Pandya

April 28/29 2007

Dateline Los Angeles...

So I'm out in California on one of my epic road trips. On a total lark I decide to buy some Dual-purpose
tires and race my desert-prepped 2004 Suzuki RMZ 250 in the STTARS(www.supertt.com) Sportsman
Supermoto class. Don Canet, a superb writer, rider and editor for Cycle World magazine was hosting a
race in conjunction with the AMA Superbike races in Fontana, California. Don has been a fan of
Supemoto forever - and STTARS is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. Truly an awesome
achievement - and I felt honored to just hang out with him and race his series.

Anyway, in the course of trying to find dual purpose tire for my high-revving steed, I learned that a
nineteen-inch rear wheel is a pain in the ass to find tires for. The only real option was a flattrack tire -
about $150. SO I start searching for a tire - mind you the race is the next day! I thought I would bust
out my awesome Motion-Pro tire tools and knock it out in the morning before the race. No problemo.

So I'm calling. And calling. And no luck - until I catch Mark Cernicky the wild-eyed supermoto nut also
employed by Cycle World. He scores me a tire (no discount - but hey - I got rubber) and invites me to
pit with him. In the time between his message that I have a tire and me calling the shop to give them my
info - Darryl Atkins from Aprilia Rip-It racing calls. I tell him what I'm up to and I hear his incredulous
Kiwi voice utter "Dude - just take my practice bike. She's got good tires, the suspension is set-up and
the motor is the best it has ever been - it's my race bike from last year."

I pooped me pants.

He actually had to convince me - I can be stupid. So that night I'm at his place loading up; 2007 SXV
550 full-race full-pimp fully-pumped bike - check. Generator and Suzuka tire warmers - check. Works
Connection stand and spare rear tire with softer (!!!) Dunlop rubber mounted - check. A bottle of
Groove Chardonnay for Don - check. I'm off - and scared.

The next morning I stood in line and registered for Novice. On the Factory race bike. Out of courtesy I
took a strip of black tape over Atkins name on the number plate. I didn't want anybody to think he was
having that bad a day...

Pre-race jitters. Peeing every ten minutes (yes in a bathroom) and nervous pacing. Plus having
dozens of supermoto and superbike buddies find me in the pits and all tell me to "just have fun".
Redline stress is no fun. I'll cut to the chase - I sucked - like a Hoover. I sucked bad. Like a good
Hoover.
1) I had not raced for ten years - and that was a roadrace.
2) The bike was a freaking missile - touch the throttle and I felt like I was doing a pull-up.
3) I was scared of the dirt - big time. Not the fact that there was dirt - but the double jump.
4) I had clearly brought a Howitzer to a knife fight.

I teetered through 20 minutes of practice. I rolled the jumps. And I did not yet trust the slicks. The track
was green - and so was I after practice. Oof.

Heat race - by virtue of signing up last - I was...last. Top 12 make the main - I was sitting pretty at
about 19th - and the race had not started. Green flag - first turn one charge in a decade. I did not die -
made it through and pulled the trigger on Hoss. I may have passed someone - the kid on the KTM 85
on slicks. Punk. He passed me after the first set of turns after the long straight. Punk.

The straight was my salvation - I flew- exiting turn one mid-second gear I wrapped the throttle open
and the front wheel hovered six inches off the ground through the next two gears. No joke. Then bang
two downshifts, flick right, left, downshift to first and hard right. Sweep right double apex up a gear flick
right - try not to run over the curb (85% success rate) up one then down one HARD brake - lug
second double apex left - short chute - rev out second & brake - try NOT to downshift - then 180
degree right - HONKING HUGE wheelie past crowd in the small grandstands downshift two - right - left
into dirt - poop pants, roll three and pray I don't get a Hondenemma - little bump out left - double right
clicking up to second half way through - avoid front-end killing chuck hole in turn one and do it again -
six laps. Fast guys were doing 50 second laps. I...was not.

I sucked - Semi Final for me. Top 4 go to "the show" - I sat on the grid in sixth. Nope. Didn't make it -
but something happened in that race - Stella got her groove back. I came to trust the tires - there was
a clear line on the track. EVERY time I pulled the Berringer front brake my eyes bulged. The only thing
that would stop me faster is a wall. Which was out 20 feet past the turn in - by the way - but no worries.
I started to feel good. So good I jamed on the brakes - did a stoppied and stalled the motor. I did get
restarted quickly (electric leg) and join in the end of the pack.

But I didn't make the show. Don said that often there are some missing from the final grid - tired -
blown up - fed up - or asleep. So as instructed I hung out to try and make the grid. Crap - everybody
showed up. My day was done.

And I had a blast.

I didn't double - the explosive motor and extra 30 lbs kept me in check. I did start hacking into corners
courtesy of some training from West Coast Supermoto and the STM slipper clutch. I did brake deeper
and stayed more consistant as the laps wore on. Without realizing it 'til the drive home - I "just had fun".

So I went back the next day and signed up for the beginner class.

On a borrowed SXV 550 factory race bike.

With 'starting to shag' tires.

What could possibly go wrong...?

(Nothing did - I had more fun - made the show - gridded 16th and finished 16th. And beat the punk kid
on the KTM 85. Punk.)

GHOSTS
- By Robert Pandya

The day was perfect. A planned group ride to Marble Falls, we assembled at our
usual spot. Normally I set out with the lead pack - we all fell in where we were most
comfortable – Ricky racers up front, cruising dudes in back. This time I was two-up
on the little Honda CB-1 with my girlfriend, Snow. She didn't ride that much with me -
but this time she wanted to go along. I was happy to share the experience.

She met my friend Heather, a vibrant woman with glowing red hair, an easy smile
and mid-western sensibility I always connected with. I liked her quite a bit, and so
did all the local moto-boys. A woman, who rode an even slightly sporty bike, in this
case a Hawk GT, was an anomaly in Texas. One with such a friendly and welcoming
personality was a bonus.

We took off in our group of nine or so, this trip trailing the pack in deference to my
passenger, and to stay away from the speed-meisters in the pack. A few curving
miles later the group gathered at the junction, but I just waved and rolled ahead,
knowing that there was another natural stopping place several miles up. We waited
for the group, but they never came. As our tension rose, a bike came roaring
around the last corner with the terrible news. The elderly couple in the Accord was
on the way to church, and for just a second the Hawk was over the double yellows. I
tried CPR, but knew she was gone. The absolute horror of that day haunts me at the
strangest times. But I still ride.

Randy had an easy smile and was one of the most positive people I ever met. He
was an occasional team member on my little endurance effort and always made us
feel proud of ourselves at the end of the day - no matter the results. He had often
drifted through my mind as I started chatting up Supermoto track days in Texas - he
was a huge Supermoto fan. His heart attack was a shock, and the irony of thinking
of an old friend and not calling him chews at me. We’ll have our Supermoto track
day in his memory, and I'll ride.

An optician in Florida, Jack was a quick buddy. I was assigned to photograph his
motorcycle collection. He was humbly proud of his work on the Bonneville. We had
a few days together and became fast friends - he even made a cool set of glasses
for me out of his shop. The month his bike was featured in Classic Bike, he was hit
in a road accident on his VFR. He never saw the cover shot. I'll never get to visit
with him again, but I think about him whenever I see an old British bike, and
sometimes when I see a solitary palm tree.

In the face of accidents, death and loss, I am transfixed by motorcycles. It's not in
the genes - it's not from living next to a bike shop when I was a kid. I don't know
why, but they are part of my soul. They are part of my oxygen. The complications of
this passion are many. I've been hurt and I've come close to a big mistake or two on
the road myself. So many of my friends share this passion. They share the rewards,
the risk and sometimes they get hurt.

It's the rewards of riding that are so much harder to share than the pain. The words
do not seem meaningful - like when you really love someone, so deeply that the
simple thought of expressing it cramps your chest and dries your throat. Words
describing the ride only scrape the surface of true meaning. The depth of the
experience is lost in translation when applied to paper. Riding is absorbing solitary
moments and camaraderie at the same time. We each have our own experience,
and we somehow draw from the same well of emotions, of stress, of fears and
satisfaction. We share the passion and a language. Words can't describe it - but
riding can.

I will always be riding with Heather. Randy will always be my race partner. Jack is a
comforting friend when I ponder old machines. I’m not a religious person, but I do
know we will all get together again. Old and new friends, cool bikes, blue skies and
a twisting road. Any time I can ride with the ghosts in my helmet is a great day.

PANDYA FILES

The Service Pavilion
The Best Service, The Best There Is...Since 2002