09-25-2018, 12:53 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-28-2018, 01:16 AM by Nika Raskov.)
The team drove up to the Netherlands early Friday morning in a two vehicle caravan. The two RVs led for the most part, their drivers playing with each other a bit on the road between hyperloop exchanges to stay awake. That in and of itself was a bit crazy as both were also hauling big trailers stuffed with tools, gear and the bikes. Everyone else in Nika’s RV was asleep in their bunks despite the trip only taking two-ish hours mostly via the ‘loop, so the woman rode shotgun and poured over her track book.
The racer was silent for the journey while the mechanic driving, Tomas, had chatted incessantly. He did this with everyone until they told him to shut up but Nika listened out of one ear as she went over her notes and diagrams. She responded to a question about the gearing they'd run in the last race at Mugello as she turned a page and he stared briefly at her before continuing.
'So I figure here, 'cause there's those two straights and you're light as a bird, that we'd try to go down six teeth initially...' Normally they worked in increments of two. He was running it by her kind of as a test. The mechanics were always trying to figure out how much exactly she knew about these things.
“Save time on setup in practice?”
The man's eyes all but bulged in his head. 'Exactly!' And he went on again about it.
Nika turned another page and studied the turn displayed.
Luckily it was a short trip the way the boys drove. Tomas wandered off with the other mechanics and techs to unload everything into the garage and Nika met up with the team’s sleepy-eyed Public Relations Manager, Annessa Caulier and Team Principal, Robert Harding. Both were veterans at Ducati.
Alex called her wallet as they were out walking the track. 'Hey, Nicky.' For some reason everyone be it media, the team or other riders, were always assigning her different nicknames. Nothing permanent had stuck yet. What was wrong with, Nika? As long as it wasn’t ‘Princess’ or something else ridiculous she’d just go with it. ‘Listen, you walking the track?' “Yeah, we're looking at Turn 8 right now.” 'Good, good. Hey, I want you to go back and look at the bump on the middle line of T6.' Robert tapped the face of his watch, they were on a tight schedule apparently. “Yeah I saw that. It's been patched. The seams are good but I have a feeling it'll be slick.” She could almost hear his smile. 'That's my girl! Yeah, I'd stay off of that line if you can.' The young woman agreed. 'And let me know if you have anything for me after Free Practice, okay?' “I will, thank you.” 'Good. Kick ass.' Nika smirked. “I will.” Alex laughed. “Okay, I imagine Rob is trying to push you along so I'll go and I've got Luca here doing the same. He says hi.' His voice grew muffled for a second as Alex told the engineer she’d said the same. 'Okay Nick...talk to you soon.' “Alright.”
When the trio returned to the pit garages, the paddock was abuzz with activity. Mechanics and techs scurried about like a kicked ant hill, team livery announcing their allegiances. Reporters and officials intermingled along with the occasional fan trying to look as though they belonged. Security was tight and special passes were required to get near anything interesting. To have one you either worked for a team, won a contest or paid a nice chunk for the privilege.
There was a schedule for literally everything and Nika’s day did not accommodate free time. Upon her arrival she'd walked the track for a blessed quiet hour to study before a rider's meeting. Then it was off to the Michelin paddock to pick up her tires for the weekend and then back to the garage to deliver them to her mechanics who had been busy unpacking. While the boys mounted the tires Robert and the Head Engineer, Giancarlo Luca, hovered over a laptop to determine which tires to use first. They talked about the temperature of the actual track versus the actual temperature versus humidity and weather. The weather radar was checked at least five times during the conversation and a drone with a temperature attachment had been sent out to call in with the asphalt temp as well. When finally a consensus was reached the appropriate tires, in this case a soft front and medium rear, were pulled and installed on the bikes and the electric tire warmers were wrapped around the rubber.
Nika in the meantime had been gearing up. She wore a full-body compression suit under her leathers, which helped beyond words in the removal of the same. The leathers themselves were skin tight and custom fitted, that in and of itself made getting in and out of the things a bitch. No one could do so without assistance which made for some interesting contact should anyone be allowed to watch the process. There were never any witnesses. She wore a separate spine protector under the speed hump sewn on the suit's back in addition to a hard chest plate. The chest shield she could add and remove herself but sometimes the spine protector shifted before the suit was zipped up and the only way to place it properly was to have Annessa stick her arms inside the suit and coax it. The fanbois would have loved to get a ticket to that action.
Nika Raskov was a rookie in MotoGP but in the seven races so far this season she had won six and finished third in the other. She currently enjoyed a comfortable lead over her teammate Alex Castori in Rider's Championship and third place hadn’t even broken 100 points yet. The little Russian wasn't the first woman to race in the series but she had been the first to do well. This made her a sort of magnet for the women dragged to the races either as family or with family. Alex had seen this and was working at finagling sponsorship accordingly. While the other racer didn't think that it was wise to 'girl-ify' Ducati’s not-so-secret weapon, as he called her, the man did see the value in attempting to reach the microscopic female audience. Of course sometimes he neglected to mention this to his teammate.
Nika and Annessa emerged from the gear room where they'd fought with the leathers again for a good ten minutes, there was an absence of the typical male reactions when two attractive women surface after a time spent in a cramped room. While the team were professionals and not scum, they were still men, if a little geeky at times and they had only required one ‘correction’ by the women to make the entire lot shut their faces. Of course, being men, they didn't let the tech who'd been knocked on his ass by a girl forget it either. That was allowed. Later on Nika had smoothed things over by getting him really drunk...and then filled his hotel room with blow-up dolls.
Luca walked over and handed the rider her helmet and gloves then barked at her in his typical Italian way. 'Let's go Nicky, bike's not gonna set itself up.' He didn't mean it at all and actuality adored the little rider. He called her 'precious' too but out of earshot. Her retort was to salute grandly with a grin. "Aye aye, Cap'n!"
The boys pulled off the blue tire warmers with excellent efficiency while the the woman pulled her helmet on and tugged on the tight leather gauntlet gloves. She could hear the other bikes in the paddock start even through the earplugs. The engineer nodded at the temperature reading Tomas gave him on the tires while Nika stretched over briefly touching her toes and then squatting before standing upright once more. Her own bike was rolled out of the garage and started. Tomas held the front cowl with as she threw a leg over the seat. She pulled her left foot up to click the shifter into first gear and released the clutch after looking around to see if she was clear. The racing machine eased out toward the track and slowed twice as the brakes were checked independently of each other. First her right foot pressed down for the rear brake, then two fingers squeezed the lever at her right hand. Satisfied, Nika entered pit lane and then nailed the throttle once she was clear. Eyes friendly and otherwise watched her go.
Free practice was an hour long session packed with chaos. Teams sent out their riders both to learn the track and to find the optimal setup for the bike at this particular track. A properly setup bike would, in the best-case scenario, have gearing customized to provide maximum speed down the straightaway while having the maximum power out of the corners. It was what all riders and teams sought and guarded carefully, it was a difficult endeavor to master and it changed every single time with every infinitesimal variable. The factors could be anything from wet versus dry, cold versus hot, tire compounds, humidity...literally anything.
Luca, being the Head Engineer, called the shots on how exactly the team ran their session as they only had an hour to 'dial it in,' as he was fond of saying. Nika was to run for ten minutes unless a major problem presented itself before coming in for the first time. The crew tweaked gearing first and by plugging in the computer to the bike, they knew where to start. Lap telemetry and feedback from Nika herself aided in the rest and then things started to change. Everything was pre-prepared down to the last nut and bolt needed for fine tuning. Hell, even the gears were mounted on the rims complete with tire and the wheel was wrapped in the tire warmers so that a complete change was done inside two and a half minutes.
Forty-five minutes into practice saw the team making serious headway into their setting. Nika was comfortable on the bike and was looking fast and good. She'd been running solo for most of the session and had just rocketed past the number seven bike on the second straightaway whose pace had been off. The woman took note of the braking markers in her fully tucked position before sitting upright and downshifted twice. The rear tire slid from side to side as the brakes were applied and ultimately the bike settled to the left. The woman placed the toe of her boot on the right hand peg and stuck out her knee. The bike seemed to fold over in a precisely smooth action as the high speed corner was negotiated. Nika's head and eyes were already focused on the next corner and she did not see what went on behind her.
Teams watched the practice session live feed on monitors in the garage while their riders were out. Scrolling bars gave information on the various competitors and two commentators discussed a wide range of topics. Currently the screens were showing the Fast Motorsports/KTM bike as it negotiated the esses. ...'Cooper has been struggling with feeling in the front lately and if he can't sort that out, I don't see him running in the top group.' Another voice piped up. “Look at that, wide into the turn again. It's almost looking as if he can't get a feel for his tires...” The other voice broke in. 'Reports of an off in T13.' The screens switched to a view of a cloud of dust and two mangled bikes. A group of people adorned in official track attire huddled around a rider. 'Looks like...the number ninety-nine and seven bikes.'...“Hard to tell, really.”...'Yes, Trackside says Raskov and Hargrave.'... “Let's see if we've got footage of what happened.”
Hargrave’s number seven bike had indeed been off-pace from Nika Raskov's machine however, not for long. As the ex-Ducati rider was passed, he twisted his throttle almost violently in an attempt to catch up. His line was different around the corner as he was attempting both to out-brake his opponent and pass her on the inside. He screamed along behind her on the straight and waited a full second and a half after she started braking to do so. This closed the gap certainly but gave him less distance to slow. Seeing this too late, he crammed on his brakes and locked up his rear wheel. He then panicked as his line around the turn intersected Raskov's. The rear brake was released mistakenly.
The cameras captured it perfectly. The number seven bike shifted to the side almost casually before twitching violently back to the right. It's rider was thrown forward over the bars and cleared the bike completely only to land feet-first on the asphalt and tumble like a rag doll. The riderless bike meanwhile had resumed its trajectory forward to ram the tail section of Nika's fully leaned over bike at more than 140mph. The red Ducati’'s tail section all but shattered and allowed the offending machine to continue forward again only to meet the back tire next. The pseudo-braking scissored the number seven bike left and onto the back of the unfortunate rider who had, milliseconds before, been pitched head-first at her oncoming windscreen and the triple tree of the clip-on handlebars. Raskov, still hovering in seeming slow motion since the initial impact as though on a six inch cushion of air, went limp after taking her bike's punch while the other bike and gravity finally seemed to engage. Nika's left arm and shoulder hit first and were visibly wrenched backward, then her lolling helmet bounced twice before the rest of her hit. The friction sucked the rider to the track to roll bonelessly as both bikes continued their arcing backward spins yet continued their momentum forward in a bizarre demonstration of physics.
The inert form of Raskov flattened to pass somehow impossibly underneath the spinning bikes. She slid along behind them contrasting the cyclonic nature of the two-wheeled beasts as she seemed to casually fold at the waist, unfold and back again, arms wrapping and unwrapping around her own torso until the tarmac was cleared and she disappeared into the great cloud of gray dust kicked up by the battling race bikes.
Gravel dust settled quickly and orange-clad crash team members followed by green-clad medical workers vaulted over the crash barriers to assist the downed riders. Debris littered the track and corner workers frantically waved red flags. Hargrave had simply slid for a hundred and fifty feet or so and was up walking toward the wall inspecting his highly scuffed leathers. He spared not so much as a glance toward the accident his mistake had caused. Raskov did not appear to have been as lucky and remained motionless facedown in the gravel.
The sports channels as well as the track's closed-circuit televisions showed the workers in cluster around the woman. One shot focused dramatically on the dark broken visor in the middle of the track's corner, evidently torn from the points-leader's helmet at some point. Behind the scene a crash truck had arrived for the two demolished bikes and the ensuing debris. Hargrave had climbed over the wall by now and was being ushered by a green-vested medical official toward an awaiting cart. Meanwhile the cluster of medics around the downed rider were busy securing her to a stretcher. She looked small and vulnerable on the thing as it was loaded into the ambulance. The lead medic climbed in, talking on his radio. The remaining crew closed the doors and sent the vehicle on its way to the Mobile Clinic where the series doctor was standing by to assess the damage.
The racer was silent for the journey while the mechanic driving, Tomas, had chatted incessantly. He did this with everyone until they told him to shut up but Nika listened out of one ear as she went over her notes and diagrams. She responded to a question about the gearing they'd run in the last race at Mugello as she turned a page and he stared briefly at her before continuing.
'So I figure here, 'cause there's those two straights and you're light as a bird, that we'd try to go down six teeth initially...' Normally they worked in increments of two. He was running it by her kind of as a test. The mechanics were always trying to figure out how much exactly she knew about these things.
“Save time on setup in practice?”
The man's eyes all but bulged in his head. 'Exactly!' And he went on again about it.
Nika turned another page and studied the turn displayed.
Luckily it was a short trip the way the boys drove. Tomas wandered off with the other mechanics and techs to unload everything into the garage and Nika met up with the team’s sleepy-eyed Public Relations Manager, Annessa Caulier and Team Principal, Robert Harding. Both were veterans at Ducati.
Alex called her wallet as they were out walking the track. 'Hey, Nicky.' For some reason everyone be it media, the team or other riders, were always assigning her different nicknames. Nothing permanent had stuck yet. What was wrong with, Nika? As long as it wasn’t ‘Princess’ or something else ridiculous she’d just go with it. ‘Listen, you walking the track?' “Yeah, we're looking at Turn 8 right now.” 'Good, good. Hey, I want you to go back and look at the bump on the middle line of T6.' Robert tapped the face of his watch, they were on a tight schedule apparently. “Yeah I saw that. It's been patched. The seams are good but I have a feeling it'll be slick.” She could almost hear his smile. 'That's my girl! Yeah, I'd stay off of that line if you can.' The young woman agreed. 'And let me know if you have anything for me after Free Practice, okay?' “I will, thank you.” 'Good. Kick ass.' Nika smirked. “I will.” Alex laughed. “Okay, I imagine Rob is trying to push you along so I'll go and I've got Luca here doing the same. He says hi.' His voice grew muffled for a second as Alex told the engineer she’d said the same. 'Okay Nick...talk to you soon.' “Alright.”
When the trio returned to the pit garages, the paddock was abuzz with activity. Mechanics and techs scurried about like a kicked ant hill, team livery announcing their allegiances. Reporters and officials intermingled along with the occasional fan trying to look as though they belonged. Security was tight and special passes were required to get near anything interesting. To have one you either worked for a team, won a contest or paid a nice chunk for the privilege.
There was a schedule for literally everything and Nika’s day did not accommodate free time. Upon her arrival she'd walked the track for a blessed quiet hour to study before a rider's meeting. Then it was off to the Michelin paddock to pick up her tires for the weekend and then back to the garage to deliver them to her mechanics who had been busy unpacking. While the boys mounted the tires Robert and the Head Engineer, Giancarlo Luca, hovered over a laptop to determine which tires to use first. They talked about the temperature of the actual track versus the actual temperature versus humidity and weather. The weather radar was checked at least five times during the conversation and a drone with a temperature attachment had been sent out to call in with the asphalt temp as well. When finally a consensus was reached the appropriate tires, in this case a soft front and medium rear, were pulled and installed on the bikes and the electric tire warmers were wrapped around the rubber.
Nika in the meantime had been gearing up. She wore a full-body compression suit under her leathers, which helped beyond words in the removal of the same. The leathers themselves were skin tight and custom fitted, that in and of itself made getting in and out of the things a bitch. No one could do so without assistance which made for some interesting contact should anyone be allowed to watch the process. There were never any witnesses. She wore a separate spine protector under the speed hump sewn on the suit's back in addition to a hard chest plate. The chest shield she could add and remove herself but sometimes the spine protector shifted before the suit was zipped up and the only way to place it properly was to have Annessa stick her arms inside the suit and coax it. The fanbois would have loved to get a ticket to that action.
Nika Raskov was a rookie in MotoGP but in the seven races so far this season she had won six and finished third in the other. She currently enjoyed a comfortable lead over her teammate Alex Castori in Rider's Championship and third place hadn’t even broken 100 points yet. The little Russian wasn't the first woman to race in the series but she had been the first to do well. This made her a sort of magnet for the women dragged to the races either as family or with family. Alex had seen this and was working at finagling sponsorship accordingly. While the other racer didn't think that it was wise to 'girl-ify' Ducati’s not-so-secret weapon, as he called her, the man did see the value in attempting to reach the microscopic female audience. Of course sometimes he neglected to mention this to his teammate.
Nika and Annessa emerged from the gear room where they'd fought with the leathers again for a good ten minutes, there was an absence of the typical male reactions when two attractive women surface after a time spent in a cramped room. While the team were professionals and not scum, they were still men, if a little geeky at times and they had only required one ‘correction’ by the women to make the entire lot shut their faces. Of course, being men, they didn't let the tech who'd been knocked on his ass by a girl forget it either. That was allowed. Later on Nika had smoothed things over by getting him really drunk...and then filled his hotel room with blow-up dolls.
Luca walked over and handed the rider her helmet and gloves then barked at her in his typical Italian way. 'Let's go Nicky, bike's not gonna set itself up.' He didn't mean it at all and actuality adored the little rider. He called her 'precious' too but out of earshot. Her retort was to salute grandly with a grin. "Aye aye, Cap'n!"
The boys pulled off the blue tire warmers with excellent efficiency while the the woman pulled her helmet on and tugged on the tight leather gauntlet gloves. She could hear the other bikes in the paddock start even through the earplugs. The engineer nodded at the temperature reading Tomas gave him on the tires while Nika stretched over briefly touching her toes and then squatting before standing upright once more. Her own bike was rolled out of the garage and started. Tomas held the front cowl with as she threw a leg over the seat. She pulled her left foot up to click the shifter into first gear and released the clutch after looking around to see if she was clear. The racing machine eased out toward the track and slowed twice as the brakes were checked independently of each other. First her right foot pressed down for the rear brake, then two fingers squeezed the lever at her right hand. Satisfied, Nika entered pit lane and then nailed the throttle once she was clear. Eyes friendly and otherwise watched her go.
Free practice was an hour long session packed with chaos. Teams sent out their riders both to learn the track and to find the optimal setup for the bike at this particular track. A properly setup bike would, in the best-case scenario, have gearing customized to provide maximum speed down the straightaway while having the maximum power out of the corners. It was what all riders and teams sought and guarded carefully, it was a difficult endeavor to master and it changed every single time with every infinitesimal variable. The factors could be anything from wet versus dry, cold versus hot, tire compounds, humidity...literally anything.
Luca, being the Head Engineer, called the shots on how exactly the team ran their session as they only had an hour to 'dial it in,' as he was fond of saying. Nika was to run for ten minutes unless a major problem presented itself before coming in for the first time. The crew tweaked gearing first and by plugging in the computer to the bike, they knew where to start. Lap telemetry and feedback from Nika herself aided in the rest and then things started to change. Everything was pre-prepared down to the last nut and bolt needed for fine tuning. Hell, even the gears were mounted on the rims complete with tire and the wheel was wrapped in the tire warmers so that a complete change was done inside two and a half minutes.
Forty-five minutes into practice saw the team making serious headway into their setting. Nika was comfortable on the bike and was looking fast and good. She'd been running solo for most of the session and had just rocketed past the number seven bike on the second straightaway whose pace had been off. The woman took note of the braking markers in her fully tucked position before sitting upright and downshifted twice. The rear tire slid from side to side as the brakes were applied and ultimately the bike settled to the left. The woman placed the toe of her boot on the right hand peg and stuck out her knee. The bike seemed to fold over in a precisely smooth action as the high speed corner was negotiated. Nika's head and eyes were already focused on the next corner and she did not see what went on behind her.
Teams watched the practice session live feed on monitors in the garage while their riders were out. Scrolling bars gave information on the various competitors and two commentators discussed a wide range of topics. Currently the screens were showing the Fast Motorsports/KTM bike as it negotiated the esses. ...'Cooper has been struggling with feeling in the front lately and if he can't sort that out, I don't see him running in the top group.' Another voice piped up. “Look at that, wide into the turn again. It's almost looking as if he can't get a feel for his tires...” The other voice broke in. 'Reports of an off in T13.' The screens switched to a view of a cloud of dust and two mangled bikes. A group of people adorned in official track attire huddled around a rider. 'Looks like...the number ninety-nine and seven bikes.'...“Hard to tell, really.”...'Yes, Trackside says Raskov and Hargrave.'... “Let's see if we've got footage of what happened.”
Hargrave’s number seven bike had indeed been off-pace from Nika Raskov's machine however, not for long. As the ex-Ducati rider was passed, he twisted his throttle almost violently in an attempt to catch up. His line was different around the corner as he was attempting both to out-brake his opponent and pass her on the inside. He screamed along behind her on the straight and waited a full second and a half after she started braking to do so. This closed the gap certainly but gave him less distance to slow. Seeing this too late, he crammed on his brakes and locked up his rear wheel. He then panicked as his line around the turn intersected Raskov's. The rear brake was released mistakenly.
The cameras captured it perfectly. The number seven bike shifted to the side almost casually before twitching violently back to the right. It's rider was thrown forward over the bars and cleared the bike completely only to land feet-first on the asphalt and tumble like a rag doll. The riderless bike meanwhile had resumed its trajectory forward to ram the tail section of Nika's fully leaned over bike at more than 140mph. The red Ducati’'s tail section all but shattered and allowed the offending machine to continue forward again only to meet the back tire next. The pseudo-braking scissored the number seven bike left and onto the back of the unfortunate rider who had, milliseconds before, been pitched head-first at her oncoming windscreen and the triple tree of the clip-on handlebars. Raskov, still hovering in seeming slow motion since the initial impact as though on a six inch cushion of air, went limp after taking her bike's punch while the other bike and gravity finally seemed to engage. Nika's left arm and shoulder hit first and were visibly wrenched backward, then her lolling helmet bounced twice before the rest of her hit. The friction sucked the rider to the track to roll bonelessly as both bikes continued their arcing backward spins yet continued their momentum forward in a bizarre demonstration of physics.
The inert form of Raskov flattened to pass somehow impossibly underneath the spinning bikes. She slid along behind them contrasting the cyclonic nature of the two-wheeled beasts as she seemed to casually fold at the waist, unfold and back again, arms wrapping and unwrapping around her own torso until the tarmac was cleared and she disappeared into the great cloud of gray dust kicked up by the battling race bikes.
Gravel dust settled quickly and orange-clad crash team members followed by green-clad medical workers vaulted over the crash barriers to assist the downed riders. Debris littered the track and corner workers frantically waved red flags. Hargrave had simply slid for a hundred and fifty feet or so and was up walking toward the wall inspecting his highly scuffed leathers. He spared not so much as a glance toward the accident his mistake had caused. Raskov did not appear to have been as lucky and remained motionless facedown in the gravel.
The sports channels as well as the track's closed-circuit televisions showed the workers in cluster around the woman. One shot focused dramatically on the dark broken visor in the middle of the track's corner, evidently torn from the points-leader's helmet at some point. Behind the scene a crash truck had arrived for the two demolished bikes and the ensuing debris. Hargrave had climbed over the wall by now and was being ushered by a green-vested medical official toward an awaiting cart. Meanwhile the cluster of medics around the downed rider were busy securing her to a stretcher. She looked small and vulnerable on the thing as it was loaded into the ambulance. The lead medic climbed in, talking on his radio. The remaining crew closed the doors and sent the vehicle on its way to the Mobile Clinic where the series doctor was standing by to assess the damage.