In the Moment

IN THE MOMENT

IGNITION

GUEST COLUMN

ON TRACTION CONTROL AND SPIRITUAL FREEDOM

FREDDIE SPENCER

Ten minutes into my train ride from Paris’ Saint-Lazare station on my way to Rouen for a dealership appearance, I felt a pair of eyes upon me. Most people are so polite; he wasn’t sure if I was me, and, if I was, should he say anything? I love the interaction. I nodded and smiled back, he walked over and asked, “Aren’t you Freddie Spencer?” And we were off to the races, so to speak.

Sebastian, a Frenchman in his twenties, began by saying, “I love motorcycles, and I really love watching videos of racing from your era. I can see and feel the connection you had to have with your bike...the relationship to know exactly what the bike was going to do before it did it. If not, you couldn’t react, right?”

“It was everything, Sebastian, all about feeling and anticipating,” I replied. “The control was right there in my hands—what I sensed and how I reacted: It forced me to trust my instincts.” Eventually we came around to electronic traction control, and Sebastian said he doesn’t like how TC numbs the riding experience for him.

For me, I like riding any bike any old way, but it did get me reminiscing: “Racing my 500 through the Parabólica (the right-hand sweeper leading on to the front straightaway at Monza) is a burned-in experience. I am leaned over to the very edge of the tire, knee on the ground from midway of the corner until the exit, asking the bike to keep turning. The front wheel is tucking, the rear is on the edge of grip and sliding to the left, and of course I am trying to accelerate... [Sebastian’s eyes are wide open].

Pushing the front, sliding the rear... The only thing keeping me moving forward and in control is the feedback from the equipment. What I sense, feel, and can control with the throttle, my touch on the bars and pegs, and my position on the seat.”

I understand the longing people have for the “pure” version of motorcycling.

I remember honing those skills as a kid in my yard, on a wet Louisiana day. I could see the color of the leaves, and, depending on their shade, I knew how wet it was. I can still see it today.

I could sense what would happen before it happened. I knew how much the conditions would make the tires move away from the direction I was going—and there were trees to hit if I got it wrong. The only way to change direction was to open up the radius, take away lean angle and increase load on the tire—all in thousandths of a second.

I am only sensing what will happen; it hasn’t happened yet. I see the leaves and predict the situation, so I can adjust the angle and throttle and avoid the trees. I know my motorcycle. Between us there is trust and belief, true communication.

I can only talk about traction control in the way I understand it. I have no particular mechanical knowledge that qualifies me to write a technical article, but I do know how riding a bike works.

It is not about the equipment for me; it is about the interaction between rider and bike. Without traction control, riding a motorcycle with a lot of power, you are the one who has to know how the bike will respond. Electronics takes the need to have to learn that away from the rider. The bike has become smart. The bike is anticipating. Before TC, it was instant, seat-of-the-pants response. Going around Chuckwalla Valley Raceway on the latest Kawasaki ZX-10R (with TC) versus a 2000 Yamaha YZF-Ri with 150 hp and no traction control at a trackday illustrated the difference: For me, both are fun. Neither bike is better; they are just different, and I enjoy the diversity.

I ride because riding is pure. It lets me be me. The respect the bike has for us is pure, no games, nothing but honest feedback.

THE NUMBERS

2

POINTS THAT SEPARATED SPENCER FROM KENNY ROBERTS IN THE 1983 500cc WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP

10

ROADRACES PER DAY FREDDIE SOMETIMES COMPETED IN DURING THE LATE 70s

4

LAP RECORDS AND POLE POSITIONS IN 1982, SPENCER’S DEBUT GP SEASON, IN WHICH HE FINISHED THIRD OVERALL

But rider input is less essential on modern bikes. If I give an old-school bike too much throttle, I suffer the consequences. TC bikes adjust to the rider instead of the rider having to adjust to the bike. TC takes the sensitivity out of our hands, literally. How can a rider correct traction control in a split second?

Some racers don’t like traction control. They don’t like that it takes the precision out of the riders’ hand, enhancing the performance with electronics instead of that personal gift of being in the moment, that interaction between the bike, the earth, and the sky. Electronics can give the splitsecond-per-lap advantage that increases speed over 30 laps— possibly the difference between first and fourth place. The reality is that a better electronics package can influence the outcome of the season. Some feel it is kind of like mechanical doping.

Today we have the choice to dial it up or down. Traction control can increase safety, allowing the recreational rider to reduce his margin of error. And that is a huge asset to the sport. Riding bikes from the different eras, you can feel the evolution of technology, from high-performance superbikes from the late ’70s to early ’80s to today. Bikes have more power and accelerate harder now, and the chassis technology, suspension stability, and tire technology have kept pace, matching the power increase. Traction Control blends all of those improvements to soften overall performance.

The greatest thing the motorcycle—that inanimate object you are in charge of—gives you is freedom. What it frees you from is fear—increasingly so as your skills improve. I talked with someone who had a near-death experience: Once death seemed imminent, they weren’t scared anymore. That moment, they said, is when they truly began to live. What greater gift can we be given than having our fear lifted? The motorcycle gives you the freedom to trust what you sense and feel with your whole being. If you’re anything like me, what it gives you spiritually is much greater than anything you would have ever known otherwise. You notice everything. You see every line on the curbing. You remember the color of the asphalt. When you ride you are completely in the moment, completely uninhibited and confident in your own ability. You are alive, right? Feeling that is one of the greatest, most intimate gifts we can experience. It’s why we ride.

Thank you, Sebastian, for sharing that wonderful moment with me.

THE CONTROL WAS RIGHT THERE IN MY HANDSWHATI SENSED AND HOW I REACTED: IT FORCED METO TRUST MY INSTINCTS.