I prostrate my(virtual)self before you in apology, Knight. I was rudely poking fun at your love of the winner's-circle. For however miniscule the track (which accounts for .0000001% of a accumulated mileage on a the sportbikes sold in the US) may seem to some of us, it is undeniably what the magazine comparisons focus upon; and therefore the peter-meter all young red-blooded, fire-pi$$ing American motorcycling fighter-pilots gauge their machines (and since motorcycles are arguably prosthetic wings for us land-borne primates) their abilities and by extension, themselves.
I'm almost exclusively a road rider, so the track accounts for about .0000001% of my interest. I'm what the effete track-stallions mockingly deride as a squid, (calamari is chopped and fried squid, BTW.)
I like casual, unhurried riding, as if I were the last man on earth, savoring the last tankful of gasoline on an early morning, BUT (everyone I know has a big butt in life) I appreciate that there is traffic and therefore competition.
I've been passed by fast guys on 600's (and even one 8-valve Guzzi) while riding my ZX9R, but I must confess to indulging in a perverted and repulsive glee while passing several R1's with my new EX500 on Palomar Mountain, and once basked in the glory of passing a guy dragging his knees on a 748 or 996 while riding my 45-hp W650 on said road.
Like all Humankind's pursuits, all that is accomplished at the end is the gratification of our vanity.
If you're ever in SoCal, I hope you'll let me give you the grand tour of our roads and buy you a pitcher at the end. No malice or competitiveness, I owe you for the insult, which I again apologize for.
-Calamarichris in Carlsbad, CA (near San Diego)