American Flat-Track Racing: Coming Full Circle | CRANKED

I've never raced flat track. When I say never, I mean I've never paid money to enter a sanctioned flat track race at an actual flat-track facility. But I know how it feels to push the handlebars down in a smooth pivot toward the ground and feed in the throttle. I know how it feels when the rear tire steps out, catching on small imperfections that cause the bike to stand up but just for a moment until the action is caught and counteracted by the body. Fluid mass, applied. Manage the right momentum in the right proportion and drifting becomes two-wheeled flight over the ground at speed.

Back when there was only one AMA #1 plate, flat-track racing was all that really mattered. Roadraces were important, sure, but a skilled miler or short-track racer could win the whole shebang on dirt, with a few jumps thrown in for good measure. A dynasty of world champion Grand Prix roadracers arose from America’s dirt-centric system.

Or maybe it wasn't the system. Maybe it was just a fluke, a hot streak of talent burning through America's moto-veins. But watching current MotoGP World Champion Marc Marquez—an enthusiastic dirt tracker himself—dangling his leg into turns flat track-style makes me think it was more than just a fluke.

I know how it feels to overcook a turn, with the back wheel way, way out and the handlebars pounding at full lock. The graceful powerslide becomes a harsh angle. You can feel—and hear—the front wheel chattering while the motorcycle rotates too far outside. Too much, too fast, and way too late to push the front.

Modern American motorcycle racing fails to capture “The Huge” of the old Grand National Championship; Atlas has been chopped into tiny pieces and served to squawking promoters. Today’s splintered motorcycle racing scene seems doomed by Organization Men. It’s enough to make a fan pine for the days when Harley-Davidson ran the AMA’s racing department. Maybe having Wayne Rainey—one of those former world champions who came up flat-track racing in America—now running the roadracing show will be a step in the right direction.

I know what it’s like to end up on the ground facing the direction from which I came. Flat track hinges on a rider’s ability to extract all available grip from a complex surface. Turn enough laps and you’ll enter a state of grace: vision auto-scrolls toward the center, making you hyper-vigilant. You’ll see a thousand tiny surface details, even at speed: a slight dip, an edge growing softer, a tiny stone out of place.

Professional motorcycle racers competing in the AMA’s Grand National events use the entire track, running an entirely different line each lap, if traffic demands. You’ll see them run high, then low, sometimes both in the same corner. Beautiful geometric abstractions play out as widely separated motorcycles spiral-intersect on the straights, like planets crossing paths in elliptical orbits.

We should be entering another golden age of flat-track racing. The bikes are relatively reliable; DNFs are rare. Decent ignition systems and sturdy crankshafts have achieved parity in the stock-framed singles class. Rider talent and tuner skill determines who wins; the brand of bike is irrelevant. In the twins class, engines from Kawasaki, Harley-Davidson, Ducati, Triumph, and now even Yamaha are breaking up an extremely long-running, rules-driven Harley-Davidson XR750 monopoly. This is all as it should be.

One thing no organizing body can screw up is that first dive into turn one. The national anthem (please stand), lime-lines, and revving engines form a familiar American ritual, as comforting as mound politics in baseball.

So now forget everything I’ve written because it’s on, Big Daddy: The Main Event. Every rider the best and no favors given, each gunning for an unmarked spot of dirt. I might not know what that feels like, but I get a misty-eyed surge of pride when I watch it happen.