Last Rides

[oldironnow]

Trackday.

Up at 5 a.m.

The Buell, wearing a new Michelin Road5 rear to match the year-old front, is loaded and resting in the garage.
Flick on the lights, and the beast rests ready to go amongst its brethren, the non-running who have gone before it and succumbed to my attentions and in-attentions.
Just need to tuck some apples and cherries into the remaining nooks of the saddle bags. Fitting them around the tools and stove, water and cookies, rags and zip ties. There's a folding chair sticking up and back and bungied a bit for security. Those dishes need to be done, so I leave a touch late.

Into the dark and through the pools of street lights away from The Estate, the Buell and I cruise through a small city just awakening to another Monday. There are two rush hours here; the first is the ag-rush, with workers heading out to the lettuce and berry fields - sunrise is the start time. The second, the rest of the world - you name it, you do it, did it, done it.

Hwy One, two-lane, to the south. Past the power plant. At times along the breaking swell. Everyone is commuting north under a marine layer shot through with wildfire smoke. People’s lives are being destroyed, and I am going to play. Guilt. Cold air enters the race leathers through the thousand holes on the chest panel. Two shirts underneath, for now. And as we rise up the entrance road to Laguna Seca, all of its 20% grade, the clouds part and the air begins to warm. The track is in a bowl that not only holds daytime heat, but also can be above the ocean’s cold breath.

Sanctum sanctorum. The guard shack waves us in and up to the lip of the bowl that craddles the track. Turn 5, right in your face. The pit guard likes my paperwork, and I’m in to the paddock. I have not brought shade, so I’m drawn to a fuel shed that may later hide me from the sun. Most of the other trackday people have arranged themselves close to pit-in and pit-out, but there’s one other rig out here along the perimeter - a white pickup with a white trailer. As I unpack the soft bags the neighbor comes over.



She gorgeous. Friendly. I can’t speak correctly - worse than usual. Tracy. Yes, nice to meet you. (Your eyes are like cirrus clouds in a deep-blue Everest sky.) Right, brought all my stuff on the bike. Live just over there, in a town, and also a house, called, ah, Watsonville. (Your handshake is delicate.) Running a Ducati 900? Nice! I have one, too, but it needs work. The ‘90s version. Well, yours has the better frame. (You even have some gray chicaning through your blonde hair.) Were a Canadian, now a Californian? (Their loss, our gain.) And first time at Laguna? I haven’t been here in six years. A lot of personal drama, but I’m finding my way again. (Can you believe her laugh and smile?) Yes. I’ve much to do also. See you later.

Ride the bike over to registration and tech. When I get back, I notice Tracy's rig is gone. And, a ground squirrel has helped itself to my cookie stash, taking one right out of the open softbags. He won’t even go away. Aggressive. The squirrel is amusing in its boldness, but I’m a little shaken about the neighbor. Got to get over that feeling. Shake it off.

Instantly, it’s time for the Riders’ Meeting. I decide to zip up the bags and stack them on the chair; that should keep the bugger out. The meeting is covid-all-spread-out near the pit boxes. Mike, the owner of Pacific Track Time says we must, must, MUST follow the rules, because there’s ONE GUY who has it in for Laguna Seca. Apparently, he’s the impetus behind the heavy sound restrictions. Apparently, he’s been trying to shutdown Laguna Seca for YEARS. And now, apparently, he’s got a photographer lurking about to catch us violating the heaviest rules on mask wearing I’ve yet encountered.

Eight feet apart. All the time.
No socializing.
No eating outside.
Eating only in the four-bay tech building - where we can take our masks off (in a group?!?!?)
And lastly, Mike says, don’t pull your exhaust dB killers for the last session. Last time you guys did GREAT all DAY, but then 13 of you blew sound for the last session. DON’T BE THAT ASSHOLE! You will notice almost no bike trackdays come here anymore. We are one of the last. It’s too hard. PLEASE DON'T MESS THIS UP!

Group C and first timers at Laguna, go to the intro meeting.

It’s not very informative. It’s mostly occupied by a guy who is having trouble orientating himself due to the fact that he doesn’t realize the pits are on the inside of the track. Though I’m studiously NOT looking for her anywhere in the pits, I do notice that Tracy is not there. People start to slip away, and the leader wraps it up quick.

20 feet away from my pit, and I can see the squirrel standing on top of the bags, trying to find away in. I almost have to shoo him off. There’s also a raven going through my tools. the squirrel has even left a fresh turd for me. Nice. I am moving. Especially since I’ve figured out this shed will not provide any shade today. I got the sun wrong before it came up over Fox Hill. There’s a nice spot over by the tire guy, and it will work all day. I move during Group A’s first session. And I also take time to get Chris at CT Race Tires opinion about pressures for the Road5s. He says 30/28. Cold or hot? Cold they’ll be up two degrees when hot. Got it. Thank you, Pirelli man.

Just hearing the liter-bikes start up sets the heart racing. Nerves tingling. Literally. I worry I won’t be able to ride. I worry about crashing. I fumble about my pit. Group B idles, all staged at the track entrance as Group A comes cackling back into the paddock. Swooping fast along the boulevard between the trailers, pickups, RVs and Ez-Ups, their hot tires whirring with adhesion, a sound of purposeful rubber tackily letting go of the pavement.

The gloves go on, and then come off, since I need to put on my helmet. Then the helmet comes off, because I forgot to put in my ear plugs. Now where are my gloves? Glasses would be good, too. Okay, okay, okay.

Group C is staging. Let’s go! Fire the Buell, squirt on over to the double line. Turn off the bike and wait - too early. but all of us are early. Very eager. There’s all kinds of machines in Group C: BMW310, old Kawasaki ZX-6, R3s, Ninja400s, Liter-bikes of many types, a couple of Aprilias. We trade compliments and smiles. Then the vest-wearing chaperons appear in front of us, in the hot pit, looking at us from their 600s and 1000s, heads cocked to the left, hidden eyes behind dark visors appraising their least-skilled charges of the day.

And we’re out. One led lap, and then we can roam free.

And it comes back so naturally. Laguna Seca is such an expansive and forgiving track. It’s easy to do stupid things at great speed, but for the novice, the track is so wide, it’s actually easy to get lost. In many places, there are many lines. the Buell and I get flowing well. The Road5s are sticking and neutral. My line selection feels good. I’m lifting my eyes to the next point of my path well.

The hard part of Group C is the speed delta. In two places. Turn One is scary in Group C. It’s common to come over the the blind hill and find one or six riders dawdling at 50 when one is doing 100. The other difficult facet is trying to balance politeness, and safety, against the habit of the new riders to start braking way too early. This will mess up your line, entry, and exit, and then the slow guy will just power away to arrive and brake early at the next corner.

It takes some time, but by the third session, I’m way more comfortable using all of the track. Going around the outside from rumble strip to rumble strip, and also taking that inside pass now and again - with a polite wave when I can, and others with a dangle of the visible boot. I’m really starting to get into it. Taking the full line, a Lorenzo line, when I can. Digging the feel I’m getting with Turn 6. Faster there than ever before. Feeling the gravity dip as I hit the apex when it’s clean, running out to the edge like I’ve seen the pros do all these years. Comfortable with the corkscrew, over the rumble strips in and out. Turn 9 has two paths for me. Turn 10 - stretch it, man. Take the big line. Use the track.



On the penultimate lap of the session, I duck inside a rider and get a big front tire slide in Turn 10 from the apex. It’s un-nerving, so I cruise the front straight, hand up in warning, to let it cool off. The left at Turn 2 feels good, so I run Turn 3 as hard as before, and I’m rewarded with another big slide that takes me right to the outside edge of the track where I stand up the Buell at the last moment. The Bike teeters on the lip of the rumble strip, so I control the situation by willfully dropping off the edge onto the hard-packed tan dirt and slow down enough to enter the pavement well on the outside edge of Turn 4. Thankfully, the session ends on that lap.



I need to talk to the tire guy. He was out there just now on his ZX10, and I find him pulling off his helmet.
“You’re crazy!” he says. “You should see this guy!” he says to his helper. “He’s passing all kinds of people on the rumble strips! Diving up the inside!” Looking at me now, “You’re too fast and crazy!”

I’m mortified. Begin to apologize. He says, “No, no. You’re fine. Just.. fast.” He says he means it all as a compliment, but I am chagrined. I tell him about the tire issue, and he says to go up three pounds each. And cool it. And get trackday tires.

Lunch comes along and it’s welcome. I eat my apples, cherries and cookies I brought and hit up the cafe for a chicken wrap and fries. All of my pit stuff gets moved around the corner of the building to follow the shade. A raven raids my leftover fries by knocking over the water bottle that was holding the lid down. Oh well. I can see now that Tracy-from-Canada on the Ducati is just over there, and there’s some gray-hair guy with her. Hmm. I just need to relax with people.



There are three afternoon sessions, and I start going out late - almost last. This leads to better flow and less obstruction on track. I need to not impinge on the others’ fun with my antics. There’s a reason I’m in Group C. Well, one is I picked it. but the other is I’m really just a self-taught, life-long, ham-fisted amateur. Group A, for instance features a guy on a Duke 390 AND a guy on an Indian BAGGER (perhaps for the new MotoAmerica class). 10 years ago, I was really just a Group B- rider. Now my eyes are older, but I do feel better than ever, so maybe there’s something left in the tank?

I manage to catch up to Tracy with her Maple Leaf leathers and red/yellow Terblanche 900. With a nod and a polite gap, I slip by her and another rider in close formation as we all go up the hill to the Corkscrew.

And the fuel light comes on. And I realize I’ve blown it. The pumps close at four, and I will get off the track just at four. Either I skip the last session, or push the bike out of the track and miles to the nearest gas station. That is not happening.

Off the track, sure enough, the pumps just got chained. The track guy does not care. “Nope. Closed. Just missed it.” Walks away. I turn to Chris, the Tire Man, ask him if I can buy some fuel. He makes a sour face, shakes his head, says “just take it.” Points to the dregs in his fuel jug near the ZX10. Six Tenths of a gallon. The fuel light goes out, and I decide to do the last session until the light comes back on. That will be enough.



This makes me late to suit up. and as I’m busy with helmet and gloves, Tracy stops by on her Duck, an angling detour on her path towards the track. She asks how’s it going. Still the same zephyr of pleasant warmth. Wants to know how the day has been.. All good. Ran out of fuel, got some, Chris, Very nice. Having a great day, Feeling smooth. I noticed I passed earlier. I hope it was okay. Plenty of room? That’s great.

She says I need to come over and meet this coach she’s hired to work with her all day. “You need to meet him. His name’s Can. Can Akkaya. A german living here now.” She says, “he’s really brutally honest. Doesn’t hold back.” I thank her and she snaps her visor down, heads out.

The last session is just calm. Not wanting to crash, as the cold wind has done its usual afternoon thing and fought its way into the Seca bowl. Making it a good time to counteract the desire to push in a tired way on cooling, worn tires. Plus, I’m watching for the fuel light between corners, so I’m not really there.

Off the track and start the conversion back to street bike. Mirrors on, plug in the lights fore and aft. Mount and load the bags. Walk over to meet Mr. Akkaya, and find out he runs superbike-coach.com . It’s on his tee-shirt. “Are you riding that touring bike out there?” he asks, taking a pull on a cigar.
“Uhh, yeah. The Buell,” I say, pointing at it’s black and blue Sportster-ness lurking aways a bit.
“Well, I gotta say, your body language… body position, line on the track, style, are just shit. You have shit technique.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling,” I say with a smile and a laugh. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been out there. Tracy said you were brutal and straightforward, and I appreciate that.”
“You should come to my class, we run at Stockton. Do you know it?”  I tell him I do. It's the go-kart track in town. I tell him I crashed a YSR there and broke some ribs. The fuel tank still has a perfect, deep impression of the handlebar stamped into its side from the weight of my body crashing down on the bike.

No expression, just looking at me. "Any bike on the small track, and we can work without fear," he says with another cigar drag and a pause… “I can teach you.”

I agree to look into his website. Thank him for the truth. Turn to Tracy who’s loading her Duck into the trailer.

“Thanks for the introduction. You’re right; he’s brutal.”
“Well, he’s German and Turkish and used to race in the GPs,” she says while cinching tie-downs.
“Alright; I’ll check into him. Do you need a hand?”
“No, I’ve got it. I’m good,” said while deftly floating around the captured bike and out to finish her loading.
“Well it was nice meeting you.”
“It was nice to meet you, too.”
pause
Well, see you out there.” (gesture at the track)
“Yeah, see you out there.”
pause
“Okay, take care.”
“Take care.”

Walk away. No digits. Oh well. Can’t expect magic at the first trackday.

Saddle up. Thank the promotor. Hit the road. Fuel without drama. Wonder why all these people are going to Monterey at the end of the day through ground fog…. Oh yeah.. It’s a Monday. This is the home-bound rush in Moss Landing. Huh… This sucks for them. They’re crawling…

Home by Six.

[Allred]

EXCELLENT, JUST EXCELLENT!!!!!!!!

[Mad4TheCrest]

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[motogrady]

One of the best clips of life I’ve ever had the pleasure to digest.  

Thanks guy. Great read.

[oldironnow]

Thank you, very much.

I've had writer's block for the last month and a half.

It finally broke on Sunday. Cleaning off the kitchen debris-field table really helped.

I am worried it reads as creeperish, but, if so, I need to fix that on the reality end, not in the true telling.

[Fatfatboy]

BRAVO, BRAVO, BRAVO Oldiron. Thank you for taking us on your day trip to the track. Very much enjoyed the story and the writing. Your descriptiveness puts me right there. I saw the eyes of the Ducatiest and they were beautiful.

[Fatfatboy]

Wive and I took a ride on the her Chariot last weekend.
Was plugging in the battery tender and noticed the lack of tread.



Man do I feel lucky,,,, and stupid.

The docs got me on a med to help me with my leg issues and it has been effecting my short term memory.

I remember looking at that tire earlier in the season and making a mental note to get some new shoes for The Chariot but the mental note must of went into some empty void along with those phone calls I was supposed to make.

[Mad4TheCrest]

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[oldironnow]

What's the 'frontside' of The Crest?

The part that connects to 210?

[Mad4TheCrest]

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[oldironnow]

Mad4TheCrest wrote

oldironnow wrote

What's the 'frontside' of The Crest?

The part that connects to 210?

Sorry, yeah, the frontside means to come straight down the Crest (ACH 2) to where it meets the 210 freeway. For this ride my buddy and I went out to Wrightwood by going up the frontside as far as Upper Tujunga Road (past Mt Wilson), then taking Upper T (also known as 9-mile) down to Angeles Forest then to Mt Emma road (where top speed runs are often done since you have very long straights), then through the desert the back way past Jackson Lake into Wrightwood. I've posted a picture taken on the Crest not far from Wrightwood on the way down in the recent past.  It's a great ride through massive elevation changes and (normally) through heat and chill (you pass above 7000 feet coming 'down' the Crest (you go up then down on your way down)

What a LOOP! That seems like an all-day journey!
One more question:
Do you return via the Crest, or jump out onto 15 to get back into the metropolis?

[Mad4TheCrest]

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[m143]

Fatfatboy wrote

Wive and I took a ride on the her Chariot last weekend.






Was plugging in the battery tender and noticed the lack of tread.



Man do I feel lucky,,,, and stupid.

The docs got me on a med to help me with my leg issues and it has been effecting my short term memory.

I remember looking at that tire earlier in the season and making a mental note to get some new shoes for The Chariot but the mental note must of went into some empty void along with those phone calls I was supposed to make.

I don't see any air, got it just in time.

[whatarush]

oldironnow wrote

Trackday.

Up at 5 a.m.


Home by Six.

Thanks for sharing....that was Awesome!!!! Felt like I was right there with you as I was reading.

[oldironnow]

Mad4TheCrest wrote

I am lucky in where I live. From ACH (Highway 2) I take the 210  for just a few hundred yards then get on the 2 freeway (actually and officially a continuation of that same '2' which is ACH), which runs downhill towards LA's center. For me it's only 11 freeway miles from the Crest to my garage.

The 15 isn't close to me, but you can pick it up from the Wrightwood side of the Crest, which isn't too far from San Bernardino.

Oh, forgot to add: my odometer clocked 139 and change miles for the trip, and says I got 50 mpg from the Tiger 800.  My friends Super Tenere got 53 mpg.  We averaged only 47 mph, which could explain the mileage (that and the altitude).

Thanks, Mad'.
I got lost in my own thinking and missed where the point had been made clear already.

[oldironnow]

whatarush wrote

oldironnow wrote

Trackday.

Up at 5 a.m.


Home by Six.

Thanks for sharing....that was Awesome!!!! Felt like I was right there with you as I was reading.

Very much glad you enjoyed it! Thank you.

[oldironnow]

I need to visit The Crest.




.

[Mad4TheCrest]

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[Fatfatboy]

I should of caught it sooner and took the wheel into the shop.
 I was changing the tire the old fashion way with spoons on Sunday hoping to get it done and go for a ride.
Fought the thing for hours.

I couldn’t get my bead breaker to bust the bead. Took the wheel out to the driveway to run over the edge with the Jeep but it’s 35” tires just rolled and folded so no luck there.

I went back in the garage, laid the wheel under the bike table and lowered the edge of the table so that it put weight on one side of the wheel and started working at it with spoons and WD40. After about an hour I finally had success at getting  both the beads broke.

I then started to work at getting the tire of the wheel which normally a simple task. Nope. Working with the spoons I got about a quarter of the wheel through which usually is when the tire just comes right out. I grabbed the rotter to give a good pull and heard and felt a snap in my right forearm and saw stars.

 Jacked my arm right the hell up.

Three days later and I can’t even pick up a beer can.
Needless to say I ain’t riding anytime soon.

[oldironnow]

Fatfatboy wrote

I should of caught it sooner and took the wheel into the shop.
 I was changing the tire the old fashion way with spoons on Sunday hoping to get it done and go for a ride.
Fought the thing for hours.

I couldn’t get my bead breaker to bust the bead. Took the wheel out to the driveway to run over the edge with the Jeep but it’s 35” tires just rolled and folded so no luck there.

I went back in the garage, laid the wheel under the bike table and lowered the edge of the table so that it put weight on one side of the wheel and started working at it with spoons and WD40. After about an hour I finally had success at getting  both the beads broke.

I then started to work at getting the tire of the wheel which normally a simple task. Nope. Working with the spoons I got about a quarter of the wheel through which usually is when the tire just comes right out. I grabbed the rotter to give a good pull and heard and felt a snap in my right forearm and saw stars.

 Jacked my arm right the hell up.

Three days later and I can’t even pick up a beer can.
Needless to say I ain’t riding anytime soon.

DAMN! AAARrggghh! That pisses me off. 'Snap' is not good. You gotta get that looked at. i don't think tendons reattach on their own.

And you continue to be The Man.