Smith Tales
The elder statesman of MX ponders his psyche.
The elder statesman of motocross comes over all philosophical over his analysis of his failures… er… just read the column.
Ihave always believed in the Shakespearian quotation ‘to strive mightily but to eat and drink as friends’ and have tried to follow it. But the other Englishism of ‘play up and play the game’ with no particular emphasis on winning always struck me as a misunderstanding of our nature and some sort of attempt to make it okay if you lost.
It’s true the vast majority lose while only a few win, the question that ran through my mind was ‘why not me!’ There are two sides to a coin – one can say I love to win or I hate to lose. I choose the second option. A winner rarely analyses what happened and why, it’s hardly necessary since the outcome is what was desired. Loss, on the other hand, carries with it all the clues for success, as long as it is honestly analysed and the lessons learned. This explains why I was a difficult person to be around for a couple of hours if I had not won! (I was diagnosing my failure and not happy with life)
Sometimes one loses because of a mechanical problem, which seemed to me a weak excuse for failure – a broken cable, a stuck throttle, an injured gearbox, a broken chain or a seized or damaged engine and so on often struck me as a lack of preparation of the machine. It could be downright ham-handed riding! To fall off or to fail to take advantage of a momentary lapse or mistake by the opposition or to tire and slow was a failure in the preparation of the mind and body.
These two broad areas we have reasonable control over but there is a third element that is truly out of our hands. Luck or fortune are visitations from the gods over whose machinations we have no say. Of course there are two kinds of luck and I have represented them over the years like this. You take off from the start line and halfway down the straight the rider next to you slews into and fetches down the rider to his right. That’s good luck. Or he slides into you and knocks you down. That’s bad luck! Luck comes to us in many guises but we usually recognise it for what it is, some totally unexpected surprise not created by us. There is a term bandied around ‘that a good rider makes his own luck’. While this has a pleasing ring to it, it is not true. Mystical luck touches us all at some time or other and we recognise it for what it is.
Three illustrations of my major points will help. It’s easy to pick out various examples because in a professional racing career that spanned 18 years I became very familiar with each part of my thesis. I was constantly trying to refine the first two and often surprised by the third.
Bad mechanical preparation and not bad luck caused me to exit the Czech GP in 1965. While leading on the eighth lap my rear chain appeared to break. I found it on the ground about 25 feet from the machine, which I had propped up on a bale. It had not broken, the spring link was gone. The chain was perfect, in fact I used it in the next event. I believe I had made a mistake by inadvertently fitting the clip the wrong way round. It took time but it hooked onto the frame or chain guide and the chain parted. We started using riveted links after that!
Riding a Gold Star at the Citadel of Namur circuit in 1955 I took the lead from the start and as we reached the far bottom of the track on the other side of the great fortress hill it was obvious that there had been a rain shower that had not happened in the start area. Full of youth and the joys of spring, I turned to tackle going back up the hill, which was basically riding through the woods directly towards the citadel and crossing the cobbled military road two times.
At the first crossing I jumped out onto the slick cobbles and went down heavily and the pack vanished. Just as I got my machine running, the first rider came by – my brother in law-to-be John Draper. I liked him so much I married his sister, Irene, 59 years ago now. That was a lucky day. Anyway, I joined in behind him and followed him for the next 11 laps. John won and I did not place, being one lap behind. I had yet to learn that a little prudence was necessary in changed conditions. Clearly, I could have won and yet it took a few more years for me to realise that it’s not at all important to be in front, except at one particular moment and that by going a little slower you can arrive at the finish line much quicker.
When I won the British GP at Hawkstone Park in 1957, as I crossed the line the engine coughed and spluttered to a stop. The float chamber had loosened and the machine was completely dry. Two elements were at work – poor preparation and good luck. Most of my competitors gave little thought to these esoteric concerns of mine, relying on their robust approach to motocross from the drop of the flag. Among the few who did were Brian Stonebridge, Sten Lundin and Rolf Tibblin and therefore they were my most dangerous rivals.
Nevertheless, more often than not, after the racing was over we all gathered round a communal table and ‘ate and drank as friends.’ It should always be so.
It’s easy to pick out various examples because in a professional racing career that spanned 18 years I became very familiar with each part of my thesis. Jeff Smith