4:30 am
Alarm goes off. Still dark outside, but I’m wide awake. I actually had a pretty decent, albeit short, sleep. I’m very superstitious and I’ve noticed I ride much, much better with less amount of sleep.
5:00 am
Meet up with Craig at Dunkin Donuts. Poconos is just under 2 hours away if you’re driving 60-70 mph. With no cars on the road, we do 70-80.
7:00 am
We arrive at the track to see a few people already setting up. The club we’re running with today had a track day here yesterday, so a few people who ran left their bikes here over night. There’s a very nice gentleman pitted next to us. His tow vehicle is a Range Rover. His bike is an MV Augusta Brutale. For those of you not into bike marques, if Ducati is Ferrari, Aprillia would be Lamborghini, and MV Augusta would be Bugati.
The guy has money.
8:30 am
Rider’s meeting. Typical safety talk, but the club president has a hint of irritation in his voice and speaks about the previous day with blunt animosity. You get the feeling that a LOT of people crashed and/or rode dangerously. He reminds us this is only a track day, not a race.
Can’t win a track day, but you can certainly lose one.
9:00
First of 4 groups hit a damp track. The rotation is Intermediate, Beginner 1, Advance, Beginner 2. I’m still in the Beginner group with this club, and to be honest, I kinda like it. In the other club I run with I’m in the intermediate group, and, well, I get passed by a decent amount of people. In the Beginner group, I do most of the passing.
Pocono is a weird place. It can be a hurricane one minute, then clear and sunshine another. I’m not exaggerating either. I had a day here last year where the morning was so wet, my canopy collapsed because of all the water. After lunch, the sun came out and dried the track within an hour.
The forecast for this weekend was thunderstorms, and from the looks of the water patches on the track and the cloudy skies, most of us were expecting rain. I actually love riding in the rain. Forces you to be smooth.
So far no sounds of thunder in the distance. Only the screams of 30 sportbikes being ridden in anger.
Continue reading ‘The Life of a Bike Junkie: Part 1′
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