GoGo
Well-known member
First time I made this mistake was November of 89. I hired a local legend to build my RZ350. I told him “Don’t hold back, I’m tired of getting passed on the straights.” I spent most of the next season running behind that bike, pushing it, begging it please to start this time. It rarely did.
Next year I bought a bone stock Honda Hurricane. I changed the oil once. It never broke, I never crashed, and finally I won my first race.
So which was better – bone-stock running or race-built broken?
Obvious answer right?
It’s three decades later now. There have been 25 race bikes and countless sponsors since. I’ve learned so many lessons from racing, so many clues about people, so many triumphs and disappointments. You’d think I know better but apparently, not.
Last time I made this mistake was November of 18. I hired a local legend to build my 1290 Superduke. I told him “Don’t hold back, I’m tired of getting passed on the straights.” Literally 5 sessions later (three practices and two races), there I was running behind my bike, begging that it might ever start again.
I spent a lot of time back in the day with Jimmy Adamo - another legend, but this one didn’t build bikes or motors, he raced them. They say you can learn something good from everyone in your life. I learned so many things from Jimmy, but the biggest thing I learned from him was the meaning of the word, or the term, or the culture of “Racing”.
To Jimmy, racing wasn’t just about riding motorcycles in circles. It wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was about commitment - commitment to a sacred unexplainable thing that nobody who mattered misunderstood. And it wasn’t just his commitment. Commitment involved anyone on his team, in his family, or in his circle. And his circle was not round it was octopus shaped. If Jimmy reached out to you, you instantly felt two things – honored and screwed. To Jimmy, the word “no” didn’t exist. The word “time” was negotiable. And the word “impossible” was simply a dare.
He never remembered the first time we met. His face was beet red, his leathers ripped open, strands of hay were stuck in his hair – and he was desperate. He had just crashed his Reno Leoni Ducati straight into a barrier wall during the AMA Supertwins race at Loudon. Most thought at the sight of the impact, he was dead. Hay bales exploded, bike parts flew everywhere, but no Jimmy. Turns out Jimmy was unconscious laying against the wall. They red flagged the race and carted him to the medical trailer as his engine drooled oil everywhere. About a minute after he regained consciousness, he defiantly stumbled down the steps of the trailer. This is where I finally met the legend. He leaned in to me and my buddy, not knowing either of us from Adam, and hoarsely whispered, “Get me a bike. Any bike. Even a fan’s…”
To Jimmy, and in the many years since his death – to me as well, “racing” means commitment. When you run into trouble you don’t say, “well maybe next weekend”. When your this or that breaks, you find another, or you bend it straight. You weld it, you tape it, you do whatever it takes to make the “race”.
So at AFM round 2 this spring, when I held up the broken metal parts in my hand to the legend that built them, and he said “Well I’ve got a lot of motors on my bench right now, I’m not sure I can get it done in the two months before next round…”, instantly I thought of Jimmy.
I was Jimmy’s dedicated wrench for a weekend years later, also at Loudon. This was the new Loudon, and the new triple-8 Ducati. What a beautiful sounding bike, except when it blew up, which it did in qualifying that Saturday. With no spares in New Hampshire, we drove all night back to New York, built a complete motor, assembled the bike, drove back through the wee hours of morning and made the Supebike race with just 30 minutes to spare. Straight from the Ford van to the grid.
THAT was commitment.
THAT was racing.
THIS was bullshit.
So I took my fist full of broken metal and decided it’s time to move on. We called Eric Dorn of EDR. Eric said he’d get it done, so into the trailer it went to Oregon. It’s been almost two months now. It’s nearly time to go racing. And Eric says his version of our Superduke is almost done. How did he build it?
Bone-stock ☺
See you at the races,
GoGo
Next year I bought a bone stock Honda Hurricane. I changed the oil once. It never broke, I never crashed, and finally I won my first race.
So which was better – bone-stock running or race-built broken?
Obvious answer right?
It’s three decades later now. There have been 25 race bikes and countless sponsors since. I’ve learned so many lessons from racing, so many clues about people, so many triumphs and disappointments. You’d think I know better but apparently, not.
Last time I made this mistake was November of 18. I hired a local legend to build my 1290 Superduke. I told him “Don’t hold back, I’m tired of getting passed on the straights.” Literally 5 sessions later (three practices and two races), there I was running behind my bike, begging that it might ever start again.
I spent a lot of time back in the day with Jimmy Adamo - another legend, but this one didn’t build bikes or motors, he raced them. They say you can learn something good from everyone in your life. I learned so many things from Jimmy, but the biggest thing I learned from him was the meaning of the word, or the term, or the culture of “Racing”.
To Jimmy, racing wasn’t just about riding motorcycles in circles. It wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was about commitment - commitment to a sacred unexplainable thing that nobody who mattered misunderstood. And it wasn’t just his commitment. Commitment involved anyone on his team, in his family, or in his circle. And his circle was not round it was octopus shaped. If Jimmy reached out to you, you instantly felt two things – honored and screwed. To Jimmy, the word “no” didn’t exist. The word “time” was negotiable. And the word “impossible” was simply a dare.
He never remembered the first time we met. His face was beet red, his leathers ripped open, strands of hay were stuck in his hair – and he was desperate. He had just crashed his Reno Leoni Ducati straight into a barrier wall during the AMA Supertwins race at Loudon. Most thought at the sight of the impact, he was dead. Hay bales exploded, bike parts flew everywhere, but no Jimmy. Turns out Jimmy was unconscious laying against the wall. They red flagged the race and carted him to the medical trailer as his engine drooled oil everywhere. About a minute after he regained consciousness, he defiantly stumbled down the steps of the trailer. This is where I finally met the legend. He leaned in to me and my buddy, not knowing either of us from Adam, and hoarsely whispered, “Get me a bike. Any bike. Even a fan’s…”
To Jimmy, and in the many years since his death – to me as well, “racing” means commitment. When you run into trouble you don’t say, “well maybe next weekend”. When your this or that breaks, you find another, or you bend it straight. You weld it, you tape it, you do whatever it takes to make the “race”.
So at AFM round 2 this spring, when I held up the broken metal parts in my hand to the legend that built them, and he said “Well I’ve got a lot of motors on my bench right now, I’m not sure I can get it done in the two months before next round…”, instantly I thought of Jimmy.
I was Jimmy’s dedicated wrench for a weekend years later, also at Loudon. This was the new Loudon, and the new triple-8 Ducati. What a beautiful sounding bike, except when it blew up, which it did in qualifying that Saturday. With no spares in New Hampshire, we drove all night back to New York, built a complete motor, assembled the bike, drove back through the wee hours of morning and made the Supebike race with just 30 minutes to spare. Straight from the Ford van to the grid.
THAT was commitment.
THAT was racing.
THIS was bullshit.
So I took my fist full of broken metal and decided it’s time to move on. We called Eric Dorn of EDR. Eric said he’d get it done, so into the trailer it went to Oregon. It’s been almost two months now. It’s nearly time to go racing. And Eric says his version of our Superduke is almost done. How did he build it?
Bone-stock ☺
See you at the races,
GoGo
