Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1980's

Freddie says, in his soft drawl. In 1974 in Daytona he won the AMA 125 GP amateur championship. He did it again in 1975. By this time his dirt tracking skills were already widely known in the south. He regularly ran outlaw races (no novice, junior, or expert stuff. First racer to the checkered flag wins.) He had raced with and beaten on a reo gular basis such big· name AMA pros as Mike Kidd. Terry Poovey, and Guy McClure. Itching to ge.t into professional AMA racing, Freddie, at 14, applied · for a professional license, fudging his age. He ran four or five short track races as an AMA pro; and then was · suspended for a year. "You have to understand. though," Freddie explains. "I don't '!'comme-nd this. And I wouldn't do it now. But at the time I was 14 and had already been . racing against professional riders. So it was not a new experience forme." "A guy suggested it to us. So I got my license early. I went out and beat some- exper!s. .But I guess it was obvious," he smiles, "that I wasn't 16 · (the age requirement). So I was sus~nded for a year." That suspension was without meaning really, because Freddie was still two years shy of 16. That didn't stop Freddie from racing though. He still continued both his dirt tracking and his road racing. At 15 he travelled to Mid·Ohio, where WERA was holding the first motorcycle races ever run on this challenging circuit, with its slick patches in virtually every turn. I was there, I had crashed in a heat race, and put myself out of commission for the weekend, so I got ina lot of spectating. I got an eyeful, too.. Freddie devastated his competetion. In the 250 GP class Freddie blew away such notables as Gary Nixon, Mike Baldwin, and Richard Schlachter.. and he wasn't even old enough to get a driver's license. That was in 1977. In 1978 .at Mid·Ohio, Freddie had his second ride on a TZ750. His first ride was two months before in.a club race which he won 'at Texas World SpeeC;lway. In the 750 heat rac~ at Mid·Ohio Freddie was on Dale Singleton's back wheel at the checkered flag. Freddie lofted the front wheel, carried it the length of the straight, and set it down inside of Dale just as the Pig Farmer was heeling over for the left·hander at the end of the straight. Spectacular! In the main event, which was considerably longer, Freddie finished second. "I just tired out." he says. "That thing was a handful. I wasn't used to riding it. I nstead of using the horsepower, I tried to muscle it around too much. And it was a long race." But tha~ was two years ago. If , Freddie gets tired on the TZ750 now, none of the racers he lapped at Daytona would believe it. As Kenny Roberts has said in the past, riding a TZ750 really fast is something that ql\1y jI f~w_ra,l:CU; can do. Al}d Freddie is obviously one of that select few. At Oulton Park in the Match Races, on the fourth lap of the second race, Freddie broke the absolute lap record. At other tracks he was only tenths of a second off the absolute lap records. Freddie obviously adapts to different bikes and different tracks very quickly. How does he do itl "Well, I think a lot of the reason is that ever since I've been road racing, my dad has always taken me to as many tracks as he could afford," Freddie says. "He always felt the more tracks I rode, the more b'ikes I rode, . the better it woald. be fot me in all types of situations. "When I used to club race, I'd run six classes at every race weekend. And I'd run ~aybe 15 different race trackS a year," he says. ''I'd have to learn each track on each bike real quick. and I think it benefited me over there (in Europe)," "It usually takes me from five to 10 laps to learn a track," he says. "In practice I get down to about my fastest time in 10 laps." "Would more time' on a track help you go faster?" I asked. "No," he replied. "Another 20 or 50 laps probably wouldn't help. In the race you cut a second or a second and a half off your best practice time. But that's just racing." I wondered what a rider of Freddie's caliber looks for when h~ rides a new track. "The first things I look for," he says, "are different places you can ride, and places to avoid. You know, a hole, slick spots, things like that. Then I look for braking points, and then setting up for each turn. I always li).e to set up a turn ahead. At a lot of .tracks, for example, there are some turns that are set up so that going slower into one turn may actually let you go faster in the next one. And your overall lap times will be quicker. "I always learn each turn basically the same way," he says. "Turns are different. But they're not th.at much different. Basically you either turn left or right. One turn may be longer than another. Or one may be sharper than another. But you go around each one just about the same. "I go to each track the same way. And I learn each tum the same way," he says. "Barring potholes, slick spots, and so forth, racing is racing." Racing is also keeping the rubber side down as much as possible. Crashing can not- only damage expensive equipment, it can be hazardous to your health. Unlike some go·fasters witli a reputation for crashing as regularly as they win, Freddie doesn't visit the pavement very often. "I would never ride over my head to win," he says. "I would never give more than I'm capable of giving. You have to know your limits." . That doesn't mean Freddie hasn't taken his share of lumps. In Charlotte earlier this year he unloaded at about 140 mph when the oil filter came off his superbike and the rear tire was coated with oil. That crash was spectacular, totalling the bike. Luckily, all Freddie got out'of it was some road rash and a few sore spots. Surprisingly, Freddie has never broken a bone racing. But he has broken his left wrist three times. "When I was five I fell out of a tree and did it," he says. "When I was six or seven l' ran into a garage with my bicycle anf fell off and broke it. And last year I did it in a basketball game in high school." Even though Freddie is fast, he is not by.any stretch of the iQlagination a berserko rider. As anyone who has seen him ride knows, Freddie is smooth, precise, and consistent.. the epitome of what a world·c1ass road· racer should be. . ''I'm only going to take the fewest c~ances possible," he says. "You can't -ride 150 percent all the time. You have to make it to the next race." Surprisingly mature talk from an 18·year old just a few months out of high school. But Freddie's attitudes are every bit as surprising as his blazing speed on the race track. Freddie is a religious person. "Whenever I'm, home I go· to church," he says. "I'm a Christian. That's why I'm where I'm at today. I wouldn't feel safe out there on the race . track if I didn't feel that God was watching over me. It's always been like that. I "I went to a Christian school since I was in the seventh grade. All through my racing career I've been going to church. I've been around a good environment. "I feel that God helps me so that emotional stress doesn't. affect my racing. I can just go out there on the race track and go at whatever it takes to win. I don't drink, or smoke, or swear. That is," he says with a smile, "never out loud. Sometimes when I'm fixing to hit the pavement maybe. "I never really see any need to swear. You can express you'r feelings in different ways. I think religion will always be an important part of my life. I think it helps me get through each day. I really believe it fulfills me. I never reel lost, or really depressed. I can pray. Each time before a race I .pray for my safety and the safety of the' other riders," he says. As we sat in one of the Honda trucks talking, it became time for Saturday afternoon's Superbike race. Freddie's hard· working mechanic Mike Velasco pushed the number 8 Honda out to the starring grid, Shortly thereafter the picture taking and other pre· race hoopla was out of the way. The riders had taken their warm·up lap, and now they ~Il anxiously awaited the one·minute sign to go sideways. The sign went sideways. Shortly the green flag fell, and the ground trembled as the pack of roaring superbikes headed into turn one. with Freddie iQ the lead. Mike Velasco jumped up and·down and yelled. "Get 'em, Fast Freddie." Freddie got 'em. For the first rew laps he was r.unning in the 1.09's. The absolute lap'record, I believe. is 1.08 and change, and that was set by.Skip Aksland on his TZ750. Freddie was running within a second of that 01) his superbike. Wes Cooley was running a fine race ~n the second place spot. But he never managed to put a pass 01) Freddie. "We had a lap board," Freddie says. "Whenever Wes would close on me, I'd see it on the board, so I'd run it up a little harder and pull it back out again." Freddie led the race from start to finish. His slowest lap time was a high 1.10. Earlier in the day, Freddie had taken the Formula I bike out for a couple of laps of practice. It trad arrived the night before in a box, air· freighted from California. The forks were new and a little stiff. The superbike forks were identical,. ,!nd broken in. So the mechanics put those on the Formula I bike. Sunday morning rolled around, sunny and hot. Freddie went out in his heat race on the Formula I Honda, a bike he had almost no time on, and took second behind Richard Schlachter. "I was kind of getting used to it," he told me. "That was really the first time I had ~un it up kind of hard." When the main even rolled around Sunday afternoon Freddie pulled out a four or five second lead, then after a few laps got.oil on his rear tire and had to pit. That was it for the day. Now with some racers, such problems are met with fists pounding the gas tank, helmets tossed on the ground, four letter words yelled out with vehemence. There was none of that with Freddie. He was calm: polite, and collei:ted.. as he had been the entire weekend whenever we talked. We sat in a truck between turns 8 and 9 and watched the rest of the race. "Do you find you enjoy racing as much now as you did a shon time back when you were doing it for trophIes," I asked. . "Well, it's a lot harder," he replied. ''It takes more' devotion, more effort. But I wouldn't tra4e it for anything in the world. I enjoy it." "What' ady'ice would you give to aspiring road racers?" I asked. . "Practice," he replied. "Ride as much as possible. I used to go to WERA races and ride five or six different classes a day. You don't have to have sUi: different motorcycles. I would run my RD 400 Yamaha in three different classes, for example." "You have to learn your limits. I would say the mil'in thing is to learn how to be consistent. Try not to let outside or personal problems affect your racing," he said. As we sat there watching the TZ750's and other Formula 1 bikes hurtle by in front of us, I couldn't help but think that there were plenty of racers who knew their limits, who were consistent, and who had Pllt a lot of riding time in. and still couldn't catch Freddie. But I guess the thing that we all lack is that special blend of e 'periences, background, reflexes. and desire- of a lad ~amed Frederick Burdette Spencer. At 18 years of age, Freddie has already achieved ·faT more than any other American racer at age 18. Wha.t . will, t.he .next 10 years h?ldl • o 00 (j') ...... 7

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