another perfectly good motorcycle ruined.......

Sunday, 12 August 2012

boxer racer project

 race day dawn's early, i pick dangerous up at 0630hrs, the morning is overcast, slight drizzle and at this early hour there's a chill in the air, i sense the end of summer is fast approaching, we make the twenty mile trip to darley moor in thirty minutes, i reckon we are absolutely midway between darley moor and donington park, donington, home to grand prix races couldn't be further away in real terms than darley and yet, in recent year's donington has fallen on hard times, the glory day's are gone and following a lengthy legal battle after the death of tom wheatcroft, [who restored and improved the legendary circuit, pumping in millions of pounds and attracting big races to the track] and the new owner's who dug up the track and went bust, darley meanwhile is an old fashioned scratcher's circuit, built on the site of a world- war- two airbase, as far away from donington's corporate raceday image as possible, no hot water, rudimentary toilet block's, the epitome of clubman's racing, i'm not knocking darley, i've seen some of the great's race here and have supported the track through the year's, today, i'm going to be racing on this track, well, when i say racing, well, we unload the van, kettle on and i get changed into my leather's for technical inspection at 0800hrs, leather's, gloves, helmet and boot's checked and stickered ok, scrutineer check's the bike over, 'is this a bear's bike?' 'yes, it is', 'sorry lad's, you don't have any oil containment fitted as the rules require', bollock's, i've had to take the famous baking tray off because it was catching on the ramp as we pushed it into the van, back to the van, nail the 'oil containment recepticle' on and join the queue again, scrute check's it out and we are stickered up, down to the race office, get my transponder, have to buy a mounting bracket to fit it to the left hand fork leg, get a practice tag and show my licence, quick brew and rider's briefing at 0900hrs, first solo practice is called just before 1000hrs, i make my way to the assembly area and we are waved away in waves of around fifteen rider's, darley is roughly triangular, short straight, right-left chicane, tighter than it look's, short straight, tight right-hander, longer straight, right-left, right chicane, tight left hander quickly followed by a very tight right hand hairpin, slight left, flat-out kink and a long straight into a right hand 90 degree bend, that's it, very narrow and deceptively fast, theres all sort's of bikes out, some fast, some very, very fast, i reckon i get about ten lap's before the session is flagged and i return down the slip road, i spot my chance and slip through the cones and join the back of the next solo session waiting to go out for practice, no one spot's me and i'm out third wave, three lap's in and i take the chicane on the start and finish straight too fast, i'm up on the rumble strip and the bikes shaking it's head, lock to lock, i'm out of the seat and heading toward's the tyre wall, somehow, more through luck than judgement i get back on the track and continue like i meant to do it, i'm laughing my fucking head off! how the fuck did i get away with that? fuck me! another rider passes me shaking his head and giving me the wanker sign, fucking brilliant!............

1 comment:

  1. Ripping yarn Lovey, poor bloody Donnington, had no idea as to what's become of it . . . you hilarious old scoundrel, I've not ever raced as such but used to do the regularity caper in historics, nearly dropped the '74 Bonnie once in the wet, freak save by total accident and did the same thing, uncontrollable laughter in my full face, dissipate the adrenalin methinks. The funniest contemplation for me is not the lack of oil containment device, the chance of leaving the leathers at home or running over the bike in the driveway but what would happen if you guys left the bloody kettle behind !! Come on youth, hurry up and roll out the next part, you silly bloody wanker . . . ha ha ha. Fantastic mate. XX

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