Peter and Bozo Racing

Long time buddy Shaun McLaughlin sent me the news. Like most, I could not believe what I was reading. When Shaun said that they were considering setting up a blog to commemorate Pete’s life, I thought it was a great idea. Seeing everyone’s entries to date, I now understand that I was just a small part of Pete’s larger-than-life life. I wanted to contribute to the blog, but there are so many stories and memories to tell that I did not know where to start. Some of you might remember that for a short time, Peter owned a motorcycle….so here goes…

Our last summer as “teenagers” began, appropriately, over beers in the Lambton Tavern in Toronto. It was January 1981. I was 27 at the time. Peter was about the same. We would start a motorcycle race team and call it Bozo Racing. After several more beers it made great sense: we would be going really fast on a road devoid of Buicks driven by grey-haired men wearing hats. Ambulances would be waiting if we crashed. What could go wrong with a plan like that?

I sent in my $35 fee and an application form to the Canadian Motorcycle Association and instantly became a CMA amateur road racer. Peter would be my “crew”. Getting to the track with the bike was a problem but Peter knew a guy with a full size GM van that he thought he might be able to borrow. As winter moved towards spring, Pete & I tore down my trusty 1974 Yamaha RD350 and rebuilt it as a Production Racer – essentially a stock bike without lights. Looking back, I have no idea why it took so long for us to accomplish that... but then, the Lambton Tavern was only about 5 km from my apartment….

April 23/24 was the first race weekend at Shannonville, near Belleville. True to his word, Peter showed up with a white GM van – I don’t remember who he borrowed it from – or if they were even aware that he had borrowed it. That first weekend was a revelation: I was not fast – but I was not last either. And it was a total blast. Peter had a great time even though he did not do a single lap. He was talking to the other racers and crew and breathing in the whole experience. I remember laughing a whole lot that weekend.

In our second race in early May, a long time friend Al Page appeared out of nowhere to watch. Al was one of the “notorious” Nipple Riders Motorcycle Club which included Warren Wood, and Rick Hampton. Knowing the 3 of these guys, I don’t believe that the Nipple Riders struck much fear into anyone other than themselves. I was struggling to improve my lap times. After a couple of practice sessions Peter offered some sage advice: “Jim - You need to go faster”. Pete started doing split times on my laps and we discovered that we were competitive on the slow part of the track – but at least a second slower on the fast part of the track. Now, knowing that did not improve my lap times, but at least I understood why I was getting passed.

As the summer went along, my younger brother Jeff began to show up at races. Jeff had a newer 1979 RD400A. Peter also had the race bug bad and jumped into the game purchasing a brand new Yamaha RD350LC - a very sweet, quick bike.

Over more beers at the Lambton, we agreed to put a full team of 3 bikes on the track for the big race at Shannonville on the long August weekend. We had custom leathers made by Horvath Leathers on Queen Street. Bozo Racing was written across the back. We looked like pros even if we didn’t know what we were getting into. We took Friday off to practice for the big weekend. Before long, I crashed on a sharp left hander and bent the handlebars – but no real damage was done. Peter and Jeff were doing well. Jeff was setting lap times less than a second slower than my best time – on his first day on the track no less. This does not indicate that Jeff was fast, just that I was really slow. Anyway, Peter was having a great time – you could see his ear-to-ear grin even when he was wearing a full face helmet. Eventually – after many requests - he let me ride his bike. It was quick and smooth. So quick that I approached that left hander about 10 mph faster than I had ever done before – and I laid his bike down, tweaking the fork and knocking off the tachometer. If you’re counting – I was now 2 for 2. Peter wasn’t overjoyed, but he did not react as badly as I would have expected given that I had just crashed his new bike.



Gail & Jim Larocque, Pete, Rick Gallant and friend…Shannonville

After lunch we replaced my handlebar and “un-tweaked” Pete’s fork. We were on the track again. I was chasing one of the quicker riders through turn 6 and got a really good lesson in ground clearance – more specifically – lack of ground clearance. Off again – this time at 60 mph or so, heading towards a hay bale – on my new leathers. After sliding for about 30 minutes (or so it seemed) I felt I was almost stopped, so I put my feet down to stand up and just walk away from it like I have seen Yvon DuHamel (a top French Canadian rider) do so many times. Well – I am not Yvon – and I was still going a good clip when by rubber soled work boots stopped my feet dead. The laws of physics took over and I performed a cartwheel that Nadia Comaneci would have been proud of - until I landed on my head. You know, broken collarbones really suck, but it could have been a lot worse.

So ended our big “race weekend”. Peter took me to the emergency ward at the Napanee hospital (not recommended) where they x-rayed me, put me in a nice “figure-8” bandage and prescribed some pretty good painkillers (highly recommended – especially when consumed with brandy). We headed back to Toronto the next morning after spending the evening in a fine Belleville establishment called the “Blackhawk Motel” – also not recommended for anyone wishing to do anything but yell, drink and have lots of noisy sex. For the record, we only yelled and drank.

Eventually I sold my leathers to a co-worker who raced bikes. I held onto that RD350 until 1993 and I still have that license plate hanging in my garage here in Ottawa - but for that one summer, we reverted back to being kids. I doubt that I would ever have realized my boyhood dream of racing a motorcycle if it were not for Peter’s encouragement and support. That’s what I remember about Pete: he was a catalyst but also an active ingredient, a great friend and a crazy bastard all at the same time.

Thanks Pete.