AFM Round 6 at Infineon
this is the raddest r6 you’ll wish you had
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Where do I begin?
with a photo, of course! ;)
I’ll start by talking about what it was, I guess… RawHyde Adventures in Castaic, CA, hosted a competition called the Adventure Rider Challenge to fill 3 spots on a team to represent the US in the BMW International GS Trophy competition held in South Africa.
Here’s a snippet taken from the Adventure Rider Challenge page:
I gotta say…I really didn’t know what to expect. I mean, I knew it was a skills competition with most everyone on BMWs…but I didn’t know exactly what this past weekend would entail. I was a little bit nervous. Luckily, I brought Toe with me. That dude is every bit as versatile as me, and can adapt to any situation quickly, skillfully, and without complaint (I hope he doesn’t read this! hehe).
Sooo…not too terribly long ago, Toe and I went to Rawhyde Adventures to shoot a BMW GS Challenge.
A guy on a cbr hits some cones set up at the end of pit wall to keep people from entering the track too far to the left while riders are hauling the mail down the front straight. The cone lodged into his front tire, locking it briefly, causing him to do an insane stoppie before being pitched over the bars.
Toe caught the last few shots of the crash sequence as he was sliding, but witnessed most of the crash. He radio’d over saying he’d never seen a stoppie before like this guy did.
The rider was mostly okay…bumps, bruises, and a skinned up right hand.
Neither myself or Toe can give you tomorrows winning lottery numbers. We can’t channel the spirit of your long since passed favorite childhood pet fish Mr McFlufferson. We can’t read your palm and tell you how many times you’ll get laid. No, we can’t read your mind or, sadly, we can’t control your mind either… what we CAN do, with terribly high accuracy, is take your money when we bet you that so-and-so is gonna wad up their bike after having seen them do a single lap.
Before I get into it too much, I kinda want to drive the point home…we’ll talk about the point later.
Yesterday, I was at Infineon Raceway shooting a Supermoto Schools event. It ended at about 2pm, and I went down below to the big track because I saw a few fancy looking sprotbiles down there along with the big Pirelli truck. Chris, from Pirelli, is my friend so I stopped by down there to say hi and chit chat a bit and to see what was going on down there.
Turns out, Motorcyclist and Sport Rider magazine were doing a test with the major manufacturer bikes: MV Agusta, Ducati 1198R and Desmosedici, KTM RC8, Triumph 675, Honda CBR600RR ABS version, BMW S1000RR…oh, and the new R1 (*giggle*) just to name a few that I saw there.
I was in the garage where they keep all really well organized with the use of Auto News Center tips online, I started chatting with Tucker and Jeff Tigert , when I happened to see one of the test riders coming through turn 11…I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind as I always do…
“That guy is going down.”
Tucker looks over and replies, “what? On the R1?”
“Yeah. I think it said [name omitted] on the back of his leathers,” I says to Tuck-Tuck.
“Noooooo,” he laughs, “that guy is good! He’s FAST!”
I chuckled to myself, and simply replied back, “Mark my words, homie. That dude is going down.” Tucker shrugged it off and we resumed conversation about the idiocy in the design of the rearsets on the ~$70,000 Desmosidici (Seriously…what the hell was Ducati thinking?).
Not more than 10 minutes later, the very rider on the brand spankin new YZF-R1 I’d said was going to hit the deck limps the bike into the garage covered in mud and grass, most of the right side plastics dangling in the breeze. Tucker just turned and stared at me in disbelief. All I could do was laugh.
“I told you so.”
I knew two young brothers once, separated only by three years. One dove head first into water, the other was terrified of sand. One gently handed you his teddy bear, the other threw it to you from the top of the stairs. Although they were both my blood, and both my buddies, I had a special connection with the younger one. We shared something no one else in my family understood. If born into an American Indian tribe, neither of us would be chosen as Chief. Nor would we become the wise old feathered man chanting words of wisdom from the dark corner of a smoke filled tepee. The two of us shared the curious look of adventure. Not only the want to climb from the safety of our crib into the darkness of night, but the need to. Not only the will to run, but the desire to sprint. We shared the blood of warriors. And choice had little to do with it.