I don’t want to write a race report per se, I want to write a story. A tale of great adventure with all the trials and tribulations that occur. You may know some of the characters already, the main players on the stage so to speak. For those who are starting from scratch, engage imagination, grab a beer and hopefully by the end of this piece you will be wiser, entertained and enthused enough to go have a look yourself next year. 24-hour party people only need apply.

   Imagine if you can thrashing a full on 1000cc-road bike round and round with two compadres for a full 24 hours. You’ve got a stock bike between your knees. Augmented with top line suspension, a banshee howling top spec exhaust system, race bodywork, expert race set up, and enough fuel in your one off extra sized fuel tank to last you 55 minutes of flat out throttle twisting action. Your mission to ride as quick and as long as possible. … Daunting!

   Back at the garage there are a dozen or so people watching and waiting, staring at the TV as your transponder flicks your times into the official timing set up. Ready with the spanners, air wrenches and tyres warmed to optimum temperature ready for any eventuality to rear it’s ugly head, driven by one goal, and that is to keep that bike out on the black stuff circulating as fast and as often as possible.

   Powering round and round for a full 55 minutes on an internationally renowned racetrack which is not a flowing circuit but a demanding stop/go, brake, flick, squirt style circuit. Your arms start to pump, your hands are starting to get sore, sweating like a donkey despite the temperature. Your legs start to cramp and the constant race crouch stabs pain down you’re back. Your heart is revved up pumping the red stuff to all parameters of your being. An hour doesn’t seem long you think, but you have another 8 sessions to go, an hour and a half’s rest between your sessions, you can’t, sleep, decide to go home when your eyes tell you they’ve had enough.

Out of the blue and into the black you must go. The enormity of the task erodes your concentration confidence and desire Meanwhile the professionals are swarming round, tearing through the air inches from you, no quarter is given, this is serious stuff for dedicated people. Imagine it in your mind’s eye. I have, and can only summon deep respect for these guys, rightly so this is described an endurance race.

   The bike in question is a beauty. Kawasaki’s take on the ultimate litre class road bike was the pared down, smooth lined, unfussy, no mercy ZX10-R C1 H. This is the steed for the days deed. Alf (for he is the Chef d’equipe) has spent many many hours crafting this beast from a stock across the counter machine to a dazzling and beautiful ‘Stocksport’ specification race bike. The technical stuff follows at the tail end of this piece, but suffice to say it’s fast just perched on the paddock stand, gleaming with menace and intent. You can see the road bike, but any race fan despite their own pet allegiance would be hard pushed to describe this as anything else other than ‘Well hard’.

   The final ingredient in this potent package has to be the pilotes. They have to guide the beast to ultimate glory and for this race, only stalwart of previous races John Barton was present, (you play Station 2 aficionado’s will know him as Johnny Tartan in the newly released I.O.M. TT Superbikes game). The two new faces were Tom (‘Billy Bob’ – I.O.M. TT Superbikes) Montano and his pal Craig Mclean all the way from California USA. As a result of beer induced bravado they had volunteered their services at the TT this year. In the cold sober light of day they were here to make good that promise.

   We Brits have a stereotypical image burned into our brain of the average American (as they no doubt have of us). I am delighted to say that we all found them to be very personable geezers, with a sense of humour and dedicated to the task ahead. They were neither morbidly obese nor over-opinionated of their own status in the world. Taking the piss out of us as we ripped it out of them. A happy and good-hearted Status quo was maintained.

   As is usual the majority of team and riders had been ensconced in La France for the majority of the week, as free practise, night practise and qualifying have to be scheduled obviously for the race proper. The lads had placed us on a somewhat depleted grid 42nd out of 47. Coldly these figures look bad compared to our previous efforts, but, we had qualified, we were racing. The Yanks had no experience of this track or the bike prior to turning up from across the pond, and we all knew that 24 hours is a long time, anything can happen and usually does.

   By the time I turned up with my fellow horologiers Friday night, everything was set. ‘Tartan’ did not need to go out in free practise the morning of the race, so it was left for Tom and Craig to circulate. Bedding in new brake pads for use during the race proper, visors selected, virgin sliders strapped to knee’s, leathers warmed up it was approaching zero hour.

   The usual mechanised circus of French motorcycling mayhem entertained the burgeoning crowds in the stands, How long before the majority of them forgot the race for the next 20 hours and engaged in nefarious nightime drinking and oil burning destruction in their enclave on the outer environs of the circuit? Everytime I speak to someone who has camped, they are stunned, shocked and amazed at some of the antics that take place in this half lit Hieronymous Bosch world of carnage, destruction and wanton hedonism. It really does have to be seen to be believed.

   The time is nigh and the grid line up for the warm up lap and Le Mans start. The safe money is on the Castrol Suzuki’s and GMT 94, with a fair outside bet on the Kawasaki France Fuchs ZX-10. I was shocked to learn that the GMT set up were hampered by the theft of their whole kit and caboodle a mere week before the event and were to be campaigning on a borrowed Yamaha Austria machine. Hopefully the perfidious tea leaf’s concerned would contract a hideous and mortal disease for their actions The drama was slowly unfolding.

  How would the Team National PS2 Honda’s fare? ‘Too Tall Tel’ Rymer and Brian Morrison were floating about as official guests both world endurance champs in their own right and for Rymer I guess here as a Diablo 666 fact finder, though they only compete in the F.I.M. championship. Phase one couldn’t be discounted for the union flag wavers and the newly renamed Decibel 33 team featuring Russ Baker and Phil Giles always do well. Only time would tell.

   Tom was to have the honour of the start and was ready to ‘haul some ass’, The klaxon blarted into the crisp blue air and we were off on the red eye express.

   One Minute and forty odd seconds later, leaning out of the tyre booth straining for the sight of Tom to appear after his inaugural lap. I caught the lead bike blurring past and then a mighty slap of crunching fibre meeting tarmac assaulted the ears. I looked round to see the Team Bolliger ZX-10 skiing down the road on its side with the rider tumbling behind it. the swarming pack split desperately to avoid a collision, and thankfully all streamed past the stricken machine, Tom entered view dead last, until he passed the Bolliger machine. One down 46 to go!

   The reason for the Swiss bike’s demise will be discussed at length, but apparently the bike performed a massive wheelie and went past the point of no return over backwards heading for hefty crunch city. It did make a brief re-appearance later but was the first abandonment having completed only eight laps in total.

   The race proper proceeds despite the first lap drama, Tom is banging out low 1.50’s and picking up a few places gradually, steady as she goes ‘Billy Bob’. Tango top fueller gives us the lappage required for the first session.

With a 3,2,1,In board planned we sit tight in the crystal cube, familiarising ourselves with the bikes streaming past, attempting to highlight a unique part of our rider to recognise at distance to ease the timing burden. It feels cold, the flags on the summit of the grandstand are full in the breeze. At 3.30 we are 31st and ‘Billy Bob’ seems to be settling down. As we are not one of the top runners we need to keep the bike out as long as possible and limit the amount of pit stops, by 3.45 bikes start streaming down pit lane for replenishment, the number 83 ‘Univers Moto’ Honda simmers past as does the ‘Up Racing’ Gixer thou no 74, no 68 (featuring Patrick Viera of all people) in as no38 Endurance Moto’s R1 winds back out, rev limiter burbling restricted to pit lane speed 60kmh mode. GMT howl past at 3.51 for their first stop heading toward the garage close to pit lane exit. How many stickers are there on that bike? Their list of sponsors must be longer than our average grocery list.

‘  Billy Bob’ gets the countdown and in board, was he signalling last lap? It’s difficult to see we signal the garage to expect him in next time round. Where the hell is he? He should be in by now, he hasn’t gone past, there must be an incident. Suddenly Alf is sprinting up pit lane, he must have run out of gas. Sure enough he rolls in silent, motor quiescent, Tango dumps his first load of fuel into the tank and the black Vanson leathered Craig jumps on board and is away. It turns out Tom was running on fumes on the last lap, and nursed it back to the top of pit lane before it quit finally. Lo the drama unfolds.

   Craig steadily puts in a session of average 1.53’s and rolls in after 55 minutes and one lap less than Tom to hand over to Johnny ‘Tartan’ Barton. Craig is soaked, he’s a big guy and it was obviously a major workout for the old boy.

   Our neighbours Village Moto sporting a yellow Gixer K5 no 44 start their endless procession of problems before retiring eventually, the marshall says it is the ‘Alimentation d’essence’, a fuelling problem then.

   Three hours later it looks like it might rain, god forbid, nobody want’s the wet stuff pouring out of the heavens, last year it turned the circuit into black obsidian, and claimed ‘Mickman’ for our first DNF and Mick suffered a broken foot in a massive highside. Thankfully the heavens cling onto its load. At 6.23 we are 27th.

   The race as a whole settles down. The quickshifter on the Fuchs Kawasaki produces a mortar like sound on the upshift each circulation, I was convinced a valve would eventually break loose and blow down the zorst embedding itself white hot and shattered into something or someone.

   6:55pm and our first major pit stop, both hoops, and front pads despatched and Craig is sent out once more, the whole race is settling into pattern and finding it’s own rhythm. As expected the Castrol Suzuki Bikes are setting the pace, split by some Stirling work by the brave hearted GMT 94 boys. Alf inspects the worn pads and I reckon another half an hour’s worth of use and they would have welded themselves to the discs, as they were wafer thin. They are tiny little things, but perfectly formed when new, but these baby’s were used up, blackened and stinky (not dissimilar to Nick’s guts in the timing box, it has to be said).

   9.00pm rolls past, darkness descends, the main stand opposite is virtually deserted, but the main party outside the inner sanctum is just getting started, flashes of neon light spike the immediate horizon over the parapet of the main stand.

   The lazy unsuspecting tired eye sends mixed messages. Why are there people walking across the track ghostly and ethereal, ‘for gods sake get outta the way, don’t you realize there’s a f*cking race on?’.

   Oh shit! It’s just a reflection of the pitlane superimposed on the wall of the perspex prison. Only 15 hours to go. The bad craziness is bound to set in soon. The pit wall timers perch sends you mad after a while staring into the heart of the lurid light display appearing and disappearing.

   Ears ringing from the sound of massive exhausts, straining eyes, burnt retina, the thumb slowly blistering from too much stopwatch action, gotta grab a beer, calm the nerves, smoke like an insane bastard for half an hour prepare for the no sleep, eye ache, red eye interval before the next stint. Nick is farting like a reverse pump action Hoover, the stench is truly horrifying, the man’s gut is a human sewer. The noxious and gaseous filth seems to clog and cloy and cling to the grained interior, I try to escape the onset of incoming olfactory doom but it doesn’t disappear for what seems like an age, Nick laughs hysterically, Craig whistles round once again banging out a 1min 54, round and round and round……………….

   Team Warm Up no 161 return to pit lane after only one lap, they start to slip slide down the leader board 19th, 20th.

  Midnight and Billy Bob Montano takes the reins, still no real drama, times are consistently consistent, the moon is bright the sky is black. Hanging out in the garage now. Alf busies himself replacing shot pads for new in the spare calipers ready for the next major pit stop. Unsung hero Annie appears with yet more food for the crew, chilli and rice, baked spuds, steaming hot and delicious, five minutes later I am happily belching under my breath and sporting a stylish golfing pot. Full up and fed, sleepiness tries to invade my being should I have a kip before the next stint on the pit wall at 4am, better not, might not wake up.

   Midnight plus 20, he who dares wins, he who capitulates to slumber loses. Craig returns from his stint. His Alpinestar Supertech boots augmented by the addition of some tyre weights. His toe sliders had worn down and the sole was abrading at an alarming rate Handyman Craig had bought some ‘Shoe Goo’ with him, he was amazed we hadn’t heard of it over here. It’s a tube of globby muck that sticks anything to anything, and as it turned out worked perfectly, the weights stuck and halted the attrition of the toe area.

‘  Wake Barty’ I hear a voice shout. The poor man has sloped off for some relief from the noise and activity in the garage. 'Blabba, blabba, blabba, blabba', wails the rev limiter as another aero space age warrior engages pit lane rev limiter to exit into the semi darkness eerie night fuel burning world that is a night stint at this pretty much uniquely French event.

   Johnny Tartan appears, boots squeaking, his eyes are open but the lids look lower than usual, but John is a true professional and a seasoned campaigner, he’ll be circulating back in the groove, despite admitting to hating this particular circuit. In the zone, fuel burning, throttle wrenching world of pump up and pain. All aboard the red eye Gentlemen, once more into the breach.

   The toilets at the back of the garage are sparse and smell horribly. The floors are always slick with fluid of an indeterminate nature. The French are notorious for their ‘pissoirs’ and a laissez-faire attitude to the expunging of waste matter, juxtapose this against the fact that they are probably the no I country for perfumes, scents etc. Quite odd really I think.
   How many gallons of vile piss have splashed its way down these particular receptacles these last 10 hours, I hope their drainage system can cope with the supercharged urine gushing down its pipes. How many peche will be floating belly up as the whole mini tributary foams into the nearby beautiful river?

   Still when loading up with fluids to enable one to stay awake all night when you’ve gotta go you’ve gotta go!

   2.30am, nearly half distance, Craig gets the in board and pits shortly afterwards, the Shoe goo is keeping his toes intact. Prospective importers for this fantastic product apply……………….. Tested at extremes of angle, lean, temperature, abrasion and stress. We are still clinging to the mid 20’s in terms of overall position. The mechanics busy themselves changing both hoops again and the front calipers are quick released and replaced with new units with spanking new pads in them.' I’ve lost a bolt' shouts Tom. It pinged into the belly pan on removal. No time to scrabble around trying to find it, or remove the belly pan. Wind in another bolt and allez maintenant. Vite Vite, Time is of the essence, Tango dumps another load of fuel onboard once the others had shouted clear and completed their allotted tasks, out with The Montano Man, round and round and round.

   The Ferris arm from the circus over the way spins crazily into sight briefly. Lights flicker and dapple the night sky, the party is still in full flow outside our immediate world of oil burning noise, the winding up of air ratchets, shouting and gesticulation. The blart of the pit lane warning klaxon. Nowhere is quiet, no place, no time to rest!

   The garage by now is beginning to resemble a body language graveyard of incoming fatigue. What does endurance mean? The English Dictionary says ‘That which is endured; a hardship, State of enduring or bearing, continuance, suffering patiently without sinking’.

   This event is not just a race, it’s not quite that simple I don’t think. Its more like a festival of speed but not for the meek of heart, it’s a hard race for me so the guys riding their hearts out, doing the business out on the track deserve incredible amounts of respect in my opinion if for nothing else for their focus, skill and determination, This 24 hours is a day for top fuel burning noise, stress and weariness. We are only one player in the great game unfolding around us, a dozen people pulling together as one unit to further one end, speed, as much and as long as possible. The crowd outside who are a part in the overall play continue to chuck themselves off bungee platforms in no doubt inebriated blissed out states of euphoria. Oh woe the collective Francophile headache heading their way which will be coinciding with the light of early Dawn and the awful realisation that they have consumed mighty amounts of falling down water and no doubt other nefarious brain movers

‘  C’mon, lets get it on’ snaps my attention back to the race, my thousand yard stare slowly recedes to reveal the inside of the garage once again. The tik tok men ‘Landlord’ Dan (nice little boozer) and Nik, keen petrol heads the both of them are taking their next stint in the pit timing box. They are hoping to create the ultimate string of obscenities (ingenious but not repeatable in this text, no matter how low the rest of my parlous commentary gets on the days events). To while away the slow time between sudden appearance and disappearence, out of and back into the gloom as our guys flash burn past in the night. All smeared light trails and wailing exhaust.

   Am I making sense anymore? God I hope so. The fingers are starting to seize up, not guiding my pen to say what my addled brain is trying to communicate to them. I feel a ‘Tommyknocker’ need for a telepathic typewriter to take over while I sleep, mustn’t sleep! Might have to switch over to vocal tape recorder mode and unravel the drivel and twisted tale in the morning. Not quite fear and loathing just yet but a twisted journey into the dark realms of fatigue, with a hellish soundtrack. Cacophonous, tortured and continuous, oh brief respite show your face.

   The team manager for our still running near neighbours Decibel 33 with Russ Baker and Phil Giles riding for them rushes in and tries to explain they have a possible problem with the radiator on their R1. Tango explains his perceived solution to the problem in a steady stream of Mancs, handing over some hose clamps to pinch the supply, keep the water inside the engine and to refill the rad with boiling water. Somehow I think some of it got lost in translation, but he took the clamps anyway and in came the pilote and the bike was whipped into the garage, they were way up on the leaderboard overall and I think were leading the ‘Stocksport’ class. A helmeted mechanic got to work, and everybody pulled clear in case the water shot out in an explosion of steaming hot fluid. It didn’t, but it did hiss a lot. They were back out within 5 minutes, no doubt keeping their collective fingers crossed, these bikes run hot, very hot!

   5.00am, only 10 hours to go, Craig is stiffening up, wrapping some tyre warmers around his hams, to try and alleviate the cramp, he’s on his second banana, trying to cram some natural energy into his system. People are dropping like flies, littering the garage like human trash, mouths opening as their eyes lower and grand slumpage takes place into the relative comfort of the fold up camping chairs.

   5.00am signalled my return to the Perspex prison perched on pit wall. The boys circulated time after time, I saw the Dawn light smudge the early morning sky and emerge into a fine and well-lit morning. The fog that had threatened from an earlier weather report failed to materialise, the grandstand started welcoming some of the party goers back, as they slowly assembled for the crescendo of the race at 3.00pm, 24 hours on. At eight-o clock in the morning I am back out feeling weary and spent.

   10.35am we have eased up the leaderboard to 21st, 12 teams have abandoned thus far out of the initial field of 47

   1.00am we appear on the leaderpage shown on the garage monitor, it’s likely that’s where we will remain until the end of the race, barring any unfortunate circumstances occurring to ourselves or any of the other protagonists.

   Those teams that are still circulating start to break down some of the equipment, us included, only two hours to go.

This has been a hard race like all 24 hours, though thankfully apart from the 1st lap Team Bolliger fiasco incident free. Hard men only should consider this discipline. Determined men, tough characters, those with true grit. Craig McLean takes the flag as everybody jostles for a view of the finish over at pit wall. Beers need to be drunk, backs slapped, Bravado and outlandish pub stories start here.
Well done Alf, well-done team, that’s another one notched up.

20th Overall, 7th in class. Bike in one piece, riders tired but happy, yet another fantastic experience.


Statistics

Team Alf’s Endurance Racing

Race no 59
739 laps completed – Race mileage 2,025.59
Overall race time 24 hours 1 minute.44 seconds
Fastest lap 1.50.604
Overall finish position 20th
Overall Class position 7th

Tyres
During race. Dunlop slicks. 6 x sets front and rear changed every four hours Front and rear cost £182. X 6 = £1092. This does not include practise etc.

Fuel
During race. 650 litres. Cost £1,455.30

Pads x 4 per caliper, x 2 calipers = 8 sets per change, 6 x changes = 48 individual pads. £70 retail for one complete set £420

Oil
One litre consumed during the race. Silkolene pro-4

Team personnel

Allan ‘Alf’ Hubbard Team owner, chief mechanic front wheel, R/H front caliper
Steve ‘Burnsie/Donald’ Burns Lecturer, Team manager, help and advice
Steve ‘Tango’ Turner Top fueller, 2nd mechanic
Phil Clements Fireman, general running about
Liam Humberstone Lecturer, looking after the students (broken ankle)
‘Tall’ Paul Student, rear wheel
Andy Student, rear wheel
Tom Student, front wheel and L/H caliper
Anne Murdon Catering
Rupert Murdon Moto Legend, timing
Boyd Cruttenden Timing, scribbling
Nick Eakhurst Timing, footage, web stuff
Dan ‘The landlord’ Grant Timing, footage, web stuff
Claire Barton Catering help, timing
David Evans Timing

Riders
John ‘tartan’ Barton
Tom ‘Billy Bob’ Montano
Craig McLean

John Barton only used road gearshift pattern

All riders use and recommend Arai Helmets


Sponsors
Alf’s Motorcycles
Moto Legends
Marks Bloom Chartered Accountants
Nick Eakhurst from NotOnlyButAlso website design
Lintek – Ferodo brake pads
R & G race products
QB Carbon

Skidmarx

Fuchs lubricants

Team Alf’s endurance Racing, use Akrapovich exhaust technology, Ohlins suspension, K=Tech front fork internals. QB Carbon race bodywork, R & G crash protectors. Ferodo race pads, Dunlop tyres, Silkolene Pro-4 oil, DID drive chains. Decals by nick at V&A signs. Harris clip on’s. QR Goodridge brake lines, and Skidmarx screens. Special thanx to ‘The Raver’ for the auxiliary lighting

Doby Trutcenden 21st September 2005

BOL D’OR 2005
QUESTIONS FOR OUR AMERICAN FRIENDS

   For this race Alf recruited a couple of American racers whilst attending the Isle of Man TT. Beer was drunk and plans made.

  By way of introduction the following discourse introduces Craig McClean and Tom ‘Billy Bob’ Montano. Most of their racing other than the annual pilgrimage to the TT is in the States, so a bit of background info other than the usual race report you can read, which is in a similar vein to previous reports found amongst these pages. It’s hard to write something different about the same event year on year and not repeat oneself, so something a little different for a change.

DT. I guess the first thing to sort out are the introductions, most people will know all about ‘Barty’ by now, if not from the I.O.M scene then hopefully through the pages of our illustrious website, but they probably won’t know a thing about you guys. The only hint is through the medium of couch potato and thumb blistering via the new PS2 game, so go for it…..

CM. I hail from a little place called Corte Madeira California, US of A I’m 38 and since running the family owned bike shop for a number of years I have done a few things but currently I am a handyman in the area. I’m here because of too much beer at the island this year.

TM.. Well I’m mid thirties if the ladies are asking but I guess I’ll have to come clean and admit to being 40. Yeah also from the States, not far from Craig in Petaluma, in between racing and contributing towards the pages of Cycle News I’m a carpenter. Also a victim of too much beer at the Island this year.

DT. You’re a chippie then!

TM. Wha?

DT. We call carpenters Chippies over here, though I guess that’s a little derogatory to a joiner or furniture maker.

TM. Pretty much anything that involves wood.

DT. Are you natives then, having always lived on the West Coast?

CM. Yeah, I’ve always lived in the area

TM. Same as that

DT. Most of the stuff that we Brits tend to read about American tarmac racers is the de rigeur upbringing via the brown stuff by way of flat tracking/oval racing. I guess Pops KR is the most well known exponent, I believe he has a ranch somewhere out your way, for the fortunate few to visit and practise. I believe Schwantz, Edwards, Hayden and obviously KR Jnr are but a few to have gone through this progression. What about yourselves, wrestled any heavy old XR HD’s round in the mud in the past?

CM. Not really, for sure some of the top guy’s have gone that route, but for me I guess it’s the same for most of us, started Moto-Xing when I was a kid about 12-13, I was lucky because of the family bike business, I guess I just progressed that way. My first Road race was in ‘86

TM. I guess a bit of the same really, I started road racing in ’82

DT. What is the bike scene like back home? There appears to be a lot of crazy sportbike stunt sheit going down which seems to have a following with the coloured guys and Hispanics especially. Is it as widespread as we are led to believe over here, or is it stuff we’ve just been fed? One of those baggy trousered Starboyz is even over here writing for one of the mainstream mags. I guess they were responsible for us Brits being aware of the whole scene.

TM. For sure there’s a lot of that stuff going on, but the rest of the scene is really popular. Most bikers tend to go for a blast on there day’s off, Sunday for instance on their fat sports bikes, there’s a lot of guys touring, and over here on the West Coast, the off road scene is huge.

CM. We’ve got huge areas of forest and parkland here and pretty much you can go wherever you like, but you have to be careful. I know a guy who was trail riding once quite late in the year. Remember you could probably ride for most of the day in one direction without reaching the other side. This guy was out for a good part of the day when he got a puncture, he had to leave the bike and get back by foot, by which time it had started to snow. He had to wait till Spring to get his bike back, the snow was so bad, there was no way he could haul it out before then, that all happened overnight! So you know what I mean, you’ve gotta be careful out there, but Its great fun.

DT. So do you guy’s own dirtbikes?

CM. Yeah I got ahh YZ400F

TM Hundah CRF250R

DT. Only the very lucky and talented individuals become professional racers as a full time occupation, what do you guys do when you’re not burning a lot of fuel?

CM. I’m a handyman, pretty much turn my hand to anything, it’s not too stressful you know.

TM. Well other than the carpentry (What do you call it chippy)? I write a few articles for Cycle News, I like listening to music and play guitar

DT. What racing have you done in the past, I know you’ve done a bit, What can you tell me?
At this point Roger Bennett from Eurosport nips into the garage and collars Craig for some background before the race starts. Goddammit! Can’t he see I’m trying to conduct a high profile serious interview here.

TM. Well I rode an MV1000 at the I.O.M. this year (DT Does he use this tool in the PS2 version I wonder, it’s quite an exotic mount). I have raced several 24hour endurance’s and many 4, and 6-hour races in the states with varying success.
WERA National 24h at Willow Spring CA, 3rd 2000 Arclight Suzuki GSXR 750. 1st Open Production 1999 24h at Willow Springs CA Corona/EBSCO Suzuki Hayabusa Team. DNF at Spa 24h Would Endurance 1998 at 2am in the middle of the night. Plus several other WERA 4/6hour races all over the country
I have won 3 of the local AFM club 4 hour endurance races
Craig and I placed 5th in a GTU 3hour at Daytona with just the two of us, one on the bike and one pouring in the gas. that was great.

DT. Well that kicks my next question into touch, this is obviously not the first 24 hour race you’ve entered then.

DT. How do you think you will cope with this race?

TM.Be patient and steady, whilst still hauling some ass.

DT. Any old injuries that may raise the8ir ugly heads

TM. Nah should be ok, got a few injuries from the past, but nothing to worry about too much.

DT. Do you talk to yourself inside your helmet during the race to admonish or encourage yourself? What do you think, or are you just focused on the next apex, the next corner, the taillight in front of you. Is it hard to stop the mind wandering?

TM. Only general swearing really, mostly out of frustration with myself if I make a mistake, but no not too much. It’s not a problem to focus, I just get on with it really. We’ll see I guess.

DT. You’ve been here close to a week now, and I know it’s a new circuit for the both of you, but in terms of a comparison, how do they compare with the tracks back home, that you race on?

TM. Man they are pretty shit! Compared to this, the grips not so good, and the safety is not too hot, obviously there is Laguna Seca, but that is a case apart because of the international races it hosts (DT. Wunderkind Rossi apparently hates it and thinks its dangerous, but hey, racing can be, that’s what makes it exciting to watch and I guess compete in). Generally they could be hugely improved.

DT. What’s your race bike at home?

CM. I’ve got an ’05 R6 I just bought off Race Team America

TM. Hundah CBR600 ’03 (RR3)

DT. Road or race pattern gearshift?

CM. Race

TM. Race

DT. (Barty prefers road shift and so every stint he has the QR gearshift mechanism has to be changed).

DT. Do you have a road bike back home?

TM. No

CM. No.

DT. What do you think of the mighty ‘10’ so far?

TM. Yeah it’s cool, but I am struggling with the front end a bit, other than that it’s a well prepared race bike, looking forward to it man.

DT. Two wheeled heroes, got any?

TM. Gardner man, he was tough you know, I mean Rainey he was smooth and Lawson was the man from that era I guess, It’s hard to choose, because all those guys were great (DT mostly Americans) Mammola, Rainey, Lawson, Schwantz). But I guess it would have to be Gardner, he was a hard man, I got a lot of respect for Schwantz as well. (DT Schwantz actually raced for the Moto Revue team last year on their Gixer K4.)

DT. Best rock band out of the states at present?

TM. Well I like Slayer, but (after a little thought) I guess I’d have to say ‘Helmet’ have you heard them? But I like a lot of music, not just hard rock.

DT. Do you train to stay fit for your racing activities, you know pie eating etc.

TM. They actually have a sport back home called speed eating, have you seen that, some of those guys are monsters man. (DT Tom is about 5ft 9” and probably weighs about 12 stone, so not you’re typical American) But no not really my job keeps me fit, the off roading helps and I have tried cycling.

DT. Favourite food (gotta ask this one no interview worth it’s salt leaves this one out)

TM. C’mon man!

DT. Yeah your right it’s a stupid shit question.

DT. If you weren’t racing bikes what do you think you would be doing other than your current day to day jobs?

TM. I’d probably be involved in music. I play the electric guitar, and I did a bit of roadie-ing for Exodus, have you heard of them? I worked with them for a few years. (The conversation drifts into music, bands etc for the next 15 minutes, it would appear our shared tastes are similar. Tom really admires Robin Trower, and knows the diminutive Ronnie James Dio to talk to, plus some of the Metallica boys live not far away).

DT. Should bike racing or motorcycling be included in the phrase ‘Sex drugs and rock & roll’ or would you just replace drugs with racing? With the advent of multi media trashy throwaway, regurgitated plagiarised, hideously sampled, samey hip hop rap pop crap, is motorcycling the new rock and roll?

TM. Yeah, I’m not sure I understand the question, but it attracts girls’ man, you know leather and all that, speed, a big old motorcycle/penis between your legs

DT. Other than where you live now, what other place in the world would you like to reside.

TM. I like remote places, and there are a lot of cool places in the world, but I guess Scotland or somewhere similar, somewhere there are not too many people.

DT. Choose any bike from any era, race or street that you could own, what would it be?

TM. Phwoar!! Hard question man. (Thinks for a little while), and plumps for…….Laconi’s 999.

DT. Well that’s about it I guess, apart from, what was the last book you read.

TM. That Da Vinci book

DT. Do you understand the rules of cricket?

TM. Ah c’mon man!

Well there you go. Despite Craig being collared halfway through, it’s fair to say they were both great guys and I think over a few beers, Tom and I could have talked music for hours. The above is not verbatim but pretty close. Check out ‘Billy Bob’ on the PS2 I.O.M game. You’ll also find Johnny Tartan on a Ducati apparently.

Doby Trutcenden at various dates from Sept to Oct 2005