WEDNESDAY, APRIL 30, 2025
Well, for me, it always seems that the adventure starts before the adventure starts. Months and months and tens of thousands of dollars went into planning and preparation for my first round of the MotoAmerica Super Hooligan championship. Technically, it was round two of the championship, but I didn’t make it to Daytona. My first round would be at Michelin Raceway Road Atlanta in Braselton, Georgia, May 2-4, 2025.
Two weeks prior, Shanea and I traveled to Georgia so that I could get to know the track, since I had never been there and honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was on a rented bike; a 2013 GSXR 600. Nothing like the bike I would be racing in MotoAmerica, but good enough to help me familiarize myself with the track. The weekend was a huge success by all accounts, and I was looking forward to my first MotoAmerica round of the season.
You know what they say – if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans! Well, after two more weeks of keeping God in hysterics, and having to frantically pivot with last-minute preparation, I was nevertheless finally ready to board my flight Wednesday morning of race week, from SFO with a connection in DFW before making my way to ATL. Like I said, my adventures always seem to start ahead of schedule- and by adventure, I mean that anything that can go wrong, probably will. Today was no exception.
At first, everything seemed to be going smooth enough – I checked my bag, made it through TSA security and to my departure gate without incident. However, just as I was settling in to wait for the first boarding call, I got an email telling me that the second leg of my trip had been canceled. You’ve got to be F-ing kidding!!!
I don’t remember if my heart stopped or if it started racing at a mile a minute. All I know is that it took everything I had to keep from completely freaking out. I walked – well, power walked – to the service counter and begged the lady to save me! Yes, I know I’m being a little melodramatic (have you met me?), and it was obvious from her expression that she thought so too.
Choking back my panic, I explained the situation. She started clicking away on her computer keyboard, scanning the screen for whatever she was looking for, then calmly said, “Your flight from Dallas Fort Worth to Atlanta has been canceled.” Yeah, no shit Captain obvious!
I was recently described as someone who “feels emotions very intensely.” I think they were just being kind and using “intense emotions” as a euphemism for how quickly I am to overreact when things don’t go as expected. Okay, if I’m being honest, calling it an “overreaction” is also a euphemism. Let’s just say, under circumstances like these, I can freak the fuck out! Anyway, over the course of my half-century-plus worth of lived experience, I’ve learned a lot of painful and expensive lessons that saying what I think in moments like this doesn’t usually work out too well for me. So, I took a deep breath, exhaled, and with all the calm I could muster, I asked the lady if she could get me to Atlanta today.
Fortunately, she seemed pretty good at her job, and after a bunch more clicking on her keyboard, she soon found an alternate pair of flights that would get me to the Atlanta airport only about an hour later than I would’ve arrived anyway. Getting me there was obviously the priority, but what about my suitcase? Fortunately, or unfortunately – depending on how you look at it – I have had far too much practice having to pivot when Murphy’s Law threatens to unravel my best-laid plans. Literally seconds before I checked my bag in, I decided to pull my motorcycle transponder out of my suitcase and move it to my carry-on backpack. I figured that I could race without everything in that bag except for my transponder, and even if I had to buy a new wardrobe at Walmart, at least I would be able to complete.
Well, now it was her turn to be a little frantic. It seemed that there was no simple way to make sure that my bag – which by now was at least halfway to being loaded on my original flight – would need to be intercepted and diverted to my new flight. Apparently, this requires some divine intervention, so I was desperately praying for a miracle and cashing in whatever karma points I had stored up.
“Give me your checked bag number. Hurry! Hurry!” Yeah, she was definitely matching my sense of frenetic panic at this point. Always prepared for the worse – again, having had far more than my fair share of practice at this – I had my checked bag ticket handy, and passed it to her before the second “Hurry!“ left her mouth.
She was on the phone, frantically trying to reach the luggage foreman. After a pause that probably only lasted a couple of seconds, but felt like an eternity, her expression softened with apparent relief as she made contact with the person who could ensure that my bag made it onto the correct flight.
A brief exchange with the foreman, and it seemed that everything was going to work out after all. She printed out my new boarding passes and assured me that my suitcase would follow me to ATL. Disaster averted. For now, anyway…
No rest for the weary! Of course, the first leg of my new flight wasn’t entirely uneventful. The new boarding passes the customer service agent gave me when she changed my flights were conspicuously devoid of any times – boarding times, flight times, landing times, nothing! So I asked one of the flight attendants if she knew or could help me find out, and after a little research, she gave me a look of pity and told me that it was such a short connection I would likely miss the next flight! You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me!
But what was I really expecting? And if the likelihood that I would be stuck in Charlotte while my next flight was taking every passenger but me to Atlanta wasn’t enough to shake my nerves, the crazy turbulence I was about to experience certainly would! I really don’t have a fear of flying, and I’m certainly not scared of a little turbulence. In fact, I’ve flown a lot in my lifetime and have been on some fairly turbulent flights. I remember one trip I took down the West Coast on a tiny airplane that we boarded from the tarmac, rather than the terminal. That was a wild ride! At one point, the plane seemed to drop straight out of the sky, and if it wasn’t for my seatbelt, I’m pretty sure I would’ve banged my head on the ceiling! The pilot calmly narrated what was happening as if we should have expected it, since it’s apparently typical for smaller planes. And the American Airlines plane flying me to CLT was not the biggest I’ve ever flown on, but it was big enough that I expected relatively smooth sailing. But once again, the universe had to remind me that it doesn’t care about my expectations! After an hour or so in the air, we hit turbulence so severe I actually considered making a final “good bye, I love you” video for my girlfriend, Shanea, just in case my iPhone survived the crash!
And, of course, the drama didn’t end there. Thanks to my last-minute flight change, I was seated near the back of the plane, which meant it would take forever just to disembark. I asked the attendant if there was anything that could be done to help me get off the plane more quickly once we land, but it seemed that a bunch of my fellow passengers were facing a similar predicament.
So, I survived the gut-scrambling turbulence only to find myself stuck behind a packed aisle of travelers who were obviously on “vacation time,” completely oblivious to my panicked sense of urgency. As I already mentioned, I learned a long time ago that thinking out loud in these situations tends to cause more problems for me than it solves, so I simply stood there anxiously waiting for the line to start moving.
Finally off the plane, and it was game on! I had no idea how far my next gate was, but as it happened, it couldn’t have been any further. It was literally at the furthest end of the opposite terminal! Good thing I had been in training and was race-fit, in better shape than I had been in years. So, I ran! And ran! And ran! Two-thirds of the way there, I realized I overestimated my physical conditioning. My legs hurt, my lungs hurt, and my feet hurt – I was still wearing the cheap slip-ons I bring to the airport to get through TSA security more easily. But racers race, and we all know that grit and determination – mind over matter – can compensate for a lot of physical limitations, so I pushed on.
After barging my way through the crowded airport, breathless and sore, so exhausted I thought I might puke, I finally saw it – my next gate. Boarding had already begun, but there were still a few people left in line, so I knew I made it on time – barely, but in this case, barely counts! Thank goodness! Though, of course, was there really ever any doubt?
THURSDAY, MAY 1, 2025 – Load In Day
Loading day, Thursday, was pretty uneventful. My crew chief, Carbon, and his wife, Jessica, who also provided transport, met me at the registration window so that we could pick up our credentials. The rest of our team, Sam and Paul, would be arriving later that afternoon.
Carbon is pretty well known around the MotoAmerica paddock and also well-liked. He was able to pull some strings and get us a pit upgrade, so we got to set up right in the thick of it. Surrounded by a packed paddock full of factory racing team rigs, big trailers, RVs, and a bunch of Privateer canopies like ours.
We spent the day setting up our Pit and prepping the bike. Of course, I also had to take my MotoAmerica Headshots and attend the mandatory riders’ meeting.
By now, it should be no surprise that the day didn’t go as smoothly as planned, which seems to just be my lot in life. We spent – make that wasted – over an hour looking for a small aluminum spacer I dropped somewhere into the front compartment of the motorcycle. We had been combing through every nook and cranny of the bike, from every angle, searching for it until we all developed migraines. Paul finally showed up, and he helped us look as well. Finally, about five minutes before Sam showed up, Carbon found it. Yes, it was incredibly frustrating, but really just one more comical story in this wild adventure we were on.
For the past week and a half, I had been obsessively watching weather predictions for Braselton, GA. I had several forecast apps on my phone, including a live Doppler radar app. Depending on which app I was using, and when I was looking at it, there seemed to be somewhere between a 0-100% chance it would rain! I have ridden my street bikes in the rain before, but I’ve never raced in it. I hoped to eventually have the opportunity to challenge myself and learn how to compete in the rain, but definitely not on my first MotoAmerica round of the season! I had been overwhelmed with nervousness about the likelihood that a rain race was my destiny for this weekend, and I would just have to suck it up, adapt, and overcome!
So, doing what we could to prepare for any eventuality, we all took turns glancing at various weather apps, trying to figure out which ones to believe since they all seemed to be predicting different weather patterns. Personally, I chose to put my confidence in the ones that said it would stay dry despite being told by my crew and other racers in the paddock that it was all but certain that I would be riding in the rain at some point before the weekend was over.
We wrapped things up sometime in the early evening so we could all have a little food and get a good night’s sleep before the real action started on Friday.
FRIDAY, MAY 2, 2025 – FP and Q1
I didn’t get much sleep Thursday night. I woke up way too early, and a mix of nervousness and excitement kept me up until my alarm finally went off. I’m used to functioning on very little sleep, and the adrenaline of the day’s events would be all I needed to stay focused and at the top of my game, so I wasn’t too concerned about it.
Sam and I got to the track early to help Carbon and Paul set up for the day. There wasn’t all that much to do, so we had plenty of time to just hang out and talk about the plan for our first day of practice and qualifying. The Super Hooligan practice group was sent out at the beginning of the day’s schedule. The bike was ready. I was ready. The team had done an excellent job with both.
Final call. We started the bike, ripped off the tire warmers, dropped the stands, and I headed to the track entrance. This was my first time being on this bike on this track. In fact, I’d only been on this bike for a track day weekend and one race weekend, and there had been so many modifications since both of those that it was practically a new-to-me bike all over again.
I didn’t waste any time getting up to speed since we only had 20 minutes for practice. The Super Hooligan’s class had been growing in popularity since its introduction to MotoAmerica in 2021. A more popular class meant more rider entries, and 46 competitors signed up for this round of 2025. Due to the exceedingly large number of registrants, MotoAmerica activated their “track density procedure,” which split our group into two separate practice and qualifying sessions for Friday. They would also eliminate any rider who couldn’t pull off at least 114% of the fastest time of the day in either session. I was confident that I would get to ride on Saturday, and had every intention of putting down a qualifying time in Q1 (within 112% of pole), so setting the tone in morning practice was essential.
For the first couple of laps, everything felt strange. The bike felt loose, and I was re-familiarizing myself with the track after only having been here once before two weekends prior. But as soon as the nervous jitters wore off, I went to work. I pushed everywhere I could, and used caution when I didn’t feel 100% confident. Everything started coming back to me. Years and years of practice and training, my prior laps on this bike, and of course, the couple of days of recent practice on this track on a rented GSXR 600.
I finished 2nd in the 20-minute session and felt like I could’ve easily done 20 more. I rode the bike back through the paddock and into our Pit, then dismounted. I checked my times and was thrilled to find out that I already put down a personal best. Better yet, I scored what was likely to be a solid qualifying time based on what we all predicted would be the fastest lap of the day from whoever would be taking a provisional pole position after Q1.
The first qualifying session for Super Hooligans was at the other end of the schedule, so we had several hours of downtime and we did our best to make productive use of them. We made some small adjustments on the bike, grabbed some lunch, and even had time to run a few errands.
By the time Q1 rolled around, I was supremely confident that I would do well and get an even better PB lap. However, if it hasn’t become obvious by now that my life is full of surprises and things rarely go to plan, then you haven’t been paying attention.
My first few laps were going well, as in “well, good enough.” I was dropping time with each lap and gaining confidence, secure in my plan to lay down a convincingly solid qualifying lap. But as I came through T7, the final turn before the extremely long high-speed back straight, I was more focused on getting a good exit than planning a smart entry, and I overestimated my front tire’s ability to manage the excessive braking I was giving it to slow me for the tight corner.
Without warning, I lost the front. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to react. Before I knew it, I was sliding across the track and into the grass. It was not a particularly violent crash, but it definitely caught me completely off guard. My Ryder Gear suit did its job and kept me safe, even deploying the airbag. Given that this was a low side, I’m not sure I needed the airbag, but I guess better to have it and not need it…
The Corner Marshals were quick to get to the bike. They lifted it up and started pushing it to safety behind one of the K-walls. I followed them as my airbag slowly deflated. We all took a quick look at and around the bike, and I urgently asked them if I could remount and get back onto the track, given that there was plenty of time left to still get a good qualifying lap, but the clock was ticking. The lead Marshal gave me the thumbs up, and I threw my leg over the bike. Ignition on, I pressed the starter switch… Nothing. I went through the normal start-up procedure a few more times, finally giving in to the reality that the bike was not going to start. I did a quick inspection of all the controls and noticed that there was some damage to the wires for the starter switch. My qualifying session was over. Resigned, I took a seat on the K-wall and watched all my competitors finish out the remainder of the session. I only hoped I had done enough in the first four laps to at least earn my way to Q2 for the following morning.
As soon as the track went cold, the crash truck came to pick me up. I did the “ride of shame” on the trailer with my bike, feeling the looks of pity from the thousands of spectators as I made my way back to Parc Ferme, where I met up with my crew. After they checked to see how I was doing – uninjured, except for my pride, of course – they handed me a phone so I could call my Shanea and let her know I was okay.
Together, we inspected the damage. Not too bad, all things considered. As soon as we were released from Parc Ferme, it was time to get my broken beast back to the Pit, where we got to work getting it fixed up and ready to be thrown back into the competition.
Based on a brief visual inspection, we were fairly confident it would be a quick repair job. But once again, God chuckled at our best-laid plans. It turns out that the wires to the starter control – yes, I did say, wires, plural – were completely destroyed, and for a moment, so were my hopes of racing for the rest of the weekend. Fortunately for me, my team was full of optimists. Besides, at this point, there was nothing to do but put our heads down and get to work.
Every member of the crew, including me, took on a different part of the project. We worked as quickly and efficiently as we could to get everything buttoned up. Sam went to work on the control wires. He did a masterful job, stripping, twisting, soldering, and even heat shrinking to make them as good, if not better than new.
We must’ve been having fun, because time was flying. It was already dark outside, and we were working under the shop light perched in the ceiling of our canopy. several hours after we had brought the bike back to the Pit, we reached a point where the bike was almost fully recognizable again as the sexy race steed it was meant to be.
Now, the moment we had all been working for. I switched on the ignition, flipped the starter switch, and pressed. Nothing. Thinking this must be some cruel joke the universe was playing on me, I went through that same routine several more times. But like Einstein once said, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results.
And I was definitely feeling a bit insane at this point. I was incredibly discouraged, and it felt like a dark cloud was forming over my head.
Fortunately, my crew of optimists were determined to figure this out and get things working. I, on the other hand, freaked out and ran through the paddock, asking everyone I knew who had the same or a similar bike if they had a complete replacement control. Of course, no one did.
I had just finished sending a text message to Shanea telling her that my weekend was probably over before it even began when I got a message in return. It was my Carbon. The message simply said, “It’s a runner!”
Thank God! I quickly made my way back to the Pit and tested it myself. I couldn’t believe how close a call that was. I had been almost certain that we were never going to find our way back onto the track this weekend. I finally let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I was holding, as I switched the bike on, hit the ignition, and… It was, in fact, a runner after all!
Another hour or two of getting everything sorted, and we were done for the night. There would be a couple more things that Carbon would take care of in the morning, and we all agreed to meet back at the Pit bright and early.
SATURDAY, MAY 3, 2025 – Q2 and Race 1
Race day was finally here! Again, I had a pretty restless night, kept awake by that all too familiar combination of nerves and excitement! But that nervous energy also kept me wide awake and focused as Sam and I made our way from the hotel to the track. By the time we arrived, Carbon had put the finishing touches on the bike, and we were ready to take on the day.
Somewhere around a third of the Super Hooligans’ entrants failed to make the minimum cut-off on Friday and were eliminated from the remainder of the competition. Not only had I made it through, but I already had a fairly decent qualifying time that put me comfortably on the grid for race one. Now it was time to see if I could make any improvements and move my way up on the grid.
I was moving well in Q2, dropping tenths of a second off my best lap time from Friday. Every time I crossed the start/finish, I looked down at my lap timer, pleased with my progress. I had been out on track for a while, but still felt strong and like I had plenty of laps left in me. However, still very much a rookie on a MotoAmerica track, I wasn’t paying attention to the countdown clock, or even the start-finish flag that I would have seen if I wasn’t looking down at my lap timer instead of the flag station. I did notice, however, that there were no other bikes on course, and as I made my way through turn one, with every intention of putting in another hot lap, the corner lights started flashing red. This usually indicates a red flag, and I figured someone crashed and either got hurt, littered the track, or was in an impact zone, making it too dangerous to keep the track hot. I threw my left hand in the air, acknowledging the red flag and signaling to any riders that may have been behind me that I was slowing down slightly and making my way off the track. I finished the lap and made my way into an already crowded Parc Ferme – so crowded, in fact, that it occurred to me that I might be a bit late to the party.
As it turned out, the red flag was actually a signal to me to get the hell off the track because I had blown the checkered flag! One of the Marshals rushed up to us and said that either the rider or a representative was being ordered immediately to Race Control. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, a mix of embarrassment and dread. Carbon told me to stay put and that he would handle this, which was probably a good idea since I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.
Several minutes later, Carbon returned to Parc Ferme and looked as though Race Control had put him through the ringer. Apparently, he got chewed out but begged for mercy, impressing upon the officials how much of a newbie I am, and how humbly apologetic I was. He managed to save us from a hefty fine, but we were on final warning, never to do that again, or any other infraction or infringement for that matter. What a relief!
With the drama of my stupid mistake behind us, we finally had time to review my performance in Q2. I had, in fact, improved my lap time and overall qualifying position. I knew I had even more to give, but I had still been working out some “yips” from the crash, wanting to make sure that I brought the bike home in one piece this time. I figured that little bit of caution may have cost me about a second, but I could make up for that if I got a good launch in the race later that afternoon. I had finished 16th overall in that session against the fastest racers and bikes in our class, and was feeling pretty good about my performance. Of course, there were a few racers who had such good times from Q1 that they didn’t bother wasting tires for this session, so I knew I would be a few spaces back from 16 once they released the final grid assignments.
We had a few hours to kill before my race, which would be the first on the schedule in the afternoon, at 12:30 PM sharp. The crew and I hung out, strolled around the paddock, saying hi to old friends and making new ones, even exploring the rest of the raceway complex and watching some of the other qualifying sessions from different viewpoints around the track.
The final grids were published, and I had earned a spot on P20. Not great, but not bad. The grid was reduced from the original 46 entrants to only 28 final competitors, leaving eight riders gridded behind me. Not last, but not exactly mid-pack, and I would still need five positions to earn my first-ever MotoAmerica championship point with a top 15 finish.
The time had finally come for my first-ever MotoAmerica Super Hooligan race! Carbon gave me the 15-minute call, so I started my preparations. By the time he gave me the five-minute call, my earplugs were in, and my helmet and gloves were on. At the three-minute mark, he told me to mount the bike, and I was happy to comply! Ignition on, started fired, and the bike roared to life. Front warmers off, front stand released. Rear warmers off, rear stand released. Bike in gear, pat on my back, and I rolled out to make my way to the track.
This was it. All my planning, preparation, practice, and training were about to be put to the test. I was consumed with anticipation and excitement, but also really trying to soak in the moment. All the racers lined up in the Hot Pit, waiting to be released for our sighting lap. Finally, the red waving flag was replaced with a green one, and we were off!
At this level of professional racing, it’s important to treat the sighting lap almost as if it were a hot race lap. Jockeying for position and testing traction at every apex, even making a few aggressively close passes just to try and intimidate the competition.
After a full circuit, I spotted Carbon waiting at my grid spot and made my way to him. He had a huge smile on his face. He told me, “Go get’em and have fun,” then gave me a fist bump before he made his way back to our Hot Pit.
In the Super Hooligans class, we use a quick start procedure rather than a professional start. The main difference is that we don’t sit on the grid with our bikes on stands and warmers, with an umbrella girl (or guy, for that matter), while the fastest and famous riders in front get interviewed. Instead, only moments after finishing the sighting lap, we’re released again for a warm-up lap.
Completing the final turn and cruising back to our grid spots, we all get into our starting position, elbows out, chest on the tank, head up. The Marshal at the back of the grid waves the green flag to let the Marshal at the front know that everybody has made it to their grid spot, cuing the Marshal in front with a waving red flag to get off the track so we can get this show on the road! He quickly exited the track, climbing a small ladder over the wall with his red flag, then lifted the ladder over the wall to join him on the other side.
Lights on! Lights out! Launch!
I dumped the clutch, and the bike lurched beneath me. I was instantly enveloped in a loud and wild frenzy to turn one. My grid spot had been in the middle of the row, so I worked my way to the left side of the track, putting me on the outside of T1. As all the other riders bunched up behind one another, trying to make their way to the apex, I scooted past several of them, gaining a few positions before we even made our way around the first turn.
Up the slight incline to turn two, slotting into position for the chicane, where it’s too tight to pass, so the further up the order I could get before entry, the better. I slotted myself into the pack as we all played follow-the-leader through the chicane. Released on the other end, it was back on the throttle into the fast-flowing left-hander before flicking it back to the right to head downhill through much lazier switchbacks that can practically be taken in a straight line. Then gently on the brakes to slow the bike down and settle the suspension before a hard left turn that sweeps back up another hill.
My rear tire was begging for grip, and before I even got the bike stood back up, the front tire lifted off as the MT roared with low-end torque. Accelerating through the uphill wheelie, I grab another gear to settle the front back down and float over the crest to turn six. I have no idea what position I’m in at this point, but I know I passed a few bikes at the start, and nobody had gotten by me since. Back down into third gear as I hit the cambered turn six, then a short burst up to the outside edge of the track and another downshift into second before bending the hard right turn into seven, where I crashed in Q1 the prior day. Safely through, I got decent drive onto the back straight and started clicking through the gears. This part of the track brings you from one of the slowest points to the fastest high-speed drag race on the circuit. With about 150 yards left on the straight, the track gently bends to the right and into a heavy downhill braking zone. I left my braking and downshifting as late as possible, then a hard flick to the left and another to the right. I power up the hill and over the crest beneath one of the bridges that crosses over the track, where my front end gets light and loose again. This is a blind turn that took a while to learn, but at this point, it was as if I had x-ray vision and could see through to the other side of the crest. I position my bike perfectly, and make my way down the steep hill into the super hard braking zone and through the 90° final turn that spit me back onto the front straight. A third of the way down the straight I crossed the start/finish line, completing my first MotoAmerica Super Hooligans competition lap!
I was in the zone and barely able to focus on anything except the next turn. At some point in the first couple of laps, Cory Alexander crashed the ARCH bike – yeah, the Keanu Reeves prototype air-cooled “undisclosed HP” hooligan bike – as the rest of us made our way through the carnage, heads still down, throttles wide open, never looking back. However, I guess Cory and his bike were in the crash zone, with enough debris littering the track that the decision was made to throw the red flag and clear the track to clean up the mess. Safety first!
I finished the lap and made my way back to the Pit, where I dismounted, had a drink of water, and tried to cool down while I waited for instructions from Carbon. Throughout the weekend, he had a walkie-talkie tuned to the live updates coming from MotoAmerica Race Control. He wore an earpiece so we didn’t all have to hear the often distracting and irrelevant chatter. There were times, however, when we were all having a conversation, and his eyes would instantly go blank as he raised his left hand to his ear to listen for announcements. We would all pause in total silence, waiting for our marching orders. He would then calmly, but firmly, provide us with key information or instructions.
The updates were coming in. It would be a five-lap restart, same grid positions. The routine started again. Five minutes. Earplugs in, helmet and gloves on. Three minutes. Mount the bike. Tire Warmers off, stands removed, bike on and in gear, pat on the back, and roll out!
After a cautious cruise through the Hot Pit, careful not to exceed the speed limit and risk a fine, I reached the Marshal with the green waving flag, and gently opened the throttle to begin another sighting lap. Again, I ripped through that lap at full speed, making sure to keep heat in my tires and pressure on the competition. After a full circuit, I slotted back into my grid position, caught by Carbon, who had been waiting for my arrival. I was still gridded at P20, but there was an empty grid spot where Cory had been, so I was now essentially in the 19th starting position. Another fist bump and a “You’ve got this,” and Carbon cleared the grid.
Several moments later, we were released for our warm-up lap. Same story – ripping through the lap like it counted, rolling through the final corner, then lining up back in our grid positions to wait for the red lights. Lights on. Lights out. Launch!
I didn’t get nearly as good a start this second time around, but I jockeyed for position to the left side of the track and was able to blow past several riders on the outside of T1. I held position and flicked the bike left to the apex of T2. We all bunched up again through the chicane, then full send through the next few corners.
Over the next several laps, I found myself caught up in an epic battle with two other riders. We swapped positions, daring each other to brake later into the slower corners of the track.
I was getting decent drive out of T7, and onto the back straight. I kept closing the gap to the riders in front of me for the first third of that stretch, but their bikes seemed to have more legs than mine, and they would win the drag race down into 10A, leaving me stuck in my position through the rest of the lap.
The three of us were somewhere mid-pack. We were battling hard, and I finally managed to out-brake one of them and gain a position, then set my sights on the other, determined to attempt another pass before it was too late.
About halfway through the final lap, I dove to the inside of T6, successfully positioning my bike for a block pass on the rider in front of me, and gained another position. I held him off through the next couple of turns and onto the back straight. I felt confident as I clicked through the gears, reaching top speed for my bike, somewhere in the mid-140s mph. As I reached the crest at the end of the straight, I leaned my bike right to head down the hill into the heavy braking zone. My bike felt strong everywhere on this track, except for top speed relative to the other bikes, and unfortunately, the rider I had passed two turns ago had a little bit more top end, and managed to get alongside me, as we both grabbed a fistful of brakes into T10. He was both brave and smart, taking the inside and leaving me with no way to keep my position. Turnabout is fair play! I tried to hang onto his back tire, giving myself the only chance I would have of taking back the position if I could manage to get the superior drive out of the final turn.
Everything went perfectly according to plan, and I gave myself a moment of drafting in his bubble out of the final turn, then slung my bike to the right with far better drive than him. I was making up the distance so quickly that for a moment I thought I might beat him to the line. But the checker comes up quick on the front straight, and I ran out of track, finishing less than 2/10 of a second behind him!
Disappointed that I couldn’t get the position back, I was still thrilled to have completed my first Super Hooligans MotoAmerica race of the season. I enjoyed the cool-down lap, waving to all the spectators, corner workers, and Marshals.
After completing the cooldown lap, I made my way to Parc Ferme, greeted by my team. They were all so thrilled and excited, with lots of high-fives and pats on the back. We took some time to bask in all the excitement, and I made my way over to some of my fellow competitors to congratulate them and share anecdotes about the highs and lows of our race.
My team and I spent the rest of the afternoon getting our Pit cleaned up and organized, and packing anything away that might get wet from the impending rain. Satisfied that everything was as situated as it was going to get, we all went our separate ways, agreeing to meet up at a popular restaurant I had made reservations to celebrate the end of a successful first race of our MotoAmerica season.
We reconvened at the restaurant, Local Station, a couple of hours later. The atmosphere was great and the vibe was fun. We took over the back room, and for the next couple of hours, we enjoyed fantastic food, exchanged our favorite stories of the day, shared some tales that sounded taller than a redwood, and filled the room with tons of gut-twisting laughter. As much fun and excitement as I had on track, I can honestly say dinner with these guys was definitely my favorite part of the weekend so far!
SUNDAY, MAY 4, 2025 – Warmup and Race 2
Still buzzing from a successful Saturday, we all showed up back at the Pit early Sunday morning, looking forward to an even more successful race 2. However, there was one giant and looming variable – rain. The forecast all weekend had been shifting and changing even more frequently than the attention of someone with AD/H…squirrel!!
Throughout the weekend, I was assured multiple times that a wet race was a certainty, entirely unavoidable at some point or another. Regardless of whether or when the rain would fall, we had already been soaked by a few different passing weather cells that would soak the tarmac, with barely enough time for it to dry out before the next one passed. Fortunately, by Sunday morning, most of the forecasting apps agreed that the worst and wettest was behind us. So, it was possible that I had somehow managed to beat the odds, and this time God was smiling instead of laughing. Nevertheless, we had rain tires mounted on our backup wheels, ready for whatever the weather spirits had in store for us.
The warm-up session for Super Hooligans was only 10 minutes. I went out on Saturday’s tires, with a plan to simply try out a few small changes we made to the bike setup in preparation for the final race. I didn’t push very hard, but was able to determine that the changes would give me a slight edge over the bike’s performance from the prior day.
We spent the next couple of hours making a few more small adjustments to the bike, putting on fresh tires, and adding enough fuel to get me through six more hot laps. The weather was still questionable, but more and more it was looking like I might actually get lucky. There was definitely rain in the forecast, guaranteed to fall before the end of the last race, but it wasn’t clear which classes would have to ride in the wet. Fortunately, I would be first up and therefore had the best chance of a dry race before the skies opened up and soaked the track.
All weekend, spectators made their way through the paddock, several stopping by our Pit to check out the bike, grab a fan poster or one of our pamphlets highlighting our nonprofit organization, The Remix Racing Project. I really enjoyed meeting the fans, talking about racing, but even more so telling them about our nonprofit work and why we race – to raise mental health and addiction recovery awareness, fight stigma, and smash negative stereotypes. The conversations were so uplifting. I was honored to hear many personal stories about people’s own lived mental health or addiction experience, or that of a family member or loved one, and how they felt a connection to our mission, and were inspired by what we were doing.
About an hour and a half before my race, the “fan walk” started. We were set up at the entry of the Hot Pit, so we were the first table that fans passed on their way in, and the last one as they made their way back out again. This was another huge highlight of the weekend. A train of people stopped by our table to say hi, wish me luck, and have me sign fan posters, T-shirts, and even takeoff tires that they were carrying through the paddock. I also enjoyed so many more heartwarming conversations about mental health and addiction recovery.
One of my favorite moments of the fan walk was when a father with two young boys came up to our table to grab some stickers and a couple of signed posters. The dad asked me how fast we go. When I told him, the look on his youngest son’s face was priceless! It lit up like he had just learned that he was getting a visit from Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy all at once!
As the fan walk ended, we packed up and I headed back to our Pit to make my final preparations for race two. The nervous butterflies started fluttering in my stomach. I was feeling confident I would be competitive, but I was also wrestling with some demons of insecurity.
I wanted to be satisfied with my P17 finish from race one, and already having achieved my goal for the weekend of qualifying and finishing “not last.“ However, Carbon and my new friend Jordan, whom I practiced with two weeks prior, had been pushing me to “win a MotoAmerica championship point.” That would require finishing P 15, a feat that felt entirely out of reach. There were more than 15 big-name riders who were all former podium finishers, race winners, and even champions. As far as I was concerned, I was completely outclassed. Not only were there so many talented, semi-famous riders in front of me on the grid, all of whom were far younger and more experienced, but also on much faster bikes, many built and maintained by professional factory teams. In fact, many of these riders were full-time professionals, getting paid to race, whereas I was merely a privateer, going deep in debt just to be here at all.
On the drive to the track that morning, I confided in Sam that I didn’t believe I would be earning a championship point today. I knew that all my friends would still love and accept me, even when I failed to earn a top 15 finish, but the pressure I felt not to let them down was super intense and threatened to completely overwhelm me. I tried to put it out of my mind and just focus on doing my very best, but it was still a nagging thought that had wormed its way deep into my brain.
I had gone through all my pre-race rituals – one final trip to the outhouse, a stretching routine (including eyeball stretches), then another final trip to the outhouse. A few more gulps of electrolyte-infused water, then one last final trip to the outhouse.
Carbon asked me to meet the team at the Hot Pit 20 minutes before the race start. Just as I was getting ready to leave the Pit and head over to meet the team, Mark, the “Race Pastor,“ pulled up on his motor scooter. He told me he had been trying to find me all day to offer some prayers, but every time he stopped by the Pit I wasn’t around. I told him there was no time like the present and asked if he would take a few minutes to pray with me. Mind you, I am Jewish, and not particularly religious, but years ago I decided to never pass up the opportunity to take any additional prayers, good wishes, and luck that I can get before a race.
Mark threw his arm around my shoulder, and we both bowed our heads. I don’t remember everything he prayed for, only that it felt perfect. He asked God to watch over me during the race, give me strength, courage, and focus. He prayed that my bike would perform at its best, and that I not only stay safe, but also competitive. He prayed for the other racers I would be sharing the track with, as well as my team, and even my family. All of it was exactly what I needed in that moment. As he wrapped it up, we said “Amen“ in unison and shared a warm hug. He wished me luck, and I made my way to Hot Pit.
When I arrived, my team greeted me with smiles, fist bumps, and high-fives. I was still buzzing from Mark‘s prayer and decided to make a pre-race video for Shanea. Paul handed me my phone, and I set it to record.
“Hey, babe. Sitting here in Hot Pit about 15 minutes before we’re about to go out. I just thought I’d make a little video for you ’cause I wish you were here. I miss you so much. Um, I’m pumped. I’m excited. Uh, right before I came to Hot Pit I saw the guy who, uh, prays with riders and teams and asked him if he could gimme one. And, it was so awesome. And I just, I feel at peace. I feel pumped and excited. Confident.
I love you so much. I hope you’re having a great weekend. I hope Hailey does fantastic. Uh. I’ll be thinking about you while I’m on the bike. I know you’ll be watching me, rooting for me, and I know you’ll be with me.
I love you. I miss you. And I’ll call you when I’m in Parc Ferme, hopefully with FANTASTIC news. Love you.”
Race control had made the decision to shorten all the prestart procedures for the afternoon, which they published on the “minute by minute” report released earlier that morning. So, we were prepared to make sure I wouldn’t be late and suffer any penalties. If I was going to improve my finishing position and lap times over race one, I couldn’t afford to make any careless mistakes. Carbon touched his earpiece as an update came through the radio, then he turned to me and made the “5-minute call” – time to gear up and mount up!
I threw my helmet and gloves on, walked around the hot pit wall, and climbed onto the bike.
I looked down Hot Pit lane and saw all my competitors and their teams getting ready. As the adrenaline started pumping through my veins, I switched on the ignition and hit the starter button. The bike roared back to life for what would be my final race of the weekend. The energy throughout the hot pit was electric, and I could feel every cell in my body start to vibrate with anticipation. Carbon made the call to pull the warmers and stands. Paul was at the front and complied with the efficiency of a machine. As soon as he dropped the front of the bike, he said, “You got this!” and gave me an enthusiastic fist bump. “Back wheel coming down!” My rear wheel was lowered to the tarmac, and the boys patted my back and cheered me on. I made my way to the track entrance and blended into traffic for the sighting lap. Just as I did in race one, I ripped through the circuit at close to top speed.
When Corey Alexander crashed out of the first race, he fractured his wrist and was unable to make the grid for race two, capping off a very disappointing race weekend for Keanu Reeve’s ARCH race team. Too bad for Corey and Keanu, but great for me! Instead of an empty grid spot in front of me, everyone with a slower qualifying time than Corey was advanced one spot, putting me in position 19 on the far left side of the grid. Not only had I gained a grid spot, but I was starting from the outside of the track, precisely where I had to fight my way to the prior day to set up my line into turn 1, where I had my best opportunity to gain precious early positions. So, as I came through the final turn of the sighting lap, I made my way to Carbon, who was waiting for me at my new grid spot. He caught my bike, gave me a fist bump and a few words of encouragement, then made his way off the grid and back to our Hot Pit.
Moments later, we were released for our warmup lap. As we all finished the circuit and slotted back into our starting positions, I could feel the electricity building and vibrating throughout my entire body. Then everything went perfectly quiet and still as my focus narrowed to a pinpoint, my sights locked onto the starting lights.
Lights on. The silence inside my helmet was shattered as engines revved and roared, and we all dropped our chests to our tanks. Lights out…LAUNCH!!!
My bike surged off the line as I dumped the clutch. I wound up first gear and could feel my bike pulling hard down the long run to turn 1. It was a great launch, but apparently not as good as a couple of my competitors got from behind me on the grid, and I lost a few positions as we raced from the starting line. I held to the outside of the track, and just as expected, almost everyone else tried to cram their way to the apex, trying to fit way too many bikes onto the narrow race line. My strategy worked, and heading through the first turn, I not only gained back my lost positions but managed to pick up a couple more before we all bunched up into turn 2 and the entry to the chicane, securing my new spot in the crowded field. Stuck in our positions through the tight switchbacks, I waited patiently to be released on the other side, where we all put our heads down and ripped open the throttle, racing down the hill through the S’s.
The next couple of laps were a blur as I jockeyed for position where I could, doing my best to hit all my marks, throttle early, brake as late as possible, and not make any mistakes. I was in the zone and making great progress, dicing it up with other riders and making my way through the pack. I had been pushing hard to hang with a couple of guys who were clearly faster than me, but not by enough to completely drop me from their tails. I used them as carrots, getting a tow into some super-hot lap times and ensuring that no one behind me would have a chance to overtake my position. Well, apparently, I was pushing just a bit too hard trying to keep up, and on the third lap, as I came out of turn 7 – yes, the same one where I crashed on Friday – I got a little too greedy on the throttle, still at full lean, and completely lost rear traction! The back end of my bike kicked violently to the left underneath me, then caught and whipped back to the right. A piercing alarm went off inside my helmet, and I was almost certain I was going to be launched to the moon in an epic high side.
In actuality, this was all happening in the blink of an eye, but for me, time slowed to a crawl. Over the years, I have had my share of high-speed crashes. Of course, that’s what happens when you’re searching for the limit – sometimes you find it by crossing it! But to my credit, I have saved exponentially more close calls than I’ve lost. Early in my racing career, I learned to override the impulse to try and muscle an out-of-control bike back into submission, and instead get as loose as possible to let the bike do exactly what it wants to – straighten itself out. Gyro forces, self-aligning torque, and tire dynamics will usually cause the motorcycle to naturally recover from near crashes, and it is often the panicked rider tensing up and making way too many steering inputs that gets in the way.
As the bike whipped back and forth, tossing me off the seat like a cowboy on a bucking rodeo bull, my instincts kicked in, and I gently backed off the throttle and got as loose as possible, putting my full trust in the bike – and physics – to save me from total disaster. I still had alarms ringing in my head louder than air raid sirens during the Pearl Harbor attack, but as fate would have it, my race wasn’t going to come to a tragic early end after all. Not today, Satan! A few more kicks and bucks of the rear tire, then the bike finally settled, and I was back in action!
I almost couldn’t believe my luck. What a save!! I took a quick glance behind me and saw that I hadn’t lost too much of the gap I had gained on the trailing pack. Unfortunately, however, when I turned back to the mission at hand and began ripping through the gears down the back straight, I could see the two bikes I had been chasing pulling further out of reach. Disappointed that I had lost my tow, I was nevertheless relieved that I was still in the fight and otherwise no worse for wear!
I kept pushing, knowing I would at least have to consolidate my position and keep the rest of the field behind me. I could still see the bikes that had gotten away from me, so I kept my head down and did what I could to try and reel them back in. I ripped off a couple more laps, doing everything I could to keep pace, and little by little, it seemed I was making up some ground.
White flag! One final lap to hold it together. I was still making progress toward the two that got away, but I was going to need more than one lap to catch them. So what?! I could either make excuses or make progress. I chose the latter. I hit every mark – braking later, throttling earlier. I was on a hot one, making up ground one corner at a time. As I came out of turn 5 – the left-hander that transitions from a sweeping downhill to a mixed camber uphill – my front wheel lifted off the asphalt. I hung off the side of the bike to keep it vertical while short-shifting to steady the chassis and settle the front wheel back down. I hit the apex of turn 6 perfectly and started my short drive to the outside of the track to set up for the infamous turn 7, but just as I was picking the bike back up from a hard lean, my giant, clumsy, size 47 boot accidentally hit the shifter, and rather than dropping a gear to get some engine breaking into the tight turn, I kicked the gearing in the wrong direction! With only a fraction of a second to try and limit the damage, I managed to get one downshift before the turn. I threw the bike hard to the right, trail braking and desperately trying to get it back to the apex without a repeat of my Q1 tipoff. If Pastor Mark’s prayers were worth anything, we were about to find out!
Well, it wasn’t pretty, but I barely managed to get the bike safely through the turn. I lost much of my drive onto the back straight, but better slow than stopped! Fortunately, my MT-09 is a very forgiving and generous machine. Throttle wide open, I wrung its neck until just before I hit the rev limiter. Fourth gear. Fifth. The engine screamed, and my MT pulled its way down the straight, through the right bend, and down into the heaving braking zone of turn 10A.
Making up for my stupid mistake in the previous turn, I made sure to hit every apex perfectly, smooth on the throttle and deep on the brakes. I bent the final corner and dropped my chin onto the tank, powering my way to the finish line. Despite charging hard as if I were in a drag race, in my mind, everything was happening in slow motion. I briefly glanced up to notice the waving checkered flag in the tower to the left of the start/finish, then put my head back down and watched the finish line slide under my bike as I completed my first MotoAmerica Super Hooligan race weekend!
I had lost count of how many bikes I had passed, but I was fairly certain I finished either 16th or 15th. Could it be possible? Had I earned my first championship point on my first race weekend in a new class, on a new bike, on a new track? All I knew for sure was that I had gone faster and advanced more positions than in race one, and I felt absolutely incredible!!!
As I finally backed off the throttle to start my cool-down lap, I was able to take in the full gravity of the moment. I let it wash over me as I cruised through turn one and saw hundreds of fans lined up at the fence, all standing and cheering. I waved them a huge thank you, and saw some of them wave back. I was overcome with a powerful mix of pride and gratitude. Around every turn, there was a new crowd of fans, applauding and cheering. I was vibing from their energy and felt like a celebrity. I took it all in and started pointing as if I recognized them, throwing heart signs, and even applauding them in return. Soaking it all in, I couldn’t get enough, and it seemed that neither could they. P16 or 15 at best, and I was acting like I had just won the race! Who cares?! I was having the time of my life!
Having completed the cool-down lap, the cheers and admiration of thousands of adoring fans still ringing inside my helmet, I made my way to Parc Ferme where my team was waiting for me. I still didn’t know if I had managed a P15 finish and my first championship point, but from the excited looks on all their faces, I started thinking I may have actually pulled it off.
Paul caught me, and I dismounted the bike. He leaned in so I could hear him through my helmet. “Do you know how you finished?”
“No, but did I get P15?!?! Did I get a point?!?!” With a big smirk on his face, clearly enjoying my pensive anticipation, he said, “I’ll let Carbon tell you…”
I pulled off my helmet as Carbon slipped the rear stand under the bike. “Well??” I asked with palpable eagerness.
He simply and calmly said, “P13.” Then his face broke into a huge, ear-to-ear smile.
I can’t overstate how profound that moment felt to me, and it’s one I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I was completely overwhelmed by a sense of pride and accomplishment, and so much gratitude for everyone who helped make it happen. Only twenty minutes earlier, I honestly believed that a top-15 finish was impossible and completely out of reach. Not only achieving the unthinkable, but exceeding it felt utterly unreal.
I know all this sounds a bit overdramatic, but if you know, you know. You see, for me, racing motorcycles is not merely a hobby. It’s not something I just do for fun, or the thing I’m doing for now. It’s who I am. It’s so much a part of me, of my very identity, that I ride the highs and lows like the wildest rollercoaster you can imagine. Throughout my racing career, on far more occasions than I care to remember, I have experienced the devastating agony of defeat. Not only losing races, but also with painful, debilitating injuries. I am fully aware that every time I throw my leg over a bike and test the limits of my skills and the performance of the machine, I am literally risking life and limb. At my worst moments, I have questioned whether I can or should ever race again. I’ve doubted my talent, felt like an impostor, and feared the cold, harsh judgment of my critics.
But that incredibly precious moment, when the impossible became my new reality, washed away all the self-doubt, made up for all the lows and losses, and even justified the obscene amount of time, money, energy, and resources I have devoted to this sport.
That moment will always be one of my most cherished memories.
SUNDAY, MAY 4, 2025 – Post Race
Since the Super Hooligans race was first on the schedule, we had the entire afternoon to enjoy the rest of the day’s competition and entertainment. And, that’s precisely what we did! Some of us roamed around the beautiful and expansive Road Atlanta venue, watching races from various viewpoints.
I also did some merch shopping. I like to wait until I feel I’ve “earned” my swag, and now that I was officially a MotoAmerica Super Hooligan racer, and even made my way into the points championship, I figured I should reward myself with some “official” apparel. I bought a couple of shirts for me, Shanea, and Sam at the MotoAmerica souvenir booth in the Fan Zone area of the Road Atlanta complex. When the salesperson saw that I was a racer, she asked me how I did. “It was awesome! I scored 13th place in my second race!!”
Staring back at me, looking utterly unimpressed, she asked, “Um, out of how many?” Okay, so not everyone was going to be as awestruck with my performance as I was. That’s okay, no one could steal my joy today! I was determined to continue basking in my post-race serotonin bath.
After we returned to the Pit, we all pitched in and did a little cleaning to get everything ready to tear down and load up. But we had plenty of time, so we left some of the work for later and headed to the Michelin tower to see if we could sneak our way to the VIP section on the roof and watch the Superbike race. We were all still wearing our pit-shirts, looking way more professional than we actually are – thanks to our premier sponsor, Truth Be Told Apparel!!! So, when we walked into the Lobby, acting like we belonged, the lady at the desk asked where we were going. Carbon calmly and confidently told her we were one of the race teams, headed up to the roof to enjoy a bird’s-eye view of the race action. She didn’t buy it! She started to tell us that the roof was “only for VIPs,” which apparently we were not, despite my newly overinflated ego convincing me that I was the VMIP (Very Most Important Person)! But she hesitated, smirked, then said, “I didn’t see you…” Bless her!!! Maybe she realized how important we all were, after all.
The roof of the Michelin tower was the perfect perch to watch the races from. The grid was full of some of our most idolized racing superstars, as well as a bunch of our friends and acquaintances. Best of all, the racing action was intense, and we had an incredible bird’s eye view of Cameron Beaubier’s dominance of the Road Atlanta circuit.
After the Superbike race, we made our way back to Hot Pit for the final race of the weekend: King of the Baggers! But what a sh!t show! Between crashes and blown engines, there were at least three red flags. This class is a lot of fun and a fan favorite, but my AD/HD attention span was no match for the “on again, off again” Bagger’s circus this was turning out to be. So, we all made our way back to the Pit to finish cleaning up and loading the transport van while the Harleys and Indians sorted out who would be King among the few bikes remaining that managed to avoid the carnage and make it to the finish line.
After we finished our game of gear-Tetris, using every available inch of space in the transport van, we all hugged and said our goodbyes. It was clear that we were all exhausted, but still buzzing from the amazing experience we had all shared – the roller coaster of highs and lows, the fun and camaraderie, the satisfaction of a job well done and the pure elation of our unmitigated success! I am so thankful for my team – the ones who made it to this event — Carbon, Sam, Paul, and Jessica — and all those who have been instrumental in my preparation and who were rooting for me from home, including Shanea, Hailey, Denver, Jenny, Riley, and the rest of the Remix Team, and all my family and friends. Without question, I couldn’t have done any of this without all of them and their unwavering love and support. I am deeply grateful for this experience and all the memories we made. They will always be among my most cherished, and I can’t wait for the next round to make some more!!!
