As I sit here in my Percocet induced haze...

I find myself contemplating where to begin my story. Why am I sitting in the corner blowing spit bubbles as my head spins from the effects of my potent prescription medications? I’ll get to that soon enough.

I guess, if I’m going to tell a story, I should start at the beginning. I will try to give you the “Readers Digest” version, however, I do enjoy being the center of attention and tend to babble on and on when given the chance.

I have been riding on the street off and on for the last 22 years and truly love all aspects of motorcycling. I love getting together with good friends, mounting my V-Rod and going riding on a cool summer evening. Cruising along a country road in solitude just makes all of life’s problems melt away. And what can I say about Rolling Thunder, that’s just an unbelievable experience for a Marine Corp. vet like myself to experience. Riding through the streets of our Nations Capital with the streets lined with people waving the American flag causes your heart to swell with pride just knowing that you live in the greatest country in the world. I love cruising, so at age 38, when I decided it was time to try my hand out on the track, all my friends and family thought I was crazy.

The first weekend in April of this year I finally stepped foot on the track with a recently purchased 2001 SV650. I had signed up for a track day at Summit Point, West VA, and when I left the track, I was officially hooked. Once you get a taste of the track a demon rises up from within that commands your thoughts every waking moment. After a couple of more track days, I got it in my head that I wanted to try racing, so I was off to racing school. With 7 track days under my belt and a graduate of race school, I was now ready for my first race weekend. I entered two races on Saturday, two on Sunday and set reasonable goals for myself. My goals were simply to not come in last and to not crash. As I returned to the pits after my last race on Sunday, I was overwhelmed with an incredible feeling of accomplishment that, Wow, I’m a Racer! (Another of life’s goals to check off the list.) The icing on the cake was that I didn’t crash and I didn’t come in last in any of my races. As we all know, when things are going so well, life has a way of sneaking up and biting you in the ass when you least expect it, for me that was the following weekend, July 20^th to be exact, I tucked the front end on turn one . I knew from the beginning that crashing was inevitable. This was a risk that I fully accepted and in all honesty, it wasn’t as bad of an experience as I had envisioned. I’ll never forget the sensation and the view from my visor as it is etched in my memory permanently. Pavement, Bike, Sky (Repeat three times!) then Grass, Bike, Sky (Repeat two times!), then S L I D E.

Five hours later as the doctor walked into my exam room with X-Rays in hand, the old cliché “ A picture is worth a thousand words” was the best diagnosis he could offer. Yup, that’s one busted up arm alright! One metal plate, six screws and two prescriptions of Percocet later and I’m finally on my way to recovery. After it’s all said and done, I have to give my praise to Joe Rocket, my leathers did their job and I’ve learned some valuable new lessons in life. Let’s review: 1) Tucking the front is BAD!!! 2) Gravity is a harsh mistress 3) Always wear your Joe Rocket leathers, they can literally save your ass.

Seriously, sitting around has given me plenty of time to ponder life’s mysteries, and plenty of time to write you guys in an attempt to get free stuff. A new jacket, gloves or even a T-shirt is like chicken soup for the road racers soul and would most certainly assist in the healing process. I look forward to a speedy recovery (12 weeks left and counting the moments until I can put on my leathers and race again) and hope to get back on the track and maybe even squeeze in another race weekend before winter. All in all, I have to say these experiences wouldn’t have been possible without my wife’s support and incredible patience with my neurotic obsessive behavior. My road racing buddy Arn also deserves a big thank you for all of his instruction and guidance and for scooping me and my bike up off the pavement.

I have attached some photo’s for your amusement!

Max Aronow

CCS Mid Atlantic

Amatuer #534