Beginnings in Vintage Road Racing By Eric F. Kalamaja Copyright © 1996 Motorcycle Shopper All Rights Reserved. I was unknowingly headed in the direction of vintage road racing two years before I finally took the plunge. I would go out on Sunday rides with the local boys showing up on my 1975 GT750 "Water Buffalo" or 1976 Kawasaki KH500 triple powered by a 750cc engine. Everyone thought that they were really nice bikes, as I could leave them stock and modified them considerably to perform better on the street. My riding skills were not bad by any means, and the group never lost me for very long. I would come around a corner and find them at a stop sign waiting for stragglers, but surprised to see me ahead of many others. After months of the same routine, I started longing for something more but didn't know just what! It was a habit of mine to always frequent Bike Week in Daytona and go to the vintage races on Monday and the 200 on Sunday. However, I found the vintage races much more intriguing. Now don't get me wrong; I find new bikes a lot of fun, but scary in the same way as they go faster and corner and brake faster than my mind can come to grips with. I also happen to thoroughly love old bikes since they seem to have far more character than the new plastic-enclosed ones. The next step, after countless good friends had fanned the flames high enough, was to convince Julie, my wife, that this was a good and safe sport. Little did I know that this would be a year and a half project, albeit an enjoyable one. One of my fondest memories are last years' preparations for the WERA Grand National Final. Time was running out, there was a good movie on TV and it was cold in the garage. Julie came out to the garage and asked--well, really told me--to bring the bike in the house, so I could work in comfort! But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Step two was to get my road racing license. As I already had all my safety equipment for racing, all I needed was a specific bike and money to attend race school. Fortunately, money was no problem but the bike choice took a little while. I didn't want to go out on a large displacement bike with little knowledge of actual road racing, so I chose a Kawasaki KH400 2-stroke triple I was already riding on the street, which was also legal for WERA racing. Bike setup was done following an AHRMA road racing manual since the vintage races at Moroso Motorsports Park in West Palm Beach, Florida, follow AHRMA's guidelines. Once setup was complete, I sent the money to Frank Kinsey Racing School. I had reached the no turning back point. With support from Julie, we headed to Moroso for a weekend of excitement that would forever change our lives! We started with four hours of classroom studies pertaining to everything you could possibly imagine in motorcycle racing, including related dangers. Next step, track practice. I try to get a good night's sleep and dose off reviewing in my mind the lessons learned behind a desk. Tomorrow I'll be behind handlebars. Morning arrives and it's cold you'd think it was going to snow! Yes, it gets really cold in South Florida... but not for very long. As the day wore on, the weather became as you would expect for Florida in December, great! After we got done with the tech inspection--and passed--the moment had finally arrived! Frank Kinsey tells us to treat this like a Sunday ride in the country and just follow him for a couple of laps before he allows us to pass. Yes folks, just like a Sunday ride. We all took off and they left me. I didn't see any of them again until practice was over. I think the older bike there--that would come a mile from me in years--was a 1989 Honda CBR600F Hurricane. But in spite of my lonely ride around the track, I didn't feel bad. Now that I passed the school I had two more practice runs before lunch and the race of the day. I wasn't really scared, but I wasn't able to slow down for the rest of the day. We have been called. Our race is up! We go out on the track and do our practice lap before taking our grid positions. This is it folks... the moment has arrived! The flag drops and we're off! Wow, that first corner comes up pretty fast. These other vintage riders are experienced as they pretty much leave me alone to race with myself, which really isn't all that bad as racing is taking up all my concentration to get around this track in one piece. White flag; one lap to go. I haven't been lapped and I feel great. I see the checkered flag. It's over! I made it. I actually raced on a real track with others and finished-- in one piece. I come around the track on the cool-down lap and I wave to Julie, as if I had won the race. To me I did. I actually did what many only dream of. I head back to the pits anxious to get my lap times from my friends. Boy, was I fast. I pull up to one of them who pulls out the trusty sundial... I was slow! But hey, at least he didn't pull out a calendar. There's nowhere else to go but up. I sold the KH400 and got two others that were very diversified from each other, in ways that I hoped would help me learn to ride better. A Suzuki T500 Titan 2-stroke and a Honda CB450 twin 4-stroke. Both very competitive motorcycles in their class and very different in their power delivery. I wanted the Titan because I love 2-strokes, and the CB450 because it is more forgiving and less peaky than the Titan. My first real race would come at Daytona in 1995. The first day I would ride the CB450 in Sportsman 500. Practice went pretty well but the track was confusing with its high-speed banking and its slow-speed infield. I didn't like it, and it scared me greatly! Lunch brake came about and a short brake before my race. Third call and time to get to the grid for the warm-up lap. All went well. We are lined up for the race and take forever for the flag to come. My bike stalls! It's too rich and fouled the plugs. Out of 52 bikes, I was in the third-to-last row of a two-wave start. Now I have to go to the back of the grid. The flag drops and they're off. Yes, "they." I'm still at the start line. The bike won't start and I get a push from several people at the line. It fires, and I'm off. Sort of, it's popping and puttering, and continues to act this way for two long laps. Needless to say, I'm feeling really bad at this moment. I don't want to finish 52nd out of 52 riders. All of the sudden the bike starts to clear out and I have to hold the throttle wide open on a track I feel very uncomfortable with. My right foot is shaking so bad because I'm so nervous, it drags the rear brake the whole race. Nonetheless, I start to pass some riders. Hey, I'm actually racing, real racing! Coming off the banking at speeds I never dreamed of and out braking riders into the chicane. Wow, isn't that Todd Henning pulling off the track with a problem? Another rider under my belt! Not a real victory for me, but "that's racing." Finally, the checkered flag. It's over and I racer the infamous Daytona circuit, the full 3.52 miles of it. I figured I passed maybe eight riders. At least I didn't finish last. But, surprise! When I get back to the pits my crew tells me I got 20th place. Wow, 20th out of 52 riders. The second day was one I wish to forget. Practice went well on the T500. It was fast and I felt I would do much better. Again, the warm-up lap and to the grid position. The 1 minute board comes out and the bike starts acting funny; one one of its three cylinders seems to be firing. the flag drops and we're off. They're off, I'm really slow. Something is wrong. Maybe a fouled plug like the CB450. Now I'm getting oil on the inside of the windscreen. I haven't completed a full lap yet and I stick my leg out to let others behind me know I have a problem and I'm going in. I can't help it but remember about Todd Henning the day before. "That's racing." Maybe a blow engine, I think to myself. Well, there is always next year. After lunch I inspect the bike. Wait a minute, there's one spark plug missing. Wow, it blew out! Then it dawns on me that I did a plug reading and guess I forgot all about tightening. I was beside myself with grief. How could I be so forgetful. The German crew next to me noticed I was upset and confessed of doing something similar. Can you imagine coming over 3,000 miles to make that mistake? I only travelled 35 miles. The initial grief is still the same. Preparation is the key. I promised myself never to make that same mistake again. I haven't yet, but I have done others. But that's another story. Eric Kalamaja is owner of Sundial Moto Sports, a complete motorcycle repair shop specializing in vintage racing. 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