FRIDAY, MAY 2, 2025 – FP and Q1
I didn’t get much sleep Thursday night. I woke up way too early, and a mix of nervousness and excitement kept me up until my alarm finally went off. I’m used to functioning on very little sleep, and the adrenaline of the day’s events would be all I needed to stay focused and at the top of my game, so I wasn’t too concerned about it.
Sam and I got to the track early to help Carbon and Paul set up for the day. There wasn’t all that much to do, so we had plenty of time to just hang out and talk about the plan for our first day of practice and qualifying. The Super Hooligan practice group was sent out at the beginning of the day’s schedule. The bike was ready. I was ready. The team had done an excellent job with both.
Final call. We started the bike, ripped off the tire warmers, dropped the stands, and I headed to the track entrance. This was my first time being on this bike on this track. In fact, I’d only been on this bike for a track day weekend and one race weekend, and there had been so many modifications since both of those that it was practically a new-to-me bike all over again.
I didn’t waste any time getting up to speed since we only had 20 minutes for practice. The Super Hooligan’s class had been growing in popularity since its introduction to MotoAmerica in 2021. A more popular class meant more rider entries, and 46 competitors signed up for this round of 2025. Due to the exceedingly large number of registrants, MotoAmerica activated their “track density procedure,” which split our group into two separate practice and qualifying sessions for Friday. They would also eliminate any rider who couldn’t pull off at least 114% of the fastest time of the day in either session. I was confident that I would get to ride on Saturday, and had every intention of putting down a qualifying time in Q1 (within 112% of pole), so setting the tone in morning practice was essential.
For the first couple of laps, everything felt strange. The bike felt loose, and I was re-familiarizing myself with the track after only having been here once before two weekends prior. But as soon as the nervous jitters wore off, I went to work. I pushed everywhere I could, and used caution when I didn’t feel 100% confident. Everything started coming back to me. Years and years of practice and training, my prior laps on this bike, and of course, the couple of days of recent practice on this track on a rented GSXR 600.
I finished 2nd in the 20-minute session and felt like I could’ve easily done 20 more. I rode the bike back through the paddock and into our Pit, then dismounted. I checked my times and was thrilled to find out that I already put down a personal best. Better yet, I scored what was likely to be a solid qualifying time based on what we all predicted would be the fastest lap of the day from whoever would be taking a provisional pole position after Q1.
The first qualifying session for Super Hooligans was at the other end of the schedule, so we had several hours of downtime and we did our best to make productive use of them. We made some small adjustments on the bike, grabbed some lunch, and even had time to run a few errands.
By the time Q1 rolled around, I was supremely confident that I would do well and get an even better PB lap. However, if it hasn’t become obvious by now that my life is full of surprises and things rarely go to plan, then you haven’t been paying attention.
My first few laps were going well, as in “well, good enough.” I was dropping time with each lap and gaining confidence, secure in my plan to lay down a convincingly solid qualifying lap. But as I came through T7, the final turn before the extremely long high-speed back straight, I was more focused on getting a good exit than planning a smart entry, and I overestimated my front tire’s ability to manage the excessive braking I was giving it to slow me for the tight corner.
Without warning, I lost the front. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react. Before I knew it, I was sliding across the track and into the grass. It was not a particularly violent crash, but it definitely caught me completely off guard. My Ryder Gear suit did its job and kept me safe, even deploying the airbag. Given that this was a low side, I’m not sure I needed the airbag, but I guess better to have it and not need it…
The Corner Marshals were quick to get to the bike. They lifted it up and started pushing it to safety behind one of the K-walls. I followed them as my airbag slowly deflated. We all took a quick look at and around the bike, and I urgently asked them if I could remount and get back onto the track, given that there was plenty of time left to still get a good qualifying lap, but the clock was ticking. The lead Marshal gave me the thumbs up, and I threw my leg over the bike. Ignition on, I pressed the starter switch… Nothing. I went through the normal start-up procedure a few more times, finally giving in to the reality that the bike was not going to start. I did a quick inspection of all the controls and noticed that there was some damage to the wires for the starter switch. My qualifying session was over. Resigned, I took a seat on the K-wall and watched all my competitors finish out the remainder of the session. I only hoped I had done enough in the first four laps to at least earn my way to Q2 for the following morning.
As soon as the track went cold, the crash truck came to pick me up. I did the “ride of shame” on the trailer with my bike, feeling the looks of pity from the thousands of spectators as I made my way back to Parc Ferme, where I met up with my crew. After they checked to see how I was doing – uninjured, except for my pride, of course – they handed me a phone so I could call my Shanea and let her know I was okay.
Together, we inspected the damage. Not too bad, all things considered. As soon as we were released from Parc Ferme, it was time to get my broken beast back to the Pit, where we got to work getting it fixed up and ready to be thrown back into the competition.
Based on a brief visual inspection, we were fairly confident it would be a quick repair job. But once again, God chuckled at our best-laid plans. It turns out that the wires to the starter control – yes, I did say, wires, plural – were completely destroyed, and for a moment, so were my hopes of racing for the rest of the weekend. Fortunately for me, my team was full of optimists. Besides, at this point, there was nothing to do but put our heads down and get to work.
Every member of the crew, including me, took on a different part of the project. We worked as quickly and efficiently as we could to get everything buttoned up. Sam went to work on the control wires. He did a masterful job, stripping, twisting, soldering, and even heat shrinking to make them as good, if not better than new.
We must’ve been having fun, because time was flying. It was already dark outside, and we were working under the shop light perched in the ceiling of our canopy. several hours after we had brought the bike back to the Pit, we reached a point where the bike was almost fully recognizable again as the sexy race steed it was meant to be.
Now, the moment we had all been working for. I switched on the ignition, flipped the starter switch, and pressed. Nothing. Thinking this must be some cruel joke the universe was playing on me, I went through that same routine several more times. But like Einstein once said, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.
And I was definitely feeling a bit insane at this point. I was incredibly discouraged, and it felt like a dark cloud was forming over my head.
Fortunately, my crew of optimists were determined to figure this out and get things working. I, on the other hand, freaked out and ran through the paddock, asking everyone I knew who had the same or a similar bike if they had a complete replacement control. Of course, no one did.
I had just finished sending a text message to Shanea telling her that my weekend was probably over before it even began when I got a message in return. It was my Carbon. The message simply said, “It’s a runner!”
Thank God! I quickly made my way back to the Pit and tested it myself. I couldn’t believe how close a call that was. I had been almost certain that we were never going to find our way back onto the track this weekend. I finally let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding, as I switched the bike on, hit the ignition, and… It was, in fact, a runner after all!
Another hour or two of getting everything sorted, and we were done for the night. There would be a couple more things that Carbon would take care of in the morning, and we all agreed to meet back at the Pit bright and early.