John Reynolds Pillion Ride

by Pete Wadsworth

One of my favourite things about my job is that every now and then someone calls me to ask if I’d like to do something really cool – generally involving some petrol-powered, vaguely life-threatening activity and a racing driver intent on scaring at least half a decade off your tombstone inscription. Fortunately I have what some might say is a foolish, unwavering trust in the abilities of talented people so I’m always up for these little jollies. However, there have always been two things I promised myself I would never do: top fuel drag racing and a pillion ride with a motorbike racer.

It’s not that I don’t trust them, but drag-racing is just a bit too extreme and bikers... well, I don’t mean any offence by this, but you’re all a bit mental. I love riding push-bikes, I have done for years and even competed in national trials competition, but when I’m travelling at the kind of speeds an engine can achieve, I like to have more than a couple of millimetres of leather separating my soft, easily punctured skin and brittle bones from rough tarmac and hard steel barriers. What if, what if, what if?

Nevertheless, for some reason of which I’m still not quite sure, when the invitation to sit on the back of one of the fastest road bikes on sale flashed up on MSN Messenger, my inner schoolboy took over and answered, “yes please, who, when and where?”. Oh dear. The ‘who’ was John Reynolds, the ‘when’ was the following Tuesday and the ‘where’ was the terrifyingly fast Mallory Park circuit.

So, as I levered myself into the Dainese leathers in the briefing room six days later, the nerves really began to set in... things weren’t made any better by the fact that the boots wouldn’t fit over my calves. A rather uncouth gaffer tape solution later and yet another worrying variable is added to my already lengthy list. What if my boot falls off, gets caught in the rear wheel, catches fire and the whole bike explodes, killing me to death? I hobble to the pit lane, trying to look like I’m not completely bricking it. I fail.

Reynolds is already on the circuit putting some heat into the bike and he’s looking mighty fast. There are two Alpinas on track being driven by Mallory Park instructors. They’re not hanging around, but the GSX-R1000 is making the D3s look like they’re going backwards.

As the bike comes to a halt in front of us we’re hit by that ‘recently caned’ waft of hot oil and metal and a large dose of adrenalin gets dumped into my bloodstream. The ‘briefing’ consists of being told to hold on tight, sit still and try not to put too much weight on the pilot, which will require me to press my hands on to the tank under braking.

I hop onto the tall pillion seat as gracefully as I can (not very), clasp my hands in front of John and try not to cry. He hoofs it out of the pitlane and we’re quickly on top of the first bend – a long, sweeping, opening right hander. He tips the bike in and I must confess to panicking just a touch – it really feels like the thing is going to fall over – there’s just no way those tiny contact patches can generate enough grip to hold the pair of us... oh, we’ve made it round. John opens the taps down the back straight and I have to hold on tight to stop myself from falling off. We quickly reach the first of the heavy braking zones, so I turn my hands over, press hard on the tank and my second scary moment is milliseconds away – it feels like we’ve dropped an anchor as he squeezes the lever and I’m slightly alarmed to find that my arse is off the seat and my feet off the pegs. Swearing happens, but I’ve stayed onboard. We exit the right hander and tip straight into a left-hand kink – the only part of the track that scared me on every lap – before hitting another braking zone into the tight right hand hairpin. He gets hard on the gas at the apex, dropping the front wheel back onto the black stuff just in time to carve through the fast left that takes us back onto the pit straight. He’s starting to build up the speed now and it takes another loop for me to figure out that I can dig my heels into the pegs to stop my feet coming off in the braking zones. I’m really starting to enjoy myself now.

Strangely the only sound I can remember is that of my own loud breathing inside my lid (its surprisingly tiring) – the screaming in-line four completely passes me by.

Despite the fact that whole experience is a pretty frightening one, the closest thing I can relate it to is being on a really good rollercoaster: you’re scared, but deep down you know you’re safe so you end up having a bloody excellent time. The second we pull away I instantly know that I’m in good hands – of course he’s not trying, but your mind could easily play some nasty tricks on you and that trust I have in these guys pays off again – I can relax and really enjoy this most intense of experiences. By the second lap I’ve got a huge smile on my face – I think you can tell in the pictures.

Just as my arms are starting to get properly worn out, Reynolds backs off and peels into the pitlane, giving me a ‘well done for not being a total wuss’ pat on my arm as I sit up and try to process the experience.

We managed a 56 second lap around Mallory’s organic curves, which felt pretty bloody fast to me, but I’m stunned to discover that a race pace lap around the same circuit would be completed 18 seconds sooner!

Now all I can think about is how much I want a motorbike.

Huge, huge thanks to John Reynolds and Rizla Suzuki for the ride, Mallory Park for hosting the event and the lovely Louise Cain for providing me with the opportunity to risk life and limb for the sake of a laugh.