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Well now, this isn't the report I had in mind a few days ago when I teased, "stay tuned". Now that I have had a day to sort it out, it really comes down to this. I didn't ride that bike with the respect it deserves. I let the "red-mist" do the thinking and it bit me this time. Bad. I'm going to hurt for a while.
How old do you have to get before the laws of gravity no longer apply? You all know the answer to that one, they always apply. But gravity didn't cause the crash, I did. Speed, controlled by my right hand, twisting the grip, too much, too soon, by a guy that thought he could handle it. I broke the very rules I have taught, that I hope I had passed on to my sons and any one else that I thought would listen to me. First you must ride well, speed is a by-product of your mastering the art.
What started out earlier in the week as an exercise in "tuning up my skills" damn near became a tragedy for my family and friends, for all of them, I am truly sorry for my lack of judgement not only to them, but to the folks that got their session cut short by bringing out the Red-Flag for one of "those guys".
Even though they probably thought they had just witnessed the oldest squid on the planet trying to do away with himself by the end of the first session, my thanks to the Mid-Ohio School for their fast and professional response to my off track excursion.
We arrived on time Wednesday morning. As teddy will attest, I am anal about being punctual, I have always prided myself on being prepared, but on this outing I didn't use my usual list to check off the many tasks and details that need to be dealt with. I took a much less professional approach to the whole ordeal. Mistake number one. Fast doesn't know you "usually" have a much better work ethic.
Upon arriving, I'm off to registration, by the time I return, I barely have the time to get the bike to tech before the mandatory riders meeting. My bike is always 100%, and the scrutineers only suggest a bigger piece of duct-tape on each one of my wheel weights, yeah right, they always have to find something, right? Back in the paddock, new, bigger tape was applied. (I had a scrutineers license years ago). They're just doing thier jobs, you know?
Anyway, now I'm off to the riders meeting. It's always the same old stuff, the flags are here, here and here, and oh, by the way Indycars were here last weekend, most of the marbles are gone or way off the line you SHOULD be using today. Why didn't someone look at me and SCREAM "hey old man, watch for the marbles those Indycars left for you, they could bite you later if you're not paying attention". Then it's more of the bla, bla, bla stuff with here's todays riding coaches and your group number, oh by the way, be safe out there today, it's not a race. No money or trophys will be presented at the end of the day. Lunch will be in garage number eight. I never miss where lunch will be. Today, I will miss lunch at garage number eight.
Meanwhile, back in the paddock, Barb has had volunteers help her set up our canopy, and gotten everything placed just the way I like it. (More of my anal retentive behavior). So now it's just wait until we're called to the grid, drink plenty of water, and wiggle into the leathers when the time comes. Soon the time comes to head to pit lane and grid with my group, one last kiss and a mutual "I love you" before the helmet that will save my life in a few minutes goes on, God, I love that AGV helmet, their leathers and gloves too!
Off to the pit lane, can't find my group, where are these supposed to be "cones" numbered 1through 4. Well, lets see, over there's number 1, and over there's number 5, five? What the hell is up, where are the coaches (still coming in from the previous session), but I don't know this. Usually group one goes out, then group two, three, etc...not here, not today, I guess this works, I just didn't expect it. Note to self, OLD farts don't like different, I'll pass that along at lunch.
I don't like my group. They're slow. Lap 1, bla, bla bla. Wave at the wife as I pass under the start finish line, funny huh? I think she got a picture of me! Lap two, still sucks. Lap three, sucks a little less. Start lap four, coming out of the keyhole, another group is LAPPING us!
Oh no you don't, I point to the coach to go with the other group, and then I go. I wonder if I did the right thing. I hang with them at the back of the group, much, much faster, I likey. Lap five, not. Turn one, too much speed, in to deep, too fast, marbles, chatter, the grass, the gravel. I rode it all the way to the gravel. Grass, you stay off the trottle, you'll make it! Gravel, the bike stops, depending on that speed thing, you may not (your body that is), mine didn't. Gravity wins! I'm flying! Wait, it's now true that I can fly, can I land? No, at least not well.
I'm off the bike, it's still running, get to the wall, I hurt, is anything broken? I fell off my bike! It's a mess, I'm a mess. Hey buddy, you OK? Yeah, yeah, tell her (Barb, she worries about me) I'm ok. Crash cart gets here, you sit in the front, you're ok, right? Yeah, I think so, I just crashed, what the h e l l do I know? I'm taking you to the track hospital. Twenty five years, I always knew where it was, never been in it. It's nice, in a kind of sucks to be here kind of way. Do you want to be transported to an area hospital? Adrenaline and shock are amazing things, I said no, I'm OK, just got the wind knocked outa me. Sign this form, come back if you think you need to.
Barb enters the hospital. I'm sorry, I never wanted this to happen with you here at the track. You say stupid things when you miss a hundred mile per hour turn and come to a stop before your body is prepared to do so. As we head back to the paddock, I get a thumbs-up from the pit lane official, glad you're still with us!
Back in the paddock, I'm actually entertaining thoughts of repairing the bike, I've got my tools, I've got another windshield, and then it hits me, not only do I hurt like Rocky just used me as his own personal meatbag, my bike is done, and even if I could put it back together with duct-tape, they are not going to let me finish the day. I'm in shock. Now I just want to go home. We text and send pictures to the boys, I'm embarrased. I thought I was better than that. I'll be back on the bike soon. It will be a different color, and have some new upgrades. As for an old mans healing process, it takes as long as it takes. Thanks to all for your concern, Jim.
How old do you have to get before the laws of gravity no longer apply? You all know the answer to that one, they always apply. But gravity didn't cause the crash, I did. Speed, controlled by my right hand, twisting the grip, too much, too soon, by a guy that thought he could handle it. I broke the very rules I have taught, that I hope I had passed on to my sons and any one else that I thought would listen to me. First you must ride well, speed is a by-product of your mastering the art.
What started out earlier in the week as an exercise in "tuning up my skills" damn near became a tragedy for my family and friends, for all of them, I am truly sorry for my lack of judgement not only to them, but to the folks that got their session cut short by bringing out the Red-Flag for one of "those guys".
Even though they probably thought they had just witnessed the oldest squid on the planet trying to do away with himself by the end of the first session, my thanks to the Mid-Ohio School for their fast and professional response to my off track excursion.
We arrived on time Wednesday morning. As teddy will attest, I am anal about being punctual, I have always prided myself on being prepared, but on this outing I didn't use my usual list to check off the many tasks and details that need to be dealt with. I took a much less professional approach to the whole ordeal. Mistake number one. Fast doesn't know you "usually" have a much better work ethic.
Upon arriving, I'm off to registration, by the time I return, I barely have the time to get the bike to tech before the mandatory riders meeting. My bike is always 100%, and the scrutineers only suggest a bigger piece of duct-tape on each one of my wheel weights, yeah right, they always have to find something, right? Back in the paddock, new, bigger tape was applied. (I had a scrutineers license years ago). They're just doing thier jobs, you know?
Anyway, now I'm off to the riders meeting. It's always the same old stuff, the flags are here, here and here, and oh, by the way Indycars were here last weekend, most of the marbles are gone or way off the line you SHOULD be using today. Why didn't someone look at me and SCREAM "hey old man, watch for the marbles those Indycars left for you, they could bite you later if you're not paying attention". Then it's more of the bla, bla, bla stuff with here's todays riding coaches and your group number, oh by the way, be safe out there today, it's not a race. No money or trophys will be presented at the end of the day. Lunch will be in garage number eight. I never miss where lunch will be. Today, I will miss lunch at garage number eight.
Meanwhile, back in the paddock, Barb has had volunteers help her set up our canopy, and gotten everything placed just the way I like it. (More of my anal retentive behavior). So now it's just wait until we're called to the grid, drink plenty of water, and wiggle into the leathers when the time comes. Soon the time comes to head to pit lane and grid with my group, one last kiss and a mutual "I love you" before the helmet that will save my life in a few minutes goes on, God, I love that AGV helmet, their leathers and gloves too!
Off to the pit lane, can't find my group, where are these supposed to be "cones" numbered 1through 4. Well, lets see, over there's number 1, and over there's number 5, five? What the hell is up, where are the coaches (still coming in from the previous session), but I don't know this. Usually group one goes out, then group two, three, etc...not here, not today, I guess this works, I just didn't expect it. Note to self, OLD farts don't like different, I'll pass that along at lunch.
I don't like my group. They're slow. Lap 1, bla, bla bla. Wave at the wife as I pass under the start finish line, funny huh? I think she got a picture of me! Lap two, still sucks. Lap three, sucks a little less. Start lap four, coming out of the keyhole, another group is LAPPING us!
Oh no you don't, I point to the coach to go with the other group, and then I go. I wonder if I did the right thing. I hang with them at the back of the group, much, much faster, I likey. Lap five, not. Turn one, too much speed, in to deep, too fast, marbles, chatter, the grass, the gravel. I rode it all the way to the gravel. Grass, you stay off the trottle, you'll make it! Gravel, the bike stops, depending on that speed thing, you may not (your body that is), mine didn't. Gravity wins! I'm flying! Wait, it's now true that I can fly, can I land? No, at least not well.
I'm off the bike, it's still running, get to the wall, I hurt, is anything broken? I fell off my bike! It's a mess, I'm a mess. Hey buddy, you OK? Yeah, yeah, tell her (Barb, she worries about me) I'm ok. Crash cart gets here, you sit in the front, you're ok, right? Yeah, I think so, I just crashed, what the h e l l do I know? I'm taking you to the track hospital. Twenty five years, I always knew where it was, never been in it. It's nice, in a kind of sucks to be here kind of way. Do you want to be transported to an area hospital? Adrenaline and shock are amazing things, I said no, I'm OK, just got the wind knocked outa me. Sign this form, come back if you think you need to.
Barb enters the hospital. I'm sorry, I never wanted this to happen with you here at the track. You say stupid things when you miss a hundred mile per hour turn and come to a stop before your body is prepared to do so. As we head back to the paddock, I get a thumbs-up from the pit lane official, glad you're still with us!
Back in the paddock, I'm actually entertaining thoughts of repairing the bike, I've got my tools, I've got another windshield, and then it hits me, not only do I hurt like Rocky just used me as his own personal meatbag, my bike is done, and even if I could put it back together with duct-tape, they are not going to let me finish the day. I'm in shock. Now I just want to go home. We text and send pictures to the boys, I'm embarrased. I thought I was better than that. I'll be back on the bike soon. It will be a different color, and have some new upgrades. As for an old mans healing process, it takes as long as it takes. Thanks to all for your concern, Jim.
), and I promptly tore into it. All of the plastics are now off the bike, the left side main taking the brunt of the fall and pretty much the only one in need of any kind of major repair. Dad is pretty good..no, he's simply outstanding, when it comes to bike preparedness and maintenance. His forethought of buying a radiator screen most likely saved him from having to buy a new radiator, as it had been impacted with a shload of the pea gravel from the gravel trap. Upon seeing that, I decided we needed to tear the tank off and check out the innards of the airbox for gravel. Clean as a whistle aside from the usual bugs and small granules of crap. Forks are straight, front wheel runs out true, not a single lever even bent, let alone broken off. Upper fairing stay has a slight bend to it easily fixed with a length of pipe and a little persuasion. Bike is absolutely mechanically sound, just a bit dirtier than usual, and I'm sure now that it's apart, it'll be cleaner than clean soon. 
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