"Git Up Offa That Thing..." James
Brown
First we watched Anthony Hopkins roar down the beach on
his Indian. Then the guys couldn’t stop talking about
Bonneville, and breaking a few records with the
Beemers. So they went, and they did.
And I thought, What the Heck? Where are the gals in all
of this? So I began a serious whine campaign. Kevin
couldn’t tear his hair out (he hasn’t enough left) so
he said let’s go get you qualified at El Mirage and
then maybe you can race at Bonneville. That’s great, I
thought. I went to El Mirage two times as support
already, and knew the ropes.
First item of importance was getting a set of leathers.
The racing rules for the vintage class are gear
that is stitched together, no vents, holes, etc,
and must
be leather. So I
order some leather pants, as we have lots of jackets
lying around the house. They come. I try them on. I
look like a VERY LARGE black creature from the lagoon,
somewhat bottom heavy.
Kevin says “oh those look fine, dear.” I say “I am not
racing with a fat ass. I need a smaller pair.” I order
a smaller pair. They come. I rub myself with Vaseline.
I writhe like a dead bug upside down on the bed trying
to get them up past my knees. I finally get them on. I
walk with mincing Geisha steps into the study because
the pants are so tight and inflexible that the
constriction prevents movement. I say "Kevin, do I look
fat in these?” He says “honey, you may want a bigger
pair – you need to be comfortable and flexible- it’s
about racing, not how you look in your leathers.” I
mince out of the room. In secret, I try to bend over.
The sensation at my waist is knifelike. I decide I
shall keep these leathers. Mostly, because they are a
size smaller than the fat pair and of course I can
loose weight before El Mirage.
It is now May, and we are packing. I bring slippery
nylon tights to get my not one ounce thinner body into
my leathers. We roar down and get there late Friday
night. Saturday morning we find we missed the rookie
talk, so I will not be able to race until I participate
in that. Our support team has not arrived (Tom and
Carol and Russ from Paso Robles and Santa Barbara), so
Kevin and I get 2 motorcycles, 2 helmets, gear box and
2 full set of leathers and boots into the long line for
tech inspection. We stumble and shuffle and lug the
stuff along, and at last get through, much easier than
last time. The guys know us, know we have the gist of
things.
As we load the gear to take our van over to our staging
area we watch The Blonde Phenomenon. This is an
attractive blonde gal who is racing. She steps up to
the inspection theater. The inspectors, who were
seriously harassing a motorcyclist complaining about
his gear and bike, suddenly are struck dumb. They
instantly sign off on the sheet, wave the man
impatiently on his way, and cluster, bees to honey, in
a tight, appreciative circle around the Blonde. Both
inspectors. One of whom was supposed to be inspecting
in the other line.
It is very hot. The wind is kicking up dust. We are
moving very quickly to set up a sun tent and get the
bikes down out of the van. You cannot ride around and
test things out. If you run, and then ride part way
back instead of wait for your pick up vehicle, you are
disqualified from racing. All Kevin can do is start the
bike and check things out. He gets a run in on Dean’s
café racer, but the gearing is wrong and he doesn’t
have what he needs to tweak it, so he preps Bonita
Rapida and does a pass. We get dusted out. That means
the wind picked up and they close racing for the day
because of visibility.
Tom, Carol, Russ Kevin and I all hang out 2 hours until
the Rookie talk. It is really a good one. The tech man
carefully explains the procedure to all four of us, the
rookies, and then we drive the course exactly where the
bikes will run. He explains the first and second set of
cones, and that you need to shut off right after the
second trap and get off to the left.
We go back to the hotel, hot dirty and dusty, grab food
and fall into bed. Up very early Sunday. Kevin wants me
in the Rookie line fast so that I get my run in and can
do a real pass. I worm my way into my leathers, and
suddenly am at the front of the line.
The starter jokes trying to get me to look over at him.
I am intent in my crouch, thinking my way through the
gear changes. I gaze down the runway, realizing I am
looking into a dust cloud and can see only three of the
orange cones. The starter waves, I revv it up and
hurtle down the track, taking it up through each gear
exactly as the boss explained.
I feel positively schizophrenic-there is zero
visibility, and for years Kevin has conditioned me to
pay attention and look way down the road for obstacles.
Here I am, trying to make the bike go as fast as it can
in a dust fog, only able to tell I am going straight by
the cones at my side! I keep reminding myself “go! GO!
GO! There are no Washington deer on this dustbowl
raceway!”
I go through one set of traps. My menopausal brain
thinks ‘Shit oh shit oh shit is that the first set, it
that the timed one or is the second? GO! go! go!” and I
am tapped all the way out in third and want to see if
it pulls fourth, so into fourth I go, and it isn’t
pulling so back into third and I want to go through the
timing pulling in third.
Suddenly I am through second set of lights and then I
think the end of the track is waaay down there. Let’s
see if it pulls fourth and into fourth I go and go it
isn’t pulling, so I slow way down and go left off the
track. I turn an about face and stall. Which is great,
because I had forgotten if I had gone at all in that
direction I would have disqualified myself.
I see a truck coming. And coming closer. And it has an
official look about it. And I think hmmmmm. A racing
official has come to discipline me. He is very kind,
and explains I should have immediately turned off the
raceway just after the second trap cones. I am humbled,
and think to myself “with these guys, I bet I get to
hear about this all day long!!” But other than them
saying to Kevin something about how his wife needs to
be controlled better, every one is kind and supportive.
I go back and tell Kevin about the lack of visibility.
I can see by his narrow little eyes he thinks I am
having a girly moment of whining. Then he does his run.
And then boy, I get to hear all about the incredible
lack of visibility!!
But I am elated, I have done it! I have raced a bike
across the mud, not fallen over, done a respectable
run, and you know what? I am ready for Bonneville.
So, come out of the woodwork, gals, dust yourself off,
and join me. If I can get into a pair of leathers, so
can you!