Friday at the WERA Grand National Finals is going to be a busy day. I've signed up for three races, will have two, possibly three practice sessions, have to get the FZR through tech inspection and get my numbers on it. There are now two race bikes to keep track of, and not enough bike stands or tire warmers to go around.
The easier thing, (and quite possibly the smarter) would be to load the FZR, take care of it over the winter, and focus on riding the EX this weekend. Somehow being at the racetrack with the bike in a nearly ready to race state means this option does not sit well with me. I am itching to ride this Yamaha and get some seat time on it. I know from experience that I am a slow learner when it comes to different bikes, the sooner I start turning laps, the sooner we can mesh.
This thing is proving to be a royal pain in the ass to start (it's push start only) and twice I have to go find the previous owner to help me. He and his father do a wonderful job of making me feel like a total dumbass because I can't start this finicky little bitch. At one point the father calls me a "damn Yankee". I just smile and watch these guys running up and down the pits while the FZR goes 'putt, putt, putt', refusing to run. Racers and spectators alike turn to watch the Sisyphian task of push starting the cantankerous Yamaha, some snickering in derision.
When the recalcitrant motorcycle finally stumbles to life in a puff of exhaust smoke, first on one cylinder, then two, then three, then all four, each cylinder sounding very angry to be awakened, it is a wonderful cacophony. At this sound I smile, almost forgetting the near heart attack it took to arrive there. I want to ride this nasty, dirty little machine. Sure I might not be able to trust her, and she might take all my money and my soul, but it just might be worth it.....for the ride....