Yesterday here in Western Washington was a beautiful blue bird day with afternoon temperatures reaching a warm 87 degrees. I had the priviledge of spending my day at Pacific Raceway with the crew of 2_Fast (Track day & School Provider).
I had spent most of my day working with paying customers in the Novis and Intermediate groups along with taking a few two up rides. As the day grew closer to it's end I took off my vest and proceeded out in the Advanced Group along with my son and a couple other Hoons whom I won't name for legal purposes since they could show up on America's Most Wanted at any time!
I had my GSXR1K shod with a fairly fresh set of Pirelli Slicks and life was good. I passed a few guys and was also passed by a few as well. We do have some very talented gents up here who have no problem engaging in order to put an amatuer like me on a street bike with blue painters tape covering the lights in his proper place
.
Everything was going extremly well and I was laying down some impressive lap times for a guy on a bone stock Gixxer without a race plate. I had that feeling I could do no wrong. The bike was performing flawlessly as she sunk her teeth into the pavement while launching my bum out of corner after corner with authority.
I knew I had someone on my arse for two laps or so but never looked back to see who the challenger was. All I knew was I could hear the bastid and knew he was there. I have spun the rear on countless exits and felt confident I had the beast under control. As I entered turn 7 on about the 6th lap I was feeling like a 6 year old playing king of the mountain. The entry went perfect, squarely on my line while carrying all the corner entry speed I could muster with confidence. The entry all went well but the exit turned into the ride from hell.
I was at around 8-9K rpms (One of those points where 1st gear is a bit to low and 2 gear is a bit to tall) As I gave the right hand a twist I apparently gave her an 8th of an inch to much (Which is the only difference in a good corner drive and a high side) and maybe a half second to soon because without hesitation the beast spun up the rear with bad intentions and didn't step the rear out, she FLUNG the rear out so far so quickly I didn't have time to react with the throttle. All of a sudden in a fraction of a second the rear grabbed traction and came back to the opposite side with such violence that my arse was tossed off the seat and launched skyward while the beast did about a five rotation tank slapper from stop to stop. I had wheel weights on the stops which helped termendously to deminish the violence.
I had a death grip on the bars and as she shook like a hound dog shaking off fleas while my bum was pointed skyward I heard this voice mumbling in my helmet S-O-A-Biotch! I never let go of the bars as I slammed back to earth straddled across the fuel tank. The gas cap smashed the family jewels so hard I had to swallow quickly to keep from upchucking those puppies. I still had a hand full of throttle and as the beast got her bearings back it's launchinng my arse up the hill out of turn 7 like a prarrie caught mustang, I'm sitting on the tank, feet dangling still trying to swallow what ever had ben stuffed from the bottom up.
Testosterone, oh yes that wonderful chemical our body produces that makes us do stupid sh-itz still had that perposterous grip on my brain and I'm more determined than ever to keep the bloke trailing me at bay. With WOT I slide my arse back off the seat fumbling with my feet to once again find their proper spot on the pegs and tip her into turn 8 I felt the feeling of nausia grasping my stomach with the urge to barf. The family jewels had suffered a setback and the pain was becoming unbearable. I humbled myself to defeat, raised my left arm to signal to the rider behind me (Whom I'm certain was laughing has bum off) that I was exiting the track at turn 9 and made my way back to the pits.
The beast had won on this day. She waited until I was totally confident I had her firmly under control to put me back in my place where I belonged all along. Testosterone got the best of me and the big HP monster put me back in my place in a split second and only by the stroke of good luck did I manage to take both of us home unscathed. Skill had absolutely no bearing on this save, it was all sh*thouse luck.
Yes, the family jewels survived with no permanent damage (Hopefully) and I learned a really good lesson in life. Never become overconfident and always be aware that these big HP bikes have the ability to put your bum in orbit at any given moment and that moment is usually at a time when you least expect it.
Testosterone? Is it your friend or is it your foe? I say, we can't live without it but to much of it can lead to serious injury or even death!
The moral of my story is,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, you get ham fisted with the beast and she will intentionally whoop yore arse with authority!
Thank you Lord for bringing me safely home yet one more time!
lease:
I had spent most of my day working with paying customers in the Novis and Intermediate groups along with taking a few two up rides. As the day grew closer to it's end I took off my vest and proceeded out in the Advanced Group along with my son and a couple other Hoons whom I won't name for legal purposes since they could show up on America's Most Wanted at any time!
I had my GSXR1K shod with a fairly fresh set of Pirelli Slicks and life was good. I passed a few guys and was also passed by a few as well. We do have some very talented gents up here who have no problem engaging in order to put an amatuer like me on a street bike with blue painters tape covering the lights in his proper place
. Everything was going extremly well and I was laying down some impressive lap times for a guy on a bone stock Gixxer without a race plate. I had that feeling I could do no wrong. The bike was performing flawlessly as she sunk her teeth into the pavement while launching my bum out of corner after corner with authority.
I knew I had someone on my arse for two laps or so but never looked back to see who the challenger was. All I knew was I could hear the bastid and knew he was there. I have spun the rear on countless exits and felt confident I had the beast under control. As I entered turn 7 on about the 6th lap I was feeling like a 6 year old playing king of the mountain. The entry went perfect, squarely on my line while carrying all the corner entry speed I could muster with confidence. The entry all went well but the exit turned into the ride from hell.
I was at around 8-9K rpms (One of those points where 1st gear is a bit to low and 2 gear is a bit to tall) As I gave the right hand a twist I apparently gave her an 8th of an inch to much (Which is the only difference in a good corner drive and a high side) and maybe a half second to soon because without hesitation the beast spun up the rear with bad intentions and didn't step the rear out, she FLUNG the rear out so far so quickly I didn't have time to react with the throttle. All of a sudden in a fraction of a second the rear grabbed traction and came back to the opposite side with such violence that my arse was tossed off the seat and launched skyward while the beast did about a five rotation tank slapper from stop to stop. I had wheel weights on the stops which helped termendously to deminish the violence.
I had a death grip on the bars and as she shook like a hound dog shaking off fleas while my bum was pointed skyward I heard this voice mumbling in my helmet S-O-A-Biotch! I never let go of the bars as I slammed back to earth straddled across the fuel tank. The gas cap smashed the family jewels so hard I had to swallow quickly to keep from upchucking those puppies. I still had a hand full of throttle and as the beast got her bearings back it's launchinng my arse up the hill out of turn 7 like a prarrie caught mustang, I'm sitting on the tank, feet dangling still trying to swallow what ever had ben stuffed from the bottom up.
Testosterone, oh yes that wonderful chemical our body produces that makes us do stupid sh-itz still had that perposterous grip on my brain and I'm more determined than ever to keep the bloke trailing me at bay. With WOT I slide my arse back off the seat fumbling with my feet to once again find their proper spot on the pegs and tip her into turn 8 I felt the feeling of nausia grasping my stomach with the urge to barf. The family jewels had suffered a setback and the pain was becoming unbearable. I humbled myself to defeat, raised my left arm to signal to the rider behind me (Whom I'm certain was laughing has bum off) that I was exiting the track at turn 9 and made my way back to the pits.
The beast had won on this day. She waited until I was totally confident I had her firmly under control to put me back in my place where I belonged all along. Testosterone got the best of me and the big HP monster put me back in my place in a split second and only by the stroke of good luck did I manage to take both of us home unscathed. Skill had absolutely no bearing on this save, it was all sh*thouse luck.
Yes, the family jewels survived with no permanent damage (Hopefully) and I learned a really good lesson in life. Never become overconfident and always be aware that these big HP bikes have the ability to put your bum in orbit at any given moment and that moment is usually at a time when you least expect it.
Testosterone? Is it your friend or is it your foe? I say, we can't live without it but to much of it can lead to serious injury or even death!
The moral of my story is,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, you get ham fisted with the beast and she will intentionally whoop yore arse with authority!
Thank you Lord for bringing me safely home yet one more time!
lease:
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