By Joe Gresh
Andy Rooney, the proto-crank from 60 Minutes, back when 60 minutes was an hour, not a lap dog, said something important. I’m sure I’m messing it up, but he said you never know when your last time doing a thing will be done. His example was sledding in the winter. It was a rite, a ritual, a flim-flammy go-round: he did it every year without fail. Each year he’d sled down the hill but one year he was too tired or busy. Maybe he got mature. He didn’t go up the hill that year. And then he didn’t do it again. And again. He fell out of the habit, see? After a while he couldn’t remember why he went sledding at all.
I went to the motorcycle races at Laguna Seca because if I don’t, one day I won’t remember why I went to motorcycle races. And there are good reasons to go even if it’s a pain in the butt. This year I went for Moto America races but any sort of motorcycle racing will do.
It was 116 degrees when I pulled into Needles, California on the first night. The heat didn’t let up; it was still over 100 into the wee hours. I know this because I check on the bike every few hours, this goes on through the night. It’s my issue, it’s not like I suspect the good citizens of Needles or something. It’s not like Barstow.
The next evening I made Laguna Seca, it was kind of cold. Two long days on the road, a stiff sea breeze sliced through the Laguna Seca campgrounds and I almost put on long pants. After my initial set up, I laid down inside the tent and got sleeping-bag warm. It was nice. I have a really nice tent set up now. Plenty of room, a cot, a nightstand, ice chest full of food and drinks, even a battery to charge my phone.
Photons from Salinas, 10 miles away blast through the thin membrane of my tent, glamorous as it is. It’s 11:40 p.m. and the wind has eased. This is John Steinbeck’s old stomping grounds. Not my tent exactly but the general area. Most likely Steinbeck was also hit by photons from Salinas at some point in his life. Maybe not the same photons but Quantum Entanglement says it might have been one just like it, or maybe the mirror image, a reverse spin. Mine look like they are spinning clockwise so Steinbeck’s were probably going counterclockwise.
I have to take a leak.
A glowing doughnut of far-away lights surrounds me on the east and southwest. Houses and businesses, overhead a clear, cloudless sky full of stars. All these damn photons. My tent is so roomy I actually have enough space to reel without bumping into anything.
My internet buddy Hesketh stopped by earlier and tossed his tent on the ground. He’s in there napping now, blocking stray photons that might have gotten to me. I hear generators running. It sounds like the noise is coming from the paddock direction. Faintly, it’s not annoying because I’m deaf so you know other people can hear the generator.
Friday is set up camp and the riders are testing. When I first got here, the Baggers were stuttering on the rev limiter going up the hill to the corkscrew. It sounds like they hit the limiter at pretty low RPM’s. Maybe 7000? Then the modern bikes were out. I was tossing gear into my luxury, tent-majal as they went past at some crazy engine speed. A piercing screech that was sort of annoying after the flat roar of the Baggers. At first, I thought the Baggers racing was a gimmick. It still is a gimmick, but I give it my blessing now. I’m sure Moto America was worried about how I would receive the series.
The main thing is I made it to the top of the hill one more time. I’ve seen it all, but I haven’t seen all of it, my brothers.