© Bruce Allen October 3, 2021
It’s race day. At what’s left of COTA, in Austin, the racing surface so bad there was talk of the riders boycotting the round. Maverick Vinales is absent due to the tragic death of his cousin? nephew? racing a motorcycle. Although your boy Fabio has the championship pretty well wrapped up, Bagnaia has finally started performing up to his potential and Marquez is showing renewed signs of life, so the 2021 race remains interesting. There has been a horde of young fast movers making their way into the premier class. Paging KTM and Ducati. Someone somewhere is comparing the average age of the grid in 2011 with the average today, discovering, no doubt, that the field is getting younger and, according to Methuselah, more reckless.
All of which is meant to distract you, the reader, from my decision to quit writing about MotoGP for now, as it has dropped sufficiently down on my list of priorities, since Nancy died in August, to make the work seem trivial, inconsequential, undeserving of my mental energy when I have so much else I need to think about. Sure, I intend to keep watching races and probably a few qualifying sessions just to keep my oar in the water. I need to maintain interest in my hobbies and avocations lest one of these doctors declares me clinically depressed. We wouldn’t want that.
I’m having some minor health issues–some hernias to repair, the sudden need for a crown on a back molar–and one serious one, in that I am no longer able to manage my blood sugar adequately with meds and will probably end up shooting up insulin, showing the younger grandkids how to tie it off, heat the spoon, the whole deal.
Part of my current problem is that I tend to come a bit unglued each day very early in the morning, at the time I used to do my writing about racing and a few other topics. I can’t type through my tears, which leads me to the edge of the journalistic abyss, questioning why I’m even trying to do this stuff when I feel so bad. I did some writing about Nancy a month ago and it made me feel absolutely no better.
My counselor says that until I can tell Nancy’s story without losing my shit I will not be on my way back to feeling normal. She says I should go to group therapy and practice telling Nancy’s story, over and over, every two weeks, until practicing doing so makes it easier to do actually get through it intact in the world. I’m going along with everything so my daughters don’t accuse me of being difficult or recalcitrant, which I’m usually not anyway.
I was going through the mail yesterday, doing fine, when I opened an envelope from American International Group which contained a check payable to me, the proceeds of the life insurance contract I insisted she buy years ago. It was, by far, the largest amount of money I’ve ever held in my hands. Despite the fact that I bought the policy before she was diagnosed, the fact that it paid a death benefit, to me alone, seems unfair and selfish. Imagine having had that money, money we could simply blow, back when she was healthy and vibrant. Back to Ireland and Spain, travel to Italy and Austria, Scandinavia, wherever.
So. On to just being a spectator and fan. For now. Once I get her ‘estate’ settled and get my health under control–in other words, when I have absolutely nothing to do–I may return to this site and grace you with my petulant observations. Perhaps in time for the season opener in 2022 under the lights. Until then, you must know that the only thing that has kept me doing this thing since Motorcycle.com broke up with me is you guys and your comments–sometimes prescient, always informed–telling me you enjoy my work. Otherwise, I might have been outta here last year. Anyway, thank you all for the kind words over the years and may the farce be with you forever.
Top 10 Riders after COTA:
Quartararo 254* *mortal lock
Bagnaia 202
Mir 176
Miller 148
Zarco 141
Binder 131
M Marquez 117
A Espargaro 104
Vinales 98
Oliveira 92
Late-Braking MotoGP 