Brooks Motor Works

First we watched Anthony Hopkins roar down the beach on his Indian. Then the guys couldn’t stop talking about Bonneville, and breaking a few records with the Beamers. So they went, and they did. And I thought, What the Heck? Where are the gals in all of this? So I began a serious whine campaign. Kevin couldn’t tear his hair out (he hasn’t enough left) so he said let’s go get you qualified at El Mirage and then maybe you can race at Bonneville. That’s great, I thought. I went to El Mirage two times as support already, and knew the ropes.

First item of importance was getting a set of leathers. The racing rules for the vintage class were gear that is stitched together, no vents, holes, etc, and had to be leather. So I order some leather pants, as we have lots of jackets lying around the house. They come. I try them on. I look like a VERY LARGE black creature from the lagoon, somewhat bottom heavy. Kevin says “oh those look fine, dear.” I say “I am not racing with a fat ass. I need a smaller pair.” I order a smaller pair. They come. I rub myself with Vaseline. I writhe like a dead bug upside down on the bed trying to get them up past my knees. I finally get them on. I walk with mincing Geisha steps into the study because the pants are so tight and inflexible that the constriction prevents movement. I say Kevin: “do I look fat in these?” He says “honey, you may want a bigger pair – you need to be comfortable and flexible- it’s about racing, not how you look in your leathers.” I mince out of the room. In secret, I try to bend over. The sensation at my waist is knifelike. I decide I shall keep these leathers. Mostly because they are a size smaller than the fat pair. And of course I can loose wait before El Mirage.

So now it is May, and we are packing. I bring slippery nylon tights to get my not one ounce thinner body into my leathers. We roar down and get there late Friday night. Saturday morning we find we missed the rookie talk, so I will not be able to race until I participate in that. Our support team has not arrived (Tom and Carol and Russ from Paso Robles and Santa Barbara), so Kevin and I get 2 motorcycles, 2 helmets, gear box and 2 full set of leathers and boots into the long line for tech inspection. We stumble and shuffled and lug the stuff along, and at last get through, much easier than last time. The guys know us, know we have the gist of things. As we load the gear to take our van over to our staging area we watch The Blonde Phenomenon. This is an attractive blonde gal who is racing. She steps up to the inspection theater. The inspectors, who were seriously harassing a motorcyclist complaining about his gear and bike, suddenly are struck dumb. They instantly sign off on the sheet, wave the man impatiently on his way, and cluster, bees to honey, in a tight, appreciative circle around the Blonde. Both inspectors. One of whom was supposed to be inspecting in the other line.

It is very hot. The wind is kicking up dust. We are moving very quickly to set up a sun tent and get the bikes down out of the van. You cannot ride around and test things out. If you run, and then ride part way back instead of wait for your pick up vehicle, you are disqualified from racing. So all Kevin can do is start the bike and check things out. He gets a run in on Dean’s café racer, but the gearing is wrong and he doesn’t have what he needs to tweak it, so he preps Bonita Rapida and does a pass. We get dusted out. That means the wind picked up and they close racing for the day because of visibility. Tom, Carol, Russ Kevin and I all hang out 2 hours until the Rookie talk. It is really a good one. The tech man carefully explains the procedure to all four of us, the rookies, and then we drive the course exactly where the bikes will run. He explains the first and second set of cones, and that you need to shut off right after the second trap and get off to the left.

We go back to the hotel, hot dirty and dusty, grab food and fall into bed. Up very early Sunday. Kevin wants me in the Rookie line fast so that I get my run in and can do a real pass. I worm my way into my leathers, and suddenly am at the front of the line. The starter jokes trying to get me to look over at him. I am intent in my crouch, thinking my way through the gear changes. I gaze down the runway, realizing I am looking into a dust cloud and can see only three of the orange cones. The starter waves, I revv it up and hurtle down the track, taking it up through each gear exactly as the boss explained. I feel positively schizophrenic- there is zero visibility, and for years Kevin has conditioned me to pay attention and look way down the road for obstacles. So here I am, trying to make the bike go as fast as it can in a dust fog, only able to tell I am going straight by the cones at my side! I keep reminding myself “go! GO! GO! There are no Washington deer on this dustbowl raceway!” I go through one set of traps. My menopausal brain thinks ‘Shit oh shit oh shit is that the first set, it that the timed one or is the second? GO go go!” and I am tapped all the way out in third and want to see if it pulls fourth, so into fourth I go, and it isn’t pulling so back into third and I want to go through the timing pulling in third. Suddenly I am through second set of lights and then I think the end of the track is waaay down there, let’s see if it pulls fourth and into fourth I go and go it isn’t pulling, so I slow way down and go left off the track. I turn an about face and stall. Which is great, because I had forgotten if I had gone at all in that direction I would have disqualified myself.

Suddenly I see a truck coming. And coming closer. And it has an official look about it. And I think hmmmmm. A racing official has come to discipline me. He is very kind, and explains I should have immediately turned off the raceway just after the second trap cones. I am humbled, and think to myself “with these guys, I bet I get to hear about this all day long!!” But other than them saying to Kevin something about how his wife needs to be controlled better, every one is kind and supportive. I go back and tell Kevin about the lack of visibility. I can see by his narrow little eyes he thinks I am having a girly moment of whining. Then he does his run. And then boy, I get to hear all about the incredible lack of visibility!!

But I am elated, I have done it! I have raced a bike across the mud, not fallen over, done a respectable run, and you know what? I am ready for Bonneville. So, come out of the woodwork, gals, dust yourself off, and join me. If I can get into a pair of leathers, so can you!