BEST OF JODY’S BOX: IF THEY MADE IT, ANODIZED IT AND CHARGED A LOT OF MONEY FOR IT, JIMMY MAC BOUGHT IT.

BY JODY WEISEL

I typically test bikes and products at the races. And when I’m testing, or directing tests with other MXA test riders, I don’t like to get sidetracked. As a hard-and-fast rule, when an MXA test rider is evaluating mods to a bike, he is not allowed to ride any other bike until all of the variations of that test have been completed. This means that if I’m testing an aftermarket pipe, I have to ride with the stock pipe in the first practice, change to the aftermarket pipe for the second practice, go back to the stock pipe for the first moto and switch to the aftermarket pipe for the second moto.

Sometimes two or three MXA test riders will ride the same bike and in the same order to triple the input. Yes, we dyno every bike. Yes, we spend days riding at lonely test tracks. But, nothing proves the good, bad and ugly of a bike or product quicker than racing it. Plus, I love to race.

One of the down sides of having been a motorcycle test rider your whole life is that your friends, and often strangers, want you to ride their bikes to tell them what you think. Sometimes they have a problem that they can’t diagnose, sometimes they hear a clanking noise and would rather have someone else ride it just in case whatever is making the noise flies off over a big jump, and sometimes they have spend beaucoup bucks on a fancy mod and they can’t tell whether it works or not.

I DON’T LIKE RIDING OTHER PEOPLE’S BIKES. I DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE EVALUATING THEIR SETUPS AND I DON’T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH HOW WACKY THEIR SETUPS ARE — TO ME IT IS A LOSE-LOSE SITUATION.

I don’t like riding other people’s bikes. I don’t feel comfortable evaluating their setups and I don’t feel comfortable with how wacky their setups are — to me it is a lose-lose situation. If I’m in the middle of a test series, I bowed out gracefully. If I’m not, I stutter and stammer and try to think of excuses for why I can’t ride their bike–apart from the fact that I don’t want to.

“Jody, will you ride my bike and tell me what you think,” asked Jimmy Mac. This is how it always starts.

“I’m kinda busy right now. I was planning on flushing my fuel filter,” I say with a guilty stammer mid-sentence.

“Please,” pleads Jimmy. “It will only take you a minute to ride it in the next practice session and tell me if it’s working right.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it? Is it going to blowup? Will something fall off? I really need to get on that fuel filter,” I say.

“No, no. It runs fine, but I spent $1000 on a special black box and I want a second opinion about the mapping,” assures Jimmy Mac.

I wanted to slap the guy, but I fought the urge and instead asked, “What would possess you to change ECU’s on the day before a race. Why didn’t you take it to a track during the week and test it.”

“How would that have helped me?” he asked.

“It wouldn’t have helped you, but it would have helped me because I wouldn’t have been there,” I said.

I get tired of status-conscious racers throwing good money after bad to buy something that they don’t need. Jimmy didn’t need a new black box. He didn’t need adjustable maps. I don’t even think he owned a computer. But, if they made it, anodized it and charged a lot of money for it, then Jimmy Mac bought it. Jimmy had every lightweight carbon fiber part made to “save weight,” even though these were parts that weren’t on the bike in stock trim. So, in essence, he was adding lightweight parts to save weight. If Jimmy had a twin brother, the motorcycle industry would have breezed through the economic recession on the virtue of their buying power alone. Luckily for me, Jimmy was an only child, so I didn’t have to ride his fantasy brother’s bike also. I count my blessings.

Even though Jimmy and I race in the same class every week, I’d never looked closely at his bike, but as I pulled my helmet on and climbed on board I was shocked. His bike looked like it had been magnetized before being dragged through the local shop’s parts bin. It had disc guards, case guards, hand guards, caliper guards, radiator guards, fork guards and frame guards. Every superfluous piece of gaudy garbage was anodized blue and might as well have still had the price tags hanging from them. This bike screamed “trust fund baby.”

I gave Jimmy’s bike all I had on that one lap, because I remember back when I was a young test rider and a motocross hero of mine asked me to ride his bike to test the jetting (heroes aren’t very good at jetting). When I rode my heroes bike, I cruised around the track and then told him it was too rich down low. He wasn’t grateful. Instead, he was angry. I had insulted him by not taking his request for help seriously by trying harder. He said to me, “You didn’t even put your gloves on when you went out to ride it!” So, after that I never cruise on someone else’s bike. I go for broke.

“How was it?” ask Jimmy Mac anxiously when I pulled into my pit.

“It runs like it has a rag stuffed in the airbox. It’s so lean that it pings like a Geiger counter. Plus, it makes a sucking sound on top that is similar to the one your wallet makes when you walk into a motorcycle shop.”

“I knew there was something wrong with it,” said Jimmy Mac. “What can I do? Can I race it today?”

“Yes, you can race it, but take it easy,” I said. “Don’t rev it out too far and if you hear any odd sounds, slow down. Then, next week, put the stock black box back on it.”

Fred Phalange had been sitting in lawn chair listening to the whole conversation and as Jimmy Mac pushed his bike away, Fred asked, “What do you think is wrong with Jimmy Mac’s bike?”

“Nothing, “ I said. “The thing was a bullet. It pulled harder than any bike I’ve ever ridden. I wish my bike ran that good.”

“Then, why did you tell Jimmy that his bike was junk?” asked Fred.

“He’s in my class,” I said.

 



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