8/25/94
I have a reputation of being a roadracer that, though a little off the pace of the fast guys, never crashes. In all of the motorcycle roadracing I've done, I've always brought the bike back to the pits. Once in a great while there was some black boot marks on the tank or dirt in the fairing, but never did I let the handlebars touch the ground. Prior to the 7/30-31/1994 WERA weekend the only time I ever crashed a race bike was my second race weekend at Louden in 1990 when I lowsided in 1A for unknown reasons. This all changed on Saturday 7/30/94.
Of course I vowed I would turn solid 25's before the end of the HvyWt 50 miler race on Saturday at Summit Point. All indications in practice pointed that this goal was easily within my reach, and secretly I felt I could do a high 24. The race was combined with the novices, a move by the WERA officials that I have to admit I still don't get the logic behind. I knew I would have a problem with traffic. In fact I spent the first half of the race stuck behind some slower novices on faster bikes, doing 28's & 27's. Once I cleared the novices I clicked off a 25.8 and then a 25.5, when I decided to really put my head down a push. I drilled turn one and two and came flying into three perhaps one or two MPH faster than before. Just after the apex of three at the slight drop off in the tarmac I was getting hard on the gas. Normally the bike would slide a little on the drop off and hook up nicely afterwards, rewarding me with a good drive towards four. This time however the bike stepped way out, protesting the throttle, and I backed off. Instantly the bike shot in underneath me, then it stepped out again, this time full lock sideways (according the cornerworkers) and launched me like a Saturn five booster.
My next clear visual image is looking down on the bike which was about six to eight feet below me and in turn was about six to eight feet above the pavement. The bike was rotating about an axis parallel to the crank. Parts were radiating out in tangent paths away from the motorcycle. I was shocked at just how high in the air I was, and I had this sick out of control sense on impending doom.
Mercifully, at that point my "flight path" rotated me out of view of the earth & the motorcycle. Staring at the sky I thought of nothing. Next there is this loud BANG accompanied a blow to my lower back that stunned me. I lost all spatial orientation and the pain in my waist felt like I had to go to the bathroom. I was vaguely aware that I hit the ground again and started to tumble & slide but in those few disorientated seconds all I wanted to do was be anywhere in the world except racing a motorcycle.
My next clear visual image came during the slide when the air box passed me, and a F2 went by about four feet away. The rider's eyes were the size of half dollars, and I thought to myself, "I've got to get off this track before I get hit." I came to rest face down in the middle of the track. My back hurt, and I couldn't breath. Somehow I still managed to pull myself off the track and onto the grass with my elbows. I keep going until I could see the shade of the trees in front of me. About this time I finally took my first tentative breath and wondered at how bright everything was. The first MARRC cornerworker, Rick, got to me and asked if I was OK. I said I thought so, but I wasn't going to move until the paramedics showed up. I noticed the bikes going by real slow and saw the red flag being waived in the background realized this was the first red flag I have ever caused, stopping the race. I also started to wiggle my toes, much to my joy I could feel them. Breaths came easier, I didn't even feel hot.
The paramedics when through their routine, checking my hardware and software for anomalous behavior. It appeared everything was fine and they decided to go ahead and pull me upright and that's when I saw the cornerworkers sweeping up the remains of my bike. Funny I thought, the guys in the pits are going to have a devil of a time getting that twisted wreckage back to my house. Chris the ambulance dude said it was time to go and off in the ambulance to the pits we went. After checking me out some more he told me I needed X-rays to check for kidney damage.
Turns out I had blood in my urine and my back took a pretty good shot, but I'll basically recover 100% someday. It was nice to come back on Sunday and race a borrowed bike. I'll never forget driving into the pits at 7:30 & Rick handing me the spring from my #1 carb's vacuum slide. I never thought I'd crash hard enough that a cornerworker would BE HANDING ME PARTS FOR MY CARBURETORS THAT I LEFT BEHIND DURING THE CRASH THE DAY BEFORE. I'm pretty much OK, but I'm sure trauma to my back is going to be with me for some time, a painfully reminder of my attempt to do a '24.