire pressures to 28lbs, climbed into my now cold and stiff leathers and spent the last two hours pacing, chain-smoking and generally chomping at the bit to either get on with it or pack it in – and watching the pavement turn a darker shade of damp as the mist turned to a very fine, light rain.  By 11:30 though, the wind had kicked up a bit and the pavement began to dry up.  People were crashing less, and a quick chat with Glen Goldman on the chances for survival with unscrubbed slicks in this temperature had me optimistic.  He suggested that if I took it really easy I’d probably be OK and suggested I grab a coach and catch the Beginner group before the broke for lunch.

So off I went behind the guy in the orange vest and everything went sort of OK for the first awfully slippery lap, but even with the anti fog I’d borrowed from MAD member Alex, I couldn’t see a friggin’ thing.  The mist was still in the air and we weren’t going fast enough to keep it from accumulating on the visor, or to put any significant heat into the slicks.  Worse - during lap 2, the fine, light rain started up again and I was now lost, blind, cold and about to try riding on slicks in the wet.  During lap 3, I put my shield up as we went into the Carousel and got visible confirmation that the coach's rear tire was wet and kicking up a fine spray.  I watched as most of those in front of me (on DOT rubber) slid and skittered through the corners..  I tried desperately to remember where pit-in was located and began to believe that I could actually crash going in a straight line if I wasn’t careful.

And then I missed the entrance to the pits!

It was just like that feeling you got as a kid when you finally did stick your tongue on the frozen dead-of-winter-in-January doorknob and realized with horror that they were right.  Lap 4 was punctuated by an endless stream of curses, prayers and promises to an unconcerned God as I skated around the track one more time.  Where’s pit-in, where’s pit-in, where’s pit-in, where’s pit-in, where’s pit-in, where’s pit-in, WHEN WILL THIS LAP FRIGGIN’ END??

Will I ever learn?

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Summit Point Motorsports Park, Hyperstrada, Team Pro-motion, loudbike

Dirty Old Man..

Emily is Bell Canada’s automated attendant.  Sometimes, when I’m feeling a bit blue – I call her up and hit on her relentlessly.  These exchanges can become quite ribald, although admittedly somewhat one-sided.  Emily never takes offense, although she does occasionally become confused.  I’m quite certain under that chestnut hair dye lives a true blue blond.

What I’m really talking about here is the decline of customer service.  I’m old enough to remember the days without Integrated Voice Response (IVR) and call center agents – even worse, my profession gave me a front row seat as big business scrambled to embrace a host of technologies designed to “increase customer loyalty while dramatically reducing the cost of customer service”.  In fact, I made my living designing and selling Customer Relationship Management systems without ever imagining how drastically they would reduce quality of life for practically every person in North America.

I started writing this well into the first 15 minutes of my current engagement with Bell’s fine support organization and in that first 15 minutes, I had the pleasure of a steamy exchange with Emily, then maddeningly frustrating experience with Heather (a “live” agent) who’s help desk script clearly didn’t include my broken product within it’s scope – but did prompt her to relentlessly attempt to up-sell me on a remote connection product before reluctantly transferring me to the next air-head in the process.  Which meant the inevitable wait on hold while I was connected to – of course – a second level agent in India.  Then an even more frustrating exchange with said agent in India whose name I could never hope to pronounce.  I’m currently on hold for a programmer and have been for over 10 minutes. 

And it will get worse.

As we baby boomers retire, a much smaller workforce will be hard pressed to backfill the customer service functions that are becoming more and more important as technology continues to permeate our lives.  This means more Emilys and even worse, a continued boom in the call center business for nations with the technology and cheap labor to fill the demand. 

The aimless whining of an old fart too stuck in the past to embrace the Brave New World?

No Virginia; there is no Brave New World in our future.  Well, maybe if the aliens actually DO show up some day, but in all likelihood our future will be one of increased automation and robotics, higher prices, self-service, global warming (actually that works for me so far…) and even more global conflict.  And that’s why fooling around with old Ducatis gives me comfort these days.

For the first time in a decade, I haven’t been thrashing away on a major bike project and the time to slowly whittle away on the F1 rebuild has been most welcome.  If I need something for that bike, I’ve generally gotta call someone (who’ll answer the phone) and chat for 15 minutes or so.  Or make it myself. 

Not that there isn’t a sense of urgency as we approach the coming season. James Parker’s recent Motorcyclist article on the declining state of our fuel reserves makes it painfully clear that the days of using fuel for fun are numbered.  I’d like to think that I’ll still be doing track days ten years from now and that the only risk to attaining that goal would be my health.  Not anymore.  More likely, I simply won’t be able to afford the outrageous track fees that will reflect the declining participation in what by then will be a very rich man’s sport - nor the thousands of dollars it will cost me for the relatively low amount of fuel my bikes will burn in a weekend.

Now that I’m seriously depressed I’m heading down to the shop to commune with my old F1.  Right after I place a short but steamy call to my girl Emily…

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Motorcyclist, James Parker, Peak Oil,  Hyperstrada, loudbike

Adam J. Bennett - February 9, 1951 - January 12, 2008

Seasons Greetings!

Season Finale - and the Fat Lady sang well...

The last three times I packed for Calabogie, I figured each one would be the season finale (and possibly my last event for a while up in the Great White North). 

The way my schedule looked in August, the DOCC Mt. Tremblant event was to be the 2007 swan song with a couple of days at Calabogie with Adam sandwiched in between the VRRA Vintage Festival and the DOCC weekend. 

With Adam’s radiation therapy already taking a toll on his energy at the VRRA event, his attendance at Calabogie was tentative – right up until the moment he showed up late Saturday AM to register on the Hyperstrada.  I hadn’t ridden a track event with him since the DOCC Mosport Festival in ’05 and we’d been trying to set-up a weekend all through the past season.  But it seemed that each time we set something up, his chemotherapy schedule would get changed – putting him on the backside of a chemo dose whenever we were slotted for a track weekend. 

By the time he got registered and the Hyperstrada tech’d and ready to ride, we found ourselves sitting around waiting out a seemingly endless run of red flag delays.  This was a Team Pro-Motion event and true to the form displayed all season at Calabogie, they just couldn’t seem to get their shit together.  We’d get out and string together maybe 2 or 3 laps each session only to see yet another red flag thrown.  I find it amazing how quality can vary from one organizer to another and disturbing to see the TPM organization slip from being (at least in my mind) one of the tightest crews around – offering the lowest cost per lap – to its current state (at least at the Calabogie venue).

Being unknown to the aforementioned organization, Adam had to learn the track in the Intermediate group – which was kind of cool for me ‘cause I got to watch him run thorough turns 16 to 20 from atop the bluff overlooking the back end of the circuit.  The show became particularly entertaining during the late afternoon session where he was being checked out by a TPM coach for graduation to the Blue class.  They got hung up in a serious traffic jam – with passing complicated by the “outside only” rule for the Red group - and Adam saw his opportunity to rip past about eight of the group in the short bit between turns 16 and 17 and then a couple more around the outside of  18 and 19.  That was the last the coach saw of him for the balance of the session…

We got a chance to get a few (red flag abbreviated) sessions in the Blue class  together before the day was out and it was more a matter of bringing him up to my pace than playtime, but cool to run together again.

Sunday was another story.  I almost regretted being in the same class with him ‘cause every time I had to follow him, I became totally distracted (and dismayed!) by how hard he was pushing the Hyperstrada.  But lunch, he’d worn through half the shift lever and had ground the edges off the pegs.  I had to kind of pace myself when I got in front of him so I wouldn’t be constantly worried about him digging into on of the non-folding pegs hard enough to unload the back wheel.  The bugger even had a knee down which I find amazing given how tall the bike is (he’s only about 5’5”).  Superb dicing and play racing all afternoon saw me dragging my knee more than I have in …  well, I almost never drag a puck, so you get the picture.  It was an exceptional day and turned out to be Adam’s last track session of the season.

Next up was Mt. Tremblant and a long overdue return to a track that I’d had great fun at during the DOCC event in ’05.  But as usual – I packed the van in the rain.  Although it stayed dry enough Friday night for Fran and I to catch a late night swim, Saturday AM saw ominous clouds that opened just as I took all the side curtains off my EZ-Up.  And it continued to stay wet all day Saturday (which is fine if you’re Paul Hewitt, but sucks if you’re me).  We were all taking it in stride during the morning – doing a bunch of social stuff and pretending that we were all having a wonderful time - but by 1:30 or so the crowd began to feel like a bunch of 12 year olds who had been grounded for the weekend. 

By 3PM, I would have cast the mood as sullen – or maybe even ugly.  When the track finally began to dry at 4PM, it was still too dicey for slicks although that didn’t stop Pat Chartrand from venturing out on a borrowed, real-live-honest-to-goodness-Aprillia 125 GP bike – and then pitching it down the front straight in front of a shocked but nonetheless appreciative crowd.

Sunday on the other hand was a prefect, but my F1 – alas was not.  I could get a full lap in before the bike would start to lose power and then run on one (or even half of one it seemed).  Starved for laps, I’d whip in, grab the Hyperstrada to finish the session, come in and dick around with the F1 and then repeat the process.  I had a double registration, so I was at least getting some laps in, but I really came to Mt. Tremblant with some serious F1 flogging in mind.  Finally, just before lunch I figured out the problem.  I pulled off the track at Turn 6 when the bike went sour and after looking and poking around for about 4 minutes, was surprised that it fired right up when I hit the starter.  I slipped back out on the track and put another 6 corners behind me when it went south again and this time I was able to slip in behind the hay bales on an access road that’s used for the short course.  I was able to get my helmet off while the bike was running and here’s the weird bit:  It was running, but making no exhaust noise whatsoever.  While I sat there going “Hmmmmmmmmmm”, I heard the primary baffle dislodge itself from its cozy position in front of the megga outlet – and suddenly I had both noise and power.  Back in the pits I confirmed that that the primary baffle (an inverted cone attached halfway up the megga taper) had come loose and would get rammed up against the outlet by exhaust force - something easy to fix, but alas not at Mt. Tremblant.  So after a quick word with event coordinator John Ross, it was agreed that I could go out with the open megga as long as I was careful to pull in the clutch and coast past the sound meter located in the middle of the chicane we had set-up on the front straight.  From that point forward, it was simply way too much fun to grumble about the required coasting and sneaking around in the pits and hot-pit.  Enough track time and good fun that Fran and I gave the last session of the day a pass in lieu of another swim in the trackside lake before packing up and hitting the road. 

All racetracks should have lakes.  And no racetracks should have sound level restrictions.  It should never rain at any race track while I’m there (well, except maybe on those stinkin’ hot days when it’s too friggin’ hot to ride anyway and the track dries out in 10 minutes).

    
That should have been the season finale, but my move was continuing to run into delays and as the Ottawa weather continued an unseasonably warm trend, I found myself at Calabogie the next weekend for a kind of stolen Saturday.  It’s kind of strange when I show up at the track without one of the tribe and for some reason it took most of the morning to get my groove back.  But by lunchtime, I had found a suitable playmate in a racer in his mid-50’s who had dusted-off his ‘80’s Suzuki superbike and was putting down some surprisingly quick laps for a guy who had been away from the track for over a decade.  I dragged my knee some more (it had become addictive).

The truly excellent day ended with long, heartfelt goodbyes to the CMP and 303Imaging staff I’d come to know over the season – but as I headed over to the van to leave, 303Imaging’s  Dan Henri caught up to me and asked if I’d be keen to come back for an invitation-only day the following weekend.  Ummmm…. Gee, Dan - I don’t know…

So although I’d promised Deb that under no circumstances would I even think of inviting Fran to any more track days… 

 

The following Saturday dawned cool and crisp, but sunny – with the promise of temperatures getting up in the hi-teens by afternoon.  Dan was trying out the Show-up, Shut-up and Ride format of  a small group (less than 50 riders) who could be relied upon to self tech and stay upright all weekend  - and with only two classes running (Fast and Faster), the old fool from Shawville and I were pooped by 3:30.  It was a picture perfect track day; reminiscent of my past SSR experiences at Grattan.  We were riding fast enough to impress ourselves, but still had enough reserve to be able to appreciate the beauty of the track and magic of good laps with good friends.  303Imaging President and chief camera man Cory Klinkenberg took what I think were the best motorcycle shots of the year and all the attendees left with a free CD full of excellent images.  The event went well enough that they’ll repeat the format a few times next year and I hope to make it back up there to take at least one of them in.

Back from where?  Bethesda, Friggin’ Maryland of all places.

…But that’s another story…

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Calabogie Motorsports Park, Ducati Owners Club of Canada, DOCC, VRRA, Adam Bennett, Team Pro-Motion, Le Circuit Mt. Tremblant, Hyperstrada, loudbike

Hero (Part 2)…

As usual, I loaded the bikes in the rain.

We agreed that I’d bring up the sidecar in a trailer graciously loaned to us by the McDermotts and my F1 – fully lock-wired and adorned with Adam’s #28 stuffed into my van with all the usual junk.  The rainstorm and a few last minute work details meant a late departure to Mosport and by the time I rolled through the gates it was banging on the door of 9PM – too late to fully unload and set up my bed in the van.  So I found the pit we were sharing with Adam’s Suzuki sponsor, Kevin, Dave Hughes and ex-factory guy Hurley Wilvert, dropped the trailer and cruised around the pits - visiting for a half hour before heading off in search of a hotel for the night.

Good thing I did, ‘cause when I got back to the track early Friday morning, it looked like a tornado had been through the facility and by all accounts that was the case.  My super heavy duty spare EZ-UP borrowed by Rob for the weekend was twisted almost as badly as most of the cheaper ones by a wind so strong that Bruce Meyers – hanging by one of the cross beams during the height of the storm – was lifted right off the ground.  Our pit wasn’t to badly wasted, and with about an hours’ work, we had the space set-up and the Honda 125, F1 and the rig prepped for the weekend. 

Weird being there and not racing, and as I set about organizing tools & stuff I realized that the only other time I’d been here for the VRRA festival and not ridden was the first time I attended about 11 years ago.  On the upside, not participating meant that I could chain-smoke, guzzle coffee and work on my tan.  On one hand, I wasn’t surprised that Adam was going for as much track time and adventure as he could, but on the other, I really worried about his ability to find the energy to run two heat races, and four main events – two of which were on a sidecar rig that had never been raced in its current form.  He had the 125 entered in Period 4 F3 and my F1 in the Period 4 wave of the Masters Race and the rig in Period 2 and a last minute sidecar Masters race.  With practice in 3 of the four possible classes, it was bound to be non-stop action all weekend.  As we were registering Adam for the Masters races Friday morning, we almost entered the F1 in the Endurance race when we realized that Dan Gosen was available and that he and Adam would likely run away with the race.  My good sense prevailed. And I was able to focus on my job - keeping all three machines ready, fueled and prepped for action.  In the case of the two proven solo bikes, a fairly easy task, but the rig was another story entirely.  It still ran like crap and although one might think that with all the resources around that could be tapped for advice and a free day of practice, the hot set-up was only a short distance away…  Hey, I know better.

So, the first order of business was to find the other teams running XS 650 engines and find out what their carburetion baseline might be (and where all their spare jests were hidden).  We found a ready supply of advice and jets and with the consensus being that we weren’t far off with the 175’s, I slapped in some 180s and sent Adam and his son Hugh down to the freshly paved and mercifully empty lower pit to give it a shot.  And it ran like crap - way too rich.  So we went down two sizes from our starting point, and then down two more sizes and then down until we couldn’t find anyone who had something smaller than a 130 – or for that matter anyone who had ever heard of running a jet that small in an XS 650.  By this time we were fooling around with the fuel pump regulator as well and finding that we were sort of getting close to the ball park. So, out they went into the first open practice and damned if the thing didn’t handle and seemed to be more or less in the game as far as power. 

By late afternoon, Adam had been out on the F1, the Honda and the slowly improving rig a few times and seemed to be no worse for wear – although we kept him well hydrated and in the shade while I continued to chain smoke and swap jets.  They went out at the head of the sidecar pack in the last session of the day and – watching from turn 2, I was astounded by how competitive he and Hugh were and (with a newfound fuel pump setting) how close to the rest of the field the rig was.  In fact, they were only passed by one rig – that of the dominant Paul & Marie Whittaker team.  We were in business.

Adam’s entire family showed up for the event:  son Jake with wife and baby, daughter Carly, Adam’s Ti and her daughters – and while it frequently made my job a little more challenging, the warm vibe kept the edge off things.  Saturday practice, Adam was his usual smokin’ fast on the solo bikes and as he and Hugh got faster on the rig – of course, stuff began to break.  But they were having a blast, Hugh was making sure everyone could see the massive bruise on his shoulder from whacking a curb and getting fully involved in the repairs to the rig.  Adam looked relaxed and fit – but wired.

My day was an endless stream of fueling, jet changes, tire pressures and ad-hoc repairs to the rig punctuated by quick trips up to Turn 2 to watch him in the heat races and practice sessions.  The day tore past in what seemed like just a few hours and after a quick trip into town with Rob to catch a bite, I went off in search for Fran so we could take a long overdue walk out to Turn 8.  Fran was in high spirits – having won the Endurance race with his latest team mate Robbie Nigl on the old TT1 Ducati.  Robbie arrived for the weekend with his TT and turned out to be a seriously fast guy – turning 1:36s on the TT1 during the race.

We were into sunset when we got out to the scene of my crash in May ’06 and to set the stage, Fran stood in the spot that he would have been at on track when everything went wrong and I became very, very confused.  So, I asked him where I was and he pointed to a spot just a few inches from the inside curb at the entrance to 8 – only a few feet away from where he was standing and I continued to stammer a few meaningless words while my brain tried to process the facts.  When I asked why he had executed such an uncharacteristically early turn in on the inside line he replied “because you were supposed to be there..” and pointed to a space a bit to the outside of where would normally turn in.  And then the events immediately preceding Turn 8 came back to me in a rush..

As were came barreling up to the end of the back straight, I came up on the outside of Fran (I’ve got plenty more power don’t’cha know..) just to say “hi” and as we crested the last hill and prepared to set-up for 8, I backed off enough to slip behind him and sneak up on his inside – planning to slip under him for a pass if his entry was conservative.  It was, and I lined up for an inside pass, but he thought I was still on the outside and going to make a move there, so he took the early turn-in with a hard inside line to give me room for an outside pass – and effectively slammed the door on my face.  All this data washed over me in an instant and I stepped back so I could snap my head to the right and follow the imaginary trajectory that I took at some 120MPH after clipping the inside curb. 

It was a miracle that we didn’t tangle in the instant that I lost control and whipped across the track with the back wheel apparently swapping directions.  “My fault entirely” I said quietly and then asked Fran where I actually hit.  My trajectory ran me off track on a 45 degree angle - missing the gravel trap by a few yards and running me head on into the six-deep and four-high stack of tires in front of the concrete wall.  By sheer luck I hit the sole straw bale that began the increasingly deep line of bales that would protect a rider from a crash on the exit of the corner.  According to Fran, the bale exploded – stopping the F1.  And I sailed up and over.  I knew at once why Fran had been somewhat reluctant to talk of the incident – there was always the off chance that I wouldn’t connect the dots and accept the blame.

Remarkably, all this knowledge gave me a great sense of closure.  I hadn’t blacked out and I knew why the crash happened.  All the irrational fear vanished in the 5 minutes it took to reconstruct the crash. 

Back to Adam. 

By Sunday, I’d settled into my routine – using Adam’s super-slick jetting computer and logbook to set up the RS125 jetting and slapping the correct amount of duct tape on the radiator between sessions.  The F1 was easy; tire pressure and fuel, but the rig was another story.  He and Hugh continued to get faster – running up at a podium pace that continued to break stuff that just couldn’t handle the vibration or Gs.  I was able to zip up to Turn 2 to watch Adam’s practice sessions and races on the rig and the F1, but I was usually hip-deep into the rig when he was out on the RS125. 

What amazed me was Adam’s energy and attitude and the transformation usually occurred during the first session of each day.  When he showed up in the morning, it was obvious to me that I was looking at a man battling three types of cancer but when he got off the bike after the first round, he was a different man.  And he simply flew.  He cleaned-up on the Honda RS 125 with a typical battle that concluded with a last lap move to nail 1st.  On the rig, he and Hugh took a hard fought 4th in their first event as rookies with fresh and far from sorted rig.  Look at the pics and see Hugh with his upper body skimming the pavement – hands folded on his chest.  Showing off.  They also grabbed a 2nd in the Masters Class sidecar event despite the fact that one of the exhaust header pipes had broken right at the head – robbing the bike of some desperately needed horsepower.

The high point of course for me was watching Adam on the F1 in the P4 Masters Class from Turn 3.  From my vantage point I could see the machines come down through Turn 2 at triple digit speeds, run through the Turn 3 right-hander and disappear over the crest of Turn 4 at full throttle.  I’d never seen my bike race raced and only watched it ridden by someone else a few times.  But it really wasn’t about the visual – I was astounded by the incredible sound that bike has with the big motor and the open mega.  Pure music – a big, flat deep bellow under power but sharp, deep and hard sounding on the overrun.  Lap one was brilliant.  Adam came down though Turn 2 with a nice lead on the field – being chased by P4 F1 series leader Don Gosen on his highly developed, Tim Speigleburg tuned 900SS and a rider on a GSSXR superbike but lost the lead to Don in a nice drafting move and hail-Mary pass in Turn 8.  The GSX rider put a hard pass on the outside of Adam about halfway though the race and slammed the door hard enough that I though they connected.  I was like “Hey!  That’s my bike you SOB!”.  While Dan stretched out his lead, Adam shadowed the GSXR until the final lap and put a hard pass on him in Turn 8 to take 2nd. 

And that was it.

As I watched Adam all weekend, I was deeply touched by the strong possibility that this may have been his last race weekend and simply amazed that he could do what he did with such enthusiasm, optimism, humility, grace and control.  The effects of the cancer aside, this is a guy who by the time the event had begun, had been on chemotherapy treatments for just under a year – not to cure the cancer, but simply to keep it at bay. 

My hero?  Absolutely.

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Mosport International Racerway, VRRA, Adam Bennett,  loudbike

Briefly...

I've got three posts partially written, but I'm too busy packing, testing friggin' software and tearing around racetracks to finish 'em...  But, last weekend was Calabogie and it would be entirely safe to say that I've got my groove back.

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Calabogie Motorsports Park, Ducati Owners Club of Canada, DOCC, VRRA, Hyperstrada, loudbike 

Hero (Part 1)...

Now, where were we anyway?

As I recall, I was still whining about my inability to get back up to speed at Mosport.  ….Mosport.  Seems like a long time ago…

So long that the VRRA Mosport Festival and DOCC Mt. Tremblant event have come and gone, the leaves are turning color and there’s an ominous chill to the night air.  The season always comes to a close far too early up here in The Great White North, but this year I’d really appreciate just a few more good track days.  Maybe even a race…

But I digress.

In catching up with Adam Bennett in mid-July, it became painfully obvious that his Cancer was heading in the wrong direction, that the VRRA Festival was taking on greater significance in the grand scheme of things and he was looking at a ton of work to get equipment ready for the event.  Adam’s son Hugh had shown an interest in vintage sidecars last season and went so far as to take the VRRA’s sidecar school this past spring.  In fact, he and Adam were lucky enough to borrow a rig and get an afternoon of seat time in at the Quinte TT back in June.

Adam was anxious to capitalize on an opportunity to bond with Hugh and with the sidecar offering an experience they could share, he went off in search of a rig that he could pick up for the Mosport Festival.  As luck (or lack thereof ) would have it, the only rig available with a right-hand chair was one built and run by the infamous Dudes of Hazard team originally out of Nova Scotia.  A deal was struck for the rolling chassis and a Yamaha XS650 motor sourced from sidecar guru Paul Whittaker.  Adam described the DoH rig as “rough” and seemed to be somewhat overwhelmed with the task of rebuilding it.  I’d been so busy up ‘till then that I hadn’t been over to his place in a few months, and with more time on my hands, I made the trip across the river to see how much trouble he gotten into. 

Bottom line?  Lots.

He’d actually made up some time with the renewed energy that came from the cessation of a year’s chemotherapy treatments, but it was obvious from my first look at the rig that there was a significant amount of work to be done before it could turn a wheel (or three) on the track.  I decided to rearrange my priorities and jump in with both feet but the hard part was figuring out where to start.  Building a bike with someone is a challenging enough process even when you aren’t pressed by an aggressive deadline and if you plan to make time, both parties need to move ahead intuitively and almost independently.  It was almost as if I was asserting my style and approach when I pointed at the exhaust system Adam had built from scratch and declared that a slash cut outlet was an absolute necessity.  He gave me The Look – then nodded in assent.  I then wandered off in search of a suitable plastic bucket to serve as a donor for material to fabricate a front number plate. 

We decided that we should focus on getting the thing to run before we even looked at issues like brakes and suspension and I came up with a jump start connection for the electric starter while Adam set-up the oil cooler and fuel pump, fuel lines and final electrics.  The chair came off and went back on more times than I can recall as we continually improvised all of the peripherals against the new XS650 motor.  As we stared at the choke cable ends and pondered an approach for a quick and dirty lever – it occurred to me that were could simply cut some grooves in a small block of wood, lock wire same to the frame and tie wrap the cables to a convenient location on the frame.  The prototype worked and a Delran version appeared the next morning.  We planned to jump start the rig from Adam’s car, but when we made the connection we got sparks and smoke that surely indicated a naff starter motor.  Undeterred, we tied the front end of the rig to the trailer hitch of Adam’s car and prepared for a white-knuckle drag start.   Amazingly, the thing bust to life in a heartbeat and the quiet suburban neighborhood was treated to the sight of Adam and I running the rig tentatively up and down the street as we figured out what worked..  Encouraged by the result, we still had much to do – the clutch slipped, the shifter needed better support and we had a bad starter.  A few days later, I returned with a portable battery pack – ready for the next round and Adam had made enough progress that we declared the rig fit for a maiden run at our secret test facility – Tattooed Eyebrows Road. 

Adam left with the rig on the trailer and I set out on the Hyperstrada – and as I drew closer to the location, my requirement for caffeine hit an almost obsessive level.  But, how to carry a Tim Horton’s coffee 3 kilometers on a Hyperstrada?  I pulled into Tim’s without a solution, but ready to improvise – figuring that there had to be some way to keep a coffee intact in the backpack I was wearing.  Turns out that the large double cream three sugar just slipped into the small pocket on the front of the pack and having the lovely and talented counter girl carefully slip the pack onto my back, I walked with perfect posture out to the Hyperstrada got onto the bike and set down the road riding off to my destination with the ever-present fear of hot coffee exploding out of the cardboard cup at any moment – but spurned on by the promise of hot java to accompany the endless chain of cigarettes that would surely be smoked as we sorted out the rig.

OK, the carbs were out of the ball-park which meant the inevitable dicking around with float levels and needle positions (we didn’t have any jets), but it was a glorious 30 degree celcius summer evening on an empty country road in the middle of the woods.  And I had coffee and smokes.  We were like two reckless teenagers running up and down the road – shirts off, no helmets – drinking in the sheer fun and adrenaline of it all – laughing and taking turns piloting the rig..  In the world of loudbike, there are three very distinct types of experiences that keep me coming back to what we do despite the cost, the setbacks and disappointment and the time that it sucks from the relationships that we have with family and careers.  They let me to move above the endless white noise of modern life and allow me to simply be.  The sessions in the shop when every thing just comes together and I become lost in the music, the metal and the machine – the perfect laps where the bike simply disappears and time goes into slow motion – and those truly magic moments when my good friends and I allow ourselves to be kids again.  And things like Cancer simply cease to exist for a precious hour or two.

Content: 1987 Ducati 750 F1, 2005 Ducati Multistrada MTS1000S, Yamaha XS 750 Period 2 Vintage Racing Sidecar Outfit, VRRA, Adam Bennett, Hyperstrada, loudbike