Foggy

by Carl Fogarty

  The meeting with Roberts was arranged in the Marlboro Yamaha team bus. It was a bit weird because, despite the fact that he was my childhood hero, there had been a bit of history between us. He, like me, is not the kind of bloke who is going to keep his mouth shut if something is upsetting him. I had said my piece about Grand Prix riders in 1990 and Roberts was one of the GP men who liked to put superbikes down, until Scott Russell switched over and made a good impression. So, by the time we met in Spain, we both had a lot more respect for each other. He said, ‘Look, I don’t know what’s happening with Marlboro or with Yamaha for next year. For sure, I’d like you as a rider in the team but it all depends on sponsorship. I’ll keep you informed.’

  Whether that was true or not, I’ll never know. We also met up with the boss of Dorna. They were desperate to steal the best superbike rider, in an attempt to stop our growing championship from threatening the status of Grand Prix as the sport’s top prize.

  Today, there is not a lot to choose between the two championships although, worldwide, the history and nostalgia of GPs probably still give them the edge. Obviously superbikes is bigger in Britain because of my success and its relative popularity in other countries also depends on the success or failure of their own riders. For instance, superbikes has recently been bigger than GPs in the States but, now that Kenny Roberts Jnr is starting to have success, GPs are starting to pick up again over there. Strangely, even throughout Doohan’s period at the top, superbikes has remained very popular in Australia.

  We left Spain none the wiser. And all this time the superbikes world was on hold. There was only a couple of irrelevant races of the 1995 season remaining, but no team wanted to name their riders for 1996 until I had made my decision. I hadn’t talked figures with the likes of Yamaha, Suzuki, Kawasaki or even Honda, as creating an auction is not my way of going about these things. And, of course, Ducati desperately wanted to know what was going on.

  They had made me an offer, but it was pretty disappointing considering my success, which continued in the next to last round of 1995 at Sentul, Indonesia. But the first race win meant nothing to me and, when the breather pipe developed a problem in the second race, I pulled in without any second thoughts. ‘There’s a bit of a problem, I can’t ride it,’ I told Virginio, after my first breakdown of the whole year. He wanted me to fly straight from Indonesia for some testing in Phillip Island before the final round in Australia. ‘I’m not testing,’ I told him. ‘I’ve just won the world championship. What do I want to test for?’

  Instead, I went to Bali for a week’s holiday and was joined by Michaela, Slick, a few mechanics and a couple of Italian riders, Fabrizio Pirovano and Piergiorgio Bontempi. By now Honda, Suzuki and Ducati were frantic for a decision. I wasn’t sure that Suzuki would be competitive enough.

  And I had pretty well made my mind up over Ducati. I hadn’t told them, but I really didn’t want to stay there for another year. It wasn’t because I felt that I had nothing more to prove. The reason was the lack of overall organisation. There was also a lot of politics within the company and their offer was not as good as some of the other figures that had been mentioned, probably as a result of those internal arguments.

  Deep down, I really fancied a shot at the GPs. But that was the least concrete of the offers. I needed to force the issue. Before Michaela arrived in Bali, faxes were flying to and fro between Blackburn, Kenny Roberts Snr in the States and Aksland in Europe. Eventually, I managed to speak to Roberts.

  ‘What’s happening, Kenny? Is there a ride or isn’t there?’ I asked.

  ‘Carl, I just don’t know and I don’t think anything will be sorted out before Christmas. One thing is for sure, I can’t guarantee anything. If you get a good offer from another team, I would take it if I were you,’ said Roberts.

  I don’t know how much truth there was in what he said, but it was clear that I would be stupid to go down that road. I came off the phone and said to Michaela, ‘I’m going to go with Honda.’

  There were a number of reasons. I had always been impressed by the team’s set-up. It appeared well organised and somehow more professional than Ducati. Their riders travelled business class all the time, and that wasn’t always the case with Ducati. Little things like that all added up. I had always worked well with Neil Tuxworth, despite taking the piss about his tightness and sulking. Their bike had looked fast in 1995 and there was no reason why it couldn’t go even quicker. And the money was good, nearly double Ducati’s previous deal. I’ve no idea whether I was paid any more or less than other riders. I don’t even know whether I would have earned more in GPs. These things have never bothered me. As long as I have been happy with my deals I’ve let other people get on with their own negotiations. If someone sorts out a better deal than mine, good luck to them – you won’t find me bitching.

  The questions about my future were almost constant as soon as I set foot in Australia. But Virginio needed to be told first. ‘Okay,’ he conceded, ‘If that’s your final decision. I just wish you could have told me sooner as I need to sign up other riders.’ Then I found Neil. ‘You’ve got me,’ I told him.

  Nothing more needed to be said. He didn’t do cartwheels, but his relief was evident, as this was the third year in succession in which he had tried to sign me. Slick was included as part of the package, as well as Nick Goodison, who had worked with him in 1989 for Honda. The actual races at Phillip Island were something of an anticlimax although Gobert gave me a good second race, beating me by half a machine after I had finished fourth in the first race. Then I announced my decision to leave Ducati publicly at the post-race press conference.

  Neil’s first act was to bring Aaron Slight, his other rider for 1996, round to my room the following morning. Neil said, ‘Look, I know you two have said stuff about each other in the past, but I want to clear the air right from the word go. I can tell you now that you’ll both be treated the same.’ I didn’t like Aaron and he didn’t like me. There was no getting away from that fact. But neither of us had a problem with being team-mates. And it was good for me to know that I had a team-mate who I knew I could beat!

  It wasn’t until later that week that the deal with Honda was announced in the press. I think a lot of people were pleased, as it got me off a Ducati and opened up the championship. But, on the way home, the split with Ducati proved very upsetting. We flew with the team to Singapore, where I changed flights for England and they switched for Italy. Virginio gathered us all round at the airport and gave a little goodbye speech. ‘It has been fantastic over the last two years and everyone is going to miss you. But we wish you well and hope that you might be back with us some day,’ he said. His voice started to crack with emotion, which made me and some of the mechanics fill up with tears. It was a touching moment.

  The discussions with Kenny Roberts proved to be the closest I ever came to a regular Grand Prix ride. But that’s not something that I regret in the slightest. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that I would have won Grand Prix races, given the right package and the right bike. Whether I would have won a world championship is a different matter. To win a world title there also has to be an element of luck involved. It is always difficult to stay out of trouble for a whole year. Mind you, at that time, there was only really Mick Doohan to worry about, as Kevin Schwantz had just retired.

  Some riders who left superbikes have adapted to the Grand Prix scene, some haven’t. It all boils down to an individual rider’s personality. For instance, Simon Crafar never won a World Superbike race but won the British Grand Prix in his first year on a 500cc. At that time, the package was working for him. The following year he changed his tyres, didn’t win anything and lost his job. Max Biaggi left 250ccs, jumped on a 500cc bike, smashed a lap record and won his first ever Grand Prix race. Yet people say that 500cc bikes are hard to get used to. Yet even Mick Doohan says that they are easier to ride now. I’ve raced Alex Criville twice in GPs and beaten him twice – and he went on to win the world championship.
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  But I’ve also seen it work the other way. Troy Corser joined the factory Yamaha Grand Prix team as World Superbike champion but didn’t do a thing for them and was sacked halfway through the year. Anthony Gobert, who is always difficult to judge at the best of times, has ridden fast laps on a 500cc, just as he has done in superbikes. But he has never been fit enough or motivated enough to do it consistently for the 25 laps of a race. He has a lot of talent, but was too young and stupid to be handed the chance to ride in GPs. John Kocinski won 500cc Grand Prix races on the Cagiva, which nobody thought would ever happen, and on a Yamaha. When he returned to GPs from superbikes, he was as fast as anyone on a couple of tracks but crap at the others. Again, his style is more suited to some bikes and tracks than others. I know that I’ve always been able to adapt to riding different bikes. And, if I had been given a good bike with a good team, I’m sure I would have been a GP world champion.

  It was no time at all before I started to have serious doubts about my decision to join Honda. After briefly meeting the team in Louth, I flew out to the first test in Malaysia with Chris Herring, who had been a reporter on MCN but had also just joined Castrol Honda as their public relations guy. He was a good bloke and I had always respected his work so it was good to have him on board.

  As on any long-distance flight, I had plenty of time to think things through. And it just hit me. What the fuck have I done? Why have I changed teams at this stage of my career? Why leave something behind that I’ve built up over three years, and that worked so well? I drifted off to sleep and put it down to an attack of nerves on landing in Malaysia. And Honda’s smooth organisation helped ease those fears. Someone was waiting at the airport with my car for the stay, exactly the kind of thing that hadn’t happened with Ducati. They had also given me a Honda NSX Supercar for use in England, which was fantastic to drive.

  Slick and Nick had travelled in advance and were already working on the bike at the Shah Alam circuit. My first impression of the machine was quite good, especially when I pulled a wheelie on my way out of the pits to announce my arrival. After two days of testing, I was only half a second slower than the best lap time of the three days.

  It was a wonder anyone could set decent times, though. One session was stopped for 10 minutes while the marshals chased a family of baboons off the track with sticks. I saw a whole family wander casually across a fast part of the circuit. I hit the brakes and just missed one of them, who looked at me as if to say, ‘Piss off, you don’t scare me, mate.’ And they weren’t the only wildlife hazard. It’s not so bad on race day, as the place has usually been cleared by then. But in practice sessions, especially when the circuit hasn’t been used for a while, I regularly ran over little long black snakes which had slithered onto the track. I once saw one rear up at a 125cc rider and nearly knock him off as he sent it spinning across the track. You certainly don’t lean your bike over if you see them at a corner!

  And, if you ever fall off in those places, the first thing you do is get out of the grass, however badly hurt you are. Big iguanas have even been known at Shah Alam. So, all things considered, the results from that test seemed fine for my first time out. What wasn’t so good was the number of meetings that I was expected to attend to be quizzed by little Japanese men. Honda seemed to call a meeting every time I farted.

  My testing time had to be cut short so that I could attend the Sky TV Sportsman of the Year awards in London, a three-hour spectacular live on television. This was a real star-studded occasion and the audience contained the likes of Sylvester Stallone, Noel Gallagher out of Oasis and lots of soap stars from EastEnders and Coronation Street. They all went mad when I rode the new Honda onto the stage. I was pipped into second place by boxer Prince Naseem Hamed, while Frank Bruno was third. But Sky Sports did present me with a special Get Up And Go award for my performances during 1995, especially at Sugo. At the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards before Christmas, I was interviewed about my world title but didn’t make it into the final three. I was sat next to Colin McRae, who was third in the poll after winning the World Rallying championship, while Frank Bruno was second and triple jumper Jonathan Edwards first. When Edwards’ name was read out, McRae and I just looked at each other and said, ‘Who?’ We had never heard of him!

  I have been invited down to that BBC ceremony ever since I claimed my first F1 TT title, but didn’t always accept the invitation as I knew that I wouldn’t feature in the programme. As my popularity grew over the years, though, and the voting system supposedly changed to a ‘live’ phone vote on the night, people started thinking that I had a chance of winning, especially after the 1999 season.

  In my opinion there’s no question that it is biased towards sports that the BBC has coverage of, so World Superbikes was never going to get a look in while it was on Sky. The winners in 1999 all seemed to know when it was going to be their turn to stand up and collect their awards. At that same ceremony, when I told the nation that it was great to have more fans than Manchester United, the interviewer, John Inverdale, said, ‘If you win it for a fifth time in 2000, you may have a chance.’ In an Olympic year? I don’t think so! But, with the BBC having won the rights to screen the World Superbike championship in 2000, there might have been less bias against me.

  After the Sky awards, the next testing session was in Australia, where the team staged all their publicity shots. Honda’s discipline was already beginning to get on my nerves. I had to wear certain shirts to certain events, which is not my style. The only time I got a real bollocking from Neil all year was at Laguna, when I wasn’t wearing the correct shirt at the right time. So I lied and told him that someone had nicked it from my cupboard.

  To make matters worse, the testing didn’t go well. It was cold, wet and windy and I seemed to be going round in circles – literally. I was doing a few laps, putting new tyres on and doing a few more. There was not much effort, or thought, going into it on my part, so I wasn’t learning anything about the bike. This was yet another sign of the change in my attitude to racing. I had lost some of the motivation to analyse the bike in winter testing. And when the next two testing sessions, at Mugello and Misano, were ruined by the weather, I was entering the season under-prepared.

  What’s more, Honda just didn’t feel like my team. It seemed to be geared up more for Slight’s success. At the first round in Misano, I noticed that he had a different set of forks on the bike. ‘What are they?’ I asked his mechanic, Adrian Gorst, who I didn’t like one bit. He was a real teacher’s pet type who kissed the arses of the Honda top brass whenever they were around. He also had it in for Slick from day one.

  ‘It’s just a different set, no big deal. There was only one set left,’ Gorst replied.

  I pulled Neil up immediately. ‘Look Neil, we either test the same things, or we don’t test at all,’ I insisted.

  Neil saw my point and it didn’t happen again.

  I missed most of final qualifying as I was laid out in my motorhome with concussion after my first big crash on the new bike. Having spent two or three weeks on the road travelling between tests, with Danielle and Claudia to look after, I wanted to race, pack up and get home as quickly as possible. I was still beaten up come race day and was fairly happy with a sixth and seventh place, just behind Slight in each race. I felt there was something to build on. But yet again, when another test was set up at Snetterton so that I could spend more time on the bike, it was cut short by rain. But at least I was now quicker than Slight and had Donington to look forward to. Or so I thought.

  The bike was not at all bad to ride. The braking was good, the gear changing was positive and the acceleration was smooth and powerful. But it just didn’t suit my style of riding. Whenever I leaned over in mid-corner, to try and carry as much corner speed as possible, the rear end tended to come round. Slight didn’t have the same problem, as his style was different. He braked late, was slower through the bends, but would squirt the bike out of the corner. And at some tracks the effect on me was wors
e than at others. That was to be the story of the year. And Donington just happened to be one of the tracks where the bike wouldn’t perform. I was ninth and seventh, which was an absolute disaster for the reigning world champion on his home track. Slight’s second place in the final race just rubbed salt into my wounds. It was the perfect chance for my rivals like Colin Edwards to open fire with comments like, ‘We told you he was shit’ … blah, blah, blah.

  Sat in the bath, back home that Sunday, I was thinking that the season couldn’t get much worse. Then Michaela walked in and said,

  ‘They’re going to sack Slick tomorrow.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Neil and he’s going to call you later tonight. They’ve been having a lot of problems and the other mechanics have been complaining about him.’

  Sure enough, Neil rang to break the news. ‘Look Neil, I’m not happy about this. But if that’s the way it has to be, then that’s the way it has to be,’ I said.

  The real problem was that it was my own mechanics, people like Nick Goodison, who couldn’t work with Slick and not the ones on Aaron’s side of the team. Slick has always been outspoken and will say things that perhaps he shouldn’t say. He will also do things his own way, instead of looking for a compromise. He can shout and bawl and occasionally doesn’t speak to people properly. And it didn’t help his cause when he turned his company car over in a ditch.

  When Slick looks back on his career, I think he’ll wish that he had done things a bit differently. He was always the one who would be urged to do something daft by those around him. Then, when he gave in, he invariably got into trouble with the team bosses. In a team as strict as Honda, it was probably only a matter of time before it came to the crunch. Slick told Neil, ‘I don’t even like it here; I only came because of Carl.’ But he was very upset and came up to Blackburn for a few days.