Kyle Swenson: The grin was a dead giveaway. Bob Sellers spotted the smile on his friend’s face as he pulled up to the end of the tarmac. Bill Warner was still straddling his race bike, a ‘roided-up 1,000-horsepower Suzuki Hayabusa. The black Bell helmet was sitting on the gas tank. Warner’s bathwater-blue eyes squinted merrily, teeth straight and bright as new piano ivories. The racer had just been clocked going 296.128 mph down the decommissioned airstrip.
“What are you so happy about?” teased Sellers, a thin Texan in his late 50s.
“Let me tell you something,” Bill said as he twisted off the bike, his lean frame wrapped tight in a black leather protective suit. “When the front end stays down on this thing, it is a blast. When the front end comes up, it is not a fun motorcycle to ride.”
All weekend here in Loring, Maine, Sellers and Warner had been gunning for a world record: push the Suzuki over 300 mph — in just a one-mile stretch. But since Friday, the bike had been unruly. With so much juice kicking in instantly, the front wheel was pulling up like the nose of a jetliner during takeoff. The men had been trying to straitjacket the bike’s urges. That last successful shot, billiard-ball smooth, meant success.
“Bill, you’ve only got three and a half miles per hour to go,” Sellers said as they drove back to the pits.
“Let’s go get four,” Bill answered.
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