Wayne Hosaka 1948-2011 IN MEMORY


Reprinted from September 1995 issue


Twenty-five years ago the Astrodome was proclaimed to be the eighth wonder of the world and the motorcycle community had adopted the Houston National as a winter homage.


It was a big deal and I was going. It really didn’t matter if I had a


rider in front of me would make a mistake. I entered turn one from the middle of the groove, making sure I did not


“I entered turn one from the middle of the groove . . . suddenly I felt the presence of another rider on my inside . . . the rider fell directly in my path . . . Instantly I reacted.”


Wayne Hosaka’s professional flattrack career was cut short in 1971 when he was paralyzed in a motorcycle racing accident. He lived the next 40 years of his life as a quadriplegic. Wayne passed away in January of this year at the age of 62. As a tribute to him we are reprinting articles over the coming months that he shared with us when he wrote “Old Dirt” in the 1990’s.


Part 2 of a series


LAST MONTH Awhile back I took the new Coaster commuter train . . . Over 25 years had passed since I had traveled the dirt road just to the south of the railroad tracks . . . my mind was carefully planning the best way to approach a difficult section of terrain I spotted near the tracks. My body was throwing English in my chair as I envisioned being aboard my Hodaka straining up an off camber, rutty switchback hoping the 3.25x17 Inouye knobby rear tire could find traction before I was buried to the pegs . . . As I rolled along at a quiet 60 miles per hour on the coaster, I began thinking about how motorcycles and the vacant fields flying by so quietly had affected me so greatly.


I was very proud as I rolled up to the line that February 7, 1971. This was Ascot, my home track.


T


he voice os Roxy Rockwood echoed loudly over the PA system as he announced the first Expert heat race. “And starting third in the first row,


let’s give a big hand to number 55X, BSA- mounted Wayne Hosaka, who did such a great job at Houston last week.” My heart pounded heavily as I rose my hand to salute the fans.


MEMORIES OF HOUSTON


Since it is run in the middle of winter, the Houston National attracted hundreds of racers from all over the country.


chance. Just to be there was enough. I was a Class C Expert! I had come a long way from those Miramar hills and hot dusty Dehesa Sundays.


The Expert class riders had trick short track bikes made specifically to their likings. Lightweight frames with quick handling and broad powerband engines were the set-up. Few gave me a chance to make the main event when I showed up with my Uncle Johnny’s stock-framed Bultaco Pursang. But I had grown up on


Bultacos and was totally familiar with their characteristics. The engine was prepared by Bob Schaefer, one of the best two-stroke tuners in the nation, who had been preparing my bikes since the Hodaka days.


ASCOT, FEBRUARY 7, 1971


At that very moment I felt like things were really falling into place for me and the limits were boundless. In my first National race — my first Expert race — I had made the Main Event at Houston Astrodome and was currently ranked 13th in the nation.


I had married my dream girl and our beautiful son was three months old. I was driving a new orange Dodge van and had a steady job.


What else could a man of 22 want? “Looking for adventure in whatever


comes our way.” — Steppenwolf


Finally, the first heat was staged and the flag was dropped. I got a mediocre start and was buried in the middle of the pack. So, as planned, I dropped into the groove and held my position, hoping the


www.SS-OffRoadMagazine.com - SEPTEMBER 2011 - S&S OFF ROAD MAGAZINE 19


overshoot the turn. Suddenly I felt the presence of another rider on my inside. Sure enough, he was ducking under me. I held my position as the other rider shot by on my left. Everything seemed okay. I would not contest the position. Without warning the rider who had just squeezed by me went completely sideways and fell directly in my path. Instantly, I reacted.


I chose to miss the fallen rider and try to go


around the motorcycle. I lifted, but


clipped his rear wheel and high-sided. My next memory was awakening in Gardena Memorial Hospital six hours later.


I opened my eyes and began to sort things out. I was not in great pain but my body seemed wrong.


I was lying on a gurney in a hallway. Soon my wife and friends were gathered around me and I asked what was going on.


I got no definite answers except that I would be fine.


Things were not right. I called to my young friend Pat


Evans. leg.”


“Pat, please lift my leg. Show me my


Pat did as I asked and lifted my still in leather right leg up high enough for me to see the boot. I could not feel him move me and when my eyes caught view of my boot I began to realize the extent of my injuries.


I had broken my neck and was paralyzed from the shoulders down. 


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52  |  Page 53  |  Page 54  |  Page 55  |  Page 56