The Motorcyclist's Post summer '99

the other side of the Track

by Jocelin

    My hands were gripping the metal fence firmly as I watched in pure amazement and envy.  It was this time, last year at the 75th annual Loudon Classic.  From the other side of the track, life was a bit different.  The stands were filled with thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts from all over the U.S. and Canada, joining to share what they love, watching road racing.

    I pretended not to see or hear the security worker as he badgered the crowd to back away from the fence.  I fought to ignore the sweet aroma of dough boy and pretzel in the air, and I struggled to tune out the whistling and howling of section C and D as a man paraded his topless lady below the crowd.  I tried to focus and concentrate as I scanned the track.  I squinted to observe the pit area, watching the people, bikes, huge tents and tractor trailers.  Occasionally a scooter would drive along side pit road and I would wonder of its passenger was someone important.

    I battled with the fence as I worked on positioning my disposable camera between the thick wire, attempting to catch the bikes as they took their position on the grid.  (I would later discover the rider, number, make, model, and even color of the bikes were next to impossible to make out in the photos).  As the green flag dropped, the racers lunged forward, screaming by like a group of freight trains fighting over one track.  My stomach twisted and churned as I stared with passion each time they rushed by.  Tears collected at the base of my eyes as the checkered flag dropped and my hero took the victory.  I turned to scan the crowd to see who shared the same excitement as I.  I searched again and again.  It was then I realized...I was on the wrong side of the track.

    I've always considered myself a problem solver and a "do"er, so it came naturally to take the steps necessary to move to the other side.  Like many racers, the Penguin Racing School was my stepping stone.  A purchase of a race bike and a couple race weekends later and I was quickly settling in to my new home and life on the inside.  I found the contrast extremely amazing, and road racing took a completely different perspective.  What once seemed abstract and virtually unobtainable had now become a way of life.

    One of my favorite discoveries was the way racers treated each other.  As a child, my family life was about as close as Maine and California.  As a racer, the LRRS family life was water in a glass.  It was difficult to remember everyone was racing against each other when they all seemed to play for the same team.  As a racer with a new (used) bike, i was constantly caught unprepared with missing spares, tools and brake pads, but as part of the club, family-fellow racers were eager to help and over generous with parts.  The track soon became my favorite place to be.

    The 76th annual Loudon Classic was here and even though I could not race, I was blessed to be on the inside.  My TZ250 sat under my pit tent polished, wearing its shiny new junior plates, giving a subtle warning of next year.  I darted around the pits, investigating the 250 grand prix players, and cheering on my friends.  Jeff Woods' garage was, of course the hive.  Busy little bees in and our, buzzing around checking on this, fixing that and adjusting those.  A top 5 finish was easily predicted by all.  I could feel the excitement in the pit of my stomach, a far greater feeling than the twisting and churning I experienced the year before.  At garage 12, Tim O'Connor and Chris Reynolds were deep in meditation changing jetting, examining pistons and plugs.  I flashed a quick smile and gave a thumbs up as I made my way to Eoin Smiths' pit.  One thing about the track is you can never seem to get from point A to point B without several detours.  I ran into Chris Holske and discussed his condition.  The dedication was distinct in his voice as he talked about attempting to race regardless of his injuries from the week prior.  I listened in admiration.

    Eoins' pit carried a story in itself, one of devotion, ambition, filled with passion and goals.  Climbing out of a lowest of lows in road racing, he overcame a destroyed bike, financial dilemma and maybe even a bit of fear.  He was here, with fight in his eyes, prepared to make the track pay its apology.  I stopped in to see Steve Scott who was breaking in a new crank and pistons, and seemed pleased with the bikes performance.  Tony Iannarelli, Kevin McCrea, and Mike Zajac looked rather busy as they went over every detail on their Yamahas.  As the day came to an end, I made my way back to my pit finding my bike there greeting me.  I swallowed a little lump of jealously.

    The big day finally came and I found myself shivering with excitement as my racing family lined up on the grid to begin the 250GP.  My hands clenched a still warm pair of tire warmers as the green flag dropped.  Tears collected at the base of my eyes as I declared myself on the right side of the track.