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Dream. Believe. Achieve. My Autobiography
Jonathan Rea
‘If I had to lose my record to anyone, I couldn’t be happier that it was Jonathan. Family connections aside, there is nobody more talented, more determined or more deserving.’ – Carl FogartyWithin the staggeringly dangerous and high-pressure sport of professional motorcycling, Jonathan Rea’s achievements are unprecedented. A legendary World Superbike Champion withmore race wins than any rider in history, Rea’s trailblazing success shows no sign of slowing down.Now, for the first time, this remarkable sportsman tracks his life and career. Seemingly destined for the racing world, Jonathan grew up in the paddocks — his grandfather was the first sponsor of five-times World Champion Joey Dunlop and his dad was a former Isle of Man TT winner. He owned his first bike before his hands were big enough to reach the brakes.But while racing may be in his blood, it is through sheer determination and relentless perseverance that Rea has gained huge victories in this ultra-competitive world. Topping several of the most prestigious motorcycling championships, he rules the sport — so much so that regulations are being introduced to curb his dominance. The fact that Rea has endured several potentially career-ending scrapes — including smashing his femur at the age of seventeen and being told that he would never race again — makes his achievements even more incredible.‘Dream. Believe. Achieve,’ is Rea’s mantra and in this gripping autobiography, we go behind the visor and into the mind of a man who has risen to the top of one of the most skilled and dangerous sports in the world.
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Copyright (#u31da287a-56ed-56fa-9f95-bc32441fd96b)
HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
FIRST EDITION
© Jonathan Rea 2018
Cover layout design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Cover photography © Graeme Brown/GeeBee Images
All other photos courtesy of the author unless otherwise indicated.
While every effort has been made to trace the owners of copyright material reproduced herein and secure permissions, the publishers would like to apologise for any omissions and will be pleased to incorporate missing acknowledgements in any future edition of this book.
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Jonathan Rea asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780008305086
Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008305116
Version: 2018-09-13
Dedication (#u31da287a-56ed-56fa-9f95-bc32441fd96b)
For Tatia, Jake and Tyler
Contents
Cover (#uf290a816-7b2a-5d9a-8ef5-161601130566)
Title Page (#uf98e72a2-3b8a-5f9b-8468-f303c2be6738)
Copyright (#ub133a771-7633-54f3-88be-543aa2369d63)
Dedication (#u6385a7b4-4d36-53af-a67e-ef1a8a3f97e4)
Foreword by Carl Fogarty (#u4d90cba4-c563-5dd0-afae-b37bc4dca710)
Prologue: I’m Not Crazy (#u7e02ec54-054e-583b-88cb-dd871263794d)
Chapter 1: Sixty (#u3a42b868-c471-5e57-bc60-d10a4081f5ba)
Chapter 2: In the Blood (#u4e706102-4be8-5ca1-a861-a8153d2da945)
Chapter 3: Motocross (#u2a75d057-e2ac-5f9b-bd84-3b61246153d5)
Chapter 4: Red Bull Rookie (#u13a2d481-7338-5627-95e3-143b1806d6da)
Chapter 5: The Big Break (#ue541110d-dc9f-5a92-972d-07f937a79740)
Chapter 6: Second Chance (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7: Living the Dream (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8: My Racer’s Brain (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9: The Learning Curve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10: Honda Grind (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11: Little Feet, Itchy Feet (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: End of the Line (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: The Grass is Greener (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: Back to Back (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: Making a Point (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Homecoming (#litres_trial_promo)
Picture Section (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Career Statistics (#litres_trial_promo)
List of Searchable Terms (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Foreword (#u31da287a-56ed-56fa-9f95-bc32441fd96b)
By Carl Fogarty
My first connection with the Rea family was more than four decades ago in 1977 when my dad, George, finished second behind Joey Dunlop in his first TT victory on the Rea Racing Yamaha sponsored by Jonathan’s grandad, John.
John Rea was a jovial Irishman who loved his racing, and I was a bit in awe of him when I first met him for my debut at the 1987 North West 200 and he gave me some words of encouragement. The family connections continued when I raced on the roads against Jonathan’s dad, Johnny. I was fourth on the bike I borrowed for the Junior race in 1989, when Johnny claimed his only TT win.
Many years later, Jonathan was one of a number of up-and-coming British lads, along with the likes of Leon Camier, Cal Crutchlow and Tom Sykes, who my Foggy Petronas Racing team considered for our final year in World Superbikes in 2006, before we finally opted for the late Craig Jones.
I don’t remember speaking to Jonathan until I answered a call from an unknown number when staggering out of a beach club in Marbella, after a couple too many shandies. He was racing for HM Plant in the British Superbike Championship in 2007 and had just received an offer from Ducati to compete in the World Superbike Championship the following year. You had to respect the lad’s confidence for calling me up out of the blue. I told him that the Ducati team manager, Davide Tardozzi, would look after him and that he should take the offer. He obviously didn’t listen to a word I said, because he signed for Ten Kate Honda!
Within a couple of years, I was convinced that he was the fastest, most talented guy in the World Superbike Championship. But, relatively new to the class, he was a bit inconsistent, which was to be expected. His career mirrored mine in a lot of ways – I had to prove myself in a team and on a bike that were not the best out there. A few people started to doubt what I was saying about him, but I told them to be patient. The best rider nearly always ends up with the best package, and that happened to Jonathan, too, when he signed for Kawasaki.
The rest is history – including my record number of 59 wins! I’m often asked how that feels and the honest answer is that, if I had to lose the record to anyone, I couldn’t be happier that it was Jonathan who beat it. Family connections aside, there is nobody more talented, more determined or more deserving, and there isn’t a box that he doesn’t tick for me. He’s also a genuinely good guy, a proud family man who doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. And, not content with beating my records, he even had the cheek to try to sell more books than me by asking me to write this Foreword.
Dream on, mate! :) #1
PROLOGUE
I’m Not Crazy (#u31da287a-56ed-56fa-9f95-bc32441fd96b)
I’ve been knocked out more times than I can remember … I have a separated acromioclavicular joint in my shoulder … I’ve had a broken left collarbone, two broken ribs, two scapholunate wrist reconstructions (left and right) … a broken right radius, two bad breaks of my left femur (one compound, one very complicated) … a complete reconstruction of the medial collateral ligament and anterior cruciate ligaments in my left knee and an ACL reconstruction in the right … a broken right tibia and fibula, a broken left ankle and a few broken metatarsals. Worst by far are my knees: they’re in really bad shape, especially the right one.
I’ve had the end of my finger worn down to the bone. And I’ve been told I’d never ride a motorbike again, let alone race one.
I didn’t listen, though.
This list is nothing unusual and I’m not complaining, it’s just the price I pay to do the sport I love. From head to toe, my body has paid its dues.
‘You must be mad.’ … ‘Racers are crazy.’ … ‘You must take your brains out before you put your helmet on.’
Listen. I am not crazy.
Focused? Yes.
Selfish? Of course.
Driven? For sure.
But a crazy thrill-seeker? You don’t understand me or my sport.
I’ve been riding since I was two, racing since I was six. At the time of writing, I’ve been crowned World Superbike Champion three times, scored the most points ever in a single SBK season and won the Suzuka 8 Hours endurance race. I’ve ridden in one British Supersport season, three British Superbike, one World Supersport and ten SBK championships so far. And I’m pretty far from being done.
This is an elite sport. You have to be very, very clever and very, very fit. You win by working margins in the thousandths of a second. You throw a 165kg motorcycle from side to side, guide it as fast as possible around tight turns, brake hard and late while fighting G-forces and intense winds. It can and does go wrong, with devastating physical and emotional consequences. But I don’t see anything reckless or crazy in risking that. Do you?
I see it as a true sport and sometimes even an art form in trying to get it right, to keep aiming for perfection.
They say racing is like a drug, but I’ve lived quite a clean life, so I can’t really say. I know racing is a bug that bit me young and has not let go.
And I know that winning is what drives me.
That means, yes, I am selfish. Every elite sport demands levels of sacrifice and commitment that are hard to imagine from the outside. Endless training and preparation and thinking and rethinking. Countless days and weeks in hospitals and months in rehab.
Any rider who has reached the top has travelled a long and bumpy road, marred by serious injury and, in some cases, worse. Having a family now, it has become harder. I’m responsible for my wife Tatia and our boys Jake and Tyler. And while this is my lifelong dream and my overriding passion, I do understand it’s not theirs.
I get nervous on the grid, but not about getting hurt. I focus on the perfect start, nothing else. I never think ‘What if I crash?’, ‘What if my brakes don’t work?’ or ‘What if I get hit by another rider?’ You never think it’s going to be you.
Yes, I’m very selfish and self-driven. No, I never think about the dark side or the dangers. That’s my racer’s brain. I park an emotion and I move on.
Shall we move on?
CHAPTER 1
Sixty (#u31da287a-56ed-56fa-9f95-bc32441fd96b)
Saturday, 9 June 2018, Automotodrom Brno, Czech Republic
The stress levels are at maximum now.
At the very last moment, just as I roll to a stop, I find neutral. I give Uri a gentle nod, because he’s always as stressed as I am about me finding it. I turn back to the start lights and do a couple of nervous twitches with my head, something that’s developed over the last few years. All the other riders are in position. The start marshal walks off, pointing his red flag towards the lights. We wait. Those lights will come on for anything between two and five seconds. As soon as they go out, it’s a start. I engage first gear and activate launch control.
The lights come on, I twist the throttle. The decibel level soars as the other riders do the same. One … two … three … four …
It’s race day.
This morning I qualified second fastest in the Superpole session – the middle of the front row of the grid. The whole post-Superpole parc fermé thing, photographs and interviews, is dragging on. It’s less than two hours from the lights going out for the 1pm race. I’m thinking I need some food and quiet time.
What I am definitely not thinking is this: I’m not thinking I could be breaking a record today. Sixty doesn’t enter my mind.
I run back to my race truck office where my personal assistant Kevin Havenhand has picked up some grilled chicken and broccoli. I’ve not eaten since breakfast and I need to get this down now so I’m not bloated for the race. I scoff it while getting changed and watching the qualifying sessions for one of the support classes, Supersport 300, but I don’t eat much – just enough so I don’t feel hungry later. I stay in the truck while the physio checks my ankle, which has been hurting the last couple of days. My riding coach, Fabien Foret, is running through final details about the race and my plan of attack. He leaves and switches off the lights and I roll out a mat on the floor and rest my head on a team jacket. I’m out like a light.
The alarm goes off a quarter of an hour later, around ten past twelve, which gives me another 15 minutes to get ready. Kev has got a fresh, clean inner suit ready and all my riding gear is lined up in neat rows, just how I like it. I hop on the scales – a normal 71.3kg. Albert’s back in to log my weight and apply some Kinesio therapeutic tape to my arms. I had some arm-pump problems at the previous round – ‘carpal tunnel syndrome’ caused by heavy braking and the constant pressure and vibration. It can cause numbness and tingling, and it’s bloody painful; but that was mostly down to the nature of the Donington Park circuit and I’ve had no problems here at Brno, so this is just a precaution. As soon as that’s done, I finish climbing into my leathers and me, Kev and Fab are marching out of the office like the Three Musketeers.
We know that we have the pace to win here – I’ve been fastest in all the longer runs we’ve done in practice – so strangely this is one of the tougher weekends mentally. I’m starting from the front row and I know I’m faster than everyone else, so the only person who can mess it up is me.
Fab reminds me of that and talks about the initial plan for the race: relax, get into a rhythm and see how the first few laps pan out. If I’m in front, I’ll do a five-lap attack, put my head down, try to build a lead and manage the race from there.
What is it they say about battle plans? None of them survives first contact with the enemy …
I’ve been nervous since I started changing. I’ve got that familiar feeling of knotted tension in my stomach as adrenalin begins to flow around my body and it subconsciously prepares for fight or flight (or maybe both).
One minute, I’m focusing on my getaway, needing it to be clean and fast. The next, I’m wondering who is going to be challenging me this afternoon. It could be Marco Melandri, lining up to my right on the front row. He’s shown some pace. Or it could my team-mate Tom Sykes, on the other side in pole position.
