When I’m at the track, I can deal with ninety-five degree weather (that canopy I paid $100+ for is worth it’s weight in gold when the mercury starts to climb). I can deal with dragging myself out of bed at six in the morning to load the truck with my bike, the plastic storage box with spare parts, the bike stand, the gas can, the toolbox, the cooler, the chairs, the canopy, and everything else I might need. I can deal with traffic on the way to the track. I can deal with paying tolls and six bucks a gallon for hi-test fuel. I can deal with flat tires and I can deal with ten-year-olds passing me on 85cc bikes. I can deal with the agonizing roost from a 450 four-stroke. I can deal with embarrassing spills and endos. I can deal with separated shoulders and dislocated ankles, although I cannot deal with sixteen-year-old track maintenance kids spraying me with the water hose.
Understandably, I’m not the first rider who’s had to experience some punk sitting atop a water truck on the side of a track who thinks it’s hysterical to splash me with a few gallons of water while he’s hosing off the whoops. Understandably, the water kids do not purposely spray every practice rider who happens to ride down the section of track that needs water (although as far as I’m concerned, if you ain’t growing corn, turn the water off). Understandably, the water kids are expected to do something other than read tattered copies of Playboy for the five bucks an hour they’re earning from whatever cowboy owns Raceway Park.
As I’m sure you could surmise by this point, a track kid sprayed with me water this past Saturday afternoon. Let me provide the details by explaining I had not just exited a blind corner--the kid saw me coming well in advance. I did not have prior words with this kid. He did not know me and I did not know him, so no prior rivalry existed. I was simply the fourth of fifth rider to reach that thirsty area of the track when the kid pointed the nozzle, aimed the stream of water across my chest and up over my goggles.
Needless to say, this caused something of a stir deep inside me. It caused enough of a stir so that I pulled off the track next to the water kid and one of his pizza-faced buddies. Rather than kill the engine, I leaned toward him and kindly explained: “What the [expletive deleted] is wrong with you, [expletive deleted]? Watch what you’re doing with that [expletive deleted] hose!