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| #1  03-May-2005, 02:00 | ||||
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| antonye\'s round 1 report... WARNING - Extra Long! As everyone else is doing it...  Friday night and the bike got loaded onto the trailer, and the boot was loaded up with all the tools, spares and accessories I thought I would need. I'd been thorough enough to spend the week before compiling a checklist of everything I could think of which I may possibly need, to ensure that I didn't forget the one thing I would need. It ran to nearly two pages of A4, and the boot of the Bimmer was very tightly packed, and it even overflowed onto the back seats. The plan was to set off at about 9am on saturday morning to make midday, get the bike sorted (it needed a few last minute adjustments) and then make the free practise in the afternoon once it was through scrutineering. Saturday morning came and I hadn't even had breakfast by 9am, so I was already running late. The last few things went into the car and I set off at about 10am, to make the mammoth 160 mile trip up to Cadwell. The prospect of nearly 4 hours in the car didn't fill me with joy, but that's the gruelling aspect of being a Proper Racer. The route would take me up the M11, A1 and then A16, and for those who have driven it the last part (the A16) feels about three times longer than it actually is, especially with a trailer. The car is normally tuned to Capital FM as it's the kind of mindless musical pap that makes the time pass more quickly, but I must be getting old as once the signal had faded a few miles up the M11, I retuned to Radio Two for a bit of thinking listening. Jonathon Ross was on and although I'm not a great fan, he is inoffensive enough to listen to and he kept me company for most of the drive with his cheeky chat and amusing guest slots. Christ I must be getting old. A quick stop for a top up of petrol and a coffee somewhere very flat - must be the Fens then - and I decided not to fill the fuel cans and the bike as I could do this later. There would be nothing worse than filling the boot of the car with the stink of petrol, and most of my kit was in there! Turning off the A1 and onto the A16 and it was like going back in time. Now, I'm no City boy as I was brought up in the most backwards backwater of Suffolk (population: 50,000 - surnames: 3) but the bright lights of Olde London Town attracted me many years ago and I've worked there ever since, only moving out to Essex to do the Family Thing. However, I was getting slightly worried when not only are there no visible habitats in any direction on the horizon, but there are also six foot ditches either side of the road that would swallow both the bimmer and the trailer whole, only to be found by some archaeologist team in 39573 as they laid foundations for the latest Hyperdrive Point to Nebulus 92 on the Outer Rim. The one thing that did keep me sane (although this is one point of contention anyway) through the journey was to marvel at a rare site in Essex - Policemen. It seems that this particular stretch of road was full of them! I walk past the Essex Police Headquarters every day and you don't see that many outside there! I must have passed nearly half a dozen marked cars, a marked van, a [s]camera van and even a marked motorbike! Either Lincolnshire is a hive of scum and villany, or the local Chief Constable has his head screwed on the right way round. Either way, for a place that is so empty it made a change to see more plod than a Dunkin' Donuts on Free Trial Day. Now my plan of filling up with petrol as I got closer to Cadwell went up the wall as, I'm sure most of you reading this will know, all the money in Lincolnshire has been spent on policemen and certainly not petrol stations. In most 21st century towns in England, you cannot drive more than 3 miles without passing either some kind of supermarket with attached petrol station, or a petrol station with some kind of attached supermarket. But Louth has neither. The only petrol station I know of in Louth (on the industrial estate near Keddintion House, for those that know it) is a pokey affair with clockwork pumps and one of those old "typewriter" tills that pops up the numbers. You think I'm kidding... In my rush to just get to Cadwell, I decide that I can find petrol later, ponce some of somebody else to make the free practise and worry about it later. I finally arrive through the gates of Cadwell Park Raceway at around 1.30pm - after what seems like 4 days solid driving. I had sent a text message to TP the day before to let me know where he had setup camp once he'd arrived, but I'm sure he'd just forgotten to do it in the rush rather than not tell me. Didn't you Tony. Didn't you? I tried his mobile but no answer. Fair enough, I know he was racing the SoT so I'm sure he was busy and wouldn't have time to park up and answer. So I gave Dickie a call, but his phone too didn't ring through. Then I remembered that Cadwell was particularly crap for mobile phone reception, so decided to hunt them down in the paddock. Driving down the paddock road, it was very hard not to miss the large Ducati Sporting Club flag, flying from a twenty foot pole in the middle of the paddock. That could be a good place to start then! My instinct was right as this was Michael and Lizzie's van, which was parked next to Tony and with Dickie on the other side. I parked in a spare spot, and went to find some familiar faces. There were plenty of people around who I knew - Rattler, Nick, Skidlids, Dave Harris and Annette, Michael and Lizzie - and by the time I found Tony he had already been out for his SoT race. I got the bike unloaded off the trailer and parked it out the front of the tents with all the others. As the bike had only been completed a week before, due to it being off for a week having an exhaust made and then spending time fitting the fairing to the last minute rush ACU approved belly pan from Sigma, the bike was unpainted and looked rather shabby amongt all the much better looking examples. The first thing to do was to pickup my oil pack from Monty, as the bike had no oil in it. I had put fresh oil in after then engine rebuild and setup (when the big-bore was also done) but this needed to be changed after running the bike in at Snetterton on the moday. I'd drained the oil, fitted a new oil filter and new plugs but rather than pay money to refill it with more oil, I had decided to wait until getting the free oil pack as part of the series sponsorship. Then I needed to get the oil sump plug, oil filter and oil filler lockwired, as I had no lockwire pliers, and I also needed some race numbers too. My previous experience with paddock life, helping out a mate who raced a KR1S and then later a TZ250, told me that I would be able to get all this sorted in the paddock. Monty and the Oil Packs (a good name for a band there) had not yet arrived, so I went and bought myself some race numbers - 9x Numbers 1s - a bargain for £1 although I was tempted to haggle on the price. They didn't have any lockwire pliers, so these would be borrowed from somebody else. Back at the bike, Duncan (Uncle Dunnie) arrived and pitched up the other side of the tarmac strip (it's not wide enough to be called a "road") and got his bike unloaded. Once I'd finished applying all nine of my number one stickers, Monty and the Passion Wagon (note: this would be a better band name) arrived and parked up close by. Without Monty even setting foot on the ground, I'd asked for my oil pack. He motioned with a wisened hand to the back to the camper, much like Gandalf casting a spell, and my eyes fell upon the stacks of boxes with Shell logos on them. Being desperate for my share of the loot, I agreed to help Monty unload and setup Dodgy Monty's Oil Emporium (prefer the Passion Wagon one I think) outside the van. Boxen upon boxen of oil came out and was stacked up, ready to be distributed to the crazed racers, like food to the starving (nb. don't overdo it...). Clutching my haul, I got back to the bike and topped it up with the required amount. Then I set about borrowing some lockwire pliers and wire from someone, which happened to be just across the tarmac in the form of Duncan. He gave me a quick lesson in how to operate the lockwire pliers, which was a bit like trying to figure out how a magician produces an orange from empty hands, and off I went armed to lockwire anything that moved. Or at least attempted to. So it went... put the lockwire through. Hold it in the jaws. Clamp it with the slidy thing, then pull the plunger and hey presto! Lockwire! It wasn't that difficult after all. The hardest thing was to find out where to lockwire too, but the bellypan brackets did ok for that. I had actually cheated on the lockwire front as I'd bought pre-drilled billet alloy filler cap and sump plug, along with a K&N oil filter which comes with a pre-drilled nut on the end. These all made the lockwiring much easier, for not much more expense. Back on with the bellypan, with some help from Michael (MW) to hold it all in place, and the bike was ready for scrutineering. This was the bit that I wasn't looking forward to as it was like an MOT where they were bound to find the loose bolt I hadn't spotted and I would be riddiculed for years to come as the guy that hadn't noticed the most important bolt on the bike. Rolling down to the scrutineers bay with my leathers on and the scrutineering card in my hand, I leant the bike against the wall and went inside to find two very fat men sitting around doing nothing, like all good fat men do. They looked at me blankly (another trait of the Very Fat Man) and I wondered if I'd managed to grow another head, but they seemed to understand my question of "scrutineering?" as they looked at each other, grunted and then said something which resembled English but consisted of lots of "eeeeee" and "duck" or "dook" or some strange Northern lingo. The slightly less fat very fat bloke got me to hold the bike upright from behind as he went round the front and gripped the bars in some kind of perverse mechanical spitroast. Apparently he was checking the head bearings but I'm not too sure. He then checked the brakes (yep, there were some on it) and then looked inside the fairing. Now, considering that the fairing covers the bellypan, which covers up the lockwiring, he didn't probe too far. In fact, I'm sure that he couldn't even see that I'd managed to perform the Best Lockwiring On A Motorcycle Ever, but just grunted again and said "Eeeeee. That'll do yer." or something. Was that it? Had it failed? Apparently not, as he marked my card, put a yellow sticker by the numbers and waved me away. It was all very odd. Back up at our mini-collection area and I realised that it was empty. Everyone else had gone out for practise! Bugger. That will teach me to leave things until the last minute. I still hadn't signed on nor paid the balance owed, or picked up a transponder, so there was no way I would be allowed out to practise. Instead I wandered down to the New Era office and got signed on, paid for a transponder and handed over all my scrutineering and "Get Out Of Jail" liability cards to complete the paperwork required to race. Back at our area in the paddock, the others chewed the fat about the free practise and started getting ready for tomorrow's race. I chatted with a few of the other racers, and Dibble turned up to take the mickey out of everyone as usual. It was then that I decided on a last minute gearing change - not because I'd worked out what was best for the track but because Kev (Skidlids) had told me what he was running. That was good enough for me, so with the light starting to fade, out came the tools and the spare sprockets and off came the back wheel for a sprocket change. Luckily it swapped over very easy (I had a nightmare getting the original sprocket off the hub when sorting the bike as it was so tight) and so I was done for the day and ready to go for the racing tomorrow. But first I needed petrol, so I unhooked the trailer and set off out of Cadwell to find some. I drove into Louth which is about 10 minutes away, but the fog had started to obscure the land around Cadwell like some kind of horror film. My mind flicked back to American Werewolf In London (which had scared me shitless as a child as it was the first film I'd watched on video, but only made me laugh when I watched it again as an adult!) and the tales of Misty Moors at night. I made a resolution to stick to the road and not stray from the path, and I'd be alright. I found the only garage in Louth, but it was predictably closed, along with everywhere else in Louth it seemed. So the only thing for it was to head somewhere on a major road and pray for a garage. As I'd arrived on the A16 from the South and there had been no garages with at least 20 miles, common sense and a quick flip of a coin in my head said to go North on the A16. After a few miles, the signs to Grimsby started counting down the miles and I just reminded myself that even though that was *really* northern, at least they may have some petrol. And I'd never been to Grimsby either. Bonus! Luckily I found what must be North Lincs only Esso station and filled the cans and the car with petrol right to the brim. I also grabbed some supplies, a paper (just in case I got bored like) and paid the cashier. With a credit card. But they did get me to sign a bit of paper rather than put in my PIN, so they weren't that advanced near Grimsby. Back at the camp it was now properly dark and the barbies were in full flame mode as the food came out. I'd brought along some of the wife's famous Chilli which I'd nabbed from the freezer in the morning, and Tony's wife Ange found me a pot and a spoon large enough to cope with it. To make it go round a bit more, I added a tin of baked beans. Dave Harris offered the mini-stove to get it heated on but was having no luck getting it to light. So I read the instructions and had a go at getting it to light. You're right - it did light first time. The beers came out, the sausages were burnt and the chicken checked that it wasn't pink in the middle - all the good stuff about having a barbie. TP and his Aussie mate Jason had wafted a couple of steaks over the barbie and then put them in a roll. I swear one of them was still wiggling. I'd been talking up the wife's Chilli and managed to get Duncan to try some and he said it was good. I thought to myself that he was probably just being polite, but that the tester would be if he had some more, which he did, so it obviously wasn't that bad. Even Dibble said it was good, but what does he know about food, eh? It was getting late and Dave and Annette, our hosts for the night, wanted to get some sleep so they kicked us all out of their marquee. They had kindly agreed to let myself and Tony stash our bikes in there overnight, as their tent was also inside the marquee (check with Dave about hire rates for weddings and parties...) and the bikes would be safe in there. So we wheeled the bike in and kissed them goodnight before settling down ourselves. Tony had offered a room in his tent for the night, and I'd brought along my own sleeping bag and a blow up single mattress I use with it. As luck would have it, the mattress had a slow puncture so I ended up sleeping in relative comfort. The sleeping bag, one of those cocoon/mummy affairs which narrow at the bottom and have a hood at the top, also seemed to have shrunk since the last time I'd used it as I just couldn't get comfy. I drifted in and out of sleep - Tony was snoring away across the "hall" in his side of the tent - and then it started with the thunder and the ****ing rain. Great stuff. The morning came all too quickly and I did my usual trick of waking up two minutes before the alarm on my phone went off to get me out of bed. It's funny how your body clock can be so precise like that sometimes. I got up and wandered outside as Tony's tent was empty, and everyone was again at Dave and Annette's marquee. I was handed a nice hot cup of tea, and we all stood outside looking up at the sky. The ground was wet, there were puddles of water everywhere, and poor Duncan was lucky not to have floated away in the night from the looks of things - not the best start to a weekend of racing. We debated the weather - would it rain more or clear up? Would the track dry or would it be wet? - and although the prospect of a wet track didn't bother me, I'd obviously prefer it to be dry. There wasn't much time before we all had to be kitted up and ready for practise at 9am as they call you in a good 10-15 minutes early. My mate Phil had arrived to support me during the day, and help out where needed, so I got kitted up and he helped with the awkward stuff like getting my novice bib on and getting the bike off the stand. Heading down to the collecting area for practise, everyone was wide eyed with excitement - there were no sleepy heads in this lot. I've ridden Cadwell many times before, so it was only the hairpin to get used to and the rest would be fine. I was in the middle of the pack as we were let out onto the track, and took it steady going round to spot the puddles of water and the damp patches under the trees and so on. Cadwell is an odd track as it can be dry for most of the track, but the mountain section is shaded by the trees around it so sometimes it can still be damp and very slippery, so you need to take care. Building up the speed and getting used to the bike and the new hairpin, the gearing felt good and I was happy with the bike moving about a bit in the wet, and sometimes with some good slides in the corners - all predictable stuff and I was comfortable with it. Accelerating out of the hairpin, just before the left into the mountain, I'd caught up with Dickie on his 620 Monster. Suddenly he was rushing towards me and I hit the brakes. The front washed out and before I knew it I was sliding along on my arse, onto the grassed area behind the bike on it's side. ****. It turned out that Dickie had missed a gear, which is why he'd slowed down so quickly. It's surprising the speed at which he'd come towards me (or at least it felt like it, as I was accelerating and he was only slowing slightly) and it was a case of smack into the back of him or brake. My brain had screamed BRAKE HARD and the track had been too slippery to cope, so the front had just let go. The marshalls laughed as the grass had been freshly laid and I was the first one to test it out. Thanks for laughing at me guys! The bike looked fine - just a bent footrest but then I spotted the gear lever rubber and peg had gone ... and I didn't have a spare. The bike was soon into the back of the recovery van, along with me, and they dropped me off at our pit area. No sooner was the bike out of the back than Dave Harris took charge and formed a plan to get me sorted. The handle bar had taken a hit, and had bent at the clamp, so this was replaced with the spare I had by my mate Phil. Dave was sorting the footpeg as this had ground away nicely (good decision to make them out of nice soft ally there Nigel!) and it had bent the bolt which held it in place. It would be easy to replace the bolt, but the problem would be getting the bolt out of the threaded rearset as it was bent at 45 degrees. Using Brute Force, I bent the peg back to straight under Dave's directions and he then set about unwinding it. Luckily the peg came off without damage but the bolt was mashed. Dave was unsure if the bolt would come out without taking the threads out with it, but we gave it a go and with some gentle spannering, Dave came up trumps. The next thing to do was find a replacement bolt. The only one that was the right type (M10 fine pitch) was a shanked bolt, so the threaded rearset plate would be a problem. An executive decision was made to drill out the thread from an adjacent hole (to save my preferred postion hole from damage) to accomodate the shanked bolt. A cordless drill was borrowed from Nick (cheers NB!) and the plate de-threaded. The thread in the peg would be a problem too, to this was drilled down slightly and the bolt packed with washers. Dave again spannered some magic and the footpeg was good to go. Next was the gear lever missing it's pedal. There was a small bit of pedal there, but it was riveted in place rather than screwed. Luckily it was soft alloy so this was easily drilled, then the excess removed with a hacksaw and a bolt and two-nuts arrangement put in place to create a pedal. With an large application of black gaffer tape, you'd think it was meant to look like that! With the bike now sorted, I nipped down to scrutineering while Phil cleared away, and they checked it over and said it was fine. As I pulled out the other side, the DD bikes were rolling down into the collecting area for qualifying - now this was the one thing I couldn't miss! I went back up to our area, frantically waving at Phil to get me some petrol. Our years of riding together meant he understood what I wanted and dashed off to retrieve the can of petrol. We topped the bike up and I raced off again to the holding area. The bike was running rough - but I put this down to the fact the carbs had probably drained when it had a lay down. As I was late to qualifying, I was near the back of the pack and this had stuffed me for a clear run at the track and hopefully a good time. Bugger - late again and I've screwed things up. Out on the track it was drying now and there were plenty of dry lines to take, but everywhere was chokka with traffic. The only place to overtake was off the dry line and braking into the hairpin - not the best place to do it and certainly after just losing the front on the brakes coming out the other side! I just gritted my teeth and went for it a few times, kept it together and did my best. Coming round Barn (the right hander before the start/finish straight) there were at least 3 bikes on the ground. The DSC'er in you says "****, that's my mates there" while the racer in you says "that's three less to worry about" and you're torn with which way to go. But no time to think about that as it's head down, fast laps, hold it together and Don't ****ing Crash. All too quickly the chequered flag comes out and we're off up the pit lane and back to our paddock area. I'm only just off the bike and helmet off when Annette comes up the paddock with the timed sheet. I've qualified in 14th spot with a fastest lap time of 53.55s - just over 4 seconds off pole but bloody good for my first outing none the less. I'm happy with that! Now it's time to relax a bit until our race but first the bike is checked for fuel and a quick bolt check to make sure that nothing has worked loose. It turns out that Nick (NBs996) had taken out both Phil (Fil2) and Duncan (UncleDunnie) at Barn, and those were the bikes I'd seen. Duncan looks in a bad way - very pale and shaken - but his bike looks like it can be repaired. He's nursing a sore wrist but is not able to continue. Man, I'd be gutted if that was me and I'm sure he was too. Worst case would be to not race the first round due to a non-fault or a stupid mistake and I had those feelings when I cocked off earlier. I'm sure he doesn't blame Nick but it's gotta **** you off and all respect to Duncan for not lamping anyone/anything. I know Nick spoke to him later and I'm sure he apologised even though that's racing for you. I chat with my mate Phil back at the paddock and we meet Eric, Peter Grover, Colin (Col996s) and Rob (electricsheep) all from the Essex region as they've been watching practise and have walked up to the pits. Myself and Phil walk down to the bar and grab a cuppa, as I collect my thoughts and try to focus on the race ahead. The bit upto our race is a blur now, and it came all too soon. Helmet on, gloves on, off the paddock stand and down to collecting. We're all given a sticker on the front of our bikes showing our grid positions, and they let us out onto the track and we form up on the grid. Now there's two sets of numbers on the grid - one yellow for cars (which is more spaced out) and one white for bikes. I know this now, but I didn't at the time. The first number 14 I came to was yellow, but it seemed like miles away from the line - I'm hoping that fourth line of the grid really isn't this far back! Then I spot the white numbers, so I gas it like I'm doing a practise start, and hope nobody notices... Forming up, the chap with a flag waves us off a line at a time. We take it easy round the track - don't be a cock and fall off now! - and round again to line up for the off. I remembered from my ACU training that our instructor said that weaving the bike did nothing to warm your tyres and braking and accelerating hard were thing things to do. He also said that once someone started to weave, you could guarantee that all the chumps behind them would too, so I gave it a quick wiggle and chuckled to myself, hoping that people behind would be suckered into it. Lining up on the grid and my heart is pounding. The man holding the flag points up to the gantry to the left and above the track where the lights are. Engines rev. I rev too and brace for the off. The red light comes on. Engines rev more. The red light goes out. **** - I'm supposed to have left! I wasn't concentrating enough on the lights and had the grid in my field of vision, that it was only when they moved that I went too - a long time after the lights had gone out! Two rows in front and there's a bike making skyward with a huge wheelie. He makes the classic mistake of shutting off the throttle and it slams into the ground, and in the mean time he's opened the throttle again and it's gone straight back up in the air. This time he's leaning over to the left - away from me - and he leaps onto the side like a salmon coming out of the water. It's a beautiful site for a few microseconds, until *that* sound of crunching plastic. No time to watch as I'm in a race and I'm round them now anyway, and off for the hairpin. It wasn't a bad start - I've probably lost a couple of places - but it seems like the jumper at the gate may have held people up for me. I settle into a routine trying to keep pace with the guys in front by by god those 620s have some power. Relatively speaking, of course. I can't remember how many people I went past, or how many came past me, but I do remember thinking half-way through that I wish they'd hurry up and get the chequered flag out, as I'm sure I can't keep this up for twelve laps! I braking later and later into the hairpin, as it's the only place to make up time on people and overtake. On one lap somebody shows a wheel on the inside but I drift over and close the door. I make myself wide for the track as I know that you haven't got a hope in hell of coming past until Barn, and I play some tricks so hold them up then get a good drive out and hopefully the jump on the straight. Coming into the hairpin, the front wheel appears, and then the forks too. I've left my braking later to try and hold them off, but they've got the inside. **** **** ****. I'm braking harder than I ever have in my life and the back wheel is off the ground and the front is skipping the tarmac and locking up - I can hear it squealing as it skip skip skips! **** **** ****! Just as it looks like he's done me, he grabs a bit too much front and it catches him out. The bike stands on the end and he's over the front! I see his arms go out and think that's going to hurt. It's so close I feel the draft of the bike as it slams over after him. The guy in front of us was just rolling through the hairpin and the acrobatic bike slams into his back wheel, taking him with it. I've ****ed the gears completely and it's put me off, but I bang it down as I pull up and coast it round the hairpin as bikes slide off in front of me. Back in gear, off up the mountain, no time to stop, orange monster in front to catch. The Orange Monster becomes my next target and I reel him in, catching him on the bends but he goes on the straight. I try him up the inside and out brake him in the hairpin, skipping the front again. I can't keep this up, it's madness! I've made the pass stick and I make myself wide again but try to get my head down and pull away. Back out at Barn and I see the monster edging out beside me but I drift over and shut the door, leaving the braking late again. Off round the hairpin and away, getting my head down again. Next time round Barn there's no monster beside me and the Last Lap flag is out. Head down, go go go. Don't relax now. Don't bin it - you've made it this far. No target in front, so hold it together and you're less than 60 seconds from the finish. Round Barn, head down nail the throttle - don't want any last minute muggings on the line. Crossing the chequered flag felt fantastic, and I glance back behind me but there's nobody there, so I'd managed to pull out some space. Back in the pits I'm all trembly and buzzing from that. It was fantastic - absolute carnage but fantastic. Dickie and Michael are already there, and Dave Harris is arriving too. I've no idea where I came, who came off, but I know Tony isn't there. The news reaches us that Tony got taken out on the line, but his bike is soon back and Dave Harris again jumps straight in to get it sorted. Luckily it's only a footpeg, but TP looks mighty ****ed off. Then we hear that it was Domski who did the acrobatics and took out Mike Atack on his Multipasta. Domski landed hard on his arm and it's probably broken, so he'll be out for the next race at least. Mike's MS is looking poorly with a bashed swingarm, but the mechanics have sorted Tony so they're off to sort Mike out. We see a hammer and a big screwdriver being handed out, a foot to brace it then the blows rain down to smack it straight. Pitlane mechanics at it's best! Annette has the results again and I placed 11th! Superb! I wanted to make the top half of the results as a personal goal and I'm nearly in the top third! Absolutely chuffed with that! Time to unwind, see more people, calm down from the buzz and grab another coffee. My hip is going stiff from the fall earlier in the morning, but it's nothing to worry about now. I don't feel like eating either, but grab some crisps. We walk out and try to watch the racing but my mind is not on that. We watch the nutters on the 600s racing and an old granny standing next to me asks if I race out there. Fearing the "you're all mad" speech us motorcyclists normally get, I say "Yes, I've just been out just now." Old Granny catches me off guard by pointing to a bike whizzing past and says "That's my grandson, but he's not having a good day today." Quitely surprised I say he looks fast, but she's too busy watching. He comes round again and she shouts "Come on!" so loud I nearly spit my coffee out. Quality! We have a wonder round parts of the circuit and try to get some tips for going a bit faster. The races come and go and my second is getting near now, so we head back up and fuel and check the bike over again. Our race gets called and I head down to the collecting area, but there's only NB there, so I draw up beside him and we have a chat. Just a few jokes to ease the tension really. A few people are taking pictures from the fench so we mug it up for the camera a bit, sticking fingers up, crossing eyes, trying to look serious. I look around and Ali is behind me, so I roll back and we chat - again a few jokes to ease the wait. They're taking forever and I'm sweating like you wouldn't believe. Finally the rope drops and we're off to form up again. We line up for the formation lap - I get the right spot this time - and I practise my start off the line, trying to remember what I did and how fast it was. Andrew Roberts is beside me, one place up in 13th, and we're running similar bikes. I make a good start so I'm confident I've got starts nailed now, if I can just concentrate on the lights this time! Round we go and back to the grid. Man With Flag points up to lights. Engines Rev. Red Light comes on. The engines are deafening and the light goes out. A pretty good start and I'm ahead of Andrew and drift across to block anyone up the inside. I'm behind Ali into the hairpin as I recognise the bike and the helmet - he locks his back wheel or his front as there's a big puff of black smoke but he stays upright and goes through. There are bikes everywhere and everyone seems to jump in front of me and Ali disappears up the track amongst the bikes. I'm bracing myself for a shove from behind, almost tensing up waiting for it, but it doesn't come and I'm clean through the hairpin. We form into a long snake up the mounting until it's out to Barn and things start to move again. Bikes come past and I try to tag along. I get past some at the hairpin on the brakes, or chicken out as they almost match me. I'm keeping it tight to keep the door shut, and to stop anyone nipping up the inside and having me off. It seems to be working as I'm still upright! Round again, and again, not really going anywhere but full on it every single lap. I'm sucked into a three-way battle with Orange Monster and Andrew on his SS. I know I can take Orange Monster as I did that in Race 1, but I've got to get past Andrew first. My bike is quicker on the straight by a touch, but he's as good on the brakes and he's smart with his lines too. Round Barn we go and I'm up close but Orange Monster pulls away and I've got the jump on Andrew as drift past him, level at the start/finish line. Orange Monster is too far in front now, and I can see carnage at the hairpin. The yellow flag is out but Andrew nips up the inside on the brakes. The cheeky ****er - on a yellow flag too! I stick with him and Orange Monster in front, and round we go to Barn again and I get the jump once more out of Barn and down the straights. I pull a gap but the yellows are still out at the hairpin - and that ****er has just slipped up the inside of me again! Right you cnut, I'm having you now! Orange Monster and Andrew have pulled a lead on me and I'm closing them down through the woods. Out to Barn and I'm too far to go past either, but I close them both down at the hairpin. Orange Monster has the lead but he's been caught up by us both braking late at the hairpin. I'm tailing them now, right behind as we go through the woods. Into Barn and I'm not letting this go now. Orange Monster get the jump but Andrew is very slow coming out - so much so that I'm past him really early down the straight. Head down, through the gears, no mistakes now and make this stick. But what's this? Chequered flag? Yes! Yes! Yes! I've mugged him on the line! That'll teach you, cheating ****er Back to the pits and I'm ecstatic that I mugged Andrew for the place, I feel like I've just won a GP! Off the bike and try to calm down, we all rambling on like loons. I saw Ali's bike parked up at the hairpin - hopefully he just got it wrong and it didn't go bang. Didn't look like anything wrong. Somebody has the results sheet and I'm 11th again. If only I'd gone past Orange Monster I'd have been 10th, and I know I can get past him! Oh well, I'm more than happy with 11th. But 10th would have been better. I get my leathers off and I'm dripping with sweat. I change into jeans as I don't want to run the invitation race. As I'm getting changed, Andrew comes over and we have a laugh at me mugging him on the line. I point out the error of his ways, but all is fair in love and racing! The rest of the day is another blur - we watch Ali in the invitation race from the stand at the mountain, and cheer him as he passes Chris Butcher who has managed to keep it upright for once. Kev (skidlids) and Paul Payne (paynep) go out within seconds of each other - they've both suffered problems with their fully floating disks as in earlier races. The disks are slapping the pads and knocking the pistons back, so they have to pump up to get any power back into the brakes - not the sort of thing you need to worry about in a race! Ali gets a huge cheer as he finishes first with a big lead over Chris's second place, on a much less powerful bike. A deserved and well ridden win there. It's a shame I can't watch all the races if they're this exciting, but I know I'd rather be on the track. We hang around and chat, saying goodbyes, catching people who I didn't see earlier (hello Lisa!) and we're all pumped on the adrenaline. It's depressing to think I've now got to sit for nearly four hours in the car to drive home, but it was worth every minute. This racing lark is ****ing mental. And I love it   |
| #5 03-May-2005, 02:16 | ||||
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| Same here I will finish reading it tomorrow, Ant you do realise that the very nice gentlemen you discribed as very Fat Men are New Era Scrutineers and will also be checking over you bike at Castle Combe, Brands and Donigton as well, no doubt next time they will find several problems with the number 111 bike  |
| #9 03-May-2005, 09:55 | ||||
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| Quote:
That'll be Les then Antonye-he's a diamond, always helpful and usually scrutineers our bike the night before an event which saves having to stand in a long queue. John |
antonye
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