White trash
15th February 2011, 21:12
It's been a fucken long time since I wrote one of these things, so please bear with me. It'll be boring as all hell also.
Round III for the NZSBK series but only R II for the sidecars.
Weekend started with a nice early flight to Chch from Welly, Drew and Alan having left the rig and ute at Warwicks after Rnd I at Levels. Warwick picked us up from the airport and we hooned back out to his place to grab the shit. I was disapointed the lovely Jo wasn't home, so I called Warwick a wanker to quell my disappointment.
We headed back out to the track where most of the sidecar and in fact the whole paddock was mostly set up. We unloaded the outfit, and all of our crap, signed on, got suited up and warmed the bike up for our first excursion on track as a team, and in fact my first trip from the swinging platform in about three years. Three quarters of the way through the out lap, we decided to pull back in, something wasn't right. Drew suspected a flat front tyre but upon pulling the bodywork to bits and checking everything, it was all mint. We just had to harden the fuck up. After my 3/4 of a lap I'd decided this may be a little different to the three laps of scrub session I'd spent on Daves old long chassis.
Second session and the bike felt like arse again for the out lap but we pushed on, hoping to find a groove. As our pace increased, so did our confidence and we started to feel quite good. However, I was totally under prepared for how physical Ruapuna is on a sidecar and after 4 laps had massive arm cramps and my ribs felt bad having broken them in a road bike crash a few months back. Drew made the choice to pull in for which I was very thankfull. Warwick had timed us at around the 2.00 mark which apparently is OK for a new team on an old short chair. We basically called it a day. Dad turned up that evening along with our mad cousin Mike and his family, they were there to support our other cousin Phil Mair who's been making some serious headway in the 150 SS throughout the season. It was fucken mint to catch up with everyone. Camped at the track, very fricken uncomfortable.
So then it's Saturday morning, shit's about to get real and we're pretty relaxed about the whole thing. We're on the oldest rig, as the most inexperienced team, with the least horsepower and the heaviest outfit. We're not expecting much but to have a fucken good time. Introduce ourselves to the bloke pitting beside us who owns the sexiest short chair we've ever seen. Windle factory chassis with a fully race prepped 1000cc Yamaha motor and I swear, it's the horniest thing you're likely to see in a sidecar pit. Bill offers for us to take it out as he's a bit over it and the rigs for sale but Drew and I don't want to get spoiled by riding something so nice so we politely decline.
First practice: We do the sum total of 5 laps, each faster than the previous, setting a fastest of 2.00.034 on lap four. I'm working my arse off, hanging full extension, head first out from behind the chair wheel, helmet maybe 3 inchs off the track at most. I'm desperately trying to hold the chair wheel down and allow Drew to accelerate better through the left handers but this fucken thing just wants to elevate. Because I'm putting so much effort and commitment with my body into the left turns, it's taking me a while to shift to the right and by the time I'm halfway oer, the rigs starting to seriously accelerate, further hindering my movements. At one stage into the carousel, Drew's got the thing seriously sideways with a big dose of opposite lock due to me not being where I should. Luckily, Drew revels in this sort of shit and dials in massive ammounts of throttle, holding the rig nicely out of line without grip, rear tyre screaming its head off and laying a 205 section blacky right through the turn. Although fun, this sort of behaviour is seriously wearing my puney arms out trying to hold on. I am, however, far to proud to "tap out" but thank Christ almighty when Drew signals we'll pit this lap. 5 laps. My arms are fucked. My mouth is so dry I think I'm going to pass out. I can't seem to draw an inwards breath because of the pain in my chest and when I do manage it, my ribs make a funny click. I've never been so rooted in my life. Thankfully, we only have a qualifying session and a 9 lap race left to go today. With some luck, I'll lose conciousness during the first lap and wont feel things breaking when I invariably hit the track.
We idle back into the pits and Warwick asks how things are going. "Piece of piss, dunno what all the Hoo-Ha's about" I reply. I then sneak behind the bus for a dry retch in private.
Qualifying. Drew and I discussed a few things each of us could do to perhaps support some quicker lap times. The decision is we'll only do a couple of flyers before pulling in as we don't want to die without reason. We actually went a couple of tenths slower this session but the whole session was a lot smoother, Drew following my advice and I wasn't moving as much in the areas he said we could do without it. 5 laps but feeling not too bad. I still had stains in my undies contemplating how the hell we'd do 9 as fast as we could.
Race 1: We do the sighting lap, I knew exactly where we needed to be on the grid (3rd row) and on what side. Drew confirms we should be next to the pit wall, which is correct. Steve and Denny on pole have a brain fart and grid in the P2 spot, everyone else swaps sides thinking thy're right, then they get their shit together and we're under starters orders. I never participated in a race start on a sidecar so I'm just doing what I've seen. As much weight as I've got on the drive wheel, crushing my sore ribs and holding on like fuck to try compress the rear suspension. I'm watch the lights closely and Drew anticpates the start perfectly, moving through the field with a heap of tyre smoke and wailing GSXR1100. The two teams we out started come back past into turn one as we desperately try to keep our borrowed rig on the island and all three wheels on tera firma. The race wears on and I'm seriously tired but there's no way I'm signalling Drew to slow down, that's just gay. We really try our best, I'm so fucking tired I try to concentrate on things other than my screaming biceps and forearms. Aneat trick is to see how much of the underside of the chair wheel I can see in the sweeper. It's held aloft for so long, I can read that it's maximum inflationpressure is 40 psi and it's mouted backwards on the rim, the rotation's wrong. Doesn't matter when it's not spinning I ponder. Down the straight I'm reminding myself to relax relax relax and breath breath breath. On about our lap 7, Steve and Denny lap us out of Pothole. Denny gives me an encouraging thumbs up and a head nod, I think I managed to waggle a finger from the front hold. Did I mention I'm fucked? Adam and Stu tear past about the same spot next lap when we've already had the white flag. I'm just praying I can make the chequred and don't really acknowledge them. I'm a rude cunt. I'm so fucked and can feel Drew slowing that I don't make it over the drive wheel out of the dipper, Drew turns it sideways on the brakes and lights the thing up on the exit. Sounds and looks pretty cool. We cross the line and I'm instantly elated, that was the best fucken fun I've ever had and check it out, people are applauding and waving. I give my dickhead brother a pat on the back for steering us safely around sit back to relax for a while. We run out of gas almost at the end of the slow down lap. Fuck it. Went 1.59.8 as a best on lap 7 which means I wasn't slacking off which I felt good about.
We're absoultely buggered and saw, Jodi and Lily are there as is Spyda and all the other sidecar teams. A decision is made so a few people head into town for a heap of BBQ food and beer and a really good BBQ is cooked by Denny. I can hardly lift the food or the beers to my mouth but we'reall smiling. Spyda regails us with some of his stories but I have to tell him to fuck off as my ribs are killing me when I laugh. Lily is kind enough to invite me and Drew back to her place so we can have a shower and sleep in real beds for the night. We VERY graciously accept and after ragaining posession of our ute Jim Tuckeman had stolen, headed out for a relatively early night.
Back to the track Sunday morning we'd decided we might as well see just how fast we canmake this nail go. Pulled the rear wheel out (a HUGE job let me assure you) only to find it was on max gearing when we needed a little taller. No problem, the rear tyre needed to be changed anyway so we sorted that and put the old girl back together.
Race 2: Watching the lights, I couldn't fucken believe the drive we got off the line and I felt the chair lift slightly as Drew steered around slower starting teams. We overtook all but the front row. Awesome! Unfortunately by the exit of turn 1 we were relegated to 6th again. We were getting much better drive off the turns on the right handers but similar chair lift to what we'd experienced all weekend. An un eventfull race really, just more of the same although we were now lapping at 1.59.06, only a gnats cock off the 1.58s we wanted.
Turns out the massive drive we were getting was a little couter productive, squatting the rear more than it previously had and the tyre had worn trough the brake reservoir. A frantic search tofind a replacement found no dual outlet items so we consigned ourselves to a DNS for race 3. Kindly old Bill Newton, pitted next to us with the Windle, had endured two DNFs lready and was pretty over his weekend too so he suggested we take his bike for a skid. Hmmmmmmm
So over the space of a couple of hours we tried to familiarize ourselves with a far different racing machine. It is far shorter on hold positions for my liking and Drew had to contend with a right foot shift, left fort brake system. Oh yeah, no starter motor so don't stall the fucker. We gingerly wobble through the sighting lap and grid up in our usual spot. Drew sort of fucks the start up due do a touchy clutch but we get away clean and hit turn one hard. I'm shitting myself because the platform's about two thirds the size of what I'm used to, the outfit accelerates twice as hard and my prefered low and forward front left hold doesnt exist. Out of turn one and none of the other bikes are really accelerating a way. I stop watching and throw myself out for Pothole, waiting for the dreaded wheel lft and understeer. It never arrives. Flat as a pancake we charge through the turn and slingshot up tgowards the hairpin. In there, a little lift but not much and then HOLY HELL I'm hanging on as the bike accelerates towards the esses. I'm finding it difficult to shift left to right due to the smaller, lower holds but from right back to left is easier. Every lap we increase our pace and are even eventually gaining on Spike and Astrid aboard the beautifull black LCR. Unfortunately, Bill has the rig seriously under geared and we're running out of revs in top before we hit the start finish line and even on the short back straight. We're manually timed somewhere between a 1.53 and a 1.54 but our fucken transponder went flat so nothing official. The rig could EASILY lap in the 1.40's with gearing and practice.
So all in all, a good weekend. There's just so many people to thank it's not funny and I don't really know where to start. I will probably miss heaps but we are eternaly thankfull of all the donations, support and encouragement we've received.
Specialy thanks must go to Prettybillie for the use of her rig, without it we'd still be a pair of fat sad guys going nowhere. It means alot Leanne, thanks so much.
All of you who donated to get us down south,, your generosity will never be forgotten. We hope some nice images pop up so we can have a heap framed and personalised for each of you.
The whole sidecar racing crowd has been great and realy supportive with encouragment, advice and hospitality. It's been real cool hanging out with you guys, see you at Hampton Downs soon.
And of course Spyda, who provided the new team name. During race two, on Sunday morning, from the comentary box during our race comes: "And on 131 are Drew and Jimmy Mair from Wellington in their first team outing. Folks, these two are what happens when you shake a baby.."
MAssive thanks to Jodi for feeding us and being nice and putting up with Drew. And of course Lily for the roof over our heads Saturday night.
Cheers guys.
Ps. If nyone's got any on track images of the awesome blue rig, # 131 from the weekend they don't mind us using, please feel free to post em up.
Round III for the NZSBK series but only R II for the sidecars.
Weekend started with a nice early flight to Chch from Welly, Drew and Alan having left the rig and ute at Warwicks after Rnd I at Levels. Warwick picked us up from the airport and we hooned back out to his place to grab the shit. I was disapointed the lovely Jo wasn't home, so I called Warwick a wanker to quell my disappointment.
We headed back out to the track where most of the sidecar and in fact the whole paddock was mostly set up. We unloaded the outfit, and all of our crap, signed on, got suited up and warmed the bike up for our first excursion on track as a team, and in fact my first trip from the swinging platform in about three years. Three quarters of the way through the out lap, we decided to pull back in, something wasn't right. Drew suspected a flat front tyre but upon pulling the bodywork to bits and checking everything, it was all mint. We just had to harden the fuck up. After my 3/4 of a lap I'd decided this may be a little different to the three laps of scrub session I'd spent on Daves old long chassis.
Second session and the bike felt like arse again for the out lap but we pushed on, hoping to find a groove. As our pace increased, so did our confidence and we started to feel quite good. However, I was totally under prepared for how physical Ruapuna is on a sidecar and after 4 laps had massive arm cramps and my ribs felt bad having broken them in a road bike crash a few months back. Drew made the choice to pull in for which I was very thankfull. Warwick had timed us at around the 2.00 mark which apparently is OK for a new team on an old short chair. We basically called it a day. Dad turned up that evening along with our mad cousin Mike and his family, they were there to support our other cousin Phil Mair who's been making some serious headway in the 150 SS throughout the season. It was fucken mint to catch up with everyone. Camped at the track, very fricken uncomfortable.
So then it's Saturday morning, shit's about to get real and we're pretty relaxed about the whole thing. We're on the oldest rig, as the most inexperienced team, with the least horsepower and the heaviest outfit. We're not expecting much but to have a fucken good time. Introduce ourselves to the bloke pitting beside us who owns the sexiest short chair we've ever seen. Windle factory chassis with a fully race prepped 1000cc Yamaha motor and I swear, it's the horniest thing you're likely to see in a sidecar pit. Bill offers for us to take it out as he's a bit over it and the rigs for sale but Drew and I don't want to get spoiled by riding something so nice so we politely decline.
First practice: We do the sum total of 5 laps, each faster than the previous, setting a fastest of 2.00.034 on lap four. I'm working my arse off, hanging full extension, head first out from behind the chair wheel, helmet maybe 3 inchs off the track at most. I'm desperately trying to hold the chair wheel down and allow Drew to accelerate better through the left handers but this fucken thing just wants to elevate. Because I'm putting so much effort and commitment with my body into the left turns, it's taking me a while to shift to the right and by the time I'm halfway oer, the rigs starting to seriously accelerate, further hindering my movements. At one stage into the carousel, Drew's got the thing seriously sideways with a big dose of opposite lock due to me not being where I should. Luckily, Drew revels in this sort of shit and dials in massive ammounts of throttle, holding the rig nicely out of line without grip, rear tyre screaming its head off and laying a 205 section blacky right through the turn. Although fun, this sort of behaviour is seriously wearing my puney arms out trying to hold on. I am, however, far to proud to "tap out" but thank Christ almighty when Drew signals we'll pit this lap. 5 laps. My arms are fucked. My mouth is so dry I think I'm going to pass out. I can't seem to draw an inwards breath because of the pain in my chest and when I do manage it, my ribs make a funny click. I've never been so rooted in my life. Thankfully, we only have a qualifying session and a 9 lap race left to go today. With some luck, I'll lose conciousness during the first lap and wont feel things breaking when I invariably hit the track.
We idle back into the pits and Warwick asks how things are going. "Piece of piss, dunno what all the Hoo-Ha's about" I reply. I then sneak behind the bus for a dry retch in private.
Qualifying. Drew and I discussed a few things each of us could do to perhaps support some quicker lap times. The decision is we'll only do a couple of flyers before pulling in as we don't want to die without reason. We actually went a couple of tenths slower this session but the whole session was a lot smoother, Drew following my advice and I wasn't moving as much in the areas he said we could do without it. 5 laps but feeling not too bad. I still had stains in my undies contemplating how the hell we'd do 9 as fast as we could.
Race 1: We do the sighting lap, I knew exactly where we needed to be on the grid (3rd row) and on what side. Drew confirms we should be next to the pit wall, which is correct. Steve and Denny on pole have a brain fart and grid in the P2 spot, everyone else swaps sides thinking thy're right, then they get their shit together and we're under starters orders. I never participated in a race start on a sidecar so I'm just doing what I've seen. As much weight as I've got on the drive wheel, crushing my sore ribs and holding on like fuck to try compress the rear suspension. I'm watch the lights closely and Drew anticpates the start perfectly, moving through the field with a heap of tyre smoke and wailing GSXR1100. The two teams we out started come back past into turn one as we desperately try to keep our borrowed rig on the island and all three wheels on tera firma. The race wears on and I'm seriously tired but there's no way I'm signalling Drew to slow down, that's just gay. We really try our best, I'm so fucking tired I try to concentrate on things other than my screaming biceps and forearms. Aneat trick is to see how much of the underside of the chair wheel I can see in the sweeper. It's held aloft for so long, I can read that it's maximum inflationpressure is 40 psi and it's mouted backwards on the rim, the rotation's wrong. Doesn't matter when it's not spinning I ponder. Down the straight I'm reminding myself to relax relax relax and breath breath breath. On about our lap 7, Steve and Denny lap us out of Pothole. Denny gives me an encouraging thumbs up and a head nod, I think I managed to waggle a finger from the front hold. Did I mention I'm fucked? Adam and Stu tear past about the same spot next lap when we've already had the white flag. I'm just praying I can make the chequred and don't really acknowledge them. I'm a rude cunt. I'm so fucked and can feel Drew slowing that I don't make it over the drive wheel out of the dipper, Drew turns it sideways on the brakes and lights the thing up on the exit. Sounds and looks pretty cool. We cross the line and I'm instantly elated, that was the best fucken fun I've ever had and check it out, people are applauding and waving. I give my dickhead brother a pat on the back for steering us safely around sit back to relax for a while. We run out of gas almost at the end of the slow down lap. Fuck it. Went 1.59.8 as a best on lap 7 which means I wasn't slacking off which I felt good about.
We're absoultely buggered and saw, Jodi and Lily are there as is Spyda and all the other sidecar teams. A decision is made so a few people head into town for a heap of BBQ food and beer and a really good BBQ is cooked by Denny. I can hardly lift the food or the beers to my mouth but we'reall smiling. Spyda regails us with some of his stories but I have to tell him to fuck off as my ribs are killing me when I laugh. Lily is kind enough to invite me and Drew back to her place so we can have a shower and sleep in real beds for the night. We VERY graciously accept and after ragaining posession of our ute Jim Tuckeman had stolen, headed out for a relatively early night.
Back to the track Sunday morning we'd decided we might as well see just how fast we canmake this nail go. Pulled the rear wheel out (a HUGE job let me assure you) only to find it was on max gearing when we needed a little taller. No problem, the rear tyre needed to be changed anyway so we sorted that and put the old girl back together.
Race 2: Watching the lights, I couldn't fucken believe the drive we got off the line and I felt the chair lift slightly as Drew steered around slower starting teams. We overtook all but the front row. Awesome! Unfortunately by the exit of turn 1 we were relegated to 6th again. We were getting much better drive off the turns on the right handers but similar chair lift to what we'd experienced all weekend. An un eventfull race really, just more of the same although we were now lapping at 1.59.06, only a gnats cock off the 1.58s we wanted.
Turns out the massive drive we were getting was a little couter productive, squatting the rear more than it previously had and the tyre had worn trough the brake reservoir. A frantic search tofind a replacement found no dual outlet items so we consigned ourselves to a DNS for race 3. Kindly old Bill Newton, pitted next to us with the Windle, had endured two DNFs lready and was pretty over his weekend too so he suggested we take his bike for a skid. Hmmmmmmm
So over the space of a couple of hours we tried to familiarize ourselves with a far different racing machine. It is far shorter on hold positions for my liking and Drew had to contend with a right foot shift, left fort brake system. Oh yeah, no starter motor so don't stall the fucker. We gingerly wobble through the sighting lap and grid up in our usual spot. Drew sort of fucks the start up due do a touchy clutch but we get away clean and hit turn one hard. I'm shitting myself because the platform's about two thirds the size of what I'm used to, the outfit accelerates twice as hard and my prefered low and forward front left hold doesnt exist. Out of turn one and none of the other bikes are really accelerating a way. I stop watching and throw myself out for Pothole, waiting for the dreaded wheel lft and understeer. It never arrives. Flat as a pancake we charge through the turn and slingshot up tgowards the hairpin. In there, a little lift but not much and then HOLY HELL I'm hanging on as the bike accelerates towards the esses. I'm finding it difficult to shift left to right due to the smaller, lower holds but from right back to left is easier. Every lap we increase our pace and are even eventually gaining on Spike and Astrid aboard the beautifull black LCR. Unfortunately, Bill has the rig seriously under geared and we're running out of revs in top before we hit the start finish line and even on the short back straight. We're manually timed somewhere between a 1.53 and a 1.54 but our fucken transponder went flat so nothing official. The rig could EASILY lap in the 1.40's with gearing and practice.
So all in all, a good weekend. There's just so many people to thank it's not funny and I don't really know where to start. I will probably miss heaps but we are eternaly thankfull of all the donations, support and encouragement we've received.
Specialy thanks must go to Prettybillie for the use of her rig, without it we'd still be a pair of fat sad guys going nowhere. It means alot Leanne, thanks so much.
All of you who donated to get us down south,, your generosity will never be forgotten. We hope some nice images pop up so we can have a heap framed and personalised for each of you.
The whole sidecar racing crowd has been great and realy supportive with encouragment, advice and hospitality. It's been real cool hanging out with you guys, see you at Hampton Downs soon.
And of course Spyda, who provided the new team name. During race two, on Sunday morning, from the comentary box during our race comes: "And on 131 are Drew and Jimmy Mair from Wellington in their first team outing. Folks, these two are what happens when you shake a baby.."
MAssive thanks to Jodi for feeding us and being nice and putting up with Drew. And of course Lily for the roof over our heads Saturday night.
Cheers guys.
Ps. If nyone's got any on track images of the awesome blue rig, # 131 from the weekend they don't mind us using, please feel free to post em up.