FRIDAY, JUNE 27, 2025 – FP and Q1
I don’t sleep all that well on a normal day, but on race weekends, the mix of nerves and excitement makes it nearly impossible to get a full night’s sleep. After a huge cup of coffee and some breakfast, I joined my team in the pit. They were already hard at work getting the bike ready for Super Hooligan Free Practice, which was the first on-track event of the day, scheduled for 9:00 am. We decided that I would go out in FP on my used tires (from the prior weekend’s regional races) and save the freshies for Qualifying session 1 later that afternoon. The bike was ready, tire warmers on and hot, and my Crew Chief, Carbon, made sure the engine was warm and the fuel tank was full. He was also making all the calls based on updates coming from race control on his radio.
At 5 minutes to pit lane open, I started my final preparations – earplugs in, helmet and gloves on. At 2 minutes, I climbed onto the bike while my crew got ready to pull the warmers and stands. At 1 minute, I started the bike, warmers and stands were removed, Hailey gave me a fist bump, Shanea gave me a kiss on my helmet, and Carbon gave me a pat on the back. I pulled out of our pit and rolled through the paddock to the Hot Pit entrance to wait for the marshal to release us.
It’s worth noting that, despite having competed in a couple MotoAmerica races to this point, I was far from fully comfortable with the level of intensity that is infused into all aspects of the experience. Not only are there a seemingly endless number of rules, regulations, and protocols with almost no room for error, but there are fans and cameras everywhere, at all times. I’m sure the more experienced racers are used to this and either know how to tune it all out. But for me, it still feels like I have a huge, blinding spotlight on me and every move I make. I could feel the buzzing of intensity in the air as I pulled up to the group of riders waiting to be released for our first lap of the weekend, and it was electrifying every cell in my body.
The marshal swapped his red flag with a waving green one, and we were off! Fully aware that this is not merely a chance to get some pre-qualifying practice, test the track, the bike, and the riders’ pace, but it’s also an opportunity to engage in psychological warfare against our adversaries. The aggressive intimidation started as soon as we were released, with the fastest riders ripping off down the straight into T1, buzzing each other by inches, trying to get the hole shot as if it really mattered. Never one to shy away from a challenge, I followed suit and let anyone paying attention know that I was here for business!
Prior to this lap, I had only been to this track for two days’ worth of practice, and only one of them with the full MotoAmerica configuration. That was only two weeks prior, but it felt like a lifetime. It was almost as if I had to learn the track all over again, refiguring my braking and tip-in markers, and the ideal gear for each turn and section of the track. Slowly, but surely (emphasis on “slowly”), it was all coming back to me. According to my lap timer, I was WAY off pace the first couple of laps, but picking up speed and dropping full seconds each circuit. Somewhere around my third or fourth lap, still 5 seconds below the times I reached a couple of weeks ago, all corner workers began waving a black flag, seemingly at me. A black flag is an indication that a rider needs to come in and talk to a marshal or race control because of some error, violation, or safety hazard. Some of the towers were also displaying boards with the #43, which is supposed to identify the number of the rider who is being called in. So, I did my best to ignore the flags and stay focused on the job at hand. But they kept waving the flags, and there were no riders close by in front of me, and when I took a quick glance over my shoulder, I didn’t see anyone behind me.
I decided it was better to be safe than sorry and risk some kind of infraction. So, on the next lap, I exited the track into the Hot Pit and checked in with the first marshal I saw. As I should have known, he told me that the flags were for rider #43, not me. Okay, no biggie. I only wasted less than a minute of my 20-minute FP session. In a bit of a hurry to avoid wasting any more time, I made my way through Hot Pit at a brisk pace to the track entrance so that I could re-enter the track.
I ripped down the straight into T1, skipping the chicane, which is a feature toward the end of the front straight for all other laps except our entry to the track from Hot Pit. I took a quick look over my shoulder to see if anyone was flying through the chicane and likely to join me as I merged into the first turn, but the track was clear, so I twisted the throttle and tried to get up to speed as quickly as possible. Heading into T1, I leaned hard to the left, then let the bike drift to the far right of the track so I could square it off for a sharp entry into the uphill T2. I nailed it! However, I failed to get the bike immediately tipped back over to the right for the entry to T3 over the crest of the hill and ran wide to the far left of the apex. Quickly running out of track, I attempted to slow the bike down before I ran off the track and into the grass, but as I ran out of clean asphalt and onto the dirtier, slipperier edge of the track, I got a bit too greedy on the front brake and without any warning at all I was on the floor and careening into the dirt!
It all happened so fast. My airbag deployed, and the bike and I, now separated, both slid off the track and skidded through the grass, finally coming to rest about 20 yards later.
Damn it! What an idiot!
I couldn’t believe I crashed at all, let alone so early in the weekend. I took a moment to check and make sure I was physically okay, and started picking the bike back up while a couple of marshals started running to help. I remounted the bike and got the thumbs up from one of the marshals, then fired the bike back up, checked for any oncoming traffic, and re-entered the track.
Damn it! What an idiot!
At a spirited pace, but definitely not a hot one, I made my way around the remainder of the track and exited, then headed back to my pit. After crashing, whether returning to the pit on a crash truck or riding in on my own power, the trip through the paddock feels like a “ride of shame.” Especially at this level, and with all the eyes on my every move, I was embarrassed and humiliated. Most of all, I was so angry with myself for making such a clumsy mistake. Sure, we’ve all made them, and many other riders would certainly suffer the same fate before the weekend was over, but I had earned the honor of being the very first crash of the round. Congratulations to me!
But wait, there’s more! After I dismounted and got my helmet and gloves off, Carbon let me know that he learned about the crash on his radio from race control, and apparently, what they said was, “Rider 417 down at turn 3. Rider and bike are up. But to add insult to injury, Rider 417 also has an infraction for speeding in Hot Pit.” Yes, injury PLUS insult! Well, I guess in addition to being the first to crash, I was also the first rider to earn a violation for the weekend. I might not win either of my races this weekend, but at least I was first in something! Better yet, we would eventually come to learn that I was not only the first rider to earn an infraction, but I would also hold the title of fastest speeding ticket in the Hot Pit for the remainder of the weekend. First and Fastest!
Damn it! What an idiot! The weekend was definitely not off to a great start.
I left the bike in the very capable hands of my crew so they could inspect and repair the damage. My next session was Qualifying 1 in a few hours, so they had plenty of time.
I climbed into the RV, still pumped full of adrenaline, but also weighed down by disappointment, anger, and frustration. I’m not proud to admit this, but when this type of on-track catastrophe happens, especially when it’s my fault (and I always attribute at least some aspect of a crash to rider error), I experience an intensely profound sense of failure – not just about what I did and what happened, but also about who I am as a racer. Intellectually, I know that this is just part of my process. It results from a combination of being a fierce competitor, a generally intense person, and also being someone who has been challenged with mental health issues my entire life. I believe that these self-defeating, self-deprecating thoughts are fairly typical among racers, but that I experience them in such a disproportionately heavy and painful way. It’s as if these toxic thoughts crawl up my spine and worm their way deep into my brain. I try to resist them – to outthink them – but it’s a battle with my demons that feels all-consuming.
Unfortunately – or fortunately? – I have had a lot of experience with having to rebound from crashes and other mistakes. In the moment, it can be hard for me to tap into that experience and the assuredness that I always bounce back, and often go on to achieve or even exceed my performance goals, particularly when the demons are raging. But no one knows this about me better than Shanea. She knows me – knows my soul – at the deepest level. She can read me empathically and know precisely what I’m feeling, and has a seemingly magical knack for telling me exactly what I need to hear, and healing my painful disappointment and self-doubt. With her at my side, the demons are outmatched.
She told me, “You’ve been here before and you’ve got this! Shake it off. You belong here, and you know what you have to do.” In these situations, she always manages to strike the perfect balance between girlfriend and Team Captain!
So, that’s precisely what I did. I licked my wounds, sucked it up, and beat back the demons that had wormed their way into my psyche. I returned to the pit and apologized to my team for the crash. Of course, they all told me not to worry – the bike was fine and would be ready for the next session, so all I needed to do was get myself ready. I love those guys!
A few hours later, I was suited and booted, back on the bike, and sent out to the Hot Pit by my team. I was ready to put the morning’s crash behind me, make up for lost time, and earn my way onto the grid. I never got fully up to speed in FP and hadn’t completed a qualifying lap time, so I had no time to waste. The plan was to get off to a quick start and use all of the 20-minute qualifying session to log some hot lap times.
Well, they say if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans!
As I rolled into the Hot Pit, I immediately noticed something was wrong with the steering of the bike. I glanced down and saw that the handlebars – the entire front end, actually – were completely misaligned! Like, totally crooked!!! Somehow, I failed to notice this when I rode the bike back to the pit after the crash. Understandable, given I was probably still in a bit of adrenaline-filled shock. We also didn’t catch the problem when the bike was on the stands during all the repairs. Carbon even had me sit on the bike and check the position of the replacement bars he had installed, but without riding it, there was no way I was going to notice the issue.
Nevertheless, it was unavoidably obvious now! And there couldn’t be a worse time to discover it! We were about to be released onto the track for a relatively short, 20-minute qualifying session, which absolutely no time to make any additional repairs or adjustments. I had to decide and make it quick – either I play it safe and return to the pit, burning the first of only two qualifying sessions, and not having a single confidence-inspiring lap the entire day, or I suck it up and find a way to ride around the problem. This would mean having a huge impediment to my performance at the very least, not to mention a very high likelihood that I would be ripping around the track at breakneck speeds on a bike that was potentially going to be an impossible-to-control death trap!
Well, if you know me, you know that playing it safe isn’t in my DNA. Besides, safe is slow, and I had too much to lose not to try and make the best of this disaster. So, I turned off the “oh shit” alarm going off in my head, took a deep breath, and decided to freakin’ send it!
We were released onto the track, and I peeled back the throttle. As crooked as the front end was, there was definitely nothing wrong with the engine. In fact, everything seemed surprisingly fine…that is, until I entered turn 1. Holy cow, was the bike hard to steer! As much as I should have anticipated the steering problem, it actually caught me by surprise, and I had to back off the throttle slightly to keep from running off the track. The next several turns – in fact, the first couple laps – it took everything I had to keep the bike on the racing line. And, to do it, I wasn’t even close to a decent lap time. But one of my favorite mantras, especially when it comes to racing, is “adapt and overcome!” So, that’s precisely what I did.
I started figuring out how to ride around the wonky steering and managed to adjust my riding style to compensate. With each passing lap, I got more comfortable and a lot faster! I glanced down at my lap timer each time I crossed the start/finish, and by the 3rd lap I was already laying down personal best times, comfortably in the qualifying range. But I wasn’t done. I kept pushing and continued to drop time, finally achieving a lap time more than a second below my previous best. On my final hot lap, however, I got a little too greedy and almost dumped the bike coming into the final section. Nope, not again! One crash today was more than enough, so I threw my hand in the air to signal to the riders behind me that I was exiting the track, and decided to quit while I was ahead.
I made my way back through the paddock heading toward the pit, when I heard someone yelling my name. I looked to see who it was and saw Carbon frantically waving me toward Parc Ferme. Duh!! After all that hard work, I almost got another sanction, possibly even disqualified from the entire session, for failing to follow protocol. Like I said, there are so many inflexible rules and regulations at this level of racing, and by all accounts, I was still very much a rookie! Fortunately, I was able to make the detour and safely into Parc Ferme, where I was greeted by my team.
After quickly pulling my helmet and gloves off, we all celebrated my lap times, but more so the incredible comeback we had all made after the disastrous morning. As deep and dark as the battle with my demons had been, the elation – pure ecstasy – of this achievement was equally as intense in the other direction. What a triumph and what a ride – both literally and figuratively!
Once again, as Shanea knew better than I or anyone, when I get out of my head and just do what I’m capable of, I can overcome almost any challenge and achieve my goals. I was so incredibly proud that I had pulled this off, but it wasn’t lost on me for a moment that I couldn’t have done it without Shanea and the rest of our team. And for that, I was not only grateful but inspired to keep the momentum going throughout the rest of the race weekend! We had so much more to accomplish, and we would have to stay at the top of our game to get it done!
But that could all wait until tomorrow. For the rest of this day, we had all earned a good meal and a relaxing evening, full of great stories of our trials and tribulations, and how once again, we managed to adapt and overcome!