Foggy

by Carl Fogarty

  I try to feed Aaronetta, the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig outside our home in Tockholes.

  Before moving to Tockholes we stayed at my mum and dad’s house for four months. This was one of the rare moments when the Great Dane, Bridget, and the Chihuahua Arai, were not causing trouble.

  Michaela joins me and Ducati boss Frederico Minoli on the podium at Hockenheim in 1999 to celebrate my fourth world title. Aaron Slight refused to take his position because he thought he had won the race.

  In action at Kyalamu in 2000 before crashing out of the second race.

  Concentrating on treating my injured shoulder, hurt during a fall in testing at Valencia, in a break during qualifying at Kyalami in the 2000 season.

  I enjoy a glass of champagne with Mick Doohan at the FIM prize giving in Rome after we won our respective world titles in 1994

  I take the mike at the surprise party Michaela organised for me after winning the world championship in 1998.

  Those famous Foggy eyes

  Riding an enduro bike in the desert of Bahrain after being invited there by the country’s crown prince. I’m not exactly setting a good example, without a helmet or any protective clothing, but I’m having a good time all the same.

  At Laguna Seca, Kocinski’s home track, I was as sick as a dog after catching food poisoning from some seafood. On the morning of the race, I had a glucose drip in each arm for energy and popped loads of pills to try and stop the nausea. Considering I also hated the circuit, I rode really well to pull through from the third row of the grid and even overtake Kocinski. And, if I had just ridden a bit more aggressively, I wouldn’t have let him slip back into the lead and clinch the win. It was a similar story in the second race, but this time Kocinski had cleared off by the time I made it up into second.

  With two laps to go, the effect of the pills wore off and I spewed up in my helmet. Believe me, it’s not a pleasant experience as there’s not much room in a helmet to throw up. Back in the pit lane, the TV cameras zoomed in on the vomit dripping off my chinstrap. But I had done enough to keep my nose in front of Kocinski by four points, in what had already become a two-horse championship race.

  It was at this point that Kocinski started to ride the Honda well. In contrast, my own bike seemed more and more like my Honda from 1996 and we were struggling to find the right tyres. Maybe all bikes were like this now. But there was one difference that I couldn’t understand. I was unable to hang as far off the bike as usual to keep it tight into corners. It wasn’t until later on in the season that I found out the bike had a new and bigger fuel tank, which was literally cramping my style. Amazingly, nobody had bothered to tell me about the change.

  There was also added tension in the air in the usual intense build-up to the races at Brands. Kocinski had labelled the Ducati team ‘the Mafia’ and I was quoted as calling him a ‘freak of nature’. I didn’t like the way the guy treated and spoke to people, especially those who were looking after him. The stakes were raised after a couple of run-ins during practice, when he got in my way and was told exactly where to go.

  So this was not the place to mess up and we concentrated really hard on setting the bike up properly. It ran well, although I was still struggling for grip, and I was leading the first race when Graeme Ritchie crashed out and was killed. The race had to be re-run and I made a poor start. I had made it back up to third but was really frustrated because Kocinski was holding everyone up. Maybe he still wasn’t too confident in the dry. I needed really good drive down the hill to try and threaten him at the next corner.

  So I leaned the bike right over – too far over – as I came out of the corner before the slope. The back end came right round and I had almost controlled the slide until the bike ‘low sided’ me. This is when, instead of flipping the rider off as happens in a high side, the front wheel is lost and the bike dumps you onto the track. I took Simon Crafar with me and Chili missed my hand by a millimetre. My world championship lead had been lost through impatience – and all in front of a crowd of around 80,000.

  The situation reminded me of Donington in 1992, where I was desperate to repair the damage of my first race fall. It was threatening to rain, which also threatened my chances, but thankfully the race was started in the dry. I claimed the lead by passing Chili on the inside. He didn’t lift his bike far enough up as I came underneath him and he crashed out when his bar touched the back of my bike. But, of course, while I was in the lead, it started to rain. The race was stopped and, after a short practice in the wet, was re-run over aggregate times with Kocinski four seconds behind me.

  He was sure to beat me in the restarted wet race, but he needed to win by more than five seconds. A local wild card, Michael Rutter, cleared off into the lead and, sure enough, Kocinski caught me up and came past me. ‘Right, I’m either going to crash out or stay with him,’ I said to myself.

  It was probably the best race I have run in the wet and I matched him wheel for wheel. The crowd were on their toes, as I lost the front and back wheels in some big slides. Unusually, I even managed to put my knee on the floor, which I very rarely do in the wet as I don’t have enough speed or confidence in the corners to lean over that far. Other riders, with longer legs or different styles, do it far more often and tend to get better results in wet conditions. I hung on to Kocinski and crossed the line right behind him, and within four seconds of Rutter, to win the race overall. There were no handshakes on the rostrum!

  Even though I had clawed the points’ difference back to seven, I had missed out on the chance of two wins. The wet weather had partly been to blame and I could see that things were starting to go Kocinski’s way. Riders sense these things. You somehow know when you are going to win a championship, and when you’re not. He was improving all the time on the bike and already, I had big doubts about whether this was going to be my year. And that was despite another hard-earned win in Austria. I almost felt as though it was another stolen win, because I was riding on the edge to beat better bikes like the Hondas and Kawasakis – and getting away with it.

  But the effort involved made victory taste even sweeter. Another win was on the cards when I led the second race until, you guessed it, spots of rain started to fall. I was caught in two minds: whether to push hard or exercise some caution. But, when Kocinski came past me, the red mist descended.

  It was the only time in my racing career when I considered knocking another rider off his bike.

  I knew that I could brake harder than he could at the next slow, hairpin corner. He also knew that and, at the next corner, he braked very late. I was later. I should have let go of the brakes and allowed my bike to run through and clip him as he was tipping it over and I was coming underneath. He would have gone down, and I probably wouldn’t have fallen. But I hesitated for a fraction of a second and my hand went back on the brake. I ran into the back of him and took myself out while he wobbled, ran through the gravel and stayed on his bike.

  It was my fault – I’ll admit that. If I had just managed to clip into him, I don’t think he would have tried to come back past because he didn’t enjoy riding with me like that.

  Danielle didn’t agree that it was my fault. She had grown to dislike Kocinski as much as I did – and was furious. ‘I hate that John Kocinski, he’s a horrible man. I want him to crash,’ she said. Mind you, she didn’t like anyone who beat her daddy.

  There was another collision in the next round at Assen – between me and a fly. With just four rounds remaining, and the points still tight, I needed a double win in Holland. I led the first race until the last lap, when Kocinski passed me. But I was confident that I was quicker than he was going into the chicane. ‘No problem, just stay behind him,’ I thought, just as a massive bluebottle splattered all over my black visor. These things can make a mess, trust me. I couldn’t see a thing and there was no way that I would have been able to see the kerbs well enough to re-take him. Having complained all year about the bike, I knew that I would have been laughed out of Holland if I had to
ld anyone – only Slick knew the truth. I couldn’t believe it. My run of eight consecutive race wins at Assen was ended by a bloody fly!

  In front of a huge British contingent, I was really down. But Frankie Chili, who was one of the many riders who didn’t like Kocinski, came up to me and said, ‘Come on! Pull yourself together and beat him in the next race.’ I did just that. Slick was told to forget the other riders; I just wanted my board to show the gap between me and Kocinski. He had a bad start, but then the gap starting to come down: +6, +5, +4, +3, +3, +3. It stayed at that margin and Chili hung onto second place. Then it was Kocinski’s turn to sulk as he refused to jump on the car that takes the top three around the circuit for a lap of honour. I was really pumped up because I now trailed him by just five points.

  The next round was crucial and I told Virginio as much. ‘If I don’t win both races at Albacete, you can forget the championship,’ I said. He seemed more concerned about whether the hospitality truck looked good and clean. I was pushing for changes, and pushing the bike to the limit. But I didn’t seem to be getting much response from the team boss.

  In Spain I pushed too hard. Yet again I led the race before Kocinski overtook me. There was nothing I could do about it. And, as I tried to stay with him, I lost the front end in a pathetic first gear crash at a slow corner that I was trying to take too quickly. In the second race I was knocked out into the gravel at the start but came back on in last place and had made it up to seventh when the same crash happened again. From being five points behind, I was now 55 points behind. The championship was over.

  In my mind, there was no point even travelling to the two final rounds in Japan and Indonesia. I tried to make the most of my injuries from the second crash, hoping that my finger was broken so that I had a good excuse to pull out. I was pissed off, more with the team than myself. I’ve never been a good loser, especially when I didn’t feel that it was my fault. If Davide Tardozzi had been my manager that year, he would have pushed harder to solve the problems with the bike – and I am sure that I would have won the championship.

  Predictably Kocinski clinched the championship in the second race at Sugo, after I had finished 13th in the first race and crashed out again in the second, when the bike jumped out of gear. All of a sudden, Aaron Slight had closed the gap to third place to seven points, so there was some incentive for Indonesia. Amazingly, considering the championship was already won, Kocinski prevented him from winning the first race and Slight refused to stand on the rostrum with his team-mate. I watched Kocinski walk into the café at lunchtime, where Slight was sat with a face like thunder. Neil Tuxworth had to calm the situation before Slight stormed off. It was hilarious to watch but, with one race of the season remaining, I was hanging onto second place by just three points. But all I had to do, if I could be bothered, was finish ahead of Slight.

  He was never in the race. I had settled for third while Kocinski and Simon Crafar battled it out in front. Then, just as Crafar looked set for his first superbike win before joining GPs, Kocinski tried to pass him at a hideous angle and they both crashed out. I rode through to collect an easy win. It was typical that Kocinski’s one bit of bad luck all year had happened in a race that didn’t mean anything. Someone up there must have decided, ‘You’re not having this one as well, mate!’ Crafar was slightly injured and, because I had done nothing to earn victory, I gave him the trophy. It wasn’t that nice, anyway!

  Predictably, I wasn’t in the best of moods but we still went for a meal with Neil Hodgson, Jamie Whitham and Andrea. Following that, there was a big end-of-season party organised at the Hard Rock Cafe in Jakarta, which was about half an hour away in a minibus. Neil was testing the following morning and went back to the hotel after the meal. I also wanted to call it a night. Michaela persuaded me to go to the party, but I didn’t even want a drink. Scott Russell was singing on stage and Jamie got up to play the drums. Andrea was on backing vocals, with Aaron Slight’s wife, Megan, on the keyboard. They wanted us to join in, but I said, ‘Just forget it!’

  We left after around 10 minutes and Michaela was furious. So there was a blazing row at the hotel. Sometimes, especially after races, she still doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not always in the mood for being around the same people that I’ve spent the last few days working with. She feels that I should make more of an effort, for her sake, after all the work that she has put in over a weekend.

  The fact that I had heard some bad news while out in Indonesia hadn’t helped my mood. Towards the end of the season, I had made up my mind that I wanted to stay with Ducati. But I didn’t want to spend another season under Virginio. Francis and Patricia Batta, who ran the Alstare team for Fabrizio Pirovano in the 600cc Supersport championship, came up with what seemed like the perfect solution during the round at Assen. They approached me to ride a Ducati for them, as they wanted to get their Corona-sponsored team back into superbikes. It was one of the biggest outfits in the paddock and I had dealt with the Battas before, when they arranged my sponsorship from Diesel clothing. It was very tempting, as a lot of their mechanics had worked with me for Raymond Roche in 1993. What’s more, Virginio knew about the approach and didn’t seem too bothered. A deal was agreed at Assen, but not signed. It was just as well.

  A respected journalist, Alan Cathcart, approached me at Sentul and said, ‘Just a word in your ear, Carl. I don’t think this Ducati thing with Alstare is going to come off.’ The last thing I wanted was yet another long, drawn out wrangle. The Battas weren’t in Indonesia so, when we got back to England, I made a few check calls and it was obvious that their plan wouldn’t get off the ground. I think they had been unable to strike an agreement with Ducati, especially as Suzuki had come in with a better offer. Even though the Battas were trying to back-pedal out of the Ducati deal, they made one last attempt to try and tempt me to ride a Suzuki. But there was no point in taking that risk.

  In any case, I had already signed a new deal with Ducati when it had looked like Corona would be making a substantial contribution. When the Alstare plan fell through, and with it the Corona sponsorship, Ducati were left with the problem of how they were going to afford my new salary of £700,000, which was higher than they were used to paying.

  Hoss Elm, of Ducati importers Moto Cinelli, came up with a plan. He was involved in producing a line of 200 Foggy replica bikes for sale at around £20,000 each to the general public. He suggested that the price should be increased by £1,000 so that the extra £200,000 generated could be used to make up the shortfall. His idea worked as the bikes were quickly sold to fans including Douglas Hall, the chairman of Newcastle United, former England striker Les Ferdinand and £11.5 million Lottery winner, Carl Crompton, who lives in Blackpool and has become a friend.

  After all the official functions were out of the way, we went on holiday to Mauritius with Alan Pendry and his family. The island was beautiful but we had obviously picked the wrong hotel. It was supposed to be all-inclusive but, when we went to check out at the end of the stay, they wanted an extra £800. Apparently, only the local drinks had been free. I had a right go at the manager and threatened to go to the papers about some rats we had seen near the kitchen and a light that was hanging out of its socket in the swimming pool. He soon reduced our bill to £300.

  It was also around this time that rumours started to fly around that I was considering a move into driving cars. Vauxhall had arranged a day’s testing at Oulton for their Vauxhall Vectra and asked me to turn up as a publicity stunt, in return for a new car, which I still have. They allowed me out in a Vectra, the car used in their celebrity Vectra Challenge, and I span off about a hundred times.

  Then I took John Cleland, the British Touring Car championship driver, out for a spin. He shit himself. After three laps he was shouting, ‘Pull in, pull in – you’re going too fast.’ I hadn’t even got warmed up!

  There still seem to be a lot of people interested in offering me drives since I retired from bikes. Peugeot have contacted me but, again, they m
ight just be interested in the publicity. I was also only recently offered a deal to drive touring cars in South Africa. It came out of the blue from David Wong, the Singapore businessman who I rode for in Malaysia. I told him that he couldn’t afford me. ‘We definitely can,’ he said. ‘We have a very big sponsor.’ I have no big plans but, for sure, I would have a go – as long as it didn’t cost any of my own money. But, as always, I would have to be in with a chance of winning. And you cannot learn to run before you can walk. However, if there is one sport that you can become good at fairly quickly, it must be car racing.

  Back on two wheels, Virginio had already secured his two riders for 1998 in Troy Corser, back from a wasted year in GPs where Davide Tardozzi’s Austrian-backed team had gone bust, and Pierfrancesco Chili. Tests were arranged for November, in Albacete and Jerez, to try and solve the year’s problems. I had been calling for a return to the 1995 bike and my point was proved when the lap times on that bike were only marginally slower than the 1997 model. I was also the fastest of the three riders and still very much Ducati’s number one.

  So Ducati had four problems to solve: to stop me running wide at corners, to improve grip at the rear, to make the throttle less aggressive and, oh yes, to find me a team. In the meantime, I had a major problem of my own to solve – my knee was knackered …

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In-fighting

  The problems with my knee can probably be traced back to the Bologna Motor Show of 1996. This is a huge event and includes an annual Supermotard race. The bikes are like motocross with smaller wheels and races are run on dirt-covered roads. At this show the track is set up in the car park in front of a big grandstand, so that the fans can see their road racing heroes trying their hand at a different kind of racing.