Nervous Racing Dad
by Randy Grein
OK, I’ll admit it – I was nervous. The sort of nervous that parents
everywhere feel when they take off the training wheels. Times 10. Worried that
Justin hadn’t had enough time riding in the dirt, insufficient time laboring in
the garage, insufficient exposure to actual racing – for all that he has
literally grown up at the track. Add to that uncertainty regarding a new (old)
vintage bike, my recurring electrical/jetting/unknown demons, taxes that weren’t
getting done while trying to prepare for the big day, work, wrestling…. Well,
you get the idea. I could use a good stiff drink, which would promptly join up
with sleep deprivation, declare a holiday and take me on a much needed trip to
slumberland.
Wild last minute prep seems to be a racing religion. Now that I have two
bikes to get ready, I’ve been elected high priest of the holy church of Late
Night Wrenching, also known as “ohmygodthrashthisthingsoutI’llneverfinishintime
and all night Espresso bar.” Justin does what he can, but at 14 he’s still
learning. Sometimes it’s faster just to do it yourself, even if you can express
it to another human being in less than 10 minutes. Worse, much of what’s
essential is the complete list of stuff that only adults think to pack because
they’ve forgotten it in the past. We manage to get his bike completed a few days
before and it fires right off. I insist on having him show me a bump start (the
kick starter interferes completely with the rearset footpegs) and we discover
problem #1 – he can’t ride it. The previous owner had been an aficionado of
classic vintage racing – narrow little clip ons down low and tight in. Worked
great for him. But what had seemed fine to Justin sitting in the garage just
didn’t work when moving. Fortunately clip ons are infinitely adjustable; 5
minutes of twisting had it fitting well – and pointing out the SAME clip on setup
on my SV resurrected his badly disturbed confidence. Now all I need to do is
pack, prep the motorhome, get MY bike ready, clothes, food….
|
Justin's Side of the Story
by Justin Grein
The day I went to the NRC (New Riders Clinic), my dad and I arrived
about an hour before the meeting, so we went to a local Burger King
across the lot. We got some food and met another novice. Near 9:00 all
of us finally went back to sign in. My dad left and the meeting
commenced. At the NRC, we reviewed the flags, what to do during a
meatball flag (A meatball flag means that you jumped the start) or
pull-off, a crash, or entering the race/practice late. We had lunch,
then came back to discuss parts and ask any questions we had. A good
deal of this stuff was not even for me, but I listened anyway (snore).
The first day I could go out to the track I was very excited. I
couldn’t actually race, but I got onto the track to see any problems I
had and get comfortable with the track. Believe you me, I had a lot of
problems. At first I could not even get the bike going. Once I did, I
noticed there were way too many neutrals on the bike (one between every
gear), and I had several heart hammering moments where I accidentally
went into neutral and thought I could accelerate. I almost thought the
bike had died on me several times on the beginning of the straight where
there was no place to turn off. Then I had to negotiate turning the bike
and myself without falling. Meanwhile, all these bikes are passing my
problemed bike and I am freaking out with all my problems, my bike's
problems, and all these close-up, in my helmet riders. I think I must
have nearly lost it a couple of times (don’t crash!!!). But now I know
what I’m in for, and my dad and I have worked a few problems, large and
small.
Yesterday me and dad decided to help his friend out with a newborn
motocross track. And by newborn I mean no path, lots of debris, and lots
of mud. Me and Allan, my dad’s friend, cleared the dirt of debris while
my dad made an oval, and then the track track with a very high
efficiency clearing machine, his bike! Once the debris was cleared (sort
of) and a basic path was made, me and Allan started riding with dad to
clear the track, warm our bikes up, get some near crash thrills, and
psyche ourselves up. Allan wanted to ride my bike (a TTR-125), and
absolutely loved it. When my dad decided to test Allan’s bike he
promptly fell over and broke the clutch lever. Once that problem was
fixed, we got most of the oval finished (again, sort of), and so Allan
went on to the track track, which would eventually become a motocross
track. I even poked around it, but decided to stay on the oval for a
while. Me and dad decided to have lunch (leaving Allan to his lonesome),
and rode up the steep hill. Once we came back we found Allan still
riding the track. We also discovered that my clutch-slip problem had
been fixed on the practice day. (I had never learned how to properly
slip the clutch starting and kept dumping it, spinning the tire and
throwing dirt all over.) Now, bear in mind I’m only fourteen and don’t
get to ride much, so I’m allowed to have little problems like this. But
anyway, I got back on and started riding the real track. I also found
that it was easier to ride with the gas on (several times), and in
second, not fourth. But I started going faster and faster, until I could
pass Allan on his CR-250. I’m sorry, I must be boring you. It’s just
that I’m so psyched, and ready to win my first race (May 7-8 at
Pacific
Raceways). I might see you out there, or I might not, but have fun and
go fast (safely so you don’t crash and say @#*&!). |
Still, we get to Pacific Raceway on time Saturday morning. The threatening
weather cleared up and it looked like we would have a rare dry NRC. My bike was
missing spark, safety wire and a host of other things but Justin’s little Penton
was ready to go. It was essential that we get him out cleanly, as he is allowed
all of two practice sessions this weekend. The Penton, a vintage 125 enduro bike,
places him in Vintage practice instead of the NRC sessions, where he’d have to
mix it up with R1s, armed with a mighty 11 hp and 85 mph top end. In addition
novices under 16 are required to petition the WMRRA Executive Board to ride,
much less compete. The board is wisely requiring him to complete a second
approved riding school before competition; this gave him a chance to work a
corner on Sunday to fulfill yet another novice graduation requirement and see a
full day of racing from closer than he’d ever been. It also gave me a chance to
test the Penton in competition, or so I thought.
On arrival we select a site and go to work unpacking like a well-oiled
machine. Bikes come out of the trailer, tools, leathers, boots, helmets.
Registration and tech were painless as usual; WMRRA has made pre-paid
pre-registration an absolute breeze so I had plenty of time to obsess about my
own bike, hook up with 160 fast guy and mentor Tim Fowler, and last minute
instructions. “Remember to turn the gas on!” “Don’t forget to upshift when it
stops accelerating!” We covered everything in detail except dealing with Vintage
hardware…
For the blessed out there who have never been subjected to an older bike,
even when any given model was new age gives them little quirks. Add to those the
oddities that we took for granted 30 years ago, a 2-stroke motor and a mechanic
(me) with no experience with this particular model. It’s a wonder he made it
around the track, much less soldiered on through the entire session!
Watching from the southernmost part of the pits I could see he was having
engine problems, engine management problems AND trying to learn a brand-new
discipline. The first lap he was late, then going dreadfully slow. Second lap,
missing in action and I nearly panicked. Frantically searching for a free
official with visions of carnage I collared the pit marshal, who let me know
they were off in turn 2 – apparent mechanical. Somewhat relieved I started to
ask about retrieval when he broke in that Tim had restarted the bike for him and
they were now back on the track going somewhat faster, but still slow. I watched
lap after anxious lap while he struggled over the hill crest at turn 8, wove
uncertainly through 9 and fought a sick sounding 2-stroke out of the bus stop.
After coughing and farting, it would abruptly clear up and start pulling as he
entered the main straight, giving me a good two minutes to obsess until he came
around for the next lap. It was a major relief, not to say victory, to see the
checkered flag at the end of the session! The grin when he pulled off his helmet
was certainly one of victory, and worth all the effort and worry I’d been
subjected to.
Post-practice discussion with mentor Tim revealed a number of things to work
on; talking with Justin revealed one more. Old piston port 2-strokes don’t pull
down low and he’d been riding it like his TTR. Naturally it would load up and
take forever to clear, burping and farting like a drunken geezer at Octoberfest.
Making it worse was a less-than-modern transmission with neutrals between every
gear – trying to shift quickly had him exploring every one. Tim also had noticed
that he was tentative on the throttle. The carburation is well sorted at idle
and full throttle, but like most vintage machines is a little iffy in between.
With explicit instructions to whack the throttle full on or full off and a few
reasonable starts in back of the pits we felt he was ready for his second and
final session.
The second session went much better. The bike was still not running quite
right but he was clearly on top of the situation. Justin’s speeds were still
down, but useful tips from Tim regarding lines improved his form and lap times,
while giving the faster riders plenty of room to get around on either side.
Aside from a disconcerting habit of putting his foot down for the bus stop
(something other novices and even some experts do) and a consistent struggle
getting back on the pipe out of that very tight corner, he rode very well. Other
riders confirmed that he was consistent and although not up to speed, his
lines looked good, and he should have no trouble progressing with more practice.
Things weren’t looking quite so good for my weekend; my bike still wasn’t
ready. The new instruments wouldn’t clear the fairing bracket. Changing tires,
the last of the safety wire and refitting the carbs took the rest of the morning
– I’d missed all of practice, but was more or less ready to go after lunch in
Lightweight Superbike. This is one of my favorite classes in that it pays money,
but all I really wanted was to finish today. Alas, it was not to be. The bike
started hard, idled poorly – I searched for and found an air leak, after which
it ran better at idle, but in the tire warm up lap power delivery was, well,
lurchy. Off-on response was abrupt and at times it seemed to fire on one
cylinder. Halfway around things smoothed out so I continued around for the
start. Mistake.
The bike bogged on the start and started spitting a bit, but ran well enough
to catch the tail end of the group going into 2 so I could pass a few people on
the outside. They returned the favor by passing me on the exit as it became
clear I had a little problem – the engine would run on one, none or both
cylinders at random making riding difficult. Fighting to keep up with anyone
down the back straight convinced me to pack it in, and I returned to the pits as
a basic safety move. Once there, exhaustion (emotional and physical) set in. My
lovely wife arrived from work and I put off trying to do anything with the bike
until morning. I took Justin and dog Duke on my traditional walk of the track,
examining the surface and looking for new surprises, alternate strategies and
obvious things that I’d missed in 25 years. Of course I’d point out things to
Justin, and we discussed strategies and things he had discovered. Too tired to
run the course the walk took over an hour, after which we had a nice dinner,
movie and early bed. Ah, the comforts of a motorhome!
Morning found me up early – sore and nervous but still groggy. Sorting a
problem under pressure is never fun, but the one bright spot on the horizon was
all the lovely black clouds – I love racing in the rain. Coffee and oatmeal
cured the groggy, but the only cure for nerves was sorting out the mystery
problem. Nothing for it – pull the tank up and start looking for something,
anything, out of the ordinary. Nope, carbs and airbox are tight, wires are all
attached, what could it be? Poke a little, prod a little and hello, what’s this?
The coil connection is loose? Hey, it’s more than loose – the darn thing rattles
loose like an empty can! So does the other connection; checking the rear coil
turns up the same thing. Could I have been victim to something as simple as
loose connections? A quick crimp with pliers fixed that, and I triple-checked
every connection in reach and buttoned the bike back up. Only thing left was to
swap to rain tires; it was clearly going to rain for some time. I had already
said goodbye to Justin, who was going off to work a corner – his first time and
part of his novice requirement. I skipped practice again on the theory that I
would have had to hurry, and the time was better spent resting and getting
ready, preparing for miserable visibility.
The race itself, 650 Supersport Twins was almost anticlimactic. My regular
anti fog concoction Zook had come up missing, and the substitute just didn’t
work well. Warm misty rain is hell on face shield fog and hardly anyone could
see. Alan Schwen and John Greer checked out early and I could barely see for
much of each lap. Experimenting with different visor and body positions I
finally discovered that sitting up with a slitted shield and head tilted back a
bit cleared my visor, but it only worked on the straights. Still, I started
making time (and positions) and had a few decent dices, eventually sighting Jeff
Webber in 4th on the white flag lap. I was able to reel him in quite
a bit (he rode well despite being uncomfortable in the rain) but catching him in
the time remaining was out of the question. I settled for a comfortable 5th,
in the Suzuki money – or would be were my bike one year newer.
Naturally right after 650 SS twins is Vintage. I pull into my pits, hop on
the Penton confident that the bike will run flawlessly. It fires on the first
turn of the crank so it’s off to pre-grid. A few minutes wait at the track entry
and I’m off for my very first attempt at riding in the rain on vintage tires –
well, in a long time anyway. I’m instantly amazed all over again how much
traction is available compared to DOT racing tires in the rain, and power around
turn 2 thinking this could be a lot of fun. The Penton is peakier than the
mass of Honda CB160s but clearly has more power; I just need to get used to the
relative lack of brakes. Then at the end of the back straight I run out of gas.
After reminding Justin constantly I’d fallen victim to the same bonehead mistake
and forgotten to turn on the gas! A quick grab at the petcocks is futile, and I
can’t get it restarted. Doomed to sit on the sidelines for this heat I make the
best of it, watching some great racing through the chicanes. These ‘slow,
obsolete and worthless’ vintage bikes are generating serious speed through the
toughest part of Pacific Raceways, and would leave any modern bike without rain
tires for dead.
A quick crash truck ride back to the pits and we’re ready to go again – I
thought. In any endeavor the one thing you absolutely need is the one thing
forgotten, and I had broken the one ironclad rule of racing a 2-stroke – no
spare plugs. Cleaning the heavy coat of oil with contact cleaner produced an
adequate spark and the classic trick of cleaning the crankcase of a load of fuel
by pushing with an open throttle and no spark plug should have cleaned it up, and
it did fire eventually – only to die and refuse to relight. Pull the plug, clean
and try again. Repeat 4 times. Finally when I was ready to give up it lit and
ran well, so I carefully turned OFF the petcocks and had lunch. The second and
final Vintage heat was at 2:00, and I was going to be ready. Oh, hubris! The
jealous gods smite those that think they control their destiny…
This time the bike ran well again, only to die on the back straight. The gas
was on, so that wasn’t it. It did catch again before coming to a complete halt,
but bucked a bit up the hill, and died completely coasting into the start line.
Philosophically I realized that put me one for four with no practice – an
expensive weekend, albeit one without major breakage or crash damage. Justin was
ecstatic with his weekend, so it wasn’t all bad.
A post-race investigation turned up a VERY loose plug cap. This one used a
steel spring piercing the plug wire, but t wasn’t close to fitting the plug end.
Replacing the cap with a modern unit and dropping the needle one slot should
take care of our remaining engine problems. I’m fitting a tach in hopes that
it’s magneto-friendly, and that Justin will find it useful. Our next steps
(other than more work on my SV!) are a just-completed dirt ride and a practice
day with Adrenaline Freaks on May 5. We both have to play hooky for it, but it’s
the only way Justin can satisfy his 2nd class requirement and be
ready to compete in the next race.
There are those (like my parents and siblings) who think this whole thing is
crazy. Others think it’s really cool. All I really know is that competition of
all kinds has been very good for me – teaching winning and losing gracefully,
the importance of doing your best and where to draw the line. Since this project
really started in December, everyone has noticed a big change in my son. He’s
both more mature and more gracious. An indifferent student with great potential
he’s suddenly found a reason to finish all his homework. C’s and F’s have become
A’s and B’s; with a bit more work he’s likely to be an honors student in a
challenging High School program. Sure I worry about him, but realistically he’s
in no more mortal danger than he would be playing football – and less likely to
snap a knee. We have a ways to go yet, but already we are much closer than ever;
he’s even picked up a few of my other activities like wrestling. We’ll have to
budget carefully, but I can see us teaming in a year or so in endurance races –
for fun, naturally. And when his sister reaches the same age in 2 years I hope
she makes the same choice.
