Track Days

I’ve ridden motorcycles, on and off, for most of my life. I had the bug at a young age, lusting after 100cc dirt bikes, poring over magazines and catalogs for the latest cool bike. Which I couldn’t afford, but was not deterred. I was bound and determined to be a motorcycle rider.

One summer around fifth grade, I remember coming to baseball practice and, parked right there beside the dugout, was a brand new Triumph Bonneville 650 in what’s called claret, a deep maroon color. Belonging to one of the coaches, it was fabulously beautiful. And cool. Steve McQueen cool, the coolest kind of cool. I was smitten, and vowed to own one some day.

Years went by, and I mowed lawns and got that 100cc dirt bike, which I rode everywhere, through the suburbs and the woods. My friends and I rode to each other’s houses, rode to the store for Honey Buns and cold Dr Peppers, rode to the swimming hole, the fishing hole, the basketball court. After school we pretty much lived on these bikes. If we weren’t playing some sport, we were riding, and it was heaven.

Oddly enough, I don’t recall anyone ever getting hurt. Bruises maybe, a skinned up knee, but not even a broken bone that I remember. Were motorcycles somehow less dangerous then? Not inherently. But in general drivers were maybe less distracted, no cell phones. It was a little less of a hurried, impatient world. Plus, as a rider, I was learning how to be more aware, to pay attention.

In high school I mowed more and bigger lawns and bought a lime green Kawasaki 500 H1, the fastest street bike sold in the US at the time. What I needed with this bike at the age of sixteen I couldn’t fully explain, but it drove me. I could think of nothing else until I had it, wickedly fast, unstable handling, totally cool machine. 

I rode it to high school and parked by the front door. Later I rode it to college and parked inside the dorm. To the consternation of the authorities, and my hall monitor. Threats were made, fines imposed. I mostly ignored it. In a small conservative Christian university, some of our behavior – long hair, loud motorcycles – was concerning to the status quo. Along with a few other outcasts, outlaws, and pseudo-radical friends, we were rattling the gates of the establishment. And as much as anything, motorcycling was a symbol of that. 

Fast forward a few years. I had a good job and a beautiful family. Life was proceeding as it should in this American dream. But I realized something was missing – i.e. – a fast motorcycle. And I wasn’t alone. My good friend Dane had also bought a fast motorcycle. So together we decided we would do what any bike centric responsible adult would do. We would take our fast motorcycles to the track and ride some track days. 

Track days are basically organized clubs that rent a track for the day and, for a fee, one gets to ride the track, in a controlled environment, with some supervised pro instruction. These are professional high speed road racing tracks, no joke. The same tracks where the fastest racers (cars and bikes) in the world race. It’s a thrill, an honor, and a little intimidating to even be on one. Two miles, sixteen turns of smooth, undulating, designated racing pavement. And that’s how the transition progressed to the next phase of my motorcycle journey. The track day.

The first hint that these track days are serious business is the morning riders meeting. Everyone is leathered up. Not Hells Angels black leather vests and chaps, but fully armored one piece racing leathers. Kind of a head to toe Iron Man suit. With a quality full face helmet and motorcycle boots. Armored gloves. In the meeting the rules are laid out and riders are divided up according to their skill level. Novice, intermediate, and advanced. I have never been invited to the advanced group, but after a few sessions I was promoted to intermediate. Yay for me.

The groups ride alternating twenty minute sessions all day long, with rests and classes in between. The second clue that this is serious is when a session actually begins.  Riders line up two by two and on signal, begin to feed directly onto the track, quickly reaching a speed which, for a new rider, is surprisingly fast, uncomfortably fast. But this is how we get better at anything. By pushing our boundaries. Senses heighten, adrenaline flows, fully involved. This is track riding, and it’s a blast.

And there is a real learning curve to improvement. The more one studies the theory and practice of speed, the better one gets. Though I know this is not for everyone, there is a real satisfaction in going faster. To push a motorcycle through a long fast turn, on the edge of the tires, perfectly balanced, knee skimming the ground. Or passing another rider on a turn exit, just by braking later, and then getting on the gas earlier, surging out of the turn, driving over the hill.

Track days were a huge step forward in improving my motorcycle skills. They were in fact an exercise in how to improve. At speed, pushing my comfort zone. They were a perfect opportunity to ride a motorcycle to its full capabilities in a controlled environment. Everyone riding in the same direction, no texting SUV’s backing out in front of you. Overcook a corner and you run into the gravel, not into a tree. Developing a skill that most of us have no desire or practical use for. A little dangerous. Just to do it.

And I get all that – the danger, risk, the impression of irresponsibility – but here’s an idea. That motorcycling has made me a more aware human being.

For one, it’s improved my driving. I now notice a lot more on the road than I once did. I see the distracted driver in the lane beside and just ahead of me. Have seen him swiveling his head to move over, no blinker. Know I’m in his blind spot, that he doesn’t even see me there. And I’m prepared for that possibility.

Someone comes to a quick impatient stop at a sign, preparing to enter my lane. I am watching their front tire, know the nanosecond it begins to move the car will begin to move also, right into my path. 

Motorcycling has improved my peripheral vision. It’s developed the technique of stopping at a stop sign, looking both ways, and then letting my eyes relax and peripheral vision see in both directions as I pull out. Try it sometime.

I’ve taught my children the benefits of what the Brits call a lifesaver, that is, turning your head to look before you change lanes. Don’t just rely on your mirrors and never be too lazy to turn your head, never be too arrogant or inattentive to use your turn signals well ahead of your turn. Be thoughtful. Let other drivers know your intent. On a crowded road, the more information floating about, the safer the drive. For everyone.

Of course there’s more, even beyond driving and riding. There’s just the consistent habit of paying attention, across all disciplines. Be a good listener. Listen to what people are saying. Be a good neighbor. If their trash bin has tumbled out into the road, move it back to the sidewalk. Be courteous, be respectful. Stay compassionate, empathetic, and non judgmental. Leave the world a little better place than when you found it. Ignore the slights, pass on the compliments.

Every day is a track day. Another opportunity to learn. Motorcycling as metaphor.

And on a motorcycle or not, pay attention, and attention will always pay you back.