The Paddock Gentleman

By Gloria Bonafonte Romagosa

The following story was written during the winter after Nicky Hayden’s 2006 Championship-winning season. This is the first time it has been published in the U.S.

Toward the end of 2002, in Malaysia, a young MotoGP rider punched the door as he left the box following a bad test session. A moment later, he retraced his steps and reentered to apologize for his behavior. When he left again, in his calmer state, he left those who were there that day with their mouths hanging open.

Among those people was photographer Yves Jamotte, who has more than twenty-five years of experience on the Grand Prix circuit. Even Yves, who has seen everything in this world, was surprised at the humility, manners, and respect demonstrated by a MotoGP pilot toward the people who worked with him, in a moment that was especially difficult for him. It wasn’t common.

The pilot was named Nicky Hayden.

In Europe, Nicky was then a complete unknown. The first time some of us had seen him was at the final 2002 race, in Valencia: nothing special, another new rider joining those who raced every year. It wouldn’t be until the beginning of the following season, in 2003, that we began to familiarize ourselves with this young “Yankee,” alone and polite, who circulated among the trucks in the paddock on a scooter, or walking with his hands buried in his big pockets.

When Nicky arrived in MotoGP, he had just won the AMA Superbike title. He was the youngest rider in history to win that title. He could have arrived with a big head, full of pride and pretentiousness like many others. Nevertheless, he wasn’t like that.

For those who haven’t lived inside it, I should clarify that the MotoGP paddock isn’t an environment that’s common or easy. It’s complicated for any new arrival to integrate himself in a compact group that has years of working together nearly twenty-four hours a day, under a lot of pressure; that sleeps in the same hotels, shares endless hours waiting in airports, and travels in the same airplanes dozens of times every year.

The year that Nicky arrived was also my first year. I was terrorized. “The MotoGP paddock,” they explained to me, “is like a little city that moves all over the world. We all know one another.” And it was certainly true. That’s why it’s so addictive once you’re integrated. And for that very reason, it’s very difficult to become integrated. Without doubt, being a woman made many things easier for me. I would observe Nicky because I could understand what he must be feeling to be alone in that environment. I felt solidarity with him because we were both new there.

Yes, integrating into the paddock is difficult. But if you’re also a young pilot and you race with the best equipment, equipment with which everyone else wishes to race, things become complicated. And if you share a box with the star of the moment, Valentino Rossi, it can be even more difficult. The majority of the pilots bring a very close relative or friend along on their travels all over the world during the season. This helps them to feel supported and to keep their feet on the ground. In Nicky’s case, it wasn’t like that. He arrived alone and found himself in the middle of what some call “a pack of wolves” without any more support than his interest and his will to finish on top.

And he did it well—very well. To be honest, I should mention that some women in the paddock would have been more than ready to help him with his integration. But that would have broken an unwritten rule, which we all know and respect very well: do not become mixed up with pilots. In a world of men, with more than 2,000 mechanics, crew chiefs, sponsors, and personnel of every type, the majority of which are men, it’s important to make the boundaries clear if you don’t want to have problems.

Nicky entered in the dynamic of MotoGP as a bullfighter enters the plaza: alone, but with a team of professionals working behind him. He didn’t have a motor home to retire to after the testing sessions. He didn’t have family or friends with whom to talk, relax, disconnect. In the paddock, as in many workplaces, first you observe, you evaluate, you judge. And with time, you integrate.

In all that time, alone at all hours, walking under the cold with impossible wool caps, casting timid peeks and trying to connect with the people who moved around him, Nicky always remained himself. Never one word louder than another. Never a bad face. He was conquering us with his friendliness, his politeness, and his humility.

In those first months, his team of mechanics was a big help. Between practice sessions, they’d come out to sit together and drink something in the hospitality center. That’s how I had my first words with Nicky. For a while, I had wanted to introduce myself, but I didn’t know how to do it in a way that wouldn’t be misinterpreted. Finally, I approached the group (I already knew many of them) and said, “Hi, I’m Gloria. Nice to meet you. If you need any help with languages sometime, count on me. I speak five.” Nicky smiled, with that ear-to-ear smile of his, and replied, surprised, “Five languages? Wow, I only speak English!” That response made me feel very good, coming from a professional rider, and I reminded him: “That’s fine, but I don’t ride a bike the way you do!”

I had broken one of the rules that is respected most jealously in the paddock, and Nicky’s mechanics were dying of laughter, but I wasn’t sorry. I was sorry not to have done it earlier, not to have offered a hand from the first moment. My professional position inside the MotoGP structure didn’t permit me to, but I felt bad seeing Nicky alone, test after test, race after race, for months. I’m convinced it wasn’t anything personal, and I hope that, with time, Nicky was able to understand that the mechanisms that operate the bonds and disagreements in the ridiculous world of the paddock don’t have anything to do with the personalities, and much to do with the hopes, interests, insecurities, and fears of those who work there.

Nicky demonstrated himself to be an excellent professional by winning the world championship in 2006, but even more importantly, from the first moment, he demonstrated himself to be an extraordinary human. In an artificial, remote world where it’s easy to lose control under the enormous pressure, Nicky always maintained exquisite manners, interest, humility, and humanity that are anything but common. There are many good riders, many good professionals, but in the world of elite sporting competition, it’s difficult to find people who are also good. People with integrity and understanding, with strong values, able to endure the storm alone.

Another example: the Brazilian Grand Prix. It was the round most eagerly awaited by the people in the paddock. Everyone talked about it the whole season. Throughout the year, the activity in MotoGP is frenetic until the wee hours of the night, but in Brazil, not a soul is left at the circuit by 6 in the afternoon. And no, it’s not for the beach, for the views, or for the sweet bread. There’s nothing to do but to say it … it’s the Brazilian women. Imagine 2,000 men far from home in a country so hospitable.… For the women in the paddock, there remained the option of dining in the hotel (we all know how dangerous Rio de Janeiro is at night) and go to sleep early in our rooms. Brazil is a man’s world. And what you least expect to walk into the restaurant, when everyone is gone, is a man who has … stayed in the hotel. Who doesn’t take advantage of the night, the opportunity, the complicity … Nicky, of course. This might have been his golden opportunity for him to integrate himself with the other men of the paddock, but he didn’t do it.

I’ll always remember the day on which it was to be decided who would win the 2006 motorcycling world championship. I couldn’t go to Valencia, but I couldn’t pull myself from the television. In the business, everyone was rooting for Valentino. Not me. Nicky could do it, Nicky deserved to achieve it … and he achieved it! God, I was so happy that I began jumping on the sofa! I opened the balcony and screamed from the depths of my lungs: “Nicky won! Nicky is champion!” Tears were coming down my cheeks as I saw him cry during his lap of honor (in the midst of all that yellow smoke intended to celebrate another victory for Valentino) and as he arrived at the finish for the podium ceremony. I don’t have anything against Valentino; he’s an extraordinary pilot, unique and nice. But let’s admit it, if the same person always wins, the competition loses emotion. It happened with F1 and Michael Schumacher, and it happened in MotoGP. Finally, someone had broken Valentino’s long succession of victories, and it was Nicky. Many pilots deserve to win, they spend years fighting for that honor. And among them, there are also many excellent people, like Alex Barros or Carlos Checa. But the one to win the 2006 championship was Nicky.

Who will win in 2007? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if it’s Nicky, or Valentino, or someone else. The day that Nicky won, he gave a marvelous gift to those who believed in him.

A native of Madrid, Romagosa worked for Repsol Honda during Hayden’s first seasons with the team. She has battled brain cancer since then, but she attended the Jerez MotoGP this past weekend, where she had the opportunity to meet Hayden again.