I was told that there were more journalists than bikes, but that they'd try to get me out for at least one session.
The first group of journalists went out on the Rs, behind Hayden. Since no one had been on the track - and since absolutely zero on-bike videos existed, no one knew the layout. Nicky apparently took the lead/follow very seriously, and promptly rode away from everyone. Pretty f'in funny.
The second group went out and the same thing happened. I sat, waiting with my gear, remembering what it was like to always be picked dead fucking last.
Then Tim came in, said they have a bike for me and gave me a Ducati suit to wear (they must have seen my embarrassingly short Heroic sleeves), that happened to be a perfect size sans chest protector. Fuck yyyes, and fuck all you people at Campbell Jr. High/Independence who picked my skinny ass last. Being given a key to an R and a green flag at CotA was a Rudolph the Red-Nosed-Reindeer moment.
As the previous group rested and rejoiced and recounted their track stories, I suited up.