Harley Davidson XR1200X – Part Two

Story by Uwe Wachtendorf// Photos by RHM
October 1 2011

Taming of the Shrew

“Oh my God, what did I get myself into?” It’s a moment of utter disbelief as I thumb the starter of the race-prepped XR1200X for the first time. The docile V-Twin that unassumingly powered the stock version of the bike is now snarling and barking at me out of its exhaust like a rabid dog. Equally unsettling is the changed seating position; the newly fitted, high-performance Elka shocks are longer than stock and raise the rear of the bike to a stratospheric height. The view and reach to the ground makes me feel like I’m riding a highchair instead of a motorcycle, but even before this fully sinks in, I nearly ride the bike into a wall. The steering lock, altered for racing, catches me off guard; it’s so restrictive that the bike now has the turning radius of an aircraft carrier.

My original idea of street-testing a stock XR1200X and then racing the track-prepped version of the bike in a professional race now seems the plan of a madman. Concerned for my safety and the safety of those around me, I decide to steal the XR1200X from Deeley Harley-Davidson Canada and get some practice time during a track day being held at Shannonville. It’s not the track configuration that will be used for the actual race, but it’s close enough for me to get a feel for the bike and hopefully build some confidence for the race.

Clearly, I am not the only XR1200X rider who needs some practice time. When I arrive at the track, I’m surprised to find that half of the field I’ll be racing is here too. Even the defending Canadian Superbike Champion, Jordan Szoke, is on track, working on the setup of his Kawasaki. The scene at the track puts the state of Canadian road racing into perspective; imagine showing up for a public track day in Italy and sharing the paddock with Valentino Rossi?

If I had any confidence at all about racing an XR1200X, it is completely shattered before I complete a single lap. With the bike barely leaned over, it’s weaving so badly that I almost lose the front end, and I realize that it’s the most unstable motorcycle I’ve ever had on a track. Dejected, I head straight back to the pits and seek out John Sharrard, owner of Accelerated Technologies. The former pro racer and suspension guru is an Elka distributor and happens to be at the track. Rather than waste the better part of the day trying to figure out the new shocks, I ask for his help and describe what the bike is doing. He looks over the shocks and discovers that the rebound damping is turned all the way out. By the time he’s made a few rudimentary adjustments, I only have time for one partial lap before the session is over. It’s enough to know that the bike is at least rideable and that I have something to work with.

The next two sessions are cut short by crashes that bring out the red flag. With half the day already gone, I realize that I’ve only managed seven hot laps – just enough to give me some feel for the line through each turn – not enough to give me any comfort with the bike. I take the little information that I’ve gathered about its handling and pay Sharrard another visit. He has concerns with the XR1200X’s weight distribution. “With the rider sitting so far back, I don’t think the front wheel is weighted enough; let’s try increasing the preload by four turns to raise the rear and load the front.” Raise the rear? I can barely get my leg over the bike as it is without shredding every sinew in my groin, but I have faith in Sharrard’s professional opinion and let him make the changes.

I’m always amazed at the impact tuning a bike’s suspension can have on its handling. Only a few laps into my first session of the afternoon, I realize that the extra preload has improved the overall stability of the bike; the suspension setup still needs work, but for the first time I feel confident enough to increase my pace. With my lap times dropping and confidence building, I head into turn 10 hard, squeeze the front brake lever at my braking marker, and don’t feel any resistance. “Crap,” is all I can say as the lever pulls in all the way to the handlebar and the bike doesn’t slow. On the edge of panic, I drop another gear and press hard on the rear brake while adding even more lean. I barely avert running off the track, and limp back to the paddock area on the rear brake while staying off the racing line.

The splitter for the front brake line has ruptured and covered the front fender and wheel with brake fluid. My day is over. I would later find out from Thomas Morin, Deeley’s Racing Fleet Coordinator, that the stock splitter was scheduled to be replaced with an aftermarket unit that had been back-ordered. Although I’m disappointed with my lack of track time and mediocre performance on the bike, I’m thankful that no one was near me when the brake line failed. At the very least, I know that I’m able to lap a track on the bike.

As I’m loading the bike onto the trailer, someone asks what the XR1200X is like on the track. “It’s like grabbing a bull by the horns and hanging on for dear life,” I reply. “Every time I manage to find a way to help smooth the ride, it finds another way to buck me off. It reminds me of how my 1982 Honda CB900F handled on the street thirty years ago. In other words, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.”

Less than two weeks later, I return to Shannonville for the Canada Day race weekend. Bleary-eyed from my 5:00 a.m. start to make the mandatory 8:15 a.m. rider’s meeting, I pull into the racer’s compound and am a little surprised by the sight. More closely resembling a gypsy encampment than the professional paddocks I’ve seen at World Superbike and MotoGP races, every conceivable type of shelter is in use, from the most luxurious of motor homes to the most basic of tents. I half expect to see a goat tied to a tent pole and chickens pecking at the ground in the encampment, but racers are beginning to pop their heads out, one by one, to begin setting up for the day.

Since it’s a doubleheader weekend, two of the series’ seven races are scheduled, one on Saturday afternoon and the other on Sunday. The schedule for the next three days seems brutally unrealistic; I’ll only have one 20-minute practice on Friday morning before the afternoon’s qualifying session to determine my starting position for each of the two races. I’m anxious to get started, but just like in the military, life in the paddock operates at a hurry-up-and-wait pace.

I’m teamed up with Ian Thomas, who is normally a Technical Service Manager for Deeley Harley-Davidson Canada, but is stuck with me this weekend, wrenching the XR1200X I’m racing. As Thomas busies himself with swapping the tires and giving the bike a good once-over, I lay out my gear and try to look busy cleaning the visor of my helmet. We spend the next couple of hours chatting over the din of humming generators and the sporadic cacophony of race bikes lapping on the track.

Finally, the five-minute warning siren for the XR1200X practice session wails and I frantically put on my equipment, squirming into a race suit that compresses my less-than-athletic form like a Victorian-era corset. Getting on the track is a welcome opportunity to get rid of the butterflies that have been steadily multiplying in my stomach. Without any expectation, I dive off the deep end and slowly build my pace with each subsequent pass of the grandstand. Immediately apparent is that the bike’s suspension is nowhere near being sorted, so I concentrate on trying to understand what it’s doing so I can relay the information to John Ilkiw of Elka Suspension, who is lending his assistance with getting the new shocks properly set up. As the practice ends, something else has become a concern; the intense heat has turned my leather suit into a personal sweat lodge, and I feel like I’ve lost five pounds in the past twenty minutes, most of which is now sloshing around inside my boots.

Worst of all, I’m embarrassingly slow – a full 12 seconds a lap slower than the fastest rider, ex-Superbike Champion Steve Crevier. My lack of race experience and familiarity with pushing an air-cooled Harley around a racetrack is showing. After Ilkiw adjusts the shocks’ rebound damping, I head out again for qualifying and discover within a lap that the bike has lost some of its malevolence. Like a chastised child that has suddenly decided to behave, the wallowing through turns is less pronounced, but the bike still likes to pop me out of my seat over every bump, the worst of which is inconveniently located in a hard braking zone leading into the second-last turn. I’m not the only one trying to keep an XR1200X in line. The corner marshals are kept busy waving yellow flags when several riders crash while trying to improve their qualifying time. Temporary stablemate Darren James is badly banged up and puts himself on ice for the evening.

Crevier takes the pole position ahead of Cody Matechuk (who won the opening race of the season) and is awarded a wristwatch for his effort. At the opposite end of the spectrum, I qualify second-last – no one told me there was a watch up for grabs. Clearly I’m not a threat to the rider ahead of me – never mind riders like Crevier – but I do find solace in the fact that I’ve shaved three seconds off my practice-session lap time and set a personal goal to find another half-second before the weekend is done.

Lining up on the grid for the start of the first race is the equivalent of living out something I’d only ever seen on television. With my bike propped up on its stands and Thomas busy checking tire pressures, I take shelter under an umbrella being held for me by Alex Carroni, Deeley’s Public Relations Specialist, and survey the spectators, who in turn are looking at us. I’ve never felt like such an imposter.

The race itself is anticlimactic. Within two laps I reach racer’s purgatory, lapping on my own and feeling like I’m conducting a test for the magazine instead of racing in a national series. As though it was another practice session, I force myself to work on improving my rhythm and lowering my lap times. It’s just after half-distance when the monotony is broken. Crevier laps me with Matechuk and Samuel Proulx in tow, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do except admire the view; the freight train rumbles by and leaves me for dead while I thank my luck for having the best seat in the house.

Although humiliating, being lapped does offer me a great opportunity to learn. For the next several turns I can see the lines that the fast boys are taking and note how much speed they are carrying. The information is of immediate help and increases my own pace, although I’m aware of the danger of being sucked into thinking that I can keep pace. The moment you start watching the rear wheel of the bike ahead of you instead of the approaching section of track is the moment disaster will strike.

Crevier steals the win, sprays the Champagne and gets the girl. I’m a mere extra on the set and slink back to the paddock to meet a grinning Thomas. “You did a 1:17,” he says, taking the bike from me. Somehow I was another three seconds quicker; it’s a modest achievement, but I feel good about being able to lap within 6.5 seconds of the former Canadian Superbike Champion – even if six seconds in road racing represents a monumental gap.

As the first day of racing winds down, I discuss with Alex Carroni Harley-Davidson’s presence at the Canadian Superbike Championship. Although the success of the XR1200 series in both the United States and the United Kingdom contributed to its introduction to Canada, the Motor Company also sees the potential of reaching non-traditional buyers, as well as a way to give existing customers something to cheer about. I’ll admit I had originally thought that a Sportster made a bizarre fit for a road-race course, but based on this firsthand experience, my opinion has changed. The series has grown on me in a way that I never imagined. There’s no question that it has both the novelty and wow factor – nothing looks or sounds like the XR1200X roaring down the main straight – but I’m equally impressed with the robustness of the machine so far. Other than a couple of lost screws, the only item that has required replacement is tires.

If Saturday was hot, Sunday is oppressive. The shimmer of hot air radiating from the track surface is the stuff of mirages, and I swear that someone has set up a Tiki hut in the middle of turn six and is serving ice-cold piña coladas. Standing on the starting grid in a black leather race suit, the effect is magnified tenfold, and I imagine my tires are melting on their rims. As the riders begin to fire up their bikes in anticipation of the aptly named warm-up lap, I feel panic welling up inside me. Moments earlier, I had commented to Thomas and Carroni that my feet, which are normally quite comfortable in the Alpinestars boots I’m wearing, now feel like they’re being crushed by a pair of vice grips. With everyone set to go, I discover that it’s not only my feet that have swollen from the heat, but I can’t get my hands into their gloves.

The second race is quite different than the first. I’m determined this time to start quicker, and am so focused on the task that when the lights go out, I have to veer hard to the right as a racer two rows in front of me has stalled his bike. Following the main pack through the first half-dozen turns, I’m surprised to find that not only am I actually keeping pace with the two bikes directly in front of me, but they’re holding me up. I also discover that it’s one thing to catch up to someone and something completely different to get around them. After aborting several attempts because the risk wasn’t worth the gain, the perfect opportunity arises. I have enough speed to pass them on the outside of the last turn directly in front of the grandstand – it would be my one fleeting moment of glory of the weekend, and I twist the throttle even more. In the middle of the turn, as I’m beginning to pass them, I’m suddenly confronted with a seagull that is standing calmly in the middle of the track. “This is going to be ugly,” I say to myself, but just before I collide with the bird, it takes flight and barely misses my head, causing me to run the turn wide. I have all that work to do over again.

By the time I’ve caught up again, there’s only one rider, and it’s obvious he was also holding up the second rider too, who has managed a pass and is now several seconds ahead. I make my pass as well, the only one of the race for me, and settle into doing laps again until the Crevier train – this time with only Matechuck in tow – passes me. The biggest challenge today is the heat. Like trying to run in sand, it saps energy, and although I feel like I’m going quicker, my lap times are slower than those of the first race, and I’m thankful to see the chequered flag.

Having witnessed firsthand the amount of work and passion that is thrown into this sport – never mind the truckloads of money – it’s tragic to see how underappreciated Canadian road racing is. With perfect weather and a track within reasonable proximity of Canada’s largest city, I imagined there would be a far greater turnout for a national race that is competitive and entertaining. The main grandstand never reaches capacity, and although everyone involved in the sport appreciates the fans who do turn out, it’s clear that something is seriously wrong with the system.

Poor turnouts aside, the racers will always be here, each with their own deeply personal reason for pushing themselves and their machines to the limits of traction and control. Having experienced it once, I can understand how the thrill that starts as an embryonic attraction can quickly turn into an obsession. As I leave the track for the last time, I spot several Harleys in the parking lot – even an XR1200 – and within minutes I’m caught up in slow-moving cottage traffic heading back to the city. The lethargic pace gives me time to reflect on what I’ve experienced over the previous three days. For me, racing is about the question “what if.” What if I had braked later, accelerated earlier, or carried more corner speed? They are questions that lead to the nagging feeling that I’ve left a lot out on the track. Without the satisfaction of being able to say that I gave it everything I had, racing becomes a question of unfinished business and a reason to keep going back.

I feel extremely fortunate for the opportunity to have experienced a racer’s lifestyle for one weekend, and it is with the deepest gratitude that I thank Deeley Harley-Davidson Canada, not only for creating this race series in Canada, but for their invitation to take part in it. I’d also like to thank Alex Carroni for her generous invitation and for dealing with the logistical nightmare of getting me on the track. A special nod also goes to Ian Thomas for keeping my bike in peak form and for putting up with my incessant nattering, Peggy Raymond for looking after me at the track, and Thomas Morin for his expertise in assembling the race version of the XR1200X. Finally, I would like to thank Darren James and the entire crew of Ruthless Racing for their generous hospitality, words of advice and considerable patience. Now if only I could convince the boss that next year’s paddock would be incomplete without a Mojo racing team.

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