The track’s pavement gave really strange feedback and correspondingly weird tire wear due to track temps and the long apron turn so we opted for a medium/hard rear tire in an attempt to get 4 hours out of a single rear. This seemed like it would work out well since the tires were getting a polished look but not tearing in the slightest. The fine finish on the pavement, although offering ample traction, generated little feedback and the cornering speeds were determined by slowly increase the entrance velocity rather than confidence coming up through the rubber.

After learning to expect problems from the Yamaha we now tend to become rather alarmist if the Suzuki so much as hiccups. During practice Jim pitted the race bike fearing the red light on the dash and the "Hi" reading on the LCD. Despite dire declarations of despair, a tire pyrometer determined that the radiator and engine were all within operating limits and only the gauge was confused.

We went out for dinner with Walt and Buff from Michelin at a catfish place at the end of a dirt road near a lake. We discussed many topics but gearing was forefront on my mind. As we had still been learning the track I had not bothered to request any gearing changes. Under the influence of hush puppies I theorized that we had the bikes set up for the fastest track at which we race (Memphis) and this track was by no means a fast track. Therefore, our gearing was way to tall. We resolved to shorten it dramatically the next morning, ate our three catfish apiece and retired for the evening.

The shorter gearing was a vast improvement but I reasoned, if a little is good, more must be better and asked for two more teeth off the rear. Finally the bike responded with a little snap and the sixth gear finally came into play. The practice times fell accordingly and we all cut about five seconds off of the previous day's times. Now we were down to 1:50, about what the other mediocre riders were turning. The fast 600 folks were four to five seconds faster than that.

Since the course was defined in many sections by cones, the start of the race was an exercise in lane splitting. I had to make my way from my spot on the left side of the grid to the right side of the track to make the first left turn. This was a rather tricky maneuver but, as luck would have it, I got to practice this no less that three time in the first hour as competitors fell and red flags waved.

I would end up running with the same little group of bike after each start but we would have all resolved to ride a little faster so each red flag caused the pace to escalate slightly. Of the bikes in our class running towards the front I tailed the two ex-Arclight bikes and the Sharkskinz’s Yamaha. One of the ex-Arclight’s went down in a blaze of rear wheel sliding glory and the second retired from an apparent lack of fuel coupled with some sort of clutch problem.

Counting the attrition in my head I thought to myself, "We are in second place. I can just cruise now."

This chain of thought was interrupted by my front wheel catching on a previously undiscovered inch high pavement seam and the resulting 85 mph low side. Although there are many disparate theories to crashing, the AOD theory involves protecting hands and fingers at all costs, followed by feet and legs. Our basic premise is to ball the hands into fists and cross them over one’s chest to keep them from getting slapped around. If possible, we then pull our legs up into a cannonball position. The downside to this is the tendency to roll and bounce for a long time. The upside is that it puts all the body armor on the outside to absorb the bounces and limits the exposure of fragile fingers and extremity joints to blunt force trauma.

All of which I got to practice when I felt the front tire refusing to follow me into the turn.

I eventually hit the grass and, feeling dizzy and sore, didn’t exactly jump to my feet waving at the fans. I had the wind knocked out so I lay in a fetal position gasping for breath while the red flags came out and concerned radio messages of "Army down in three, rider not moving" were radioed to the pits.

At the questioning of the paramedics I reviewed my personal injury list and found that I had very little with which to elicit sympathy from my sure to be irate teammates. With no physical ailments to temper their wrath I examined the bike in the back of the crash truck to determine if there was perhaps, just maybe, there was a chance we were still in the race.

The bike had been leaned over so far that the short drop onto the pavement had caused virtually no damage at all. The bike had slid on the frame guard, the now considerably shorter solid peg and the M4 muffler. According to WERA rules, since the handlebar never hit the ground, technically it wasn’t a crash. My aching hip had an alternate conclusion.

Red flags used to be the bane of endurance races since they provided a place for slow pit crews to perform slow pits stops but keep all the teams close in the scoring. To rectify this situation, last year WERA imposed a "no work under a red flag" rule with a one lap penalty for any team who declined to take the restart. In this case, that would be us.

The crash truck dropped off our bike in our pits with its rear to the exit from the pits but we were then not allowed to touch the bike until the green flag was thrown. In the lull we identified all the pieces which would need attention before our bike would pass tech and assigned an individual to each task. While determining who was going to do what to where I noticed the increased pace of the race had taken the best out of the left edge of the rear tire. The rubber we had mounted on our spare rim was inappropriate for the amount of time left in the race. Max McCallister set off on foot with the spare rim for the Michelin tent.

We formed a circle around our machine in preparation for the green flag which would signal the start of our repairs. A larger circle of spectators formed around us to observe our frenzy. Meanwhile Buff and Max were locating the proper tire, charging the compressor, swapping the rubber, balancing it and hustling the rim back up to the pits. Elapse time for tire swap: 3 minutes 12 seconds. The rim arrived back at the repair site twenty seconds before the green flag fell.

We safety wired the front axle, replaced cable ties on the tail section, changed the rear wheel and refueled the bike. Unfortunately the bike was pointed the wrong way in the pits. Julian (Pit Rhino) picked the bike up single handedly and reoriented it to the nearest break in the wall.

There was a few moments of intense anxiety when the bike refused to run. After 25 meters of pushing and bumping the cylinders and carbs expectorated whatever superfluous fuel was causing the delay and the bike fired to life. A cheer went up from the crowd who witnessed the repairs, as well as the crowd that had performed them.

Forty seconds had passed since the green flag had fallen.