By Tuesday night, Jimmy's Harley had ceased to be a motorcycle. It was now a collection of expensive objects distributed around Deke's shop. The fuel tank was on one bench, the seat was on another, and the air cleaner was sitting on top of the microwave for reasons nobody could explain.
Deke walked in carrying dinner, surveyed the carnage, and stopped. “What happened?”
Jimmy didn't look up. “I'm chasing horsepower.”
Deke set the food down. “Did you check under the seat?”
Jimmy threw a shop towel at him. For the past two days, Jimmy had been studying videos of the run. There weren't many. Tyler had recorded one on his phone, but he'd also managed to point the camera mostly at his own thumb for the first two seconds.
Jimmy had still watched it thirty-seven times. He knew because Erin had counted.
“You're slowing it down again?” she asked.
Jimmy leaned closer to the laptop. “Watch Cal's bike.”
“I watched Cal's bike.”
“No. Watch it.”
“I am watching it.” She insisted.
“Look at the gap.”
Erin looked. There was definitely a gap. That part was difficult to argue with.
Jimmy froze the frame. “There.”
Erin squinted. “What?”
“He's making more power.”
She looked at him. “That's your evidence?”
“He pulled me.”
“You missed the shift.”
“Everybody needs to stop saying that.”
“You missed the shift,” she repeated.
Jimmy slapped the laptop closed. “Fine. Forget the shift. Look at the rest of the run.”
CJ was working at the other end of the shop. Without looking up, she called, “He's probably got twenty on you.”
Jimmy turned. “Thank you.”
CJ looked up. “I was joking.”
The door opened and Rooster walked in carrying coffee. He glanced at the dismantled M8, then at Jimmy.
“What's broken?”
“Jimmy's confidence,” Deke said.
Rooster handed Deke a cup. “Can we order him some?”
Jimmy ignored them and pointed toward his motorcycle. “I'm changing the throttle body.”
Erin frowned. “Why?”
“More airflow.”
“Do you need more airflow?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because more is more.”
Rooster nodded approvingly. “Finally, somebody talking sense.”
Erin stared at him. “You once told me a carburetor could sense fear.”
“It can.” he said.
“It cannot!" she exclaimed.
Rooster shrugged. “That's why yours won't run right.”
“My bike doesn't have a carburetor.”
Rooster took a drink of coffee. “Exactly.”
Nobody had a response to that.
For all the joking, Jimmy was genuinely bothered. He had put years into the M8. Money too—more than he liked admitting. Every improvement had been earned through mistakes, bad tunes, broken parts, late nights, and components that promised ten horsepower but mostly delivered a shipping invoice.
Jimmy knew his bike. And Cal had gone around him like Jimmy was waiting for a bus.
That hurt, not because Jimmy expected to win every race, but because he didn't understand why he had lost.
Racers can live with losing. Mystery is harder.
Tyler came through the door carrying his phone.
“You guys are gonna want to see this.”
Nobody moved.
“I found Cal!”
That got everyone's attention.
Tyler turned the phone around. A grainy photograph showed Cal at another regional race several months earlier. Same motorcycle. Same old trailer. Same complete lack of interest in looking impressive.
Jimmy grabbed the phone. “What did he run?”
Tyler scrolled. “I don't know.”
“What horsepower?”
“I don't know.”
“What's in the motor?” Jimmy kept buggin'
“I don't know.”
Jimmy handed it back. “You found nothing.”
“I found his last name.”
Jimmy stopped. “What is it?”
“Mercer.”
Rooster repeated it slowly. “Cal Mercer.”
CJ looked across the shop. “Sounds made up.”
“It's on the results page,” Tyler said.
Jimmy leaned against the bench. “What else?”
Tyler smiled. “He lost.”
Jimmy brightened immediately. “To who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did the other bike run?”
“I don't know.”
“What do you actually know?”
Tyler looked at the screen again. “He lost.”
Jimmy smiled.
It shouldn't have made him feel better, but it absolutely did.
Erin took the phone and studied the photograph longer than anybody else had.
“Look at the rear tire.”
Jimmy groaned. “Here we go.”
Erin looked up. “What?”
div>“You're going to make this about setup.”
“It is about setup.”
“It's racing. Everything is about horsepower.”
Erin handed the phone back.
“No, Jimmy. Everything is about going faster.”
“Same thing.”
“No.” she argued.
Jimmy stared at her. The argument sat there for a few seconds.
CJ set down the wrench she'd been holding.
“She's right.”
Jimmy looked genuinely betrayed. “You're supposed to be a drag racer.”
“I am.”
“Then act like one.”
CJ smiled. “I build things for a living. When something doesn't work, I don't automatically assume it needs to be bigger.”
By Friday, Jimmy's M8 was back together.
New throttle body. Different tune. A little more timing and, according to Jimmy, “a couple other things.”
CJ raised an eyebrow. “How many is a couple?”
“Three.”
“How many really?”
Jimmy hesitated. “Seven.”
Saturday night, Cal returned.
Same truck. Same trailer. Same motorcycle.
Jimmy was waiting.
Cal unloaded, nodded at the group, and walked over.
Jimmy crossed his arms. “I made a few changes.”
Cal looked at the bike. “Why?”
Jimmy almost laughed. “Because you beat me.”
Cal nodded as though this were perfectly reasonable. “Fair enough.”
Jimmy waited.
Cal didn't ask what he'd changed.
That irritated him.
“You don't want to know what it makes?”
Cal shrugged. “Not really.”
Jimmy stared. “What does yours make?”
Cal smiled. “Enough.”
Erin turned away so Jimmy wouldn't see her laugh.
Jimmy pointed at Cal. “You know, that answer is getting annoying.”
“Probably.” Cal said as he turned and walked back toward his rig.
A little later, they lined up again.
Jimmy felt better this time. His bike felt sharper, angrier, more responsive. He launched hard and, for the first few seconds, the two motorcycles stayed close.
Really close.
Jimmy hit the shift clean.
Then Cal began moving away.
Not much.
But enough.
At the finish, the result was the same.
Cal won.
Back near the trailers, Jimmy removed his helmet. Nobody joked this time, which was somehow worse.
Cal parked nearby, and Jimmy walked straight over.
“What does that thing make?”
Cal leaned against the seat.
Jimmy waited.
Finally, Cal asked, “You really think that's the question?”
“What else would it be?”
Cal looked toward Jimmy's motorcycle, then back at him.
“Maybe next week you should stop looking at mine and start looking at yours.”
Jimmy watched him walk away.
Erin came up beside him. “He's right.”
Jimmy sighed. “I liked you better before you started road racing.”
Across the lot, CJ was staring at Cal's motorcycle.
Not at the engine.
Her eyes were following something lower along the right side of the bike, tracing the exhaust toward the collector.
Tyler noticed. “What?”
CJ shook her head. “Nothing.”
But she kept looking.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS:
Does more horsepower always make a Harley faster?
Not necessarily. Overall performance also depends on factors such as power delivery, clutch performance, gearing, traction, chassis setup and how the motorcycle is being used.
Why does usable power matter in motorcycle racing?
A motorcycle needs to deliver power effectively where the rider can use it. Peak dyno horsepower is only one measurement of the complete combination.
