Foggy

by Carl Fogarty

  This was different. Michaela and Louise were 15 or 20 feet away from where she fell in. I wanted to kill the pompous dickhead, sat behind a desk in London, who had tried to link Hannah’s death with parents not using seatbelts in cars. It really sickened me and just added to all the hurt and upset, at a time when we could have really done without it.

  And if the paper had been that concerned about the welfare of children, they might have taken a bit more notice of the court order that was made banning the identification of the other children that were present. Not only that, they were the only paper to publish a picture of the pool itself. To have been in a position to take that picture, the photographer could only have stood in one spot – at the very end of our drive and leaning over the gate. That was an invasion of privacy. Graham and Michaela, in particular, were furious and took the matter up with our lawyers, who thought we had a case. But that would have meant a long and drawn-out legal battle, which would not have changed anything that had happened. It would only have dragged out all the hurting for even longer.

  The rest of the coverage was reasonable and, of the tabloids, The Sun was probably the most responsible for a change. The local paper had used a picture of our house, taken from the road, which was a bit stupid because I didn’t want the world and his father to know where we live for obvious reasons.

  The first half of the following week was just a blur. It had hardly occurred to me that I was due to ride the following Sunday at the Nurburgring in Germany. And, by Thursday, I was on my way to the biggest race of my life. I have never felt under as much pressure to win one single race, even when a world title has been at stake. This was not about gaining championship points, it was all about honouring Hannah.

  It was my way of showing Graham and Louise that I cared and that I was hurting, in my own way. Everyone else’s emotions had been out on display for all to see. I’m not like that. I tend to bottle things up. I suppose it’s a typical man thing – you cannot be seen to be weak in these circumstances.

  So I arrived in Germany feeling like an emotional pressure cooker. The rest of the Ducati team had obviously heard what had happened and were very concerned. But that didn’t alter the fact that I had left Michaela behind in Blackburn and she would be attending the funeral as I started the first practice session on the Friday. The weather was grey and miserable, which was exactly how I felt, but I just tried to stay focused. And I managed to stay with the pace of the first timed session and clocked the fourth fastest time as we experimented with different gearboxes.

  Michaela flew out in time for Saturday’s qualifying and it was a relief to be with someone who was going through the same emotional turmoil that I was. She knew, though, that she had to behave normally so that I could try and approach the race in the usual way. That helped her as well. There was little point telling me about the funeral because I knew how horrible it must have been. But she did repeat something that Graham had told me before I left for Germany. He said, quite simply, ‘Go out and win it for Hannah.’

  That was easier said than done. I had never won at the Nurburgring before and had a disaster the previous year when I was 13th in both races. The odds seemed to be totally stacked against me and, on top of that, the weather forecast was awful. But, after the final timed session on Saturday afternoon, I was confident with the bike set-up although I wasn’t producing anything special in the way of times and was only sixth fastest.

  There were five riders to go after me in Superpole but my lap was inspired and no one was ever going to come anywhere near it. I set a new Nurburgring lap record for World Superbikes with a time of 1 minute 38.843 seconds, almost a full half a second faster than Colin Edwards in second place. It was one of the most incredible laps I had ever ridden for Superpole. I was quoted in The Sun saying that I had felt Hannah looking down on me and pushing me to better things. I didn’t say anything like that but, all the same, this didn’t feel like just any other meeting.

  Religion, and life after death, are difficult subjects for me. I’ve never really gone to church but I do say a small prayer out loud before races – to whoever might be listening up there. It will only be a quick, ‘Please help me through this one’ or, ‘I think I might need your help today’ or just, ‘Take care of me’. It would be a bit cheeky to ask for help in winning the race, as I haven’t really put enough into religion to ask for that much out of it. But I guess I must believe in something. And I don’t want to sound like Glenn Hoddle but I think there must be some form of life after death. Maybe, as soon as you die, you might come out as a baby somewhere else. I hope that’s the case because otherwise it will be a bloody long time doing nothing. Surely it can’t just be, ‘Full stop, that’s it’. There must be more to it all than that.

  Come race day at the Nurburgring, I was desperate to just get out there and win the race. I’m intense enough during preparation for races in normal circumstances but, on that Sunday morning, I was in a world of my own.

  And this was definitely one of those times, as I waited for the green light to signal the start of race one, when I asked for a little bit of divine intervention. I didn’t have the best of starts and slipped into third place and I began to think there was no way I would be able to pass Chili and Edwards in front of me. I was not losing any ground to them, but I wasn’t gaining either. But an early crash in the race had deposited oil at the bottom of the track and they both ran off into the gravel at that corner, leaving me back in the lead.

  Five riders in total slid off at the same spot and there were official complaints about the standard of marshalling because no flags were shown warning riders of the oil. Even Davide got involved, storming up to race control and demanding an early finish to the race. All he was bothered about was the safety of the riders – he didn’t care whether a Kawasaki, Suzuki or a scooter won the race.

  To a large extent, I blamed the riders themselves. I can’t remember seeing any yellow flags but I was aware that riders were crashing at the same spot. So I was careful to take a tighter line, avoiding the spill. Other riders could and should have done the same. During all this commotion, I was way out in front with a five-second lead. But, if the race had been stopped early, not enough laps had been completed for me to secure the points. Edwards slammed the marshalling as ‘amateurish and stupid’. It was appalling in some ways because, as I approached back marker Lothar Kraus, the marshals didn’t show any blue flags to warn him so that he could move out of the way and let me through. And there was no way I was going to let him hold me up, so I decided to try and dive straight past him. We touched and he crashed out, but that was to be the last scare. I coasted home to win by more than seven seconds, with Slight in second and Corser in third.

  The chequered flag usually triggers a whole load of emotions – relief, elation and exhilaration. This time it meant none of those. I buried my head into my bike, skipped the lap of honour and made straight for the pit lane. The greeting there was subdued and, as usual, the first hug was saved for Michaela. She was already weeping and, at that moment, the whole range of that week’s events and feelings just erupted in a flood of my own tears. I was overcome by the feeling of pride and relief that I had done something for Graham and Louise and, more importantly, had honoured Hannah’s memory.

  In some ways, it was like a winning a world championship. Because to win this one race was a goal that had been eating away at me for what seemed like ages. It was difficult to find the right words to try and explain to the world’s press exactly what the race had meant to me, and my family.

  ‘This was the most important race of my life,’ I told them. ‘I had to win that race, no matter what, for somebody who is not with us any more. I wanted to win for little Hannah, who lost her life in tragic circumstances. I wanted to win for her at all costs. Her dad asked me to win the race for her.’

  I didn’t really want to take my place on the podium. It somehow didn’t feel right but, in a way, I had to try to get back to normality. This wasn’t an easy thing to
do, especially on such a weird day. It always used to be a tradition in motorsport that the race winner was handed a laurel wreath, but that hardly ever happens now. But, at this meeting, the organisers had decided to restore that custom and I was presented with a huge garland, sprayed in gold paint. God Save The Queen was played and the Italian national anthem for the winning manufacturer.

  I didn’t have to explain to Troy, who was stood next to me on the left of the rostrum after finishing third, not to spray the champagne as a mark of respect. And I didn’t think that I needed to tell Slight, on the right. I thought wrong and the idiot started to douse the crowd below. It made me hate the man even more.

  The break between races was strange. It had probably been the worst week of my life and I felt exhausted. My energy had all been channeled into the first race. It wouldn’t have been okay to come second in the first race and win the second. I had to win that first race directly after her death. Even a double win wouldn’t have meant double the tribute to her memory, as all that had been sorted in race one.

  To be honest, I really didn’t care whether I won race two or not. It seemed like the meeting was over and that I had done all that was required of me. Yet I found myself winning comfortably again, by more than three seconds.

  Then, with just five laps remaining, I slid off into the dirt at a totally harmless corner. Maybe the choice of tyre for the second race had been too soft, but it still shouldn’t have happened. I managed to keep the engine going and, with the help of a marshal, rejoined the race but the leading pack were long gone and I had to settle for 15th place and one point. Many other riders would have thrown in the towel and not bothered to get back into the race. So, in that respect, I suppose my competitive instincts were intact after the draining events of the morning. But it was a fall that bugged me for the rest of the season. It was impossible not to think that, had I lost the championship by anything less than 24 points, it would have been due to that one stupid error that was totally out of character.

  Within 20 minutes of the second race finishing I was dashing to the airport to catch an 8.30pm flight home. It was a meeting I was glad to see the back of, a weird weekend in every respect – when something or someone seemed to be controlling what was happening. The poor weather had held off and any obstacle that seemed to be in my way during the first race just seemed to disappear. When Chili and Edwards rode into the gravel, it seemed as though someone was saying, ‘There’s your clear track, Carl, go and do what you have to do.’ Then there was the crash in race two. That appeared to say, ‘We let you win the first race for Hannah; this is pay back time.’

  It was also odd that the Nurburgring officials had decided to give podium finishers a garland, instead of the usual flowers. This was something I could give to Louise and Graham as a lasting tribute to Hannah and it has now been mounted in a gold frame, with a picture of her in the middle.

  Graham and Louise had already decided, before the accident, to come and watch me in the next round at Misano. I suppose this was a make or break time for our friendship and it must not have been easy for them to see it through. Everybody was coming to terms with it in their own way. I had my racing to keep me focused and the Nurburgring experience had brought a lot of my deeper feelings to the surface. The fact that I had seen tragedies throughout my racing career also helped me to cope better than the others. But I found this very hard to deal with because it wasn’t an adult, who was totally aware of the dangers of his sport, who had died. It was a beautiful little girl. Graham also threw himself into his work. But Louise and Michaela had been present and had to live with the images. It will stay with them much more vividly, and it was good for them to spend time together after the tragedy and talk it through.

  I had actually flown out to Italy the week before the meeting for an aborted testing session at Misano. In the event, the track was in no condition for proper testing, so I took advantage of some spare time to visit Davide’s home and we had our first chat about a contract for the following year.

  I had also spent a couple of days trail riding around the mountains of Bologna with Slick and a few of the other Ducati lads. Two mechanics ended up in hospital with a broken thumb and badly sprained wrist, after falling off their bikes. I was staying in Cattolica, a resort on the Adriatic coast about 10 minutes drive (Italian-style) from the track and was already pretty chilled out by the time Michaela, Louise and the kids arrived on the Sunday before the San Marino round. Graham had work commitments and joined us on the Wednesday.

  We were all able to spend a lot of time together, just messing around on the beach during the day and enjoying the best Italian food and wine at night. Louise and Graham were naturally still grieving – deeply – but there were signs as the week wore on that the break was doing them some good. Sure, there were difficult moments that anyone who has experienced this kind of thing has to work through. For instance, it was strange watching their son Matt and the other kids climb into the hotel pool for the first time. I’m sure that Graham and Louise didn’t want to take their eyes off them for a second.

  Nobody had really known what to do about the swimming pool at home after the accident. Michaela has not been back in to this day and I wanted Graham’s advice before I used it. ‘What do you want me to do with that thing?’ I asked, pointing to the pool. ‘Do you want me to fill it in?’ He told me to leave it as it was and I think that was the right decision. If we had filled it in visitors would always have asked ‘What used to be there?’ And then we would have had to go through the painful story.

  Misano is not one of my favourite tracks and, going into that meeting, I had never won there. But I was unusually relaxed and I tend to feel pretty much at home in Italy, anyway. Graham and Louise spent a lot of time around the Ducati hospitality compound, which becomes almost home for a few days. And it didn’t harm everyone’s mood when I won both races. Misano was probably Corser’s best track and it niggled him when I won Superpole.

  I wanted to try the hardest tyre that Michelin had available. Michelin warned that it was too hard and too cold and Luca Gasbarro, who is effectively my chief mechanic, said, ‘No, Carl, you’re not using it. It’s too cold and dangerous.’

  ‘Put it in,’ I insisted. ‘Don’t say another word, just put the tyre in.’

  When it came to warm-up I was a bit nervous because I was out on a limb. But I was the quickest out there without even trying and the tyre looked perfect. I was way out in front in the first race but ended up just managing to fend off Troy because I had a gear selector problem, which was costing me time. People said that he had conserved his tyres better. That was bullshit. Riders don’t conserve tyres – they ride as hard as they can for 25 laps. There were no such worries in the second race, which I won by miles. My friend Geoff, who owns a helicopter business, and his girlfriend, Mandy, had also flown out for the races and, by Sunday night, everyone seemed pretty relaxed. It was clear that, if anything, our friendship with Louise and Graham was even stronger.

  It seemed, at that stage, that the kids had been pretty unaffected. They are probably at the best age to deal with something like this, when they don’t really understand what’s happened. Graham has two children from a previous marriage and his 10-year-old took things really badly. Matt didn’t seem to mention the accident much at first and his mum and dad made a deliberate attempt to keep him occupied by maybe being a bit more lenient than usual. But he went through a bit of a bad patch later on. We have explained to our two what happened and they don’t seem to have been too upset, although Danielle was concerned at first and wrote notes to Graham and Louise saying how sorry she was.

  The next difficult time was the day Hannah would have been three. I think everyone wanted some kind of lasting memorial, so we decided to club together and buy some play equipment for the nursery she had attended. It wasn’t meant to be a morbid occasion, although there were obviously a few tears when the equipment was handed over. It was our way of helping to keep Hannah’s memory alive. Everybody
has their own way of doing that. For instance, there is a picture of her on our kitchen cabinet, which Michaela wanted. Louise also has photos of Hannah all over the house. While it’s impossible to say how you would react unless the same thing happened to you, I would probably have been inclined to take all the pictures down. I would find it too upsetting.

  Time is the only real healer, though. I guess the first 12 months are probably the worst and then it might start to become a bit easier to live with. It is not something that will ever be forgotten – and we all wish we could turn back the clock.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  King Carl

  Michael Doohan was on the same flight from London to San Francisco for the next round at Laguna Seca. He was going to see a specialist about the injuries from that big crash in Spain, which ended his career. He ran wide coming out of a corner and was heading for another left-hander when he clipped a white line, which was wet following early morning rain, and crashed at about 120mph. He suffered bad muscle and nerve damage to a wrist, badly damaged his knee ligaments and broke a collarbone.

  Doohan looked terrible. ‘He’s never going to race again,’ I thought. But he was very interested to hear about what was happening in superbikes and my plans for the following year.

  ‘I might be running a team in Grands Prix. Would you be interested?’ he asked.