Tuesday is the first day of practice –
which is like nothing I've ever experienced before...
The course is on a private toll road
that runs from the base of Pikes Peak to the summit. The toll road
owners dare not lose any revenue because of the event - despite the
event brining in a huge influx of visitors and untold dollars in
exposure - have you ever heard of Pikes Peak not in conjunction with
the race? Greedy bastards.
As a result, practice is held in the
early morning and finishes by 08h30. As competitors, we have to be
off the mountain by 09h30... otherwise we have to pay a princely sum
of $12 per person. Glad to help bring visitors to the mountain for
them and line their pockets!
The logistics of getting officials,
safety crew and race teams up a single road that takes vehicles 45
minutes to get up is tough. And to do this before first light so that
practice can begin as it becomes light enough to see is even tougher.
We're up at 02h30. I'm calling VISA and
the ACU to sort out some admin over a bowl of granola and fruit. By
03h00 we're outta the door and meeting Travis at the bottom of the
mountain for the quiet, sleepy drive up to the paddock at Devil's
Playground - 12,780 feet above
sea level (for the Brits... Ben Nevis is only
4,416feet). We park up, unload and get the bike set-up on tyre
warmers on the road near the start line for the top section. Devil's
Playground is a third of the way to the summit at.
Parked up and waiting next to the Victory factory team
At that altitude the air is thin...
there ain't much oxygen up there! Pushing the bike up the slope to
the road and carrying the toolbox and generator 50 yards gets us out
of breath. Everything is just a little bit harder work. There are
oxygen bottles available for those that need – I don't use them to
try and acclimatise my body.
It is a surreal experience: on the side of a mountain, waiting for first light and the sun to start rising below you before setting off in the twilight, on closed roads for practice.
Our first run form Devil's Playground
to the summit is as a group. All 33 motorbike, quad and sidecar
entrants follow the 'sweep-riders' up in the early morning glow. It's
like a sighting lap – making sure the bike is working ok, getting a
feel for track conditions, checking for ice, water, oil, gravel,
wildlife and other hazards on the road. It's the first time I get to
ride the road as a course rather than a ribbon of tar that is infested with
scared, wide-eyed tourists in four-wheeled metal boxes.
Roll-call, riders briefing and morning prayers in the moonlight
We all get to the top where it is
frikkin' cold (below zero) and windy. On the way up the bike has a
bad flat-spot between 5 and 6 thousand rpm. I put it down to the
cold. We descend a few minutes later in single-file, taking it easy
on such an decline and with now cold tyres. Safely back to the
paddock, tyres on warmers and we get ready for our first run.
I'm keen to get my first run done and
start learning this place – so with just 10 minutes heat in the
tyres (they take at least 45 minutes on the warmers to get to proper
working temp), I hit the ignition button to start the bike up for my
first run. The bike comes to life without me cranking the stater
motor. “That's weird” I think to myself. I am not familiar with
the bike's switch layout and how they all operate. I put it down to
Italian strangeness, shrug and line up at the start. The flag guy
dressed on arctic gear and thick wooley hat points at me and nods.
First run
Revs up, I get her off the line
cleanly. Short-shift first and second to get into a comfortably quick
“Braaaaaap” third for the first fast, off camber right-hander. Up
another gear and through the blind, cresting left-hander. Run her out
to the white line on the exit to setup for the next left.
Down to the
beautifully cambered medium-fast Bottomless Pit. A racer of years
gone by said that if you went off at Bottomless Pit, you'd starve
before you hit the ground.
I thread my way through the unfamiliar
course. Remembering each turn and the next from my many, many hours
of on-board footage studies. I take it easy, trying to take it all
in, trying to get a feel for where my lines should be, what gear I
should be in... how fast I can go.
Travis and Ant wait for my return. A year ago Travis lost his good friend and mentor Carl Sorenson during pratice on this section. Sorry to keep you waiting Travis... :-(
The bike bogs down horribly between 5
and 6 thousand rpm again. Worse than the sighting run. It didn't do
this on our Sunday tests. Shit. Something we need to look into. I get
to the summit steadily and join the group of riders... parking
closely to try get shielded from the wind. As I pull up, I hear this
whirring sound. I think it's the fan going. The engine temp is only
150 F. Strange. I hit the kill switch and it is silent.
Paul Livingstone is up there and we
have a chat. After 20 minutes, we get the signal to go down. I'm cold
and keen to get back to the paddock to get warmed up, look into the
bogging down and get out for another run. The Big Red Duck doesn't
start. Huh? I can't get any life from her. Fuck. This is not good.
Carlin Dunne knows a bit about Ducatis and comes over. He is puzzled.
We try get her started by rolling down the road on bump-starting.
Ant getting a hit of oxygen
We get a burble out of her... but
nothing more. The faster we go down that steep descent, the less she
wants to start. The slipper clutch just engaging. The engine is dead.
We free-wheel to Upper Gravel Pit. It's a steep
uphill to the next turn, they need to get the next session started so
we have to abandon the bike there. I get a lift back to the paddock
with Carlin - our practice session is over. Bike problems suck. That
I am missing an entire practice day sucks even bigger.
We pack up and watch the cars doing the
middle section below us. Some of those cars are awesome! Big, bad-ass
American racing vee eights with open exhausts booming up the
mountain. The upside is that I get to watch a bit of what else is
going on.
When the session ends, we get the van
to the bike and load her up. We get down off the mountain and get her
back to the cottage where Ant and I try find the problem while Travis
heads back to his bike shop. The Ducati mechanics with the Squadra
Alpina reckon our sprag-clucth is gone. A common malady with big
vee-twins. Ant and I fiddle about and come to that same conclusion.
We give Imperial Sportbikes in Denver a call – I bought the bike
from them and they race Ducatis – they have a new sprag-clutch on
the shelf and will fit it for us that afternoon.
Ant making gang-signs...
Ant and I load the bike and head 1 ½
hours north to Denver. We leave the bike in their capable hands and
get some Asian-cajun food while they work. An hour later we return to
the workshop. We are greeted by Tim; “It's bad news. Have a look at
this...” He shows us where the sprag-clutch is inside the engine
case. The end of the crank has snapped right off!
wtf?!
Holy Shit! This is bad. Not worth
repairing – the engine is stuffed.
However, we're in luck... Imperial bought
in a crashed 1200 Multistrada just a few days ago... and that motor
will fit right in. Our motor is standard, so it should be plug-n-play. It'll take 20 hours and they'll only charge for the motor.
That's real good of them – it's not their fault but they
want to get me back on the hill. They get to work on Tuesday
afternoon and we start making calls to find out what the options are
for practice and qualifying.
Travis has the best moto-sickle shop in the world!
We get the go ahead to get out for the first official and mandatory practice on another bike for Wednesday morning. We just gotta make some runs. Back to Travis' workshop where he offers me his 2012 record-setting super-moto for the job. We get prepping... just a bit of lock-wire here and there, filter clean and some numbers. 'Pink to Purple' is soon good to go. We sling her in the van, back to Colorado Springs, pickup a supermarket dinner on the way and we have our heads down for some sleep shortly after 21h00. A non-stop day.
Prepping 'Pink to Purple'
South on the i25 back to Colorado Springs... price of gas: less than 40p per liter! And this was expensive...
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