At this point I thought the testing was over.
Mike and the crew then trailered the bike down to the pit end where the salt was really wet with holes and a loose crust. They unloaded right in the middle of it. As a driver I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, but what I learned was Mike wanted me to break the rear tire loose (or see if I could which would override the traction control) and he figured in the loose salt it would be the easiest place to do so. Against my better judgment, I climbed aboard while my crew strapped me in. On our first push off I was unable to get the twin transmissions into gear. We stopped, regrouped and connected the push vehicle a second time. To give you an idea how wet and soft the ground was, the weight of the bike created a hole that we literally had to roll the bike out of before we could take off.
As soon as the gear was up I noticed the bike felt kind of squirrelly. It tipped from one side to the other slipping in the wet salt. I rolled the throttle on gingerly and managed to get it straight up just before the loose channel of salt crossing the course came along. I made it through it with no drama then started rolling hard into the throttle. I kept watching the red light which shows wheel slip. Again, the goal being to make it slip and override the traction control. I was picking up speed but the motors felt like they were laying down, kind of like the gearing was too tall, but actually the traction control was only allowing minimal throttle, keeping the tire from spinning in the loose salt.
I continued rolling into it. I must have been ¾-throttle, which under normal circumstances would have the engines revving and the turbo spooling up starting to make horsepower. The course was bumpy and wet, and difficult for a 1000 horsepower 21-foot-long motorcycle to accelerate on. I hit a patch of decent salt with a little grip and that was all she wrote. Like a light switch, the full magnitude of the twin engine power-plant hit all at once. The engines revved hard, the tire spun and started coming around on the left. I was crossed up like a flat tracker exiting a turn on the mile. The bike was leaning right, and for a moment I thought I might low side. I steered right and was actually able to save it and pick the long streamliner back upright. The rear tire was spinning so fast by this point that after it righted itself the rear shot to the right, snapping like a whip, this time low-siding to the left at a 90 degree angle to the direction of travel.
Remember there was no bodywork on the bike and this time the frame caught the ground, digging into the salt and catapulting the Ack Attack into the air. The bike was spinning clockwise through the air and hit hard, directly on the roll cage and nose of the bike, crushing the aluminum nose tank and spraying hot water everywhere. The impact was so great that I had a death grip on the handlebars; even though I had arm restraints on, I was determined not to let go and trust them or anything else. This was why I trained so hard in the off season, so I could react, and so I could protect myself and also so as to minimize injury should it be unavoidable. I felt my neck and back compress against me, even though I tightened my torso and fought to keep from collapsing fully.
Without the bodywork the bike caught and lifted again, spinning in the air, coming down on its lid a second time. This time the tail hit hard, smashing the exhaust cone. The bike continued to catch, lift and roll repeatedly. Part of an upper frame rail ripped free from the bike, snagging into the salt and digging a deep gouge filled in red from the powder-coated frame rail. One of the water pipes that runs the length of the bike from the nose tank to the engines ripped free, as did smaller mounts and sheet metal pieces, which tore free on impact. The cell phone that we use for a radio receiver flung into the air and landed 30 feet away from the machine, once it finally came to rest. It all happened in seconds, yet I still see it in slow motion every time I close my eyes.
It was then that I became really dizzy and thought I might faint or pass out. They laid me on the salt and cut my race suit and t-shirt off to have a closer look. Next thing I remember I’m in an ambulance strapped to a backboard with a neck brace on and my head taped to the board. It was a long, miserable ride to the hospital in Salt Lake City, but I was happy that I was still around to feel the pain and as Burt Munro would say, “I lived to tell the tale,” I could live with that.
My right shoulder is also broken in a couple of places, and it’s clear in the x-ray that my clavicle broke on the inner side of the shoulder harness while my actual shoulder broke on the outer side of the harness. I’m okay with that because the harness is what held my head, neck and back from crumbling into a heap when I was pile-driven upside down into the upper roll cage. And once again I’m happy that, “I’m still here to tell the tale…”
