Sunday's races go much smoother, with dry, sunny weather. I get two novice class second places, one in D-Superbike and the other in Clubman. I am beat both times by a KTM 690 single. The bike is nearly 25 years newer than my EX, is lighter and puts out a considerable amount of horsepower for a single. The rider can't help but get the holeshot every race. I keep him in my sights for a lap or two but cannot catch him.
Finally he is gone and I am left to my own devices, with the other racers well behind me. This is a lonely place to be. My instinct is to fight, push as hard as possible in the hopes the leader might make a mistake, but I know it is unlikely. It's almost eerie passing the flagman each lap, solo rider and machine. I know somewhere there is a race going on, but it certainly does not seem to be here. No carrot on a stick, no battle and a thousand chances to make a mistake. I hate settling, but sometimes there is no other choice.
I came to Summit Point in search of six seconds, an eternity. The lap times do not lie. I found my six seconds, a monumental improvement accomplished my first weekend of the season. The combination of rider, suspension, tires, chassis and motor work I did in the off season had paid off in spades. I accomplished my goal, I should have been ecstatic. I was not. The fast experts had picked up another two seconds on top of what I gained. I was still behind...
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