Respects to a Champion
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“Turn
here”, I said to my wife as we drove down West Second Street in our hometown of
Owensboro.
We
had come back home to celebrate Christmas with the family. The day after turned out to be a gorgeous
day. Clear skies. Nice temperature. A great time to get out, drive around town
and see what had changed since the last time home.
We’d
been past the Smothers Park Layz Dayz
Playground. It was loaded with kids
burning off their holiday energy in Landscape Architects Network’s 2015 top
playground in the world. It was too late
to take in the new Bluegrass Music Hall of Fame and Museum but we did check it
out for a future visit. Now for the
final stop.
“What’s
down there? Where are we going? Why are we here?” Machine gun rapid-fire inquiries that only an
eleven-year-old can deliver.
As
we made the turn and the American Flag came into view, I heard my wife utter a
barely audible “Oh” as she slowed the vehicle and pulled over to the side of
the street to park.
“What
is it? Why are we stopping?
“It’s
somewhere your Daddy wants to go.”
“I
won’t be long,” I said as I opened the door and exited the Equinox.
I
had been wanting to come to this corner in front of the Owensboro Convention
Center since June, but unfortunately, I had not made it down here until
now. It was then when the Nicky Hayden
Memorial Statue was unveiled. Nicky, the
middle of three racing Hayden brothers and 2006 MotoGP
World Champion called Owensboro home. It
was in May 2017 he was tragically killed in a training accident in Rimini,
Italy. The outpouring from locals, the
racing community and his fans from around the world was staggering and many
asked the family for a place where they could come to and pay their respects to
their fallen hero. It was in June when
their requests were answered by the Hayden family and the City of Owensboro
with the unveiling of the life-size bronze statue of Nicky atop his #69
Honda.
Thousands
had come here before me. Now it was my
turn.
Others
were already there, so I stood alongside our vehicle, giving them their space
and time here. They looked to be a young
couple barely in their twenties. They stood there quietly, reverently. They were shoulder to shoulder, just like the
fans were at the track watching Nicky ride to the win at Laguna Seca in
2005. It was the image of that win that
had been forever captured in bronze by George Lundeen of
Colorado's Lundeen Sculpture that they gazed on this sunny December day.
After
a while, they quietly separated, each going their own way to take in the
memorial in their own way, interweaving today with their own thoughts and
memories of Nicky. Soon they reconnected,
took one long last look before turning silently to leave. He looked my way, made eye contact and gave
me a nod as if to say “Thank you for giving us space. It’s your turn.”
I
nodded back and turned my focus to the memorial of bronze, granite and American
flag. As I approached, the closer I got
more of the incredible detail of Lundeen’s work
captured my eye. How was it possible for
him to capture every little thing like he did?
If was as if he had dipped the bike and rider in bronze. Every piece and part, crinkle and crease was
perfect. Now I understood why it took
between 2000-3000 hours for Lundeen and his team to
create this work. It was so real it only
took closing one’s eyes to hear his bike fire up and see Nicky ride down Locust
St. for another Victory Lap.
As
I got lost in the details I heard a voice behind me. “It’s something isn’t it?”
I
turned to see a gentleman in his white Crown Victoria, window down, sizeable
dog in the back seat with snout sticking out his partially open window trying
to determine if I was friend or foe.
“Yes
it is” I replied.
“You
from here?” he asked. “Was born and
raised here. Now live in Frankfort.” I
replied.
“Were
you here when they unveiled it? I
was. It was something. Had six hundred bikes lined up and down this
street here. From here all the way down
to the STOP sign. It was something.”
He
then began to share his memories of Nicky, giving a more personal side, a side
not memorialize on the black granite base but forever etched in the heart of
one who knew him.
He
continued. “Knew those Hayden boys had
talent. Even as youngsters. When I worked at the fire station on Fifth,
they’d come blasting by at the same time every evening, riding past on their
back tires. They could ride on one tire better than most could on two. Ride past on their back tire going one
way. Same coming back,” he said,
smiling.
“You
know Nicky was always the same. Didn’t
matter what he won or how big he got, he was always the same. He’d come into the HealthPark,
he’d be rehabbing from some injury and you’d never know he was a World
Champion. He never asked for no favors
or preferential treatment, just wait his turn like the rest of us, talking with
everyone. Nicky was real. He never got too big, if you know what I
mean?”
“It’s
a shame. It’s a real shame. I’m glad they did this. It’s really nice. Shame they had to do it though.”
I
agreed. Then, as if he’d said all he
needed to say he wished me a safe trip back home and pulled away. I could see his dog, relieved he could stand
down as I was no longer a threat, settling in, focused on the next stop in his
master’s journey. As they turned at the
STOP sign past where all the bikes had been parked on that June day, my focus
returned to the memorial.
On
one side of the black granite base polished so bright that it picked up the
reflection of the checkered flag stonework surrounding the base, providing a
subtle but appropriate backdrop for the inscriptions on each side. The front, his nickname “Kentucky Kid”, autograph
and number, the back was the number from his plate. One side listed his many accomplishments and
the other his life, which read-
“Nicky
Hayden was born on July 30, 1981. He was the son of Earl and Rose Hayden the
middle child of five, with two brothers and two sisters. Motorcycle racing was
everything for the Hayden family. But that was especially true of Nicky. As
soon as he could walk he was riding minibikes at the family’s home in
Owensboro, Kentucky. Already declaring that he would become a world
champion.
For
an example of how far hard work and strong values can take a person, one need
look no further than Nicky’s career, which evolved from amateur track and road
racing to the AMA National Championship Series and eventually the FIM MotoGP and World Superbike Series. In 2006, he achieved his
childhood dream of becoming a world champion.
Along
the way, Nicky’s talent, charisma, dedication and kindness garnered legions of
fame around the world. But even as an international superstar, his family was
his anchor and the reason that he always returned to his beloved OWB.
On
May 22, 2017, Nicholas Patrick Hayden’s life was cut short following a training
accident on his bicycle in Italy.
This
statue was created to help keep his famous smile alive for many years to come.”
As
I read the final line I couldn’t help but steal an upward glance. The hair, the flag and the smile. Yes, the sculptor captured his famous smile. It will be alive for many years to come.
My
brief time here was running out, so I made one more slow lap around the
monument, trying to capture it all in my aging “rememberer”
as my son called it in his much younger days.
I made one final stop at the back looking at the view those competitors
saw all day at Laguna Seca-back tire, exhaust pipe and “Kentucky Kid”
emblazoned on Nicky’s leathers.
I
couldn’t help but think of my favorite photo of Nicky. It’s not the one that others know him for,
the hair, the smile, the excitement and pure joy of a win, but the one by
Graeme Brown that was used as the lead photo for Danny May’s Owensboro Living
article entitled “Remembering
the Kentucky Kid-Nicky Hayden”
The
leader. So far ahead that second place
wasn’t even close enough to be in the frame.
Forever in his element. Forever
racing on for the win.
As
I got back in the SUV, everyone was quiet. The fact that my son wasn’t asking
anything let me know that my wife had answered his questions and explained what
Daddy was doing and why. They were
giving me my space.
“You
OK?” My wife quietly asked as she put the vehicle in gear to pull away.
“Oh
yeah. Thanks for stopping.”
As
we made the turn down the street that had once been lined with hundreds of
bikes, I took on last look, sun shining brightly on the bronze and polished
granite, a wisp of crisp December breeze lightly moving the flag.
“I’ll
be back” I silently promised to myself…
“I’ll be back.”