Racing With Suzuki

Racing with Suzuki

"A 1,000 mile journey begins, goes an old saying, "with a single small step." To that expression one could add a small footnote: The first steps are the hardest and the slowest. And, sometimes, the trickiest. Things don't always turn out as planned. Turning points in someone's career or lifestyle happen in curious ways.

Back in 1965, after four years of riding to prove himself, Ron Grant had finally convinced U.S. Suzuki to give him a chance on one of their machines. Listen to him tell it.

I wanted very badly to make it with a top factory team. And this ride (on the new and very fast 250 X-6) was going to be my big “break“. I started out beautifully by winS-4

ning my heat and was determined to match that performance in the final. But determination, sometimes, isn’t enough. While leading the race I crashed; but still managed to pick up the bike and get back into contention. But that too was short-lived. Two laps later I seized the engine and crashed a second time; this time out of the race for good.

I was convinced that my factory ride had gone out the window and I was absolutely sick about it. But like I said, things don't always turn out as expected, and Suzuki saw it differently. They liked what they’d seen while I was riding and signed me up. They bought me some shiny new leathers and helmets and put me on contract. I was on the

team.

I was 25; so you could say I was lucky to be there. And maybe so, but a lot of ’instant successes' are really the result of many long years of trial and failure. For me it had started 18 years before when I was 7. My father was an avid speedway fan (in fact, named me after world racing champion Ron Johnson) and took me every week to the races at New Cross Speedway. That was in 1947, just after the war, when racing in England was enjoying an all-time high in both attendance and rider participation.

Ron Johnson, obviously, became my particular hero. I can remember screaming for him to win week after week; and day-

road to get1ing a factory team ride can be a long one. Here's how one championship rider did it.

Ron Grant

dreaming about being just like him when I got older —just like American boys in those days were dreaming of being cowboys or baseball players.

I suppose if I had to pick one quality that carried me from that boyhood daydream, either unconsciously or otherwise, it was determination. Not that I knew right from the beginning I would be a motorcycle racer. It began as a hobby and interest; and eventually evolved into a career.

My first team race was at age 12; on a bicycle. My first motorcycle, that I finally saved enough for by working two jobs, was at 16. It was a 1929 BSA “Sloper’’ that I bought for 5 pounds; or almost $12.50. It was 600cc and so big I had to ask my father to start it for me.

After that I bought v/hat was then a top machine in England —a 1957 Norton 600 twin; and rushed around the countryside on it, doing a reasonable imitation of the Brands

Hatch road racers--crouched low behind

my clip-on handlebars, leaning it into the corners. I was easily impressionable in those days. I ran the Norton at one of the weekly practice sessions at Brands Hatch with a total racing equipment outlay of: no leathers and a used crash hat that I'd bought for $1.50. But all my form and fast machine didn’t mean much out there since guys zipped by me on 250cc bikes. Not a very auspicious beginning.

My first official race, which didn't come until a year later because there were more people in England wanting to race than positions available, I did better. I finished second. It was a race at Thruxton Airport in southwest England. I'd done the works to my Norton— special carbs, new cam, etc. It rained buckets on race day and the track was slick. On the very first lap, several riders went down scattering hay bales all over the track. I managed to squeeze through one of the holes they made into second place,and that's where I finished.

In the years that followed, every penny I had went into racing or working on my bikes. Every spare moment went into practicing. Naturally it's hard to pick out anything but highlights, or vivid memories over that time. That first race taught me to never remove your goggles when it is raining. Those raindrops can sting like sand ... Derek Minier showed me that if I could ride a machine that was a little too much for my abilities — he had a 500 Manx that he sold me —I could learn to ride anything ... His advice was good because very soon I lapped Brands at 57.8. The record was 57.4 —set by Minter on the machine I now owned ... I found that there is nothing for me that can match the thrill and excitement of motorcycle racing: the sheer speed and challenge of braking at the last moment and taking a corner at over 100 mph is fantastic. The crowds that

come into the pits after the race, asking endless questions and snapping hundreds of photos, is exhilarating.

In September, 1961, while racing in the Isle of Man, I received a telegram from an American friend who asked me to accompany him on his return to the U.S. I accepted immediately; and in November we were on the S.S. Rotterdam bound for New York. After boat fare for myself and the Norton I had little money, but there was the promise of a job in California. The future looked quite good.

My Americanization proceeded rapidly. Hamburgers became an immediate hit with me, and I soon became accustomed to Cokes and coffee instead of tea and lemonade. There was a memorable trip across country, towing our bikes on a rented trailer. The urge to ride overcame both of us in the middle of Texas. We unloaded and blasted them up and down the deserted highway a few times, thereby bending a few of that state’s speed rules.

My new job was with a large motorcycle store in Hollywood where the wages were terrific compared to what I had been earning in England. All the talk was of the Daytona race coming in February and it struck me as a great opportunity to ride in important competition. The great Mike Hailwood was coming from England with some other riders and the Honda team was scheduled with their four-cylinder machines.

I spent an entire winter preparing for the 125 miles of Daytona. And I made it to the last lap before my 'sure thing’ disappeared. I was leading and the engine blew. Instant heartbreak and disappointment. But that race helped me make a big decision. I enjoyed life in the United States and I decided to stay.

The next four years were spent riding FIM events on various machines including factory bikes for an occasional ride. I wanted a regular factory ride and felt qualified because I had won many races. In fact, in 1965 I won the Dodge City National on a private 250, beating all the factory-sponsored bikes.

Some of the Japanese companies were forming race teams to compete on the AMA National Circuit, and it was Suzuki that finally gave me the chance I sought. After demonstrating my ability to crash at Riverside, I settled down to a moderately successful season. It was good to be riding for a large company.

What advice can I give to any readers who’d eventually like to ride for a factory team? Don't give up. Keep riding, and practicing. If you want it bad enough, you'll get it.

So much for getting here. Now what's it like?

Well, it's a great deal more than turning up on race day and gassing the bike.

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There are days of test runs. I remember in those early days we would try and duplicate Daytona even before we got there. We would rent a track and run a full 100 miles at racing speeds, then return to Suzuki's headquarters and completely dismantle the machine, inspecting each part. It was tedious work and there is no reward for practice, but it was essential to later success. Important to me, I was learning about two-strokes all the time and was frankly amazed at the horsepower that these little engines developed. Our 250 engines just ran and ran, earning respect from competitors as a threat at any race track.

In 1968, Suzuki decided to run a 500 Twin at Daytona. Because I hadn't finished that race for six years I was quite looking forward to running 200 miles on a two-stroke. We did run and I did finish—fifth after starting on the back row and making two pit stops for gas. (The bike was a bit thirsty.) The frame was stock and the machine very heavy but it seemed to have good potential. As for me, it was a thrill to finish a race that had been a stumbling block in the years before.

Next year the AMA changed the rules to allow five-speed transmissions, which we desperately needed. Most important, the factory had made some major improvements: the engine was in a super-low frame with a clean fairing and there were excellent brakes. All during practice week at Daytona we were running down the back straight at close to 150 mph. What a sensation to hit the steep banking at that speed with the back end "twitching" a bit. The new five-speed frans was just perfect and the machine was handling superbly.

We had a new bike, a new team of riders, a new race manager and we set out to win this one, the biggest race of the year. It rained hard on race day and they had to postpone the race for a week. It was really a shame because that week gave all the other teams who needed preparation a chance to catch up. I think the Suzuki team would have disappeared from everyone had we been able to run in the rain.

In the rescheduled race we ran right up front and were set to win until the pit stop. Racing is a series of little things, all of which must be correct, especially true in a pit stop. In all the excitement of being in front someone forgot to secure the gas cap and it caused gas to spill on the rear tire. I fell getting out of the pits and had to go back for seconds.

Of course we lost a lot of time. In fact we were back to 15th place when I finally got going. I was pretty angry and my riding showed it; I was going like a madman. By

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race end I had worked my way back up to second place which, under the circumstances, was as big a thrill as winning.

Racing rarely pays well, but there are good times and this was one of them. I had won quite a lot of money and Suzuki was happy with their machine and the results. But for a fouled spark plug we would have won the next event at Laconia, but I was content with fifth place. At Indianapolis we managed a second and third for Suzuki —still running only a 500 against the powerful 750s. Then I took the machine to the Bonneville Salt Flats and set three world's records with it, one of which was a 149 mph two-way average.

The final race of the year was held at a brand-new track in northern California and our team spirit was at an all-time high. Suzuki sponsored a young lad in the amateur race, and he won it by a mile, adding further to our good spirits. At the halfway stage in the big expert race Suzuki had a comfortable lead along with a strong second. Thanks to the week at Bonneville my machine was a little tired and it quit just past the mid-point. Teammate Art Baumann won the race easily, thus proving to ell that our Suzuki 500 was a truly great machine.

During the winter my family and I headed for New Zealand where motorcycle racing is virtually a national pasttime. On my own 250 and the 500 I had run all year I was able to win 23 out of 25 races (quite good,

I felt) and also set five new lap records on the 500. Suzuki's New Zealand distributor shared my happiness after this success.

In February, full of confidence for the 1970 season, I returned to the States. My enthusiasm was especially high because I had stopped in Japan to visit the Suzuki factory in Hamamatsu. The factory people showed me the new bikes for '70 and let me

test them at their great test track. We got the grand tour—everything from production lines to the racing department dyno room where the horsepower of our racing engines Is worked out.

Back home the first order of business was Daytona which promised to be the biggest ever with 27 foreign entries. On race day 30,000 eager enthusiasts (an attendance record!) came out to see some of the world's finest. The Hamamatsu engineers had done their homework well; I managed my way into the lead and pulled away from everyone on my 500 Suzuki.

Do you know the feeling from leading a big race? I was on Cloud Nine,I couldn't believe it. It was, sad to say, too good to be true. We had calculated our gas consumption based on practice laps of 2:13. In order to stay ahead I was turning 2:08 and 2:09 which meant higher consumption. My scheduled stop was only half a lap away when I ran out of fuel, but half a lap at Daytona is hopeless. I was forced out of the race. It was a bitter disappointment for the entire team.

The next AMA race at Kent, happily, turned out with a victory. And a very impressive one for Suzuki too. Kent is a 125 mile twister that really challenges the rider and machine. After running the heats in the rain —which really made the track slick —we went into the main. There are 56 laps to the race. After dicing for the first four laps, we moved into first place. This was one race where everything meshed and we kept the lead from there on out. It was a very satisfying victory.

With that background it is not difficult to understand that I was full of confidence when we approached the race at Talledaga. During practice week I had gotten my 500 running like a bomb. I qualified at 151 mph. I had a bit of a scare when the rear tire went

flat at 150 causing me to lose control. Luckily I got it stopped and did not crash.

Getting injured while racing is something you don't think about. If you do worry about being hurt probably you should not ride. A good rider tries not to concern himself with danger even though it is always present. In my 11 years of racing I had never broken a bone or even been held in a hospital. And that's a pretty good record when you consider that I had competed in more than 800 motorcycle races.

That all changed in the 250cc race — which I was running for practice for the 500. We took off and my bike was lugging,apparently from a fouled plug. I pulled off and looked around and got the shock of my life. The second wave was already on top of me and really traveling. The only thing for me was to sit up straight so I'd be seen and pray. I knew my 11-year safety record was about to be broken. A chap in the second group hit me at about 80 mph. It was like being in the middle of an explosion. The next thing I remember is being on the grass in violent pain. Some time later I learned how I was: my left leg was badly cut and broken, I had a punctured lung, broken ribs and a chipped tailbone.

So ended 1970 —a few months ahead of schedule. For the future? I've mended nicely and I’m looking forward to 1971, my sixth year with Suzuki. We’ve had a marvelous relationship and I feel that I owe them some major victories for making me a true professional. My hope is that the next 10 years are as much fun as the last 10, and that I can ride as many races.