Why Does Daddy Race Motorcycles?
By Steve Pershing Sport Rider/August 2001
Bench Racing

    "Mommy, why does Daddy race motorcycles?" asked my seven-year-old son as we drove home from school. An interesting question, one that dear old Dad had a few moments to ponder. My wife could have replied (pick one):

1. He has a death wish
2. He's trying to pay for your college tuition
3. He's wild about the trophy and umbrella girls
4. I don't know, if he wants to get away from me that badly, he should get a divorce
5. He loves it.

    Why indeed would this 51 year-young father of two small children race motorcycles? I'm thinking, "Because I love it." My wife's reply was, "Because he loves to do it." This is good. We have an understanding. I started to think about this "because I love it." Why do I love it so much? What about racing makes me love it?

    At 51, it is certainly not the money. I have picked up some contingency cash from Michelin, but real dough? No way. Fame and women? Fame is certainly something I love to fantasize about, but I will never see any. Women? Well, let's not be too negative here.

    So why do it? I started to think back on my motorcycling career. Parents nixing all ownership of those "death traps"; my first bike, a 1978 Suzuki GS750; my current Yamaha R6; then my life-threatening crash and the concussion I suffered while racing in 1985. I dwelled on this for a moment. The crash was good news/bad news, mostly bad news. The bad news was months of recovery, and not remembering anything about my life, including my name. The good news was I didn't remember my wife's name either. I swore after being unconscious for a day that I would "never race again."

   So I'm a liar.

    Motorcycling, however, continued to play an important role in my life, and I never stopped riding after the crash. Sport riding in the canyons around Los Angeles kept me occupied for awhile. But in the past few years, riding in many of those areas became unwise. Increased bike activity was leading to crashes, deaths and unwanted police crack-downs. Plus, I was always bothered by the fact that I quit racing because I got hurt. It wasn't on my terms. There was unfinished internal business there - it turned that out my inner drive for racing and speed was dormant rather than erased.

    The racing bug within me hibernated for 14 years until the spring of 1999. The desire started again when I purchased my first Ducati, a 900SS, followed closely by a 916. Pure passion and soul, and ohhhh, that exhaust note - auditory heroin! From then on, my sport riding turned serious until I bought my current love, a Yamaha YZF-R6. That's when I tried a track day at Willow Springs and was hooked - again.

    I believe that if you want to go fast and improve your skills safely, you should do it on the racetrack. This time however, I vowed to do it differently. What's the old saying? Insanity is expecting different results from the same actions? My goal: to be safe and have fun without crashing. Crashing sucks; I've never fallen off a motorcycle where something didn't end up hurting. The personal stakes also increased, since I now have a family I love dearly, and a body that doesn't heal as quickly as a 20-years-old's.

    I determined that I would not go over the line in trying to beat the other guy to win. After securing my Willow Springs Motorcycle Club racing license again, my new approach to racing and dropping my lap times is one of precise thinking and taking tiny, tiny steps to improve my lap times. Not the reptilian/adrenal beat-this-guy-or-crash approach. I've read and studied; now I think more about what I'm doing out there. All the choreographed actions of reference points, throttle control, braking markers and turn-in points make sense now. I'm using my head and controlling my emotions. I have to do this. My body and pocketbook cannot afford anything else.

    So far, this strategy has worked for seven race outings. I've dropped my lap times seven seconds from my 1985 best, without crashing. I now truly understand that the racer's edge is refined thinking, not a big throttle hand or bigger cojones.

    So why do I love racing? This is purely a theory, but one that I validate every time I go to the track. I was talking to an ex-racer once, and he said, "You know, I'm not really into religion. I have no idea what heaven is like, or enlightenment, or whatever. But I'll tell you something. When I was racing, that's when I felt closer to anything like that. I just felt clear inside. Happy and clear." That about sums it up for me too. Some people race because they love to win, others because of the so-called adrenaline high. I race to pit myself against the track and the clock. Sure, it's fun when you're passing someone, but that's not the kick for me. The more I am "in the zone" and the less I concentrate on the other guy, the better (and safer) I become. The moment requires girls or adrenaline-addled emotional feelings. Only what I must do to make this moment happen.

    If I'm in the moment, the happiness and clarity will follow my actions. That is why I race motorcycles.