NMP finds the Dark Side, or Code Blue Race Report

Although it is my intention to "personally" write my blogs in a leitmotif flavor from a women's perspective on motorcycle musings, I felt compelled to share a story. After receiving this letter from a fellow NMP track side associate, on Dr. Paul Love, also a track side medic, a person I had the pleasure of meeting and working T3 with at Laguna Seca MotoGP this last July 4Th weekend.
I was fortunate enough to be out working the track on Paul's 2ND AFM race experience, on August 9Th at Infineon Raceway in Sonoma CA and saw first hand what an impressive, enthusiastic racer he is. A cynosure of everyones attention, at least track side!
Below are the chronicles of Paul, writing first hand of his on-track AFM racing experience.
The exhibited photos are of what I was able to capture of Paul and other racers, while track side!

Cindi


By Dr. Paul Love, MD.

Well, in case any of you failed to notice the giant riding the 600 at ThunderHill and Infineon, I am racing in the AFM now. Above all, I want to state that I love the NMP, the mission, the work and above all the GREAT people that I've met. You guys, along with the white shirts are the unsung heroes of racing, and my participation with you has not ended by any stretch. Why am I racing? After all, I'm not a kid anymore. All I can say, I love going fast and I finally found the place where the only limits are my skill and equipment.

My first weekend was the July round at Thunderhill. I had a track day there two weeks earlier, and thought I was running well enough to have a shot at making the 600 Production grid, officially 2:14 at T-hill. I ran around for two weeks getting the bike prepped and setup, including my yellow number plates, 515R. Brian Paoletti met me at the track to help me on race Saturday. Brian races in AFM but tore his biceps lifting a bike at MotoGP.

You know the NMP code: first the rider, then the bike, then the party. Brian was picking up Jason Disalvo's bike. His unfortunate loss was my gain, Brian showed up with shade and TIRE WARMERS, as well as lots of experience in surviving race day. Ann and Brian both accompanied me to tech. I'm not saying strings were pulled but there was remarkably little hazing of the new guy. I can't describe how nervous I was taking the track for that first practice lap. My anxiety showed in the riding and my times were inconsistent and barely in the range.

I was with the USGPRU kids in Group 1, you know, the fearless 12 year-olds. At one point, I was passed by one on the outside of Turn 3, as he came around I remember looking under my arm and seeing the top of his helmet a few inches from my outside knee. At times it was like brushing off mosquito's on an evening walk through a swamp. There were some traction issues in some turns, my suspension had been freshened up and needed tuning but a few visits with Dave Moss got things right , and third session was yielding some 2:09's.

My anxiety builds all day, but finally it's time for Clubman Middleweight. I do a few mental laps to quell the fear, and make my way to the grid. A mellow cold lap, then I take my place at the chalk mark #31. Engine roar builds around me as the starter waves the cards. Green means gogogo and the pack launches. My start is umm, bad, but I join the pack hurtling toward that little patch of pavement where everyone wants to flip it into Turn 1. Call it common sense or survival instinct, but I checked up, and came through turn 1 last. I chase the first lap, and might even be gaining but down the front straight my bike emits a horrific shrill noise. Imagine a million fingernails grating on ten thousand chalkboards, and it just keeps getting worse.

A thousand years of motorcycling experience at that track, and I don't think anyone had ever heard that exact noise before. Expecting a grenade to detonate between my legs any second, I raise my arm and exit the track to the infield at T3. AFM'er Dean crosses the hot track from the corner box at T5 to get me moved to a safe place. I exit the track after last rider, my race hopes crushed. Back in the pit, we discover the source of the noise. A year earlier, when I bolted the rear brake rotor on, I didn't torque the bolts. Two bolts backed out and were grinding the brake caliper at 115 mph. Repair was pretty simple, but I didn't finish Clubman, my weekend is over.

I ask Ann if she needs an NMP tomorrow. Instead she tells me to talk to Barb. Cathy Reilly gets involved too, they clear me to race 600 Production the next day based on my best practice time of 2:08. AFM is needing the money this year, or maybe Shawn Reilly is just running a warmer, fuzzier, club. I'm thrilled, going home without a finish would have would have been unabidingly depressing.

Sunday is mo' bettah, hopes arise with the new sun. I always enjoy the ride out to the track through the vast sunflower fields, now losing their color in the July swelter. Two practice sessions go without incident and I grid up for 600P. From the tail of the grid, I watch as racers tug on straps and leather adjusting their armor for battle. The cacophony builds when the #1 card shows. A flash of green and a swarm of multi-colored missiles accelerate away. I launch pretty well, but am shy about the rubbing elbows thing and pull through turn 1 in last place again.


For tail-end Charlie, the race is pretty boring really, I latch onto #865, and basically struggle to stay in contact, the gap Bungee-cords from turn to turn. Still I'm moving up as I pass the scene of crashes and see riders frantically trying to get back on the track after running off. I sense the laps ticking off, but somehow I'm so focused on 865 I missed the white flag. There's a yellow in T9 and a bike down just off the race line, no white flag there either. I drive hard out of T15, but get nipped at the line by #931 who finally catches up after running off the first lap. I'm last, but a fighting last I think. Funny thing is, I don't actually see the checkered flag, so I run all the way to T10 at race pace before I figure it out. I'm so slow most people thought I was on the cool down.
Sorry I didn't wave, Ann and Jordan, I was still going all-out. My times surprise a little, mostly 2:08's but I rip a solitary 2:06 so I think there's room for improvement. The Apres-race party involved tequila shots as I recall.

Anyway, I survived my first AFM race, even though I finished last. Thank you all for being there, special thanks to Brian P. Next installment, Infineon Round 6, or My trip(s) through the daisies, why does David look sooo worried during Clubman middleweight?, and I think Barbara finds me attractive. :-)

Love , Paul