S1000RR rider attempts to be the first Irish man in space.
While attending a trackday late last year I had finished my last morning session and was looking forward to sitting down to a spot of lunch with a group of like minded riders. The morning had gone well, everything was running on time and the weather was cooperating. It was also a largly incident free day so far. That was so far.
We were waiting for the last session to finish up, they had maybe another lap or two and then we were done for the morning. A number of us then watched in amazement as we saw a rider, one who can only be described as a complete show off, I’m sure you know the type, as he managed to fire the most expensive motorcycle he’s ever owned into the stratosphere at the end of the straight on the perfectly dry race circuit. It was as stunning as it was spectacular.
The assembled folk in the pit lane were stunned into silence. The marshals flagged the session to a close. That red flag is always disturbing. Many of the team added a yellow and even a black flag to signal the seriousness of the situation. Yes indeed, rather quickly, the gravity of the situation as the dust, quite literally, settled became clear.
After totally ruining the carefully combed gravel trap he, it’s always a bloke, apparently the female of our species are far too clever to do something as stupid as this, came to a halt against the tyre wall some ten or so metres from the end of the straight. The troubling thing was that he then proceeded to not bother moving. As such the legendary Southside Dubliner was presumed dead.
The effect on the other riders and their friends was immediate. As a result of what we’d just seen the collective paddock then went into a type of shock. As one we wished for an ability to turn the clock back ten minutes or so and rerun the corner slightly better and with less severe consequences. We were all stunned into silence. Even the most pompous Ducati riders were stuck for words. As some of us know, only too well, that’s something that doesn’t happen very often.
In pretty short order the circuit was cleared of bikes and the marshals ran to his aid. After a few moments assessment the ambulance was dispatched. The flashing of the lights on the roof of the recovery truck and the colour of the marshals kit just added to the drama.
He then decided to bother moving. The self-pitying over privileged ‘fastest man on the circuit’ finally bothered his arse to stand up.
He was then rushed to the medical centre the, now former, motorcycle rider proceeded to show off his junk to the assembled medical staff and at least one journalist. A testament to their professionalism, not one of them retched at the site of an albino elephants foetus being put on display for all and sundry. Apparently they’ve seen it all before. First responders, they are a phenomenal group of people. Not only for what they do, but also for what they see. It’s a miracle that they don’t go nuts.
Not happy with the mayhem that he had caused thus far, he then went on to ‘milk it’ some more with a completely unnecessary trip, by ambulance of course, to the local hospital. Here he continued as he had started and made a nuisance of himself for a few more hours. The staff eventually got rid of him. It seems that they prefer ,instead, to look after people who were actually in need of medical attention and that’s not attention of the needy emotional sort…
Meantime we were all back on the track and having a very nice afternoon, thank you very much. He then got discharged and once back at the circuit, out of his box on some premium mood altering medication, he started to blather on to everyone in earshot how it was all the circuits fault for his off.
The way the owners had constructed the track, the kerb, their use of the wrong kind of gravel in the gravel trap and so on and so forth was all to blame. Yes none, or all of this was built in some sort of way that didn’t suit a fast moving class leading superbike. Rather it fired it into the air from whence it landed, bounced and rolled before coming to a halt in an advanced state of distress. His inability to take the same corner that he, and his fellow riders, had been taking all morning had nothing to do with it.
After the incident the circuit manager was visibly shocked, “I’ve absolutely no idea how someone that dim got out on track”. She gasped breathlessly, “We really do need to review our policies around basic motorcycling abilities!” she elaborated, “Perhaps we could combine a covid screening with a mandatory IQ test?”
Once the day had drawn to a close of the crew loaded the remains of his dilapidated, formally beautiful, motorcycle into a van. He then actually attempted to wrap the machine in blankets to protect the bikes bodywork. Rolling his eyes to heaven, the driver managed not to say anything too offensive out too loud.
Discussing the event afterwards another rider, this time a billionaire North County Dublin farmer, remarked on how lucky our hero was not to be seriously injured. “When you see something like that happen it makes me really glad that I ride a Suzuki. You’d hate to do what he did to a bike that you actually liked!”
The event manager wouldn’t offer any comment on the incident. “The matter is with our legal department, Robit, Snatchit and Rhun, who are still trying to figure out how someone could lose it on a corner that’s wide enough to park a truck crossways on”. He went on to elaborate, “We’ve sent them on some photos, but they reckon they’re photoshopped”.