Fogarty Carl - Foggy : the explosive autobiography

Dedicated to the memory of
Vera Fogarty and Hannah Walsh

The book is a must for anyone who seeks to understand the mind of this supremely gifted racer. Amazon

In his autobiography Foggy is honest, outspoken, not giving a damn what anyone thinks and never, ever pretentious. Independent

A high-octane yarn of a biking legend on the edge. Slough & Langley Express

If Im ever asked who has been the best British sportsman of the last 10 years, Ill say me, he once said. It would be an exaggeration to hold his autobiography in the same esteem, but not that much of one. Sunday Express

A frank account of his elevation from a shy and awkward teenager to a major box-office attraction. Herts Mercury

A rare glimpse into a world where the distance between success and death is a hairs breadth. AV Magazine

bound to keep you entertained for weeks. Motor Cycle News

He [Fogarty] seems incapable of a boring sound-bite or meaningless platitude. Daily Telegraph

If there was an award for self-belief, Carl Fogarty would walk it. Add talent, charisma and drive, and he finishes even further ahead. Evening Standard

BLACKBURN 11.30am, Thursday 21 September, 2000: This was not the way I wanted it all to end. I had hoped all my fans would know that one particular race would be the last time they would see me in action. And I would have wanted to win that race more than ever. Instead, it has all ended in a gravel pit on the other side of the world and, for one of the first times in my career, I have to admit defeat.

The horrendous arm injury I suffered in that 140mph fall at Phillip Island on 23 April has proved to be as bad as we all feared. I will never be able to ride like I used to and win races. And that means the decision is made for me its time to call it a day. Still, I have to be thankful that I am still alive and that I have the rest of my life to look forward to. Because it could so easily have been very different.

Even now, I dont remember a thing about the second race at Phillip Island. I only vaguely remember starting the race. It had been a shitty day and tyre choice had been crucial for the first race of the Australian round, where I was a comfortable second behind Anthony Gobert who gambled on wet weather tyres. The second race, a couple of hours later, was dry and I made a bad start. But, as my tyres warmed up, I was charging through the field.

Ive not even seen the incident from any other angle than the on-board camera. But I was about to pass a slow Austrian rider called Robert Ulm on the outside. The theory is that his engine was cutting out. And I think he must have been concentrating on that and not on what was happening around him. So he was already pulling out into my line when it cut out again. There was nothing I could do to avoid him and I ran in his back. The TV footage was all grass and sky until they cut to my slumped body. I was apparently unconscious for about 10 minutes before sort of coming round in the track medical centre. Immediate X-rays showed that the humerus, the bone that connects the shoulder to the elbow, was fractured in three places near the joint with the clavicle.

The first thing I remember is being put into a helicopter and I couldnt work out why. And I dont even remember the journey because I was pumped up with morphine while I was flown to Melbourne with Michaela. She spent the night by my bedside while the doctors kept me sedated. This crash had really scared her. And thats one of the things that I have had to consider when deciding enough was enough. I have risked my life for 20 years and she has been there by my side for nearly all of that. She was almost sick when, from inside the Ducati garage, she saw the pictures of me out cold. And all her emotions surfaced while she kept a vigil at the Alfred Memorial Hospital. The only way she could cope with it all was to put pen to paper. This is what she wrote, and she wasnt even able to bring herself to let me read it until months after the crash:

I sit here watching him with his tubes and IV monitors and wires and wonder Why? Is it really all worth it? If that were Carl watching me in the same position, what would he be thinking? But hell never know that, hell never realise how it feels to have the other half of your whole world lying there, lucky to be alive. And I know that the answer to my question would be Yes, it is worth it!

At this moment, my head tells me I have got to make him stop. My heart says I cant. But it was only a matter of time before this day would come. For 13 years I have stood by, watching him every one of those years waiting for this. Ive imagined it many times, run through the whole thing in my head. How I would feel, how I would act? Would I be strong? Would I fall to pieces? And its finally happened. Sure, hes still here and I thank God. But enough is enough, and I scream inside because Im confused.

Why do I feel angry? Maybe its selfish, maybe Im feeling sorry for myself. But I dont have a right to. Eight hours ago, I thought I had lost him. I thought the man who is my world had been taken from me without even a hint or a whisper.

And, of course, theres not just me to think of. Our kids are at home, totally oblivious to the seriousness of it all, thank God. What would I tell them? I cant even begin to think its as though my brain wont let me go there. Theyre so innocent, so happy, with not a single care. They love Carl so much. How selfish it would be of him to ruin that innocence and carefree attitude to life its what being a child should be like. And yet all the time he still does it. He still goes on, knowing it could happen. But then he wouldnt have to face them, would he? He wouldnt have to tell them hes not coming back. He wouldnt have to be there to pick up their broken hearts. So who is the selfish one?

But hes alive, he breathes, he sleeps and Im sure in a couple of months hell be back out there. And so will I, knowing its his life, his world, all hes ever known. And one day, when hes ready, hell stop and say Enough! I just hope to God hes here to make that choice himself and it isnt taken away from him.

Well, I am here, although, if there had been even half a chance, Id have wanted to race for one more year. And the very first signs were promising, that the injury was not as bad as first feared. The following morning, the surgeons took about an hour to fix seven screws and a titanium plate to the bone. A lot of the muscles were torn and there were fears that a nerve might have been stretched. And I was told that I wouldnt race for a minimum of six weeks. Even that was hard to take. So I asked Michaela if there was any chance at all that Id make Donington in three weeks time. She just looked at me as if I was mad.

But Ive never allowed myself to think about the chance that I might kill myself racing. Riders just cannot afford to have those doubts. I had said, though, before the start of this season that I would quit if I suffered any more big crashes. But I was not ready to quit like this. Despite all the problems I was suffering at the start of the season, Id shown in the first two rounds in South Africa and Australia that I was still the fastest out there. The bike was good and I was riding well. So I was even more determined to go out and win more races.