The week after a race weekend, my Facebook and the Bay Area Riders Forum start to bloom with race reports. With the exception of one or two talented writers, they’re generally pretty dull, like the enthusiastic telling of a dream that the dreamer alone finds fascinating. They usually go like this: we came in and set up. We made these changes to the bike. I crashed in Saturday practice but my awesome pit crew helped me get the bike back together over late night drinks and camaraderie. On Sunday I diced with Ricky Bobby and I got him at the line and we yukked about it after the race. In my next race I got a bad start but then I picked off six guys by the end. Racing is awesome, my sponsors are awesome, people coming together is awesome and it’s why we love our sport, yada yada yada.
Yawn.
I want to know the real shit. I can really only tell the real shit; my capacity for small talk is nil. So I sometimes daydream about sharing my real race report with my little dysfunctional racing community. It would be the only interesting way of going about a race report, because for how boring an average man’s race report is, mine would be even worse, because I don’t make dramatic mechanical changes to my bike throughout the course of a weekend. That, and I process the events in what I feel would be perceived in very girlie ways. I’d probably be mocked. Not that I care.
I was excited for AFM Round 5 at Thunderhill because it would be my first race weekend pitting separately from James. Over the course of the last three years, James has managed to take a hobby that fills me with immensely empowering feelings, a sport that brings me joy, an endeavor fuel-injected with happiness, and turn it into a dreadful, high pressure, anxiety-ridden affair. Fantasies I had long ago of him sweetly showing me how to bleed my brakes or raise the front end never transpired. I thought race weekends would be like Janet Jackson style escapades filled with twenty questions on road trips and high fives and spraying each other with champagne. Naïveté. I has it.
Instead, from the start he’s been resentful of the time I’ve taken away from his racing program, which to him, is like a job that he says makes him money. My first year racing, he put me in the awkward position of making me feel guilty for distracting him from his much more important racing activities, yet not allowing me to be helped by any other men, even if I hired them. These deeper motivations didn’t surface until several years later, but popped off from day one like flashbulbs in my face in the form of criticism, bossiness, belittlement, and impatience. Fortunately, the core issue of whether or not I was racing was not up for discussion.
I put up with it because outside of motorcycles, he was sweeter than any man I’ve ever known. Sweeter than honey dripping off a tiny kitten wearing a tiny hat eating a tiny ice cream cone. Loyal and so in love with me, he seemed bedazzled by my every little quirk. Coming off relationships with a couple of distant, detached, commitment-phobic sex addicts, being with James was like crawling into a bed at the W, soft, inviting and cozy warm. He does also keep a surly eye on my racing program, making sure I don’t don’t do anything stupid mechanically, getting me set up with the right tools, and giving suggestions on which general direction to go in with my race bikes. He cares, and I know it.
Three years out from our first date, and in my third year of racing with AFM and WERA, I’m a semi-accomplished regional girl racer. I’ve ridden a few laps at Thunderhill in under two minutes, something only three, maybe four women I’m aware of have ever done. I’ve won girl races and beaten lots of boys too. I’ve hired James a few times over the years to help me improve my riding, and it’s helped a lot.
Friday, July 9, 2010, I drove up to Willows in my Toyota Tundra. I had my race bike, most of my racing gear, and a huge black canopy to be used to save a spot for James. He has a favorite spot in the paddock and I promised I’d save it for him. I arrived in the midst of a car track day, and they weren’t letting any motorcycle racers in to set up their pits, so I waited in the 100 degree heat until 5 pm when the mad land grab would commence. By six thirty I had his massive canopy (which is really mine, the “youngest child” in me has to mention that) set up, had my pit arranged, and had even changed my front tire so I could practice on the gritty Thunderhill track surface with a more durable tire than I’d previously had on.
It was nice hanging out at the track by myself and not being on someone else’s schedule. I drank a beer with the Pirelli tire boys and contemplated my life. I didn’t have dinner plans with anyone, and I didn’t want to invite myself to any, so I ordered a pizza from Round Table, took it to the Holiday Inn Express, watched Training Day, and eventually went to sleep.
James and Gene, his mechanic, got in around 10 but I was out again not five minutes from when they walked through the door.
When I arrived at my spot Saturday morning, I saw that some friendly faces were pitted next to me. AMA SuperSport racer Robert Tinagero, and then Brian Zapalski and Tucker Swanson who were helping him out. Nikki got there at 7:30; she’s a track day enthusiast who I think must have some racing motivations, because she’s handy with a toolbox and can turn a lap faster than half the girls who race Formula AFemme. I asked her a few months ago if she might help me out someday at the track and she seemed excited to. I was a little awkward about it, because I’m not used to having someone dedicated to actually helping me. In my nearly three years of racing, it’s been rare that I’ve had anyone help me put my bike on the stand, take my tire warmers off and on, get my grid spots for me, I’ve done it all myself.
My first practice started around 8:45 and I felt pretty slow and wobbly. There was no lap timer beacon set up, so I wasn’t able to get a read on how fast I was going, but I checked the posted lap times after the session and saw that I’d done a low 2:02. Amazing! I felt like I was tootling around and warming up, and that’s actually a bit of an average race pace for me. I was encouraged and went back to my pit to share the good news with Nikki.
My times got a little faster throughout the day, and then over lunch my pretty mechanic and I changed my front and rear tires to new ones. I was cool and comfortable in one of my tennis dresses, which I’d recently decided would be the perfect thing to wear at the track in the summer heat because I can just throw them on over a sports bra, they’re pretty, and they look good with sneakers or flip flops.
I thought I was going to get another session of practice in after lunch, but then I heard the first call for Race #1, Clubman Middleweight (a novice race for middleweight bikes like R6s and GSXR 600s). I was in race #2, so I quickly changed back into my leathers and got my game face on.
Dorky picture of me on the starting line of Formula AFemme:
Like always, all I wanted to do was get a good start, keep up with Joy, and keep Zoe behind me. Oh, and maybe get a lap time under two minutes, something I’d never done before.
My start was mediocre, but Jenn Lauritzen rocketed ahead of me as did Joy Higa. I had to deal quickly with Jenn to make sure that Joy didn’t get too far ahead of me, and then I bit in and hung on to Joy like a hungry dog.
Joy works in health care I think and she’s around the same age as me. She has beautiful long, thick Asian hair and is cute and giggly, and she’s built like brick house. She’s immensely strong and does five races in a day – two is usually my limit. I often wonder what her co-workers think of her weekend warrior hobby, if they even know at all.
Amazingly, I kept Joy around six bike lengths ahead of me for most of the race. They put our race on the track at the same time as a novice lightweight race, so it’s not as scary or intimidating for new girl racers, but many of these novice racers are really slow. We start lapping them two or three laps in. “Lappers,” as they’re casually referred to, really change the game up, especially for me and Joy. The speed differentials between us and a lapper could be anywhere from 10-40 mph and we’re passing them within a few feet sometimes. Our willingness to pass them closely or in tight corners can determine who wins a race, and can give a slower, rude passer like me a better shot against faster, polite racers like Joy.
I was able to gain significantly on Joy because of her hesitation to pass some of the lappers, and on the last lap, like finding a golden ticket in my Wonka Bar, I saw her make a major mistake. She was about to dive into a group of lappers on the inside of the second to last corner, but then hesitated, panic braking and lifting her rear wheel in the air. She totally freaked out. Between the last two turns I was on her butt and had to roll off the throttle to keep from hitting her, and then I looked hard at the inside apex of the last turn, put my head down and dragged a knee over the curbing, then quickly started to stand the bike back up from full lean so I could get on the gas as mightily as a I dared.
Joy actually turned around and looked to see if I was behind her, and I was, but not for long. We raced down the straightaway to the checkered flag almost side by side, and when we crossed the finish line neither one of us knew who won. I suspected she had me by half a wheel.
Here we are coming down the front straight to the checkered flag. That’s chalk dust getting kicked up, not smoke, I’m not that fast, lol…
So many people were excited for me for nearly beating (or did I?) the reigning local fast girl and for putting on a good show. It was a blast to race, and I was a million miles away from the stress of me and James. He was really excited for me after AFemme, and even said, “hey, maybe it’s about time we make that thing faster,” referring to my tired old 2007 Honda CBR600RR. Joy’s 2009 R6 has a bit of juice on me I think, that, and she gets on the throttle like nobody’s business. Turned out she won, but only by .018 seconds! I also did a 1:59.2, a personal Thunderhill best.
Another highlight of the race was me and Joy splitting a loudmouthed new girl racer who loves to tell anyone who’ll listen how much Formula AFemme sucks. She was racing in Clubman Lightweight, the novice race that grids up with us. I really wanted to pass her closer than I did and give her a little scare, but I didn’t. She hates on AFemme because she believes that girls can do it just as well as guys can, and she’s been braying on and on about this for the longest time even though she herself had never raced and has no idea just how physically difficult it is. Anyway, I have my suspicions for why she really hates on AFemme and the other girl racers, but I’ll keep those to myself.
She was putt putting around turn 3, a narrow, off-camber turn, when Joy and I whizzed by her, one on each side, both of us so on a mission to beat the other that we barely even saw her atop the tiny, 27 hp Ninjette. It was awesome. But enough about her.
It was really nice for both of us, me and James, pitting separately. We visited each other from time to time throughout the day. He seemed better able to focus, and I was able to race free of negativity.
Sunday morning I had a really weird practice. I was worn out from the day before, and I only managed a 2:05. We only had one practice session then it was time for racing, but my first race wasn’t until after lunch so I donned my tennis dress and got ready for action. James had a good battle in race number two, taking second place on his under-powered KTM RC8R against Chris Siglin’s bling bling Ducati 1198R. In race 5, Open GP, James was battling with Dave Stanton’s R1 when his transmission blew up in a really fast section of track. His rear wheel locked up and both him and the bike went cartwheeling at 120 mph. No one saw him get up, but they didn’t red flag the race, which they usually would in the event of an unresponsive rider.
There were some tense, anxious moments and we didn’t know James’ condition. When I got to him he was up and hobbling into the ambulance. The medics said he was unresponsive when they got to him and that indicated a head injury and that he needed to be taken to the hospital. He may have had a broken shoulder or collarbone as well. Helicopter – he refused. Ambulance – maybe, but then he decided no. Me drive him to the hospital – yes, but then no, he wanted to drive himself so we wouldn’t argue. It was chaotic and eventually all my shit was packed up and ready to go, so my day was done – no Sunday racing for me.
Turns out he only has a separated shoulder. Without question, James is the epitome of a tough guy, a bad ass racer who breathes fire, eats other racers for breakfast and can be thrown off a bike at 120 mph and walk away unscathed. Amazing. It’s been amazing to be near that, to see his racing program in action. It’s definitely helped mine improve in certain ways, and to an extent, the obstacles he’s thrown my way have probably only made me try harder to succeed.
My next race is July 31 at Infineon, Formula AFemme, and then 750 Superbike and Production on Sunday. Hopefully I’ll have some new body work. Waldo at Epic Images is making these really cute pink and red heart stickers that I’ll decorate my black motorcycle with. I can’t wait!
