TO THE LIMIT BRETT MCCORMICK
The traveller
I
f you love motorcycles, you have to love travelling. The journey of touring on your bike, or the journey to every race really shapes all of us as people. Some of my most vivid memories from three decades of motorcycle passion are from the trips to and from the racetrack, or the stories that come from the time spent at a shabby motel in the middle of a bike trip so you can stretch the trip budget from three to four days. Always character-building, lesson-learning, great experiences. I can’t be the only one that appreciates the travel stories as much as the racing stories, or even remembers way more about the travel than the racing. I wish I tracked every trip over the years to count the miles I’ve made on a bike, or to go ride a bike, because with the balance in my memory bank it must be up there. I’m lucky because almost all the bike-related travel I’ve done has been alongside my dad, and we were able to stay close throughout all of it. We’ve definitely had some rough days, but that’s bound to happen – overall, he’s been an awesome
travel buddy. Everyone has different crews to travel with, and everyone has their favourite for certain reasons. Some of my favourite trips have been solo, but they rarely generate quality stories you want to tell around the campfire. Every mix of friends can bring something different to the table which I love, and I’ve travelled enough to know what to expect on each trip. I think that’s really important in travelling, especially with bikes, to realize what everyone has to offer. Not just talent, skills, or money – but more importantly personality. You can’t have too many decision makers, but you can’t have none. In my experience that’s a crucial element for a crew travelling – someone to know when to make decisions, and everyone else be the type to make anything work. The other golden rule of travelling is that you can never be overprepared, ever. Anyone else have that travel buddy that will “eat anywhere” and doesn’t want to make a decision on the spot to eat, but is quick to sulk and complain on the spot you picked? These travellers are almost as bad as the “I’ll be ready at 8,” but you don’t get off their driveway until 10:30. When it comes to food and travel, I know my mood depends on how much energy I have, so I try to be aware of this and stay fuelled. Nothing worse than travelling with someone that gets hangry (hungry angry) and isn’t aware of it. A good travel crew always has snacks on hand – can’t be waiting
Shabby motels can be a fun part of travelling by motorcycle. 18 Inside Motorcycles
for the next gas station to devour a Snickers bar and come back to life. The most exciting friend to travel with is the one that’s overly optimistic on how close (far) the destination is. This is my dad, with decades of stories from his touring buddies to back it up, every story ending with them riding their sport bikes in the middle of Nevada or Arizona at midnight when the map looked like “around two hours and we’ll be there by 8 to find a camping spot.” I think it’s genetic, because I might be even worse than him in this category. That being said, in my opinion the only person to blame in these scenarios is the person quietly accepting the suggested travel time. I’m trying to get better with it, err on the side of caution and usually add to my time estimate, because another thing I’ve learned on the road is showing up with extra time is much better than scrambling in late. Smartphones have helped this part of travelling, but I can’t be the only one out there that looks at the smartphone’s “6 hours and 32 minutes” drive time estimate and instantly starts computing, “well, that’s if you’re going the speed limit, which I never do, and they probably have some stops accounted for in there.” Maybe I’ll learn one day, because the smartphones seem to be learning and getting sneakily accurate at their predicted times. When I lived in Italy during the year of WSBK, I travelled by train a few times, which is a whole other beast when you don’t speak the language and your Italian phone is out of data. I was transferring in Milan to head over to Genoa and spend the weekend training, got on the wrong train in Milan, and headed two hours northwest (to the middle of nowhere). I made the decision to get off at the first stop and hope a train would be going back to Milan on regular intervals; I was wrong. Needless to say, I showed up about five hours late. Very underprepared on this trip, but at least I remembered snacks. IM
