Written by Nikhil Zaid Infant July 11, 2019
As interesting and exhilarating motorsport is, there are a few instances in motor-racing that stand out more than others.
For me, I can count them on my hand. I was unfortunate to have been a fan through the safest era in motor racing..to date. In other words, the higher the risk, the greater the fun. I don’t know what excites humans so, is it just the adrenaline, or the fact that it allows you to live on edge. Is it our innate need to battle death and play with it with the confidence and assurance that death could easily win?
It was before I was born, over 30 years ago now, that Nelson Piquet pulled of that magnificent overtake on Senna, in complete opposite lock, four-wheel-drifting round the outside. This was Senna mind you, in most eyes THE Greatest Formula 1 driver….ever.
I couldn’t watch Lauda and Hunt battle it out, no holds barred, uncontrolled and unrestrained and wild, joint-in-mouth, champagne glass-in-hand. I didn’t have the pleasure of watching Doohan and Schwantz scrap it out for the 500 class MotoGP world championships. Hell! I even managed to miss most of the 500cc 2 stroke championships all together. I was fortunate enough that 2 strokes were still in existence, albeit in the 125 and 250 variants. For a while, a part of me felt, the time I grew up in motorsport was a shadow of what used to be.
In my lifetime there have been moments of sporting history that have brought me to tears. Wet cheeks and all.
There was watching Marco Simoncelli ride the wheels of his Gresini Honda. That red number 58 coming up behind any rider in the world would have scared them. “Tough but fair”, this is how he described himself. His closest rivals would disagree. His closest friend, Valentino Rossi, another “average” motorcycle rider by profession described him as a hard rider. Watching that Malaysian Grand Prix on television as usual that fateful day in 2011. Funnily enough, I can’t remember anything else about the race. It didn’t matter who was on pole, didn’t matter who won moto2 or moto3. It was all about Marco. What most people would classify as a freak accident. Marco was in a corner, not particularly dangerous nor a high speed one, not a nail biter, not one where you anticipated the outcome, not one where you held your breath, his rear wheel broke traction, his bike began to highside. Enough to put your ass on the track. This time, whether you call it fate or bad luck, Marco found himself gain traction mid high-side bang in the middle of Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi, falling off his bike to be struck in the head and neck by his closest friends bike.
I watched in horror as I saw Marco lie motionless on the track. I knew something was wrong, it felt like his helmet had exploded in the collision. It was announced about an hour later that he had passed away.
.
I was devastated. I didn’t know him, he wasn’t my friend. He was not even the fastest or best rider on the grid. But I loved him. His riding style was extravagant, he had a distinctive character – visual and personality alike. He was bigger than most riders, had an afro on his head, danced with the bike like he was a bird and the bike the wind that worked him.. Just a pleasure to watch while he raced, he seemed to be as light as a breath. Your quintessential underdog cult hero meets charismatic bartender meets the streets.. Marco to me was special, even though Vale will always be my favourite rider of all time, I wanted to be Marco Simoncelli. I even wear a little no 58 on my helmet, as my tribute to him.
Another incident comes right up there in the world of motorsport. I wanted to write about my feelings from that incredible day in 2009. I might be 10 years too late, but watching a video of it recently pushed me to it. Jorge Lorenzo started on pole, with his usual precision. Casey Stoner was leading the championship. But nobody cared. It was all about Rossi and Lorenzo. In an interview Rossi relives his Physics defying move, “The Bridgestone front tyre is a great fucking tyre!” He calls it a battle. Maybe that’s what makes motorcycle racing so exhilarating, the fact that it is almost Gladiatorial in its essence. A battle, man vs man, machine vs machine. Exposed, vulnerable and on the brink of death. Let us not kid ourselves, what these guys do is dangerous. 240+ BHP, 340+ Kph, things at that speed are a blur, the slightest of wobbles can be catastrophic. Even in the slower parts of the track, riders put their bodies at high risk. The slightest of errors, whether human or mechanical could result in death. Riders these days are blessed with safer tracks, safer motorcycles with a much more linear power delivery compared to the 2-strokes of the past.
Movement. It is a constant in motor-racing. It is the idea to get from A to B faster than anyone else. A race against time. In its very essence, racing equals displacement, equals momentum, equals movement. What changes is the style of movement. Riding involves moving your entire body, like the tango. If done right, man and machine can dance a dance that will put the most professional dancers to shame. A dance at 300 kmph. A dance on the brink of death. What could be more sensual than dancing with death.
A dance with a machine, a beast if you will, over 240 brake horsepower, but yet so graceful. Poise, form and rhythm. A performance of a group of 30 riders, all of them in sync, it seems so surreal, organic, watching a group of riders clustered together entering a corner, hip off the bike, knee and elbow down, bike at over 40 degree lean angles. But they are not doing this as a team, there are no teammates, your teammate is your first and biggest rival, competing with each other on the brink of death.
There was a time my ride was just a tiny 135cc 2 stroke motorcycle, producing a mind numbing 14–16 BHP. It was by no means slow, but it wasn’t fast either. It had unreliable brakes, non-existent grip, very questionable handling and was as reliable as a Japanese work horse made in India could be. In isolation all these things should make the bike rubbish, but in reality, they did the opposite. It made me fall in love with my little bike.
Add all these quirks together and try and imagining riding on wet roads. Imagine as a 19 year old you see that you can get the rear end to step out and with limited throttle control sustain it. I was laughing so loudly as I did that, I remember 2 friends who were riding beside me completely oblivious to what I was doing. But I loved it. So much, that my bike broke down (Expansion Chamber developed a leak) and I had to stop by the side of the road in torrential rain, no shade or cover of any sort either. I didn’t complain one bit. I stood there looking at my bike laughing like I had just discovered the gift of flight.
What makes you like something? What is the one thing that makes you fall in love? Be it person or machine or animal or plant? I believe what or whomsoever it is that you love, you love certain characteristics of it. These characteristics can be their quirks too or their worst traits. Be it someone who is whimsical, or sarcastic or refuses to wake up or eats and drinks too much etc. But you love them and refuse to give up on them, and they refuse to give up on you.
With a person it is easier to ignore the negatives, but in a bike or car for that matter, a negative will in most cases have long lasting effects on your life. For instance, a vehicle that drinks too much fuel will be expensive, a vehicle that starts only when you turn it over a certain way will guarantee you not reaching where you have to be on time. Most people use their vehicle as a tool for commuting. A shoe of sorts that walks for you. But for someone like me, I anticipate the fact that my bike will start only if certain things are done in a very specific order. Almost a ceremonious list of things.
I have always seen all my bikes as people. I pray for them, I apologise to them, I coax them to get me somewhere, I ask them to support me while I support them. Most of all, I communicate with them. I have pushed my first bike almost as much as I’ve ridden it. Up some nasty slopes, through flooded drains, in the hottest days, and some lonely scary nights. Not once have I blamed them, instead I always apologised for putting them through that and am grateful for being able to make it together.
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For a better insight into MotoGP and motorcycle racers in general you can watch a 4 part documentary-
Hitting the Apex
Fastest
MotoGP : Evolution of a species
Faster
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Nikhil Zaid Infant is an avid enthusiast of all things bikes and cars. He has reworked his own RX with his brother and friends and his idea of the perfect Sunday is a long ride in the city he grew up – Bangalore. He currently teaches communication to undergraduate students at Garden City University, Bangalore – India.
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