2010 WSBK Round 1 - Phillip Island: The Racing

Leon, Rockit & Ian at the house on PI

Weather forecasts for the Superbikes weekend had been wildly optimistic, so of course I had packed summer gear. At the last minute I'd chucked a fleecy jacket in my bag, as a concession to the changeability of the Phillip Island weather. Just as well I did!

I found my way to the Island by myself on Friday, grabbed some food and wine from the shops in Cowes, and promptly got lost on the way to Rockit's house. How the heck I ended up on a gravel road, I don't know – but I finally found Rockit's, arriving just as Leon did.

One of the great attractions of the Superbikes weekend at PI is that you can actually ride your bike into the circuit, rather than parking it outside. Well, that may be attractive to some people, but not to me. I like bitumen, and given my aversion to unsealed stuff and my tendency to fall off, my personal Risk Management Strategy involved leaving my bike at Rockit's and finding alternate means of getting to the track.

Leon to the rescue! I'm never too proud to be a pillion, especially if it means getting to the track in one piece.

Oh, what an adventure! From our vantage point at MG corner we had a great view of the big screen as well as the bit of the track just after the hairpin where so many of the racers crash – it's a bit heart-stopping really. (And it was a weekend of many crashes - Ruben Xaus alone had FOUR, and poor Chris Vermeulen crashed his Kwaka in both WSBK races. Ouch.)

We checked out the bikes in the Expo, and I discovered what I had always suspected – the little Ducati Monster is indeed a little too tall for me. Ah well....

I was on a mission – my mate gNat/Tali, Clem's daughter, had dragged me (not exactly kicking and screaming, mind you!) to the Support Paddock at motoGP last year to show me around, and one of the young racers she introduced me to was Troy Herfoss. gNat couldn't make it to the Supers this year because she's busy overseeing Clem's recovery (crap timing, Clem!)

As a Team Suzuki racer, Troy was doing an appearance at the Expo, so I was determined to get a pic for gNat. Here it is!

TroyHerfoss is so tall, this is where I was jumping up and down and saying to Leon "make sure you can get ME in the photo too!"...

So, being the perfect gentleman that he is, Troy came down to my level for another pic...

...and yet another pic when the flash didn't go off for the last one!

Troy is a talented racer, and a humble, clean-cut, focussed and very genuine young bloke with movie-star looks and a lovely manner, and he was happy to pose for a pic with me and to talk about the weekend's racing – as well as sending a hello to Tali and best wishes for Clem's recovery – I think I became his Number One fan on the spot after that – what a truly nice young man.

Coincidentally, Leon was chatting with a bloke outside a bit later on who turned out to be Troy's dad, who had ridden to Phillip Island on his V-Strom with Troy's mum on the back. I really liked that.

Friday was roasting hot, but on Saturday the good old Phillip Island weather kicked in and the day was grey, windy and bitterly cold. Thank goodness Katt's housemate had loaned me a big thick jacket – I would've been icicle-ised without it!

The weather may have been cold, but the racing was hot – very exciting, and Troy's result in Race 1 of the Australian Supersports class put him on the front row of the grid for Sunday's Race 2.

You know that you'll rarely get a Betty blog without a rant – so here's my rant for today.

A pox on all those people (generally tall, overweight middle-aged blokes with accountant looks and expensive name-brand jackets that they've just bought at the Expo) who take chairs to the track and sit on them against the fence (that's not the rant bit), and who stand up (quite unnecessarily!) to watch the races, thereby blocking the view of everybody behind them (especially short-arses like me!). One fat bloke who insisted on standing, even though he had an unobscured view of the track, and who kept raising his binoculars so that even my view of the big screen was obscured, came THIS close to being vaporised by some white-hot Betty ire. The only thing that saved him was his almost total lack of interest in Australian racing – he was only interested in blocking everybody's view for the World Superbikes class. Where's a cattle-prod when you need one? Sheesh, some people are so effing selfish!

Phew, glad I got that off my chest. So.... despite tall selfish bastards putting a bit of a damper on Sunday's WSBK racing, it was good to see my new favourite, Troy Herfoss, blitzing the field in Race 2 of the Aust Supersports.

Big screen view of the podium for the Aust Supersports class

Back at the house, Rockit's daughter Jo headed home to Melbourne (thanks heaps for all the rides to and from the track, Jo!) and the rest of us departed shortly afterwards. I had a lovely dinner at the pub in Kilcunda, and stayed in a spotless room with a lovely hot shower at the Killy Motel next door. Life's good!

World Superbikes, Round 1 - Phillip Island. The Odyssey Begins.

It seemed strange to be going to Phillip Island in February, and even stranger to be going there without Clem, who was languishing in hospital after some pretty major surgery. Stranger still to have a trip to Phillip Island that didn't involve any bike breakdowns, fall-overs, fall-offs or lever-snappage. We live in strange times.

It was just me and Leon this time. Our destination – the 2010 World Superbikes, Round 1 at Phillip Island. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Leon - brief roadside rest near Khancoban

The ride down was fabulous – on the twisty bit between Jindabyne and Khancoban (which I've hated on both occasions I've ridden it) I practised the cornering and braking tips that my friend Terry had given me after my previous pathetic attempt. Leon was miles ahead and there was no-one behind me, so I attacked the corners at my own pace, no pressure – and loved it! One minor UCM (that's an Undie-Changing Moment, in case you were wondering) near the Tom Groggin rest stop, on a newly resurfaced 15kmh hairpin with lots of loose stuff that made my rear wheel slide a little bit - I hate that feeling – but apart from that it was great.

Me after the Jindabyne-Khancoban twisties - only one UCM - wheeeeee!

Before I started riding I always assumed it would be pretty much like driving a car – once you can do it, you can just do it - but it's not like that at all. Every ride is different. Every corner is different, even if you've done it twenty times – I think that's one of the things I love: you constantly feel as though you're learning and developing your skills, and you're constantly vigilant because so many factors can make a vast difference to your ride.

Anyway... after the twisties came the lovely fast sweepers of the Cann Valley Highway, and at Wodonga we turned onto the long boring freeway towards Melbourne. It was starting to get horribly warm.

On the road between Euroa and Merton – a lovely little road with some nice twisty bits – I passed a scene that made me feel a little bit queasy. A big bike had come to grief on a corner, and lay on its side, just off the road. The rider was on his back under a makeshift canopy, being tended by his riding buddy and a couple of motorists, and they waved me on. Nothing you can do here, mate – we'll be ok. It's a sobering thing when you see a rider down. The ambulance came screaming past me a few minutes later, and was still at the scene when Leon went past shortly after that. A sudden and painful end to the Phillip Island pilgrimage for at least one rider... yuk.

Leon and I regrouped at Alexandra (I waved as we passed Alexandra Motorcycles, where mechanic Chris has patched my bike more than once!) and rode the rest of the way to Healesville together, down the wonderful Black Spur with its tall trees and long shadows, finally pulling into Katt's driveway in late afternoon. Leon pressed on towards Melbourne for the night, while I stayed at Katt's and fell asleep very early after a long day's ride of over 700kms. The 2010 WSBK adventure was ON!

A Crappy Post from a Shitty Blogger - a rant.

Poo in public toilets. I know, I know, this is not polite conversation – I hope nobody is reading this over their Weeties.

It’s just that this issue has bothered me for a very long time, and that sort of stuff is better out than in. Like poo, really.

This is what I find annoying. In the Ladies’ Toilets in many public places – railway stations, shopping malls, cinemas – there are often long queues of women waiting cross-legged, hopping up and down and waiting for a free loo (because you know how long it takes a lot of women to do whatever they have to do – and we do it privately in our separate little cubicles, unlike blokes, who can just whip it out and get on with it at the urinal).

Almost without exception, though, there will be one loo free that is avoided by the busting horde. Occasionally the next person in the queue will enter that loo, and with a squeal of distaste, exit again in a hurry. That’s usually enough to put off at least the next half dozen people who might have been hopefully eyeing the spare dunny.

Almost invariably, the only thing wrong with that loo is that some grotty prior user has not flushed it, and there’s a big poo in the bowl. Prospective loo-users take one look at that ol’ floater bobbing about in there and run for their lives – without flushing the loo, and therefore leaving it for the next unsuspecting full-bladdered lady, who squeals and hops away, leaving it for the next…. Ad bloody infinitum.

What I want to know is WHY? Why, in the first place, has somebody left the loo without flushing? Are they so busy that they can’t spare the half second it takes? Are they mentally deficient? Are they too short to reach the button? Is it their idea of a sick joke?

And what about the finders of the ‘left log’ – the ones who take one look and bolt, thereby creating a compound offence? Do they think the poo will jump out and get them if they try to flush it away? Do they think the owner of the poo left it there on purpose and might come back for it later?

Maybe the owner of the poo will get to work, or home, or whatever, slap themselves on the forehead, say “OMIGOD, I forgot to flush after that giant poo!” and dash back to the public toilet to finish what they began, elbowing their way through the waiting queue and apologising profusely:

“’Scuse me, I’m not queue-jumping – it’s just that I accidentally left my poo in there this morning, terribly sorry, and, you know, I want to put things right.”

That's not very likely, ladies – so here’s a tip: unless the poo is all over the seat, floor or walls of the toilet, it’s safe to flush the loo and send the offending poo to a far, far better place – like a sewage outfall at a beach near you, where it can chase the surfers and frolic in the sun. If you’re too squeamish to actually use the loo yourself after that, just because you caught a glimpse of someone else’s poo and had to face the grim reality that everybody else craps too, then at least flush it away and leave the loo ready for somebody else.

Please.

At the Crossroads - a dilemma

Dilemma dilemma dilemma. Here are the main points:

I’m miserable in my current job. Have been for a long time.

A teaching position (immediate start) has arisen unexpectedly. It’s full-time, ongoing, not far to travel.

I still miss some aspects of teaching (and still don’t miss some others).

Did I mention that I’m miserable in my current job?

I currently have an application in with another department. I just found out their recruitment process has been put ‘on hold’ and they hope to get around to short-listing for interview in 2-3 weeks (applications closed almost 2 weeks ago). That's the Public Service for you... a deadline is as elastic as - as elastic.

Do I apply for the teaching job and chuck in the glorious public service career? I took a ten grand pay cut to become a public servant five years ago, and the only thing it has going for it is flexibility – of working hours, of leave arrangements – that sort of thing. The other flexibility (one that really bugs me) is the approach to deadlines. As far as I'm concerned, a deadline is a deadline is a deadline. You have to be a teacher to get that, I guess.

I’m weighing up the pros and cons of returning to teaching…

PROs
Considerably more money.

Professional respect: I'm tired of the Powers That Be looking at my 'rank' here and assuming I must be mentally deficient. I don't need micro-managing and I am quite capable of writing a coherent sentence all by myself. I bloody taught kids how to do it for years.

Ownership of my work.

I love teaching.

Lots of holidays (even though you spend half of them catching up/planning ahead/doing professional development).

CONs
Lack of flexibility – you get leave during school holidays when things are more expensive and everywhere is full of kids and holidaying families. Your working hours are not-negotiable. The school bell, not your bladder, determines when you can go and pee – that’s an inflexibility that's hard to handle!

No more Phillip Island for me – both World Superbikes and motoGP happen during term time. Could also mean no Wintersun. Would put a big hole in my motorcycling social life – no, a HUGE one.

Have to take work home. Kiss your evenings and much of your weekends goodbye during term time.

So...
You know, that hasn’t helped one bit. I guess it won’t hurt to do an application for the teaching gig and leave it in the lap of the gods. If I get an interview, and if I am offered the job, I don’t have to take it. It mightn’t even get to that, right?

In the meantime, applications close next Monday - that's only six more nights of tossing and turning on the horns of this dilemma dilemma dilemma.

Beware of the Human - a rant.

I’ve been quiet lately, but it doesn’t mean I’ve been doing nothing. I’ve been so busy thinking and reflecting that my brain is worn out.

Man’s inhumanity to man has, once again, surprised me. How does it keep doing that? Am I really so gullible as to believe, honestly, that human beings are inherently nice or good? You know, I taught Lord of the Flies to my students for years, and absolutely hated it for the brutality in it – the probe into the Beast that lurks within, just beneath the humane, civilised veneer we like to think sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. Somehow, though, I refused to believe that such a Beast really existed.

And then that massive earthquake flattened Port-au-Prince.

The law of the jungle is alive and well and living in Haiti. The biggest, meanest desperados get the frightfully limited quantities of whatever aid happens to reach the people. The rest don’t stand a chance. Nice guys finish last.

The opportunists take whatever they can and don’t care who they stomp on to get it. Escaped felons from the flattened gaol run amok - they rape vulnerable women because that’s the kind of lowlife pieces of shit they are – what a way to say ‘fuck you’ to the system. People steal children who may or may not be orphans, and try to spirit them out of the country. The trade in human flesh is always only a heartbeat away.

Scum rises to the top. People suck. The Beast lives.