giberrluck
27/10/2008, 19:20
After today's MotoGP race at Valencia, when the podium celebration was over and the fireworks explosions ceased, I headed to the back of Nick Hayden's pit garage, #16. I hoped to catch a brief glimpse of #69, perhaps say hello and wish him well. His scooter was parked outside, and there was a small crowd of autograph seekers waiting. The door into his pit was open, and people started to come out, squinting as they crossed the threshold from the dim garage into the bright Spanish sunlight.
First, a crew guy with one-off retro Repsol bodywork in hand came out. He walked to an outdoor sink and started rinsing the pearlescent white components. Then Hayden's crew chief Pete Benson appeared. He looked tired, his face screwed into a stiff-upper-lip gaze; there was no joy in him. Moments later, a stream of Honda uniformed Japanese men stepped out, I assume they were HRC brass. Their cheeks were puffed full of air, which they exhaled deeply thru pursed lips, as though getting rid of something heavy. Shaking cigarettes from crisp packets, they lit up and huddled together between the brightly painted Repsol transports, glancing at each other briefly before shifting their eyes to the ground, saying nothing.
Hayden finally stepped into the light, the crowd quickly rushing him and thrusting items into his hand to be signed. I snapped a photo of the chaotic moment. In the brief instant before he picked up a magic marker, I noticed Nicky's lower lip trembling. Behind the mirrored sunglasses, he clearly was struggling to retain his composure, his mind elsewhere. Walking thru the garage door, Nicky Hayden was leaving behind nine years as a Honda rider, nearly a decade of success and struggles with the Japanese manufacturer. It must have been very hard to take one last look around the place, say goodbye to the people who worked hard to support him regardless of politics, and walk thru that door for the final time.
Monday, all will be different. He'll cross a new threshold, to ride a Marlboro Ducati Desmosedici in that bright Spanish sunshine. Nicky probably wasn't thinking about this as he finished signing the autographs, the gravity of the move sinking in. Finally, Hayden hopped on his scooter and left the garage. I waited to see if he'd take one last look over his shoulder as he rode off. He didn't.
The crowd dispersed, and #16 was just another garage door, around the back of pitlane at Valencia.
resource:suberbikeplanet
146520
First, a crew guy with one-off retro Repsol bodywork in hand came out. He walked to an outdoor sink and started rinsing the pearlescent white components. Then Hayden's crew chief Pete Benson appeared. He looked tired, his face screwed into a stiff-upper-lip gaze; there was no joy in him. Moments later, a stream of Honda uniformed Japanese men stepped out, I assume they were HRC brass. Their cheeks were puffed full of air, which they exhaled deeply thru pursed lips, as though getting rid of something heavy. Shaking cigarettes from crisp packets, they lit up and huddled together between the brightly painted Repsol transports, glancing at each other briefly before shifting their eyes to the ground, saying nothing.
Hayden finally stepped into the light, the crowd quickly rushing him and thrusting items into his hand to be signed. I snapped a photo of the chaotic moment. In the brief instant before he picked up a magic marker, I noticed Nicky's lower lip trembling. Behind the mirrored sunglasses, he clearly was struggling to retain his composure, his mind elsewhere. Walking thru the garage door, Nicky Hayden was leaving behind nine years as a Honda rider, nearly a decade of success and struggles with the Japanese manufacturer. It must have been very hard to take one last look around the place, say goodbye to the people who worked hard to support him regardless of politics, and walk thru that door for the final time.
Monday, all will be different. He'll cross a new threshold, to ride a Marlboro Ducati Desmosedici in that bright Spanish sunshine. Nicky probably wasn't thinking about this as he finished signing the autographs, the gravity of the move sinking in. Finally, Hayden hopped on his scooter and left the garage. I waited to see if he'd take one last look over his shoulder as he rode off. He didn't.
The crowd dispersed, and #16 was just another garage door, around the back of pitlane at Valencia.
resource:suberbikeplanet
146520