Posts tagged rossi

The Death Of MotoGP

The first time we met!

The first time we met!

I’ve been a fan of the series since Rossi was racing 250’s. In fact, when I started racing in 1998, I couldn’t race an EX500 like all the sensible kids. No, I had to race an Aprilia RS250 like that adorable Rossi kid. Plus it’s a much prettier bike and everyone knows 2 strokes > 4 strokes.

 

In the 15 years since I first attended a GP, at Assen, I’ve been to 22 rounds in 5 countries. I’ve been to every US round except 2. All of my vacations revolve around motorcycle races. If there isn’t a race there, it’s not worth visiting. As a race fan, I’ve spent thousands of dollars on airfare, hotels, transportation, dining, museums, and shopping. But when Rossi retires, there’ll be nobody left to root for. I was really hoping Marquez could take his place. Sure, nobody can compare to the G.O.A.T., but Marquez at least had spunk and incredible talent. Pedrosa is proving himself now that he’s healed, and he’s a lot more comfortable in front of the cameras than he used to be, but he’s not a powerhouse. Lorenzo is incredibly talented, but he’s like our pet Greyhound- an absolute machine on the track, capable of winning races with ease and grace, but has the personality of someone who spends all their free time in a cage.
Continue reading The Death Of MotoGP

my favorite brand extension ever


travel press!, originally uploaded by pinkyracer.

Yeah, you’ve got your Swiffer deluxe that changes the pads by itself before you even realize they’re dirty, and your iPod nano with 10 terabytes and an app that actually finds you the coolest new music faster than the band can even record it. Whatever. Those pale in comparison to the coolest extension ever.

1- It’s a Bodum french press (the Kleenex of french presses)
2- It’s personalized with whatever 2D object(s) you want in there. Mine, of course, is Rossi

But best of all-
3- It’s a travel mug, and not just another BS “only works in a car” travel mug either. This bad boy can be shaken, upside down, and still retain all it’s contents. Which means it might even survive 30 minutes in the trunk of my motorcycle. I’d duct tape the spout for extra security, but just to keep it shut. the seal on it is airtight.

I have been exploring the full line of Bodum ever since I got sick and tired of replacing the damn glass every time I brushed it against a pillow. I guess I’m not the only one who got sick of those fragile things, because the Bodum store in Paris (and their website as well) has a lovely selection of metal and plastic presses.

What will they think of next???

Laguna

I didn’t get nearly as many pix this year, but then, most of my friends were MIA, and for some reason George was more interested in mouthing off than being photographed with all the umbrella girls like last year. But here’s a cute pair of critters. I don’t think this girl realizes that “Viva la Figa,” a slogan popularized by Rossi, is Italian for “Pussy Forever.” But then, she could just be making a joke.

my legs hurt from sprinting across 2 airports yesterday. I’m off to the tub.

OMG! The greatest day!!!

Valentino won at Laguna Seca!!! He finally did it, after miserable finishes every year, even a highly uncharacteristic DNF brought about by Michelin’s inability to build a tire that could handle Valentino AND 133 degree pavement. If you’re mad about the spoiler, well, TOUGH! You shoulda been there! Attendance was so low this year I was able to take my pick from $200/night hotel rooms anywhere in Monterey. On Orbitz on Thursday night!

It was an awesome race too, incredible how he kept Stoner at bay, and the pass in the corkscrew was the stuff legends are made of. Which he is, of course. Even more incredible was that they were so far ahead that when Stoner wiped out in 2nd place, he got back on and STILL had an 8 second gap on Vermeulen. Magnifique!!! I was still nervous the last few laps. Even though it’s Rossi and he knows what he’s doing, he’s had such bad luck at Laguna I was terrified something might happen. But everything is right with the world because Rossi won and Poodrosa didn’t even race. During his parade lap, Rossi got on his hands & knees and kissed the pavement in the corkscrew. So adorable.

Laguna was fun, but not as fun as last year, because most of my friends I went there to see had decided not to go. Then others who were there were hard to find. But I had fun with George, even though I was terrified that any minute his big mouth would get him into a heap of trouble, which never materialized. One guy even said it was an asset, that a mouth like that is what’ll get him into the (Ruff Ryders) party. Which was the best Saturday night I’ve had in Monterey, way more interesting than the now-defunct Blue Fin. I got the video to prove it, too.

This was the first time they had the Red Bull Rookie Cup races, too, and man, it was awesome. All these packs of identical 125cc 2-strokes buzzing by, the delicious smell of 2-smoke wafting in the breeze. It was magnificent. I will be extremely pissed if they do away with 2-stroke racing completely. It’s so much cooler! And really, everyone knows that 2-stroke motorcycles have NOTHING to do with global warming. Burning a little oil on race day can’t have nearly the impact of burning 12 mpg in an SUV on a daily basis for errands that should really be done on public transport anyway.

I also made some new friends, wore more clothing than I’ve worn there in ages (it was freezing, and I’m not feeling like I need the attention I used to need), and finally broke down and did a parade lap. I’ve been jonesing for the corkscrew so bad lately, and well, I can’t have it just yet. Kills me. The parade lap was slow, as expected, but I used it as an opportunity to do a little campaigning for Obama. I wore my Obama tee and tried to sit up enough so people could see it. Got to speed up AFTER the corkscrew, because all the fools in front of me had never been there before and slowed way down for the blind hill that precedes it. So frustrating. There’s track days there this coming Tues. and Wed. If I was working for myself, as I have been the better part of the past 8 years, I’d have just stayed a couple extra days and found the money somewhere. I may have to reconsider this “saving the world through big business” idea, to find a way to make sure it doesn’t get in the way of what’s really important:

One night in Monterey…

After years of fruitless stalking, my dream finally came true. Saturday Night. A hotel in Monterey. Valentino Rossi. and Me…. It was awesome.

The only regret I have is that I was too starstruck to shamelessly throw myself at him and say “Where ya goin’?…Can I come?” I gotta let him come down off that Deity pedestal so I can relate to him like any other man. But it’s hard. I’ve been worshipping him for so long, and he’s been so out of reach, it’s like the minute I’m face to face all I can do is rush to get my picture taken with him. I had no problem chatting with his team like we were old friends, but around Vale I turn into a starstruck little kid.

And just because I want to flunk Statistics…

I’d rather post to my blog than study. I hate statistics.

So here’s the Pedrosa fan club meet-up at Laguna Seca. Pretty lonely, eh? Loser. To her benefit, perhaps she doesn’t know anything about MotoGP and just figured it was the right one since it’s the same colors as Hayden’s.

In other news…camping was kinda fun, although Rossi was at the hotel I was at last year, and I got to see him again, cuz my buddy George saw him and called me, so I ran out of the restaurant. I swear, he smiled big and bright as I approached, seemed really happy to see me. There’s a pic of us somewhere, gotta e-mail the guy who took it. Woohoo. Now if I’d only taken it a step further, (see previous entry) it would have made the epic and brutal airline journey all worthwhile. It was such a bummer to fly there after having the joy of riding up from LA for the past 5 years.

OMFG. No time to breathe!!!!!

Just got back from Laguna! Sunburnt beyond recognition because after all these years I somehow forgot that I’m not someone who can go without sunblock. Legs burnt so bad I can barely walk. But other than that, it was awesome!!! Here’s me telling Jeremy Burgess (Rossi’s Crew Chief, and a major major factor in Rossi’s success) about my R1 (he asked! after I jokingly asked him to work on it.) and why I don’t ride Michelins. He was very amused. Or very diplomatic. We got the VIP tour of the garage!!! Chatted with a couple of Rossi’s mechanics too. Rossi wasn’t there, but I’d met him the night before in the lobby of his hotel. It was great, but once again, I held back. Dammit. If only I’d said…. “Where you goin’?…..Can I come?” He got this big smile as I approached, seemed really happy to see me, and I blew it by not being enough of a cheap slut groupie. damn.

The Doctor, The Tornado, and The Kentucky Kid…

OOoooohh! I got to meet the director of this illustrious documentary! Because I’m a true aficionado, I’m on their mailing list, so when they were having a screening at Cinespace, I was one of the few to find out about it. No mention on the website or even on Cinespace’s website. But I rounded up the troops, Nathaniel and Frank, and we had a grand time! Cinespace serves decent grub too, and it was nice doing the whole restaurant/movie thing. They answered questions after, and my burning question (although Frank beat me to it!) was why is there so little “Doctor” in this movie? Well, it turns out that even if you’re some big mucky-muck documentarian who’s already made a kick-ass doc. about MotoGP racers, Dorna or Rossi’s management, or both, were terrified of spies and misrepresentation, so they kept Rossi under wraps. Kinda how G-Dubya stays off the interwebs and apparently doesn’t even have an e-mail address. God forbid someone accuse him of actually reading that penile enlargement ad. Our country’s street cred would go right out the window. OK, back to DTK, it’s a great movie. Rent it. Buy it. Better yet, buy “Faster” as well. It’s also great. http://fastermovie.com/ http://dtkmovie.com/

Pinky and Rossi, together at last!

Well, OK, so it’s not like we ran off to Vegas and got married or anything, but I did get to touch him. Last year, in spite of the fabulous Red Bull VIP access I had, I never actually SAW the man. I left thinking perhaps he doesn’t actually exist, and maybe it really is just the bike. So this year, I was determined to see him, face to face. Having a Pit Suite ticket meant I could stare down at him as he got on his bike, even though I was supposed to be in a suite at the opposite end of pit lane. Walking in behind George ensured the guard didn’t bother checking my pass, so I got to hang with my homies. Over the garage next to Rossi and Edwards’!!! We could stare down at the madding throngs vying for his autograph as he made his way to the trailer, or watch from above as he got on his bike. But that’s not how I got to meet him. I ran into Britt and Jean Marc just outside the GP paddock area, and we chatted for awhile. I saw someone walk by the window of the Clinica Mobile who looked like him, and figured the best thing to do would be to stay put until he came out. Which was easy, as there was a golf cart for us to sit in, and plenty of people watching to do. I offered Loris Capirossi a ride, but he just smiled and kept walking. Eventually, one of Rossi’s people arrived on a scooter to escort him to another place. So I grabbed Britt and we followed him to a nearby building. By the time we arrived, he’d finished signing some autographs and was being escorted into another building next door. I stood in his path and his escort tried to push me aside as I asked if I could get my picure with him. He cheerfully stopped and obliged, even though there were some technical difficulties with the camera.

This is a still from the short video Britt took, the video is at: http://pinkyracer.buzznet.com/user/video/

So even Jean Marc, who had not been listening to me blather on about him for the past few years, was surprised that I didn’t just start kissing him. All I can say to explain my enormous restraint, is that my momma raised me too well. I seriously thought that if I saw him this weekend I would do something along those lines, then be carted off to Monterey county jail. Or not, maybe he would have liked it. Anyway, it’s a good thing I didn’t do anything to scare him, because I got to see him the next morning. There I was, walking to Jamba Juice for my morning smoothie when this nasty yellow H3 assaults my eyes. Sitting at the red light in that C02-belching monstrosity is none other than Rossi himself!!! I despise Hummers, and well, seeing my hero in one certainly brought him down a notch. His sidekick Ullio (sp.) was in the passenger seat, as one would expect. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared, smiling at him as I put my hand on my heart. He smiled and waved back, looking kinda nervous. The light was red long enough, I could have bum-rushed the car, but that’s not my style. I just stood there and tried to look cute, smiling mutely like some kind of retarded mime. Knowing his car, it was easy to spot, as it was the only yellow H3 in the paddock, and the only one with an autograph on the driver’s window. I thought about breaking in and hiding in the back, but figured that had been done before. So I chose a more polite approach. On my fun “I didn’t realize you were cool until” post-its I wrote him a little note. I slipped it into a folded piece of paper and stuck it in his windshield wiper. I thought about removing the other girls’ phone number that were stuck in the window jamb, but figured it’d be bad karma. Even if he never calls or reads this, I can rest soundly with the knowledge that I did what I could and I did it without compromising myself.

Laguna….Oh, where do I begin???

Well, it’s a long story, so I’ll start at the beginning. The ride up was hot and uneventful until George got bit by the schoolbus corner on 58. He wasn’t the first and surely won’t be the last to refuse to beleive that “15MPH” sign really means it… Luckily only his ego was bruised, but the new 999 didn’t fare as well. The pickup truck with an empty bike trailer that we had just passed was nice enough to pull over when we asked them to, and gave George a ride to the hotel. Good thing this happened on a weekend when thousands of other bikers and their support vehicles were making the same trip. The next day we suffered the injustice of having to ride to damn near san Jose and back to get into the track, someone’s cockamaney idea of “race traffic control”. More like “revenue control” considering the majority of the trip was through the deserted Army base where the speed limit is 30 MPH, and thoroughly patrolled. But just in case that wasn’t enough to keep your speed down, the occasional shuttle bus would come through in the oncoming “lane” at well over 30 mph. Yet another example of people being scared when I get mad…the ticket guy who got to hear my wrath invited me to stop and continue the discussion. I told him I was already late and didn’t want to waste any time talking to him. Later, George told me that he was scared the guy was gonna beat us up or not let us in or something. I ain’t skeered of no SCRAMP volunteer thug. Leaving that night, I saw every CHP officer in Monterey county lined up on Hwy. 1 handing out tickets like there was no tomorrow. I was glad I had taken the shortcut I’d seen on the map, so they didn’t catch me with their stealth overpass radar positioning. Ha!

Saturday, I rode alone to the track, and it was all good until about a mile before the entrance. Stop and go bike traffic made my bike heat up as much as 253 degrees, and stay over 240 (the absolute maximum, turn the engine off NOW! temperature) for a few minutes. It was either that or push it up a hill in 5″ heels and leather pants in 100 degree heat. God, I hate global warming. Luckily, the SCRAMP fools did one thing right. They positioned the ticket-checkers at the bottom of a ~1/4 mile hill. So the last bit I got to coast. But the bike was still very unhappy. The road toward the Paddock parking entrance was blocked, because of course these halfwits were too stupid to allow motorcycles with paddock parking to use the main gate that all the cars with paddock parking got to use. So I was directed down another road which is blocked, and then was supposed to turn around and go back the other way to the paddock. Because there were oncoming vehicles, I knew the road ahead went somewhere. So I took it. The last guy who tried to stop me may still be in that ditch, for all I know. Just kidding. These guys have nothing but their annoying voices, so are incapable of actually keeping anyone from getting by.

The road was EMPTY (because the fools have no way of communicating with each other, to re-direct traffic) so I made it to the paddock in easy time, and my poor, overheated baby was finally able to rest. I ran to the air-conditioned pit suite which would have paid for itself at twice the price this weekend and tore off the leather pants in exchange for short-shorts. Kept the heels on, of course. Not all the competition takes place on the track, you know. I knew I brought the right clothes when Ben Bostrom told me he liked my getup. He’s so gorgeous, but I never know quite what to do with him. Traditionally, women simply throw themselves at him, but I don’t really do that much, all I could do was tell him I’m glad he’s back racing in the USA. But when I saw him at the party on Sunday night, I had nothing left to say to him. I couldn’t remember his race result from the day before, and well, what am I gonna say? “Hey, Ben, you’re cute, wanna date?”

The party….OK, so I was bummed about not being a Red Bull vip this year, but not too much, since I did have a nice air-conditioned room and the company of two of my favorite people in the world (George and Greg) to make up for it. But on the way out of the track, I found a Red Bull pass on the trash can, and snatched it up, knowing it would be useful later that night. After heinously poor service at El Torito (never again!!!) and the extreme lack of taxis leading the fabulous parking attendant at the Monterey Plaza Hotel to give us a ride to our (nearby) hotel HIMSELF, I finally headed over to the Red Bull party. Different organizer, different venue. This year, instead of the glamour of an evening at the aquarium, it was the charm of an evening in a “barn” at the fairgrounds. Sawdust on the floor and everything! Here’s Melandri on his tippy-toes, I kid you not. the man grew a few inches the minute the camera came out!


This is where I met Melandri, came in with him and his people, as a matter of fact. The guy working the door heard him talking and said “Are you Italian or something?” I said “Of course he’s Italian, that’s Melandri, you fool!” They had just waved me in. I probably didn’t even need the pass after all, judging by the ratio of men to women. My kinda party. Met Fabio, which was kinda funny, since all these guys wanted pictures of him “for their moms” and I never even did the whole Harlequin thing. I went straight from Judy Blume to Jackie Collins. I just told him “I’ve heard you have a lot of bikes” Mini me was also there, and perhaps some other actors who are known by their own names and not the name of one character they played once. But you know, the freaky ones stand out. Someone said they saw Pam Anderson at the races on TV, and I don’t know about that. All I know is that I’m bummed that Adrien Brody didn’t make it this year. I saw Rossi’s manager and some other familiar faces, but my main man did not put in an appearance, even though I waited up waaaaay past my bedtime, knowing that he’s a real night owl. I guess that DNF really hit him hard. Man, if I had been Rossi, and my tires had f-ed up that badly, the tire technicians would be feeling about as damaged as the tires themselves. Grrrr. George had a close look at Colin’s tires when he came in and they looked like swiss cheese. Literally. Which means Rossi’s must’ve been even worse after all the work he’d done to get from 10th to 4th.