Elite racing club seeking new members

'completely unintentional. you know i don't care about anyone but myself.

how long 'you known me?


and Doug, i fear that young Nick will want to be cool like us if he continues on his current misguided course of pitting and racing with us.

 

Nick Bowie is a good kid, and I hope he doesnt get swept up in this LCOOTWUL peer pressure...jeez, just sad.

Poor kid....its not like he has a choice....I mean, he HAS TO put up with Doug (and Walker) on a daily basis!:wow:

I'm calling Tori....she'll put an end to this LCOOTWUL shenningans! When she hears that the next step in her little boys racing career is to crash on the warm up lap....To be like his dad.....OH BOY...I GARR-UN-TEE that pretty little blode will but a stop to this LCOOTWUL infection!:tut:

Man, it sure will be quiet around the track without you 2.

 

She already knows the poop on it......Nicks first words to her was.....mom.. James crashed in front of me on the warm-up lap.Her remarks were; about as dumb as your father last year. don't you do it.........

 

I hope you don't think I was referring to you, Allen. I didn't know about that one.

 

I sure wish I had been there for that, Kenny...I can only imagine the abuse heaped on you afterwards. So I say, "Welcome Aboard !". Remember, guys, it's not only naked aggression that we honor here, for we have to also recognize the importance of multi-tasking in setting up both Kenny's and JW's performances. I wonder, was one of them was checking his Blackberry around 2nd call?

There is no one best way to do this, as there are so many factors that can allow us access to that sublime state of cluelessness. Often it's just like any other crash, i.e. asking a motorcycle to do something in defiance of natural laws, but judging by the responses I've seen here, there's apparently a special status accorded the rider so intent on making a spectacle of himself that he can't wait for the race.

Those fellow buffoons who can't even wait for the warm-up lap to toss it might have what it takes, although they will first need to learn to control their 'premature ejection' response. Personally, as long as you are attempting to ride to the track for the purpose of competing in that race and manage to crash in the pits, I think you should at the very least be recognized for attempt to break the tension for the rest of the field with a little comic relief.. will appreciate your contribution.

 

CC
A great way to attract attention, and get sent right back to the head of the Tech line.

The best pit crash that I personally witnessed was a pure moment at Road Atlanta while waiting to tech. Very cool customer on a then new TL1000 having just completed tech inspection was standing on the pegs in that classic Trials pose, the look enhanced by the backward ball cap, tank-top and flipflops. Only the intense blipping of the throttle hinted at something special to come (maybe a stand-up wheelie?) as he threaded his way through the crowd of bikes and riders around the tech shed.

Then he let the engine slow to idle and he gently eased the clutch lever out, but his body language shouted, "Watch this"...so we did.

With a flash of inspiration, he leaned the bike slightly and goosed that idling beast hard, and it responded by instantly spinning around 540º on its side flinging him centrifugally 20' or so while the bike cleared an entire pit of its contents. Only the rider and his bike were hurt at all...just enough road rash to show off Monday.

 

Kenny is the president. I was not planning on applying for application to this exclusive "club", but I can't let this go... While leaving my self open for more ridicule from the fellow knuckle draggers that hang out here, this is my sad, stupid story.

Fast From the Past Challenge at Barber 2009, I think. It was raining so the roller starter was useless. I took my 450 to the hill to bump start it on the way to hot pit. For the first practice session. Before I left for the track, I installed a Suzuki GT750 4ls front brake to give it a little more stopping power than the stock 450 brake. I pushed the bike off and jumped on, jammed the shifter into second, dumped the clutch and another bike shot across my bow on the way to hot pit. Motor caught about the same time I did the death grip on the front brake. Front end slid out and the motor screamed, did a perfect 360 degree spin on the foot peg with me standing on the bike trying to lassow it like a bull roper. I got spit off and a kind soul helped me pick the bike up without laughing in my face. Prolly peed his pants after I rode away.

I humbly submit my idiot app.

 

VERY inspiring all....

Should I be glad I suck at this?

I know I'm probably Jynxing myself, so...will I be welcomed with open arms WHEN I qualify?.....ya know, kinda like school days, letting the kid in your group thats alittle "slow" so you'd have someone to pick on?

Erics clear and consise descriptions of the attributes required bring images to mind of him in a smoking Jacket, wearing glasses, and puffing a pipe near the fireplace.....matter-of-factly.

 

Good fun. But I don't want to be a member of any club that will have me as a member.

And honestly, tucking the front while pulling out of tech is as simplistically elegant as one can get in this delicate ballet we dance.

 

thaaaat explains the tutu hanging up in Charlie's garage.....

 

I suck at Ballet too...

 

Nah. We've all done stupid stuff. It was my first weekend, really cold, new slick slathered in mold release, and a guy on a scooter cut me off. Fortunately, I had a brand-new orange T-shirt that announced "watch carefully as I do something stupid".

 

No, I think you're describing Roper. My calm demeanor is only a practiced affectation, polished over 40 yrs of flying, intended to inspire confidence in my crew and passengers. My adrenaline is pumping empathetically as I read these amazing true stories, pulse racing, BP rising...right wrist twitching.

This thread reminds me of a Friday night A.A. speaker's meeting...so cathartic for so many. I guess it's time I came clean and told my story.

 

Earlier I used the analogy of the dog, impulsively launching into traffic in pursuit of his target with total commitment, to describe my own mental leap when, on the out lap, I decided to pitch my poor bike into T3 at Roebling WFO in 5th on cold tires with 50º track temp. I did this, not just once, but twice in the same corner, under nearly identical track conditions 13 years later - a maneuver that I clearly knew was impossible the first time, until my brain disconnected.

First of all, let me make it clear that I've yet to crash on a WERA warm-up lap. Both of mine came at AHRMA events, which is ironic since I regularly whine about how so many in the AHRMA field at the big events seem to treat these as Parade Laps, wanting to make it last as long as possible, apparently for the benefit of their adoring fans. So my response has been to wait until the last rider has disappeared, or until Roger Preston starts actually waving at me frantically and jumping up & down, and then put in a brisk lap to, well you know, to warm-up. The quick warm-up lap has always worked well for me. My problems arise when I choose to actually start racing while still on the warm-up lap.

My first AHRMA event was RRR, Nov '97, and ended with a bang. We observe in Aircraft mishap investigations that the ultimate event is usually the last occurrence in a long chain of events, which sadly, could have been broken at several points with sufficient situational awareness. Apparently the set-up for this crash started in Feb' of that year when I decided to do whatever it took to win a CCS national championship, on both the (Big) '95 Triumph 900 III and maybe the SRX. Although the 500lb Triumph was ideal for Daytona @ 120 RWHP and stretch-limo wheelbase, we won races during the season and a regional title on the it, but the SRX was plagued by uncharacteristic motor problems, and the spare parts SRX I bought late in the year left me high and dry while dicing for the lead with Jeff Wood's EX500 at the ROC Daytona. In the Triumph's winner-take-all race I was run off track into a half-acre puddle, re-entering in last. Although we were 2 secs/lap faster than the winning Duc748, I came up just short at the finish for 3rd.

By the time I got to that first AHRMA event, my season was over, but I still had a whole year's worth of frustrated aggression bottled up. Roebling was like a home track for me back then, and I had good speed against the visitors on the new generation T595 Triumphs and the TL1000. Meanwhile, the funky SRX parts bike was looking very competitive in Supermono. So when the Triumph's gearbox locked up in Sunday practice, I took a deep breath and uttered a short prayer of self-pity, then promoted the single to Sound of Thunder bike.

The Supermono race came first, but to fully appreciate what came next, you need to realize that before ever getting to the track, just as I prepared to finish work and head for home to the arms of my waiting pit crew, the airline extended my trip by a day, and we didn't leave home until midnight Friday. We had missed Friday practice, and had driven all night to arrive in time for Saturday morning practice. At this point Ginny wisely threatened to quit the team, and take ALL her favors with her, if I didn't sit out Saturday's races. So by Sunday morning I was pretty tightly wound.

The SRX parts bike was pretty good for what it was, but the F1 front end sported a stock rim, pinching a crusty 110X17" Metzler to the point that it had no edge, but it had been working well...and of course awareness of tire warmer technology hadn't trickled down to our level just yet.

Things began the final unravelling after 3rd call when the half-warm motor stalled in pre-grid just as the 5 board went up. This was in the days before AHRMA had the complementary DocZ starter in the hot pit. Of course the kick starter was in the pits, and the geriatric grid marshall was no help in push starting. Missed the warm-up lap, missed the start, but finally got under way as the field was halfway 'round the first lap.

By now I was resigned to the inevitability of the situation, and as I calmly eased onto the track, I told myself, "Eric, this is not a race anymore, it's just another practice session now, and this is a warm-up lap. Be safe and smooth and you'll eventually find somebody to play with." I maintained this state of calm resignation through T2, and then: As I accelerated out of T2, and looked down the track toward my entry point for T3 I caught a colorful flickering through the pine trees far away, and recognized the Supermono field entering T9 fast, a mile ahead, and then someone shouted, "You can catch those F*CKERS!!" I don't know, it might have been me.

That optimistic cheer called for a simpler response: Enter T3 in 5th gear, throttle pinned. It had worked fine on the 'A' bike in the summer, after about lap 3 with a fresh K591 on the wider front rim. To complement the limited tire adhesion my adrenaline allowed me the super strength required to snap the front end hard enough to instantly separate the tire from the track surface. Despite Keith Code's claim that you cannot turn in fast enough to lose the front, apparently it is possible to do with the finesse of a gorilla, and a corresponding loss of mental function.

 

Wow! I've heard that exact same voice.

 

That first shortened out-lap in '97 ended spectacularly at T3 with a seemingly endless 100 mph slide down the track by the bike, while I tumbled gracefully behind in classic rag doll fashion. Once I finally left the track surface and reached that loose, sandy Savannah soil, my forward energy was instantly converted into a beautiful high arcing back flip in the layout position, with points for hang time and a perfectly flat one point landing. At one point near the top of my flight path, I observed the fuel tank soaring high above me, and idly wondered where the rest of bike might be landing. Imagine my relief to have arrived relatively intact, with only a few minor bones broken.

The bike didn't look too bad to me at the time, so I briefly hoped that I might yet make the upcoming Sound of Thunder race. Not only had the crash not dampened my enthusiasm, but if anything ratcheted up my compulsion to race. Eventually I became aware that I was walking, or crawling, on my knees...I couldn't quite stand up since apparently I had slightly broken my left ankle, and sprained the right one. By now my left wrist was swelling, and I was concerned that I wouldn't be able to pull the clutch lever without some help, so I tried to convince the EMT crew to rig me up with some sort of ankle and wrist splint/duct tape affair that might fit under my gear. At this point they turned me over to the custody of my crew chief who promised these nice men that she would be sure to get my head examined as soon as she got me to the hospital.

In my own defense I feel I should point out that I've only done this again, once, 13 years later. And last Feb's episode was completely understandable and quite possibly justifiable. I mean, I had been having so much fun on this practice day chasing the likes of Tim Joyce on a 350 Aermacchi that, by the last session, delusions of grandeur were only natural. For that session, BEARS champ and Roebling first-timer, Kenny Cummings planned to study my lines, so I decided to put a little extra emphasis on my turn-ins for his benefit.

My plan to run a couple of laps at a moderate pace while running perfect lines started to get a little fuzzy just as we entered the track. Spotting Roper just ahead, and realizing that this might be my only chance to ever rub elbows with him on this particular bike, I decided somewhere around T2 that I had to catch him before we reached the front straight, where he would unleash the factory Harley Sprint. I figured that Kenny could catch me easily enough on that Seeley Norton...the line drill would have to wait a few laps while I defended the honor of all those humble CB350s who have suffered utter humiliation at the hands of that exotic pushrod single.

Well, the results were just as spectacular this time, but injuries very slight...possibly due to the Honda's modest speed, but mostly because I had invested in much better protective gear over the years.

To close this confession, I will admit that this thinking was clearly quite mad in every possible way, but once again I would have known that beforehand. What is in that space between T2 & T3 at Roebling that releases the lunatic in me, and most importantly, will I still remember this lesson in another 13 years? Will I even remember where T3 is in another 13 years?

 

T3 + 13 = Wake TF Eric....gotta love that!...its like on that show "Decoded" or something.

Good stories for sure...the build up, the volcano boiling....these all make sense....I'm still chuckling at Upchurch too, mostly cuz I can visualize him. Erics were more....whats the word...."Induced"?.....contributed to?

See, for Walker....all there was was "Hey Honey, hold my water and watch this shit!"

 

kenny.....you're still my hero.

and a big AYE!!!!

 

Great stories, thanks for sharing.

 

you have a new inductee from summit point this past weekend. im not going to throw him under the bus, but ill just say i heard it was spectacular at pit out.