Entering the off season, with direction
Yesterday was our last regular track day of the season. It was an odd day -- long story. New-to-me track (riding Portland International Raceway for the first time!) and new-to-me bike (more on that another day) plus a morning that didn't go according to schedule (either in my day job, which I was working from the track, or my side job working registration with the track day org I ride with). So when I finally got on the new-to-me-bike after the lunchtime session my goal and plans for the day had shifted.
But in the end, even with only a couple sessions on the track, it was a great day. And I've been thinking about it a lot overnight -- and about the season, and about how as much as I'm ready for a little bit of rest (and housework catch-up) I'm suddenly not ready for the season to be over.
I'm pretty sure I'm slower at the end of this season than at the beginning. And that's after around 19 days (plus or minus) on the track this season, including two days riding with literally world class coaching with Yamaha Champions Riding School and countless sessions with our incredible (tireless) coaching staff at Optimum Performance Rider Training.
But if that observation leaves you scratching your head, hear me out.
I may be slower. But if I look at where I am now and where I was at the beginning of this season, and I take speed out of it, I'm extremely humbled by how far I've come and by where this work will take me.
Yesterday, after a wacky morning, I didn't get on that new-to-me track until after lunch -- and at that, we had an entire session flagged for oil on the track, so the afternoon was short. I hadn't had the time I'd planned to watch rider perspective videos, and had barely even looked at a track map when I finally got on the new-to-me bike. Portland International Raceway has a reputation for being a "fast track" and I can see why … the front straight goes on for days. It's all front straight and back "straight" with a couple curvy bits on either end. I'd been a little intimidated going in, to ride a fast track slow, but this is what we do -- we ride.
I went out with Chris and my coach, Michael, so I had "cover" against fast riders with closing speeds that might be risky given my pace. An aside: bless the humans who take on this job. I do it for my own slow students, and being the "taillight" for another rider is one of the hardest and most risky things I do on the track. So when someone else does it for me, I appreciate it greatly.
I noticed right away: instead of being lost and afraid, after all the training we've done this year, I was able to read the track.
The first lap was just for sighting (and for working hard to remember that the new bike was set up for GP shift) and I noticed right away: instead of being lost and afraid, after all the training we've done this year, I was able to read the track. I saw it differently. Instead of looking for cones, or paint spots, or pavement changes, I was looking at the turns, and the width of the track, and experiencing the mix of thinking and doing that is observation and action, blended together, thoughts translating into bike inputs as if carried through shared wiring.
I've always ridden rigidly. What are the rules? Follow the rules. The rules are safety. Eyes up. Go all the way to the tip in cone. Tip in. Look for the tree. Eyes up. Report card check at the apex. Use the whole track on exit. To bring my battle with perfectionism to a sport with so many variables that perfectionism is a literally laughable goal.
My riding has been largely trying to learn from the firehose of advice I receive from other riders -- some qualified, many not, to actually give me advice -- and apply a specific set of "beta" to familiar tracks, to work hard to learn "the line" and do it "right." To try hard to make up for my lack of natural ability with rigid rule-following. To parse out what "advice" helps and what "advice" hurts and to figure out whose voice to listen to in my head when the various flood of "advice" contradicts.
And the result is: my husband teases me that I'm slower on the track than I am on the street (he's not wrong, he's totally correct). The track brings out my performance anxiety, my fears about being judged, my deeply held wrestling with a vague, recurrent demon of "not being good enough" and of not being worthy of the space I occupy out there (at the potential expense or inconvenience of someone else's experience who does -- in this faulty part of my brain -- "belong" out there).
What I haven't done -- except for fleeting moments here and there -- in my years of track riding before this one is learn how to ride.
What I haven't done -- except for fleeting moments here and there -- in my years of track riding before this one is learn how to ride. And this year, not only did I begin to learn how to ride: I have, thanks to the training and practice of this year, my own voice in my head now, and lordy. That voice knows what she's talking about. She can even size up which advice to listen to and which "advice" to dismiss. And she's looking at the turns, not the cones or the trees -- and it's riding. And it's really fun.
Ducati 749
The new Italian lady in my life.
Yesterday, even in that first lap out, I saw the track differently. And I felt the unfamiliar bike, differently. With a different set of tools in my own toolbox, and a different level of comfort and curiosity with the unfamiliarity of it all. The unfamiliarity became a fascinating puzzle that I wasn't afraid to try to solve. I felt safe and comfortable with the bike's brakes and throttle; I felt comfortable and knew what I needed to do moving on the bike. Most of all, I felt a strange new confidence about my decision-making that caught me off guard, because thanks to the year's training, I could look at what was ahead of me, and felt competent to make the decisions I needed to -- corner entry speed, brake usage, bike position and direction, whether to treat the turn as an exit corner, an entrance corner, or a balanced corner and then use the apex as a report card to evaluate that decision and plan what to try in that turn on the next lap -- to safely and proficiently navigate the track.
I realized I'm playing a new game now when, after a couple of sighting laps, I felt a turn tighten up on me on the exit and my own smart voice was the one to speak up in my head to say: helpful report card. Next lap, don't turn in early -- turn in later, and it'll put me right in position, with direction for what comes next. And I did it. And I felt so proud of myself I'm still delighted by that one little (big) experience.
Michael's feedback after a couple sessions was that I was increasing pace in the slow parts of the track (which I'm really, really proud of -- I know, once I'm comfortable on the bike, I can add throttle because I plan (and know how) to use my brakes). He and Chris also helped me switch the bike back to standard shift after the first session so that I had one fewer "new thing" in the equation, and could focus on learning the bike and the track, and that instantly increased my comfort, focus and reaction time.
After yesterday, I can't wait to ride more unfamiliar tracks, and to get back to our "home tracks" with different eyes. I had actual fun yesterday. And I wasn't quite doing it all just yet to pick up my pace yesterday. But for the first time ever, I could see, for myself, based on the learning I've done this year, what I can do to pick up my pace when I'm ready. And that feeling has me ready to put my leathers on and find a parking lot and put out some cones.
I've struggled with motivation and burnout the last few weekends out, especially since I'm still mentally recovering from my little off earlier in the season. For the last month or two my eyes have been on getting through the season. Surviving it without another setback. On the mountain of adulting that needs doing that's been postponed while we've been out playing with motorcycles all year. To rest days and days off and a break from it all.
But after yesterday, it's a total 180. I can't bear the thought of an off-season right now. We've postponed our late fall trip but my eyes are on the earliest spring we can muster. To figuring out how to plan to ride two new tracks a year, and continue building my skill around riding the unfamiliar based on the coach -- that I trust -- that's now implanted in my own head. And to work on my weakest area over the winter: my vision. I can see the difference between the guys and gals who have it, and I can feel the weakness in mine (and see the impacts of it in my report cards on the track).
I realized today, thinking about it all: I've got position. I've got direction. I love and am so comfortable with my brakes, I can't wait to use them more. So now, I'm ready to start using the throttle.
And I can't wait for next season.
Now for a little bit of mad love.
An end of season gratitude bomb:
Here is a thank you to every student I've worked with this season -- I'm a better teacher than I am at motorcycles myself, and I'm so grateful to get to see YOUR progress and gains because of the hard work you put in and the fun you have doing it. Seeing smiles on students' faces and having folks come back after their first day riding with us is the biggest reward of being a rider.
And for my colleagues at OPRT and our friends at Lost Mines Safety Team who help keep us safe out there, and our home track, The Ridge Motorsports Park, I can't believe I get to be a part of such an incredible crew of misfits and oddballs and heart and soul and talent and excellence. The Lost Mines team are my literal career heroes: if I can someday work with 1/3 the level of stoke and joy and passion that you all bring to the job, I'll consider it a wild success.
You'll hear a lot from me about my experience with Yamaha Champ School (hosted locally by Track Time , an org I'm thrilled to have met and connected with this season) during the off season, so this is just a little shout out. Coach Nick, Kyle, Michael and Chris: I'm making big gains on "safer," and am stoked for the "faster" part to follow, and to hopefully see you all again next year. Coach Nick: I'm finding full throttle in my car now on every turn exit chance I get. My riding thanks you so much for your post-tip-over advice and support (even if my driving record disagrees).
My dear moto women: you inspire me literally daily. And then some.
And last, when I think about the tireless, dedicated, supportive coaching I've received this year from our instructors at OPRT, and Michael Mason specifically, I get super verklempt. I think it's no accident I wound up riding with an org full of (1) dudes with daughters and kick-ass spouses; and (2) incredibly bad-ass lady riders and racers, with a bonus of (3) my husband fitting into category #1 (if I may be so immodest) and also keeping me in bikes and equipment despite my penchant for Italian things (and throwing them at the scenery on rare occasion).
A year ago right about now, we decided together to "go big" on motorcycles this season. I'm in awe of where we are now. And excited to see where we go next.
What's your plan for the off season? I'd love to hear from you! Comment below, or shoot me a message.
Photo Highlights
Visit the album on Facebook to see the full versions of these photos because Wordpress is being lame right now :)
Tech inspection, taken seriously.
My husband went from follow to lead over the course of this season, but I still like knowing he's chasing me around the track sometimes.
The first time Michael tossed me an instructor vest, early this season. Whoa.
In my happy place.
Reminding myself: this is fun.
That's my man.
My favorite picture from Champ school. That smile.
Learning to cover the brake at Champ School has been a game changer in my riding.
Chris and Michael, never smiling in the same picture at the same time.
Classroom is in session!
Students and instructors during one of our days at the Ridge.
Damon is the literal picture of dedication.
With the Lost Mines crew during one of our wettest days of the year.
Just before reg opened in Portland for our season-closer.
New to me and I'm already infatuated with this Italian lady.
Teaching.
Sunset, from Turn 1 at the Ridge, earlier this season.
