Sunday, October 13 – Race 16: Sachsenring, Germany

The rain begins to fall on lap eleven.

I've already worked my way up to second place with Dai in my sights when the first drop hits my visor. By the next corner, my tires are losing grip on the increasingly wet surface, and I give up trying to gain ground to focus on keeping this position. Runoff soon starts to cover the inside corners, and my Ducati leaves a thick spray of water in its wake. My gloves are soaking through and the rest of the leather suit will soon do the same, but I care less about comfort than safety.

My setup is based on dry conditions. The rain not only forms a dangerous barrier between my slick tires and the asphalt, but also cools the carbon brake rotors. Cool discs aren't as effective, so I'm happy to see the white flags come out. This is a rare chance to change bikes, which I'll definitely take today.

A bunch of other guys are also heading into the pits, but there's little room for strategy in my decision. Risking a crash by going for another lap with subpar grip just to avoid the jam isn't worth it. We'll all switch to our secondary machines more or less at the same time, then make up lost seconds together. Only the riders who started the race with wet tires and steel rotors won't go out. With the mixed forecast, they'd gambled on rain and won. What time they lost with a less-than-ideal initial setup for the earlier dry conditions can be made up while we're in the pits.

Nearing the Cadmium box, I can see the techs with my other bike. It has to be mine because Lauren is already on her spare. She had started the race on it, losing her primary one to the crash on Friday afternoon. Nigel originally thought a few hours' work would repair the damage, but a crack in the frame forced him to pull the bike out of rotation. With no other options, my teammate started today with intermediate tires and steel disc brakes. They're worse in the dry than what I have, but now that the track is wet, the setup will give her an advantage until I make the switch.

I pull to a stop in front of the open garage, drop my left boot to the ground, and swing my right foot over the seat. Enzo grabs the handlebars from the front, and I seamlessly hand over the machine before getting on the other idling bike right next to it. Checking for traffic, I shift into first gear and pull into pit lane.

I've lost about twenty seconds—twenty-five tops, which is a lifetime in such a fast-paced competition—before rejoining the race with three others. We reach turn one at the back of a pack that didn't pit, and unless I make a move now, I'll be stuck following until the circuit opens up. My rain tires feel steady and I gain two spots overtaking from the outside on turn two. The next slow-going right and three left-handers aren't ideal for overtaking, so I pause the push.

I'll have a better shot on the straightaway between seven and eight, the weather just needs to hold. While the rain had started off in intermittent, large drops, it's now more of a light drizzle. If it doesn't get worse again, we will get to run all of the remaining sixteen laps. Otherwise, the race can be called off as early as after the next five. If I want to finish on the podium, I have to pass at least ten others within that distance.

I lean into the corner, the spray from the bike in front hitting my visor. The beads flow down the smooth plastic thanks to a special water repellent coating, but more take their place. Looking past the droplets, I straighten out of the turn ready to begin the advance, but I cross a puddle and lose traction in the rear. As the back tire skids across the wet pavement, I shift my weight and add gas to regain control.

The slight error is just enough to leave the door open for my pursuers. Martin and Kojima—on the number five and nineteen machines, respectively—slip through on the inside, but I close the gap before anyone else can. God, I hate rain.

The two Honda riders won't give up, and when my rear slips again, I ease up. I know my limits. Having led before the rain, Mura—Martin's teammate and currently seventh in the championship—is likely still up front. If I can keep everyone else behind me and continue to advance with these two, I can probably take at least fourth in the race. Right now, that's better than crashing out in a vain attempt to chase victory.

The duo clears the field, finding others' weaknesses and exploiting their mistakes to advance three more spots before crossing the start/finish line again. All I have to do is follow and not make any mistakes of my own. I try to settle into a steady rhythm on the slow first half, but my neck is soaked and water is getting into my suit. It's fucking annoying. When the yellow and black of my teammate's bike comes into view, I suddenly don't care so much about the rain.

I've ridden with her during free practice, but I've never competed directly against Lauren during a race. I've always been up at the front, she in the back, and there were usually at least a dozen other riders between us. This time she managed to get ahead while we switched bikes. Now that we've rejoined the field, the regular frontrunners like Martin, Kojima, and I are once again wrestling to take control of the lead.

But the number eighty-three Ducati isn't giving up her position without a fight. Trailing two others farther up, she's running her own race and appears completely at ease on the slick surface. She has the speed, control, and—most important of all—the hunger despite conditions that often stall even the fiercest competitors.

When our trio catches up, Lauren leaves no room for overtaking by expertly sensing every attempt and then closing the gap. She's close to being overtaken, but even the race officials don't think she's holding up traffic because there's no blue flag ordering her give us right of way. Again, I decide to hold back; there are better places to make a move. But the Spaniard two spots ahead of me isn't as patient.

By the way Diego sets himself up for the next turn, I can tell he's going for it. But instead of messing up, Lauren takes corner six on the perfect line. Diego's rear wheel wobbles as he pushes his machine to the limit, surely frustrated by the denial as he falls back again.

I grin under my rain-splattered visor, watching the battle unfold. I can just imagine Martin's anger at being shut out, no doubt peppered with heated Spanish profanities. But whatever the guy is feeling, it doesn't show in his performance. With more experience on this particular track and better grip thanks to his all-wet tires as compared to Lauren's intermediates, Diego finally passes her on the straight between turns seven and eight. Tobei also slips in ahead of her just before the next left-hander, but he ends up going wide and she regains the position.

If I weren't concentrating so hard to stay upright on the slick asphalt while tilting at a forty-five degree angle, I would nod my head in pride. My teammate has nerves of steel and it's fucking awesome.

But at one hundred twenty kilometers per hour, my chance at admiration doesn't last long.

Straightening up, I pass under the bridge and look ahead to the blind curve at nine. It's approaching fast and Lauren appears to be following my advice to really push into it, in spite of less than ideal conditions. I hope her gamble won't backfire, but without time to over-analyze the situation, I enter the turn just as my teammate disappears around the bend. Reaching the apex and seeing the exit, I have just enough time to swerve before hitting Kojima's downed motorcycle skidding across the pavement directly toward me.

What the fuck? I struggle to regain control of my own machine. The only options are either to also go down or run into the gravel trap.

Gravel it is.

The handlebar pops furiously up and down as the wheels run over the pebbles, slowing the bike. Holding the clutch in and revving the engine to keep it from stalling, I steer back toward the asphalt in a slow, wide arc using the leftover momentum and praying I won't sink into the mix. I use my feet to help get through the final few meters before giving gas and returning to the track. On the opposite side, the other Cadmium Ducati is being push-started off the grass, and Diego Martin's Honda is lying on its side by the perimeter wall.

What the hell did I just miss? Lauren had been in the middle of something, but she's the only one who remains standing. I hope she can get back into the race, even if she's now somewhere behind me.

Rejoining the race, I lean into turn ten behind a half-dozen riders all bunched together. With Martin and Kojima out at a really bad location, the marshals at nearby stations wave yellow flags to signal caution. Until corner workers remove the crashed bikes, passing in this area is prohibited. Because I've fallen behind numerous places during my unintended little side trip, I need the brief breather to prepare for the inevitable battle to the top when restrictions are lifted.

As expected, green flags replace the yellows at the next corner and the race resumes. Gaining much-needed speed on the final straightaways, I overtake four out of the six riders by the time I cross the finish line again. My pit board shows P9-L2. There are only two more laps left—the race is being called early—and I'm in ninth position.

Apart from two riders directly in front of me as we turn into corner one, I don't have anyone in my sights. By the end of this penultimate lap, I also overtake these guys and am riding unopposed in the escalating downpour. Visibility is so bad I half expect the red flags to emerge any moment to call everything off, but Race Control disagrees. As I hydroplane into the last turn I pass a downed Vasteras Husqvarna just a few hundred meters before the end.

Tucking my head down and counting the seconds until I cross the line, I only relax when the first three letters of my last name light up next to the number six on the digital display tower. Sixth place in a race my two biggest competitors didn't finish? It's not the podium, but I'll take it.