Foggy

  FOGGY

  The Explosive Autobiography

  CARL FOGARTY

  with Neil Bramwell

  Copyright

  Harper NonFiction

  an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in paperback in 2001

  © Carl Fogarty and Neil Bramwell 2001

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

  Photographic acknowledgements

  All photographs supplied by the author with the exception of the following: Chris de Beer p 10 (centre); Double Red p 3 (centre right), 7 (top and centre), 16 (bottom); Kel Edge p 4 (top – main pic), 5 (top and bottom), 7 (bottom), 11 (centre and bottom), 14 (top and bottom), 15 (top); Gold & Goose p 4 (inset), 9 (centre right and bottom), 11 (top); Terry Howe p 2 (bottom); Lancashire Evening Telegraph p 12 (centre), 13 (top); Keith Martin Photography p 9 (top); Annabel Williams p 6 (bottom).

  Source ISBN: 9780002189613

  Ebook Edition © JULY 2012 ISBN 9780007381449

  Version: 2015-09-11

  Dedication

  Dedicated to the memory of

  Vera Fogarty and Hannah Walsh

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Introduction

  ONE Cock of the North

  TWO Boy Racer

  THREE Moving up a Gear

  FOUR Nineteen

  FIVE World Champion

  SIX Fearless

  SEVEN Big Time

  EIGHT The Privateer

  NINE Luck of the Irish

  TEN ‘Where’s Michaela?’

  ELEVEN Reaching my Peak

  TWELVE Wasted Year

  THIRTEEN Cramping my Style

  FOURTEEN In-fighting

  FIFTEEN Recognition

  SIXTEEN Hannah

  SEVENTEEN King Carl

  EIGHTEEN Teamwork

  NINETEEN Race Weekend

  Keep Reading

  Career Record

  Index

  Acknowledgements

  Praise

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Introduction

  BLACKBURN – 11.30am, Thursday 21 September, 2000: This was not the way I wanted it all to end. I had hoped all my fans would know that one particular race would be the last time they would see me in action. And I would have wanted to win that race more than ever. Instead, it has all ended in a gravel pit on the other side of the world and, for one of the first times in my career, I have to admit defeat.

  The horrendous arm injury I suffered in that 140mph fall at Phillip Island on 23 April has proved to be as bad as we all feared. I will never be able to ride like I used to – and win races. And that means the decision is made for me – it’s time to call it a day. Still, I have to be thankful that I am still alive and that I have the rest of my life to look forward to. Because it could so easily have been very different.

  Even now, I don’t remember a thing about the second race at Phillip Island. I only vaguely remember starting the race. It had been a shitty day and tyre choice had been crucial for the first race of the Australian round, where I was a comfortable second behind Anthony Gobert – who gambled on wet weather tyres. The second race, a couple of hours later, was dry and I made a bad start. But, as my tyres warmed up, I was charging through the field.

  I’ve not even seen the incident from any other angle than the on-board camera. But I was about to pass a slow Austrian rider called Robert Ulm on the outside. The theory is that his engine was cutting out. And I think he must have been concentrating on that and not on what was happening around him. So he was already pulling out into my line when it cut out again. There was nothing I could do to avoid him and I ran in his back. The TV footage was all grass and sky until they cut to my slumped body. I was apparently unconscious for about 10 minutes before sort of coming round in the track medical centre. Immediate X-rays showed that the humerus, the bone that connects the shoulder to the elbow, was fractured in three places near the joint with the clavicle.

  The first thing I remember is being put into a helicopter and I couldn’t work out why. And I don’t even remember the journey because I was pumped up with morphine while I was flown to Melbourne with Michaela. She spent the night by my bedside while the doctors kept me sedated. This crash had really scared her. And that’s one of the things that I have had to consider when deciding enough was enough. I have risked my life for 20 years and she has been there by my side for nearly all of that. She was almost sick when, from inside the Ducati garage, she saw the pictures of me out cold. And all her emotions surfaced while she kept a vigil at the Alfred Memorial Hospital. The only way she could cope with it all was to put pen to paper. This is what she wrote, and she wasn’t even able to bring herself to let me read it until months after the crash:

  ‘I sit here watching him with his tubes and IV monitors and wires – and wonder “Why? Is it really all worth it?” If that were Carl watching me in the same position, what would he be thinking? But he’ll never know that, he’ll never realise how it feels to have the other half of your whole world lying there, lucky to be alive. And I know that the answer to my question would be “Yes, it is worth it!”

  ‘At this moment, my head tells me I have got to make him stop. My heart says I can’t. But it was only a matter of time before this day would come. For 13 years I have stood by, watching him – every one of those years waiting for this. I’ve imagined it many times, run through the whole thing in my head. How I would feel, how I would act? Would I be strong? Would I fall to pieces? And it’s finally happened. Sure, he’s still here and I thank God. But enough is enough, and I scream inside because I’m confused.

  ‘Why do I feel angry? Maybe it’s selfish, maybe I’m feeling sorry for myself. But I don’t have a right to. Eight hours ago, I thought I had lost him. I thought the man who is my world had been taken from me without even a hint or a whisper.

  ‘And, of course, there’s not just me to think of. Our kids are at home, totally oblivious to the seriousness of it all, thank God. What would I tell them? I can’t even begin to think – it’s as though my brain won’t let me go there. They’re so innocent, so happy, with not a single care. They love Carl so much. How selfish it would be of him to ruin that innocence and carefree attitude to life – it’s what being a child should be like. And yet all the time he still does it. He still goes on, knowing it could happen. But then he wouldn’t have to face them, would he? He wouldn’t have to tell them he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t have to be there to pick up their broken hearts. So who is the selfish one?

  ‘But he’s alive, he breathes, he sleeps and I’m sure in a couple of months he’ll be back out there. And so will I, knowing it’s his life, his world, all he’s ever known. And one day, when he’s ready, he’ll stop and say “Enough!” I just hope to
God he’s here to make that choice himself and it isn’t taken away from him.’

  Well, I am here, although, if there had been even half a chance, I’d have wanted to race for one more year. And the very first signs were promising, that the injury was not as bad as first feared. The following morning, the surgeons took about an hour to fix seven screws and a titanium plate to the bone. A lot of the muscles were torn and there were fears that a nerve might have been stretched. And I was told that I wouldn’t race for a minimum of six weeks. Even that was hard to take. So I asked Michaela if there was any chance at all that I’d make Donington in three weeks’ time. She just looked at me as if I was mad.

  But I’ve never allowed myself to think about the chance that I might kill myself racing. Riders just cannot afford to have those doubts. I had said, though, before the start of this season that I would quit if I suffered any more big crashes. But I was not ready to quit like this. Despite all the problems I was suffering at the start of the season, I’d shown in the first two rounds in South Africa and Australia that I was still the fastest out there. The bike was good and I was riding well. So I was even more determined to go out and win more races.

  That was my problem sometimes. I wanted to win too much. Other riders would have accepted that they’d had a bad start in that race and aimed for a few points. But there was only one thing on my mind, to finish first. So maybe I was riding on the edge.

  The same thing happened in South Africa a couple of weeks before, when I crashed out in the second race but wasn’t injured. Maybe I was pushing too hard again, because I’d been battling against another shoulder injury all that week, and I lost the front end and slid off. But I still managed to finish third in a tight first race of the season. All things considered, I would probably have settled for that at the start. But I’m a superstitious guy and, whenever I went on to win the title I always won the opening race. So I was even more determined to win in Australia before going to Honda’s home track the following week in Japan.

  It had been bad enough recovering from that first injury, a damaged right shoulder from a fall while testing in Valencia. It was one of the reasons why I’d struggled to motivate myself all winter. My body was starting to show the wear and tear of 20 or so years of competing in a gruelling and dangerous sport. There are only so many times that you can dig down and ask it to keep going through this recovery process. It gets harder every year and you have to listen to your body. I’ve got aches and pains everywhere, on top of this shoulder injury. It’s different for the younger riders, because they still have everything to aim for – to prove themselves by winning trophies. The only thing that kept me going is winning races. And it soon became clear that this injury was going to prevent me from doing that.

  For the first few months, I could hardly think straight. Okay, I was still as irritating as usual and within a couple of weeks I was taking it out on Michaela by stuffing toenails in her trainers or burning her with a hot spoon while I made a brew! But I was constantly tired and very dizzy, obviously a result of the bang on my head. The arm was extremely weak and painful and needed to be rested. I had to try and keep myself happy with boring shopping trips to Marks and Spencer or family weeks away in places like Newquay or the Cotswolds. I am not the kind of person who finds the Cheddar Gorge interesting – unless I was abseiling down it!

  By as early as June I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to race again that year. And it seemed as though I wouldn’t be missed in some quarters. The Motor Cycle News, of all people after all the help I had given them down the years, published a front page with the headline ‘Who Needs Foggy?’ after Neil Hodgson’s World Superbike race win at Donington. They must not have noticed that I was mobbed by fans invading the track as I did a lap of honour in an open-topped car. It was a kick in the teeth at a time when I needed it the least, but at least the editor wrote me an apology, explaining that people had taken it the wrong way. It’s not often that happens.

  A few days at the Monaco Grand Prix as guests of Ferrari and Shell, where I met up with Michael Schumacher, David Coulthard and Mika Salo, perked me up a bit. But these were all just distractions from the thing weighing on my mind. I was starting to realise that I might never race again. The bones were healing well, but the soft tissue around the break and the shoulder had been badly damaged. But, although I knew deep down that I’d reached the end of the line, there was something preventing me from admitting it to myself.

  The only thing that was going to make my mind up one way or another was to get back on a bike. I’d ridden a few laps at the World Superbike round at Brands Hatch and the crowd went wild when they saw me back on a race track. But I could barely hang onto the bike. We needed more controlled conditions so Ducati fixed up a test in Mugello in Italy at the start of September.

  Words cannot describe how bad I felt when I came in after the first few laps. I was going down the straight, sat on the bike like a praying mantis. I was in absolute agony and I was one per cent of the rider that I’d been at the start of the season. I couldn’t even get down behind the bubble, change direction or hang off the bike at corners. It confirmed everything that my specialist Andy Carr had said. The bone would not heal as quickly as in any other area of the body because of the poor blood supply; there had been damage to the muscle and the nerve had been stretched and pulled around. There was no way the arm would be able to take the constant pounding of riding a superbike.

  A lot of people find it hard to grasp just how serious the injury is – and I find that very frustrating. If I had broken my back they would have been able to understand why I was quitting. But the nerve and rotator cuff muscle damage has robbed me of a lot of power and movement. Even my daughter Danielle beat me in an arm-wrestle recently. So there was no way I was going to be fit for the start of the 2001 season.

  So my mind was made up the second I got off the bike in Mugello. Those few laps had made me realise just how difficult racing motorbikes for a living had been. Until that point I had always found the physical side of the sport very easy. But that’s not all you have to take into account.

  The travelling used to be exciting 10 years ago but had already started to become a real ball-ache. It all seems very glamorous from the outside, because the sport is very colourful and there are lots of girls in bikinis in beautiful climates. But tell me what’s glamorous about flying to the other side of the world, hanging round a track and living out of a hotel for a week. It had become a case of getting in and getting out because we had a business to run back home and we were both aware that we were missing the kids growing up.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been lucky to make a very good living out of fulfilling my dream. Not many people can say that. All I ever wanted to do was ride a bike and become world champion but, once that happens, you find out that it’s not as easy as you thought it would be. There’s a massive responsibility because people want you everywhere and everyday. Then, on top of all the problems I had with motivation, I had to face unwanted distractions like my own uncle trying to make money out of me risking my life. It had become increasingly difficult to stay single-minded, aggressive and focused enough to keep winning races. Perhaps I was already looking forward to a time when I could start to be a nicer person, to start enjoying myself and spending more time with my family.

  There were a lot of people who thought that I was deliberately negative because it made me look even better when I went out and won against all the odds. But towards the end of my career I had nothing left to prove – I was the best superbikes rider there had ever been. If the World Superbike championship had not grown into arguably the biggest championship today, and I hadn’t grown with it, I might have regretted not moving to Grand Prix.

  It always used to be said that the 500ccs were harder to ride, but there’s only a handful of people saying that now. The GP circuit has also copied the success of superbikes and changed their rules to allow the four-stroke engines that the fans love and ride themselves to race i
n 2001. There is no way the two series will survive in competition and I think the manufacturers will choose to run with the GPs. When that happens, I’ll be able to say I was the best four-stroke rider in the world, anyway.

  I don’t really care how I compare to stars of other sports. But, if I’m ever asked who was the best British sportsman in the nineties, I’ll say me. I’ve won eight world titles, and there aren’t many who can match that. Stephen Hendry, maybe, but snooker is a leisure pastime, not a sport. I couldn’t argue with the rower Steve Redgrave because he has had to train so hard to achieve success in a sport which, like mine, has struggled to attract mainstream publicity. I admire guys who do well at motocross because it’s so physically demanding, although nobody has dominated it in Britain like Jeremy McGrath has done in the States.

  In the high profile sports, there aren’t many sportsmen who, when you look into their eyes, want to win like I do. They might want to do well, but they don’t want to win. The ones who really wanted to win are people like John McEnroe. He had the same spoilt brat type of bad-tempered attitude when he wasn’t winning. I’d have thrown my racket down if I’d been a top tennis player. If Ayrton Senna didn’t win he had a face like thunder and punched people. Tiger Woods is like a big kid whenever he loses. In football, there’s Roy Keane. He has the kind of determination to win that I can relate to – to try and score a goal and then to make sure he’s back defending.

  And I’ve only seen it in just a few other riders. Mick Doohan would sulk and blame something if he didn’t win. I’ve seen it in John Kocinski and Scott Russell. And I’m starting to see it a little bit in Colin Edwards, who made a pig’s ear of trying to take my title.

  It’s that special something that separates you from the other guys who just enjoy being out there, getting paid good money. If they win, then it’s a bit of a bonus. I didn’t care about the money. I would have done it for food if I had to. Sure, there are times when I sit back and think ‘You’ve done bloody well for yourself’. Racing is a cut-throat world that was very difficult to break into and I had a lot of other bad injuries and set-backs early on. So I’m not ashamed to celebrate the fact that I was the best.