Freddıe Spencer
33 years ago cub reporter Rupert Paul sat in a GP press conference attempting to pluck up the courage to ask his hero a question. And failing. Today he rides from London to Brands Hatch with the Zen of Fred…
ASCOOTER? ARE YOU SERIOUS?’ Asking a world champ to ride a commuter bike through London is a funny kind of icebreaker, but apparently he’s cool with it. In fact, Freddie’s already got a Honda X-ADV, that bizarre 750cc scooter with off-road leanings, on long-term loan from Honda Europe. Having met him near his North London home, we’re riding to Brands Hatch where, almost 38 years ago to the day, he made his UK debut at the Easter Transatlantic races. I may as well admit I’m in awe of Frederick Burdett Spencer junior. He was the first GP star I encountered as a cub journalist 33 years ago, at a Silverstone press conference. That was 1985, the year he won the famous double – the 250cc and 500cc titles. For younger readers, that’s like entering Motogp and Moto2, and winning both championships. Yes, really. Four other riders (Geoff Duke, John Surtees, Gary Hocking and Giacomo Agostini) have also simul-scooped the top two titles, but they ran fewer races, without the modern era’s white-hot competition. At four circuits in 1985 (Mugello, Salzburgring, Spa and Le Mans,) Freddie won both races, one after the other. The whole thing is in his recent book, Feel. ‘I don’t normally ride in London,’ he says as we plot our 38-mile route to Brands. ‘But, I’ve always liked London, and it’s easy for what I do – giving talks, writing [there’s another book coming], doing classic events and private teaching, and some Eurosport broadcasts on Superbike races. After I got divorced in 2009 and stopped my school in Vegas I started travelling. I met Alexandra [his partner] in 2013 and also Bernard Garcia, who was a team mate in 1993. He and his brother had a school called 4G in the South of France. Alexandra and I left California and moved to Marseille, where the school was, to help a bit. Then three years ago it made more sense to move to London.’ I’m on a Yamaha 500 T-max with photographer Jason Critchell on the back. It’s urban snarl most of the way: North Circular, A13, Dartford crossing. On a route like that a big scooter is quicker and more unruffled than any bike: adequate zip to deal with the traffic, and easier low-speed manners than a bicycle. Freddie just tools through the queues, taking care, pouncing on opportunities, and all the while giving himself space and time. The same as any other good rider, really – unless you count his Arai Spencer rep, which isn’t a rep. We arrive at the Kentagon and order an early lunch, plus emergency coffees to warm chilled hands. Freddie’s curious about the new V4 Ducati which Jason was shooting last week at the world launch. Jason reports what the riders were saying. Freddie
suspects it has the same quality as Honda’s V4 Marquez replica, which he’s ridden. ‘The RC213 feels like a Motogp bike; there’s a precision to it. That’s what I liked about the NSR500: a great racing bike gives you the sense that it’ll go with you wherever you want to go. It won’t get in your way. Now you can’t describe that; you just feel it.’ Even if that feel is impossible to describe, I suggest, factories have to engineer it all the same. And maybe what is right for Freddie would be different for Gardner or Schwantz? ‘In a way, but that usually only shows up at the very, very sharp end: that last tenth, two tenths. Like with the three-cylinder [the NS500 he rode to win the 1983 championship], a lot of people could go pretty quick on it. But they didn’t feel comfortable pushing it to the edge, and a little bit beyond.’ Hang on, Freddie. All GP riders talk about this beyond-the-edge stuff. What does it mean, really? ‘You anticipate,’ he begins, then stops, then goes again. ‘You know when Marquez goes in and it breaks away on corner entry? He’s going beyond the available grip level to help it turn.’ We’re still looking at him. ‘With the average rider, you start leaning in, and it’s grip, grip, grip. You feel you can’t go into that corner any faster. Well, you can. The way is to put it on its side so that when it gets here (he motions at our table in the Kentagon) it’s beyond what the grip level is. But by loading it, and the speed decreasing, by the time it breaks traction (he points to the door) you’re OK. At the edge, and a little beyond. You do it by believing, and anticipating, and judging the
‘I never viewed others as heroes. I would watch them…i could see exactly what they did, and I’d go practice it’
‘So many riders have a domineering parent, or don’t trust their own judgement’
distance properly... all in one motion.’ Our spines are suitably tingled. Did he do that every corner? ‘Well, most. That final lap in the Qatar Motogp with Dovi and Marc, I guarantee every corner was like that. It’s drifting, it’s drifting, and then it loads and grips, and rotates.’ So you’re making the bike do something bad that will be good a bit later? ‘Exactly. And that is the essence of dirt track. If you’ve ridden a dirt track bike then you’ve felt what I’m talking about. And it’s what we [the Americans in the 1970s] brought, which is what changed everything.’ It’s very hard not to keep asking questions, but we let Freddie chow on his pasta bake for a minute or two. Freddie grew up dirt tracking, but what was his first road race? ‘At a place called Green Valley, outside Dallas. At a dirt track meeting I’d heard over the loudspeaker there was a road race there, and I said, “Dad, I want to do that.” I was 11. The next youngest rider was Peewee Gleason, who was 22. I finished dead last, riding an RD100 twin we borrowed from the local Yamaha dealer. It was the only one in the shop I could fit on.’ Four races later, still just 11, but now with a TA125 Yamaha, he was at Daytona. ‘They did an amateur day, just running the infield. I was leading into the last lap, when the thing seized and highsided me. My mum has a picture of me in the ambulance, waving. I’d never been in an ambulance before!’ Freddie’s dad, sister and brother had all raced before him. His upbringing must have been the crucial factor, I suggest. ‘Oh, it’s everything. I couldn’t agree more.’ So, what did you absorb from your father that helped you become champion? ‘He showed me by his actions how to trust my own judgement. People would ask, “What do you tell Freddie? Do you tell him how to ride?” He said, “No. I build them, Freddie rides them.” I was 100 per cent trusted in my own ability to figure it out. So many riders have a domineering parent, or don’t trust their own judgement. Eventually it’ll limit their ability. ‘I never viewed others as heroes. I would watch them. I could tell you the first time I saw Kenny [Roberts] going into turn one at the Astrodome in 1972 – the way he put it on the side, and got both wheels working. The other rider who could do that was Mark Brelsford. I could see exactly what they did, and I’d go practice it.’ Freddie Senior put 11 years into spannering for his son. ‘Most of the time, until Erv in ’79 [Kanemoto, Freddie’s Honda crew chief] it was just me and him. We’d have four or five bikes, and he was doing them all! In 1977, the year before I turned professional, we were riding a Honda RS125, Yamaha TZ250, a TZ750, an RD400 production bike and RD 410 cafe racer. I was 15.’ Whoa, whoa. Did you say you raced a TZ750 aged 15? ‘Kenny Clark at American Yamaha sold it to us! Everybody told you can’t ride that. I loved it! I got second the first time I rode it, at Texas World Speedway. I thought that was the coolest thing. I almost beat Dale Singleton.’
Who does Freddie see today who operates with the same freedom he enjoyed? ‘I’d say Marc Marquez. I met him five years ago, at Austin. I know his dad a little bit. Marc’s had that freedom to believe in himself. It gives him the ability to compete against others who also have a lot of confidence. When I showed up here at Brands in 1980, Dale and I walked under the tunnel. The crowds in those days were huge. Dale asked if I was nervous. I said, “Not really.” I’d taught myself how to be calm. And I also had a massive amount of experience. And I believe one of the things that separates riders is rising to the occasion. There’s a certain comfort level. I felt this was exactly where I should be.’ Another rider Freddie rates is Johann Zarco, Tech3’s fast-starting Frenchy. ‘He’s not intimidated by the situation. I’m not talking about arrogance, because that’s ego. I used to write on the board at my race school in Vegas: “Ego affects judgement”. It’s important to have an ego so you can strive, but the last thing you should think is, “I know it all”.’ Freddie loves teaching. He spent 11 years doing it in Vegas, and helped get another school going in France. These days he offers private sessions to small groups. ‘There’s the technical side of riding. But ultimately we’re making people more comfortable and less scared. So they can relax, start looking up. Things happen slower, you see it. You can anticipate.’ So technical ability is one thing, but the way you handle yourself emotionally, and sense the machine, is more important? His eyes glitter. ‘That is absolutely the key. To go faster, or to truly enjoy riding, you need to understand how you think about it, and your own fears and control issues. Some riders get to a certain point, then hit a wall. They’re trying harder in the wrong way.’ It’s time to head back. But I’ve got one more question that’s been brewing for 33 years. I meant to ask it at that 1985 Silverstone press conference, but I’d been too scared. What does it feel like having that much talent? Freddie smiles. ‘I can probably answer better today than back then, so maybe it’s good that you waited. That day at Silverstone, my answer would have been, “If I do have ability, I’m thankful for it. It motivates me to work hard to try to use it.” Now I view it differently: I think my ability is my awareness – my recognising what I see, sense and feel. Going into a corner isn’t something I do without understanding it. Whatever my ability may be, my understanding is a component.’ We head out to the A20 and turn right. It turns out to be a beautiful ride. Golden spring sunlight transforms the Beckton Sewage Works, and even cheers up the North circular. Freddie’s up ahead, unhurried, and I’m starting to fall in love with the T-max. I know it’s unnatural. But it’s the perfect place from which to contemplate the Zen of Fred.
Meet Freddie at the MCN Festival of Motorcycling, which takes place on the weekend of 19 20 May. More info at Peterborough. mcnfestival.com
‘To go faster, or to truly enjoy riding, you need to understand how you think about it’