A Man's World

The events discussed below are true experiences. These are constantly in flux but this is a representation of what I experience in a weekend. I have omitted names, and the ones that are included are false identities to help avoid confusion. This is not meant to target any club or organization specifically because these are events that I have experienced to many varying degrees at all racing events. Enjoy.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. You've got this. That's what I tell myself every time I see those beautiful front gates at the race track. My hands start to shake, I can feel my heart rate spike a little bit. The anticipation of seeing my friends is exciting but the anxiety of wondering what could possibly go wrong this time is so much higher.

When I pull up to the front gate ladies I give them my biggest, warmest smile. So genuine in the excitement I feel to be doing something I love. "Good afternoon" I chirp. They smile right back, open and beaming. Excited for another fun event full of new faces. "Welcome back! Here's your wristband, you know the drill, Paddock is on the straight road this time, you are running the Short Course, since the dragsters are here. Have a wonderful weekend!" I take my wristband and drive through the main gates. The track name looming overhead, the beckoning me home.

When I pull into the paddock, I greet the rest of my team who have already set up the pits in the relatively empty paddock. Thursday nights are always pretty calm, most people don't take off work early if they don't have too.

I greet my team, smile, ask them how the drive was, if there's anything that needs to be done, and then walk over the Race Registration.

Heads turn. Eyes linger. Some whisper and snigger, others smirk. At the long hair, round hips, slim waist. The sharp but delicate features in my face, my small stature, the way my hips move when I walk. Wives and girlfriends scowl at the audacity that I would dare speak to their significant others on friendly terms as I walk past, saying hello to familiar faces. The ones that do talk to me, ensure I know they are married or are there with x, y, and z. The walk is punctuated with a few short conversations with support teams, the tire vendor about my order for the weekend, suspension adjustments I need to make, and a short debate on what we felt the track conditions were going to be like this weekend. The support there is always friendly and trustworthy. I know I won't ever have any issues over there.

I climb the steps to the registration tower, and upon entering the first words I hear are "OOOOO WHO'S THE NEW HOT HIPPIE?! DAMN GIRL! Need someone to show you around?!" I look around the room at the rest of the racers and officials and they all simply roll their eyes, shuffle some paper, a pointed cough here and an awkward shrug there.

"No thank you, I am quite alright" I say.

"Well you can come find me anytime if you want the private tour," he says, winking as he walks past, eye roaming me from head to toe and back.

I shrug off the oily feel his gaze, quickly register for my races, grab my wristbands and head back to my pit. I take the motorcycle off the stand and go wait in line for technical inspection. There I see a lot of friendly faces, I greet many by name, share some laughs, catch up on what all has happened to each other between the last race weekend and this one.

When it's my turn to get through tech, I turn around and ask the gentleman behind me, there watching his kid race and get through his first tech, if he could help me push the bike up the ramp. The official inspector immediately turned toward me and spat vehemently that if I cannot get my motorcycle up on the 2 foot high stand by myself, that I would not pass tech. Everyone in line behind me immediately came to my defense, the air filled with, "That's not fair! There was no way she could reach that!" "How could the kids be allowed help if I couldn't get help!" and so on. I raised my hand to silence them all, took a deep breath in, closed my eyes and on the exhale, I broke into a run trying to build up the momentum I needed to get the bike up the ramp since I didn't have the strength to push it. The other tech guys stopped to watch as did those in line.

I hit the ramp.

The bike at a steep incline, losing momentum quickly as I start to loose leverage.

Almost there.

I'm on my tip toes, finger tips brushing the brake lever that will stop me when I get the bike level.

I slip.

Three gentleman immediately rush to my aid as the bike falls toward me. I have no leverage left to hold it steady while it tips. It doesn't fall, but the Technical Inspector gives me a warning and says if I cannot do it next time then I won't pass tech again. The other three frown but stay silent.

I silently walk my bike down the ramp, ride it back to my pit, put it on the stand and go to bed for the evening.

Friday morning I wake up early with the sunrise, and walk through the silent infield. The paddock and subsequent areas have filled in over night. My heart fills with dread as I spy certain rigs in the paddock, it also experiences surges of joy as I spot a few others I know quite well. A small peak of curiosity also shows its face as I identify a few professional racing pit set ups that I haven't seen around. I make note of where they are and to say hello when the track starts to wake up.

When I reach my pit, the team is already there, my mother with our dopey German Shepard huddled in the trailer, under the thick wool blanket to keep out of the frigid wind, and my grandfather meticulously cleaning and tightening miscellaneous bolts and screws to ensure I don't lose any unexpected parts like last time....

I grab my iced coffee and a banana, quickly eat breakfast, contemplate two hard boiled eggs, and decide I'll eat those after. I grab my yoga mat, look around the pit area, see who's awake and where I can best set up out of sight.

I used to get friends to join me in my morning stretch sessions and it was a fun time to get together and chat.

I'm no longer welcome over there and hardly see my friends anymore unless they come to me due to the recent break up.

My teammate and close friend, startles me out of these thoughts as he throws down a ragged rug to make sure that the guy pitted next to us, who was staring, knows that there is someone here watching my back. He starts stretching with me too. We make light conversation about what we hope will come out of today's practice and what our goals are for the day.

We tidy up the area and head over to bandshell as the announcement goes through the track "Mandatory riders meeting in approximately five minutes, happening at the bandshell."

The riders meeting is pretty standard, we hear about some changes they made to the track to improve it for the national racing circuit that will be coming to our home track. We hear basic race procedure when certain flags are exhibited in corners, what signals we know to know to communicate to corner workers, and trackside etiquette. During this meeting I walk up to one of the newer racers I've had the pleasure of knowing for two seasons now. "Hey you're doing really good out there, your pace is improving and your lines are a lot cleaner," I say.

"Yeah, I'm kind of nervous, I've never really battled with a lot of bikes before, only one or two." He says. He's a younger kid, just turning 17, his dad standing next to him, puts his hand on his shoulder. "He certainly is getting more comfortable on his bike and we can't wait to start seeing him take podiums," the dad says with a stern look in his eye as he glances at his son. The kid smiles sheepishly as I wave goodbye. "Don't get beat by that girl again son, it's embarrassing," I hear the dad mutter as I walk away. I can't help but feel a twinge of pity toward the kid.

Friday practice carried on without much incident. There were one or two really bad crashes, one of them was my teammate, the other, my ex. It was a struggle to know I couldn't help anymore, but I think the worst was people asking me if he was okay, and having to explain that we're not together anymore.

It garnered a lot of sympathy, but to some, it created a small spark behind their eyes when they realized I wasn't in a relationship anymore. The hollow feeling I have, only gets worse when someone asks if I want to go do something, anything, outside of the track, motorcycles, dirtbikes, whatever. A constant analysis on my end, trying to figure out if they truly want to hang out with me, or if they want to go out and call it a date.

That's where all of my issues seem to stem from. That wonderful, terrible question of "Do you want to hang out?" I've always struggle making friends, because when I do hang out with people that share interests, typically either the single men (or women) catch feelings and then it gets messy, or if they're not single, their significant others seem to have a problem with the fact that I'm a women in a heavily male dominated area. Or the worst yet, when my significant other gets offended because I communicate and hang out with other males.

I try to walk the fine line between being able to hang out and keep things fun and light, and sometimes it works out. Most of the time it doesn't. Those trailers I see that create a feeling of despair are occupied by the men that will stop at nothing to try and win my favor, whether I'm single or relationship. If I bring a male to the track, they tell nasty tales and rumors to my friends, if the person I am seeing is on track, they try and cause incidents and crashes, in a "dog pissing contest".

The pit next to us that my teammate guarded me from is one of those dreaded trailers.

When my teammate crashed, the racer next to us came over into our pit to talk to him, give pointers about why he crashed and what he did wrong, hassled the dog, who doesn't like people, tried to befriend my mother and grandfather and try to get on my good side once more. I simply left the pit to go find anyone else to have a fun conversation with.

I ended up in the professional racing team pit I had scouted out earlier and stopped to say hello. I became well acquainted with team manager and the racer. Discussed their opinions of the track, what they think the weekend will bring, and just all around small talk.

Friday ended with the New Rider Race, where it is tradition to spectate from the turn 4 bleachers. I reached the top of the bleachers where I met one of those good friends, Josh. He leads off with "You know, I really do miss you doing yoga in front of my trailer in the morning. When is that going to start again?" "In your dreams," I reply with a smirk on my face. He's really the only friend where conversations like that are acceptable. I know he has my back at all times and it's just in good jest. Should he ever cross a line, it's as easy as saying "Hey, knock it off," and that's the end of that.

The race ends and there's a wedding reception happening with our club's corner workers so we all go over to attend. There once again, I'm asked about the condition of my ex, and the prying questions start to ensue that I'm not ready to elaborate on. I make it known, but they insist on telling more, about how he got hurt, what he broke, the debate begins on whether or not he'll come back to race. I can't stand this talk anymore so I leave back to my pit and call it a night.

Saturday morning is a repeat of Friday. Breakfast, stretching, avoiding prying eyes wanting to watch me stretch, and the rider's meeting. This time I stay more removed from the meeting not wanting to engage in conversation I know people are itching to ask me. I wave at a few that waved at me but otherwise stay to the back of the group talking with my teammate.

I braid back my hair, put my gear on and head out for the first race.

Excitement and anticipation running rampant through everyone.

The minute board shows one.

Then sideways.

The green flag waves and the race starts. I rocket to the front with my excellent start heading into turn 1 at full throttle, and into turn 2. Turn 3 being the first place to brake, and being at the front of the pack I wait until I know I can't wait any longer to avoid being hit by anyone behind me on the brakes. I tip into turn 4.

The rear wheel slides suddenly and unexpectedly then catches. I get bucked a little out of the seat but saved it, when I look behind me I see one of the younger racers had hit me. He was recovering but far enough back, still leading into turn 5, once again. The bike bucks unexpectedly. The young racer had hit me again in an attempt to pass. I let him through to prevent any potential crashing just for him to crash in turn 11.

The rest of the race went without much further incident. Some fun battles but otherwise pretty clean. A couple races afterward, I was nearly hit in the very swift moving turn 2 by the same racer. He approached me afterward, exited about his racing, and while I was excited for him, I certainly let him know, while he is significantly faster than the rest of the grid, there is no need for such risky maneuvers, and to calculate his moves more closely in the future. He apologized and exhibited notable improvement in his etiquette pass that point.

While rubbing is indeed racing, it is not uncommon for me (and the few other female racers I have encountered from other clubs) to get hit by others who see the braids (or other long hair) hanging out of the back of a helmet and lose control of their bike, trying to go faster, in the rage of being passed by a girl.

Over lunch one of my other friends asks for a ride to the onsite restaurant so he can grab some lunch. While hesitant, I agree. I've rarely had good experiences at that bar. They hop on the back of the scooter and we head over.

He walks into the bar while I park the scooter. It's loud, the laughing and yelling reaches me from outside. I take one step into the bar and all nearby conversation halts.

I take off my sunglasses, and survey the room.

The bartender grimaces and gestures quickly to the end of the bar and asks what I would like. I politely ask for a water while I wait for my friend and again survey the room.

I avoid the rotting teeth and gnarled hands as a man not to far away gets off his stool and saunters over yelling at the bartender to get me a proper drink. She only looks at me with an apologetic look. I ignore the man as he gets closer. "Didn't you hear me woman?! I said get her a proper drink and make sure there's a cherry in there so we can watch her pop it," he says with a smirk. I simply take a deep breath and take a step a little further behind the bar cut out she offered me as he finally reaches me and looks me over from head to toe. I refuse to meet his stare. He takes a large sniff like he's trying to smell me over his retched body odor, and leads off with, "Now darling, what are you doing in a place like this?"

The bartender shoves a glass of water in my hand, and I look at the man and politely say "Can you please move? I need to leave to get to my race," as I gesture to my friend to grab their food and leave. He only smirks and looks me over again and responds in an oily voice, "Oh honey. If I had a body like yours I wouldn't dare risk any harm to it. You racing is just simply to dangerous for your delicate little bones. Why don't you let me take care of you?" I suppress my shudder, put my sunglasses back on and shoulder him out of the way and walk of the bar head held high as I hear the jeering behind me.

I drop my friend off at his pit and finish out my races for the day. That evening, my team got in argument about whether or not we would stay the night because it was to rain the next day during racing. "How it wasn't worth the risk to the bike," if the one person who had a problem with it "we wouldn't be able to continue unless there was a guy there who could help fix things, if something went wrong." Nevermind that I built my own engine over the winter, but I wasn't allowed to be part of the discussion, because what do I know. I simply sat there in silence as the argument raged on. My only insert was "I am racing tomorrow." With the response being "Fine you better hope it's raining tomorrow because if it's not then it's not my problem!"

So while he set the bike up for the rain, I simply left, not wanting to be part of that argument anymore. I walked around, said hi to the professional racers again, caught up on their day, saw some really old friends that invited to ride in the "party car" that patrols the track handing out free beer. It had been three years since my last ride so I was excited to hop back on.

The racer that was pitted next to us, Chad, rolled up in front of the party car on one of those electric one wheel skateboards, preventing the car from going forward any further. He demanded "I'm not moving until everyone gets out of that car and rides this thing!" There was a collective groan and an eyeroll from everyone trying to have a good time. The driver put the car in reverse and tried to turn around but Chad simply rolled himself back in front of the car and repeated his demand. So the driver put it back in drive and slowly kept creeping forward until he was no longer in front of the car but rather, riding along side it at speed, continuing to follow us until his demands were met. So we traveled over the gravel roads of the infield where he could not follow us.

Shortly thereafter, we were dropped back off at the main paddock where I met back up with my teammate, who was helping rebuild his friends bike after a crash. I went to go help another racer diagnose his clutch problems and was shortly greeted by Josh, my friend from turn 4. We started chatting when Chad came back a third time and tried to get my attention. So when he left to go get another beer, Josh invited me to his trailer for pizza rolls to get away from the guy. A couple other friends joined us in our quest for pizza rolls, we had a good time telling stories and chatting until the mosquitos got so bad we sought shelter in his trailer.

Shortly upon entering the trailer, there was a knock on the door and Chad was back. Again.

He crawled into the trailer with the four of us, grabbed a hand full of pizza rolls and started critiquing Josh's' hand built, race setup and constantly calling him "boyo", while degrading the rest of them. Wanting to get away, I left the trailer and went to bed.

Sunday was rather uneventful, with most of the racers concerned with the rain, there was not a lot of drama to be seen. Most left Saturday night or early Sunday. Sunday was a good day for me despite the tension within my team. I took home multiple podiums and my very first, first place win.

So through all of that. Many people ask. Why? Why would you continue to do something so emotionally draining, as an unmarried, attractive, under 30, woman?

The trailers that create a sense of joy are the friends I've made that I know will never listen to those stories people tell, and I know they have my back. They shelter me when I am under beratement, invite me into their trailers so I can be out of sight when my mask slips. They listen and ask questions when I can't take the cat calling anymore. Without those incredible faces, there's no way I'd continue doing what I do.

I used to think I didn't have any friends. I am constantly catching myself when I think these things as I know I have people I can count on. I know without a doubt they do not judge me, or think less of me, or get angered by me being a woman. Instead they think it's bad ass, they support my passions, they are there for me when I need it in so many ways, whether it's to celebrate or to mourn. They're there for it all.

I constantly hear the phrase "The track is like a family," and it's true. Everyone sticks together, sure there are bad groups and people, but that applies to everything. Our track family is constantly looking out for one another. At least once a year we host fundraisers to support a family of the track that's in need, usually to cover medical expenses in a bad crash, or cover expenses in a tragic loss, like a trailer fire.

It's hard being a woman in a male dominated sport, but that sport is what I LOVE doing. It's the one time I feel like I can truly be me. From the support I experience to the excited looks I get from racers kids as they see a woman grid up on the track. Seeing peoples faces light up when they ask for pictures, autographs, to sit on the bike, or even converse. They don't see the battle that happens off the track but their excitement is what makes it all so worth it. So I will never stop doing it, no matter how hard or difficult it is. No matter how often I question if I want to keep doing it, because I know deep down I have people I know I can trust no matter what.