Thirteen years is a quite a stretch for anyone to spend in one place. Through Nicky Hayden’s time in the MotoGP paddock, the Owensboro native not only won the sport’s ultimate prize in the most dramatic of circumstances, he became so well liked and respected that not one person could recall an interaction that reflected badly on his character.

Polite, intense and always candid, it was easy to like Hayden from the very start, when performances in the AMA earmarked him as the rightful successor to the Americans who had made that trip across the Atlantic two decades before. His arrival in MotoGP matched the hype. A real American racer of the old tradition, with dirt track ovals and Superbike scraps etched into his past, his slip-sliding style instantly marked him out from the pack.

Life in MotoGP began well. His taking of the ‘Rookie of the Year’ title in 2003 when fighting the likes of Troy Bayliss, Colin Edwards and Marco Melandri, promised a lot. By 2005 he had comfortably outperformed more experienced team-mate Max Biaggi and a year later came his shot at the big one. And no one can say he didn’t earn it, overcoming obstacles of the grandest scale to beat Valentino Rossi in a memorable finale. ‘I believe good things happen to good people and this is a great day for me,’ he said at the time. Not one of the tear-choked media could disagree.

More than his record on the bike, he was grounded and humble off it, a welcome change to the standard competitive ego. Others are better placed to write about his feats and character as I only came into the paddock in 2015, Nicky’s last in the class. Still, I saw an intensity and desire in Hayden that was often hidden behind a pained expression through those 18 races. There was no dressing it up. His quest for points on a woefully uncompetitive machine was a slog.

I remember going to the team truck after his final race in Valencia, naively expecting him to sit reminisce of glories of old. Instead, Nicky was almost embarrassed at finishing outside the points. ‘There’s not much more to say,’ he shrugged after a short exchange. For someone that lived motorcycles, Nicky took that year’s failings to heart. Yet I can’t recall a single occasion when he came out on record to criticise the bike and team. It made him all the more likeable. He was someone you quietly cheered on when the going was good, and winced when it wasn’t.

I only saw frustrations bubble over once. At Phillip Island, Nicky felt a good result was entirely possible. Instead, the bike broke on the tenth lap. I was holed up in his team’s office soon after with Jorge Martínez ‘Aspar’, when a furious Hayden entered. His team boss was told in no uncertain terms of the bike’s failings. As Aspar repeatedly offered his apologies, Nicky turned to me: ‘I just feel bad for him,’ he smiled, nodding to his boss. ‘He’s the one that had to pay for it.’ Even in those tough moments, he sported an occasional sense of mischief.

There was a playful charm about him too. Standing in for Dani Pedrosa at that same circuit a year later, Nicky found himself locked in a frantic, seven-rider duel for sixth, only to be punted off by Jack Miller two laps from the flag. While far from happy, he refused to throw Miller under the bus. ‘I don’t want to go and give him a kiss,’ he said, “but you know, it happens.” When I then told him other riders had commented on the ferocity of the moves in that fight, he inquired mischievously: ‘Did they say I did any tough ones?’ insinuating he had given as good as he got. His enjoyment for the whole thing was still very much in evidence.

I genuinely think Nicky still had so much to give to the sport. His stand-in ride for Repsol Honda last October proved, on the right machinery, he could still mix it with the very best. A move to World Superbike was no exercise in ego stroking either. Nicky was there for only one reason and the dedication to his craft was typically unflinching to the end. The series’ technical director Scott Smart remembers a late night stroll up Magny-Cours’ pit lane in 2016. ‘The only rider you still see around at 11pm is Nicky Hayden,’ said Smart. ‘He’s sat watching videos from the day of what everyone else does. He’s already gone through his data and what he’s done three times. He’s gone through all his team-mate’s stuff and now he’s sat there watching the lines and the gear shifts from everyone else.’ Nicky lived and breathed the sport. His dedication was second to none.

His loss to the racing community must pale alongside the personal grief felt by fiancé Jackie and his bike-mad family of seven: father Earl, mother Rose, brothers Tommy and Roger-Lee and sisters Jenny and Kathleen. Our thoughts are with them all.

Along with that wide, white smile, and humble nature Hayden will be remembered as the man that wrestled the world crown off Rossi in his pomp through sheer grit and bloody mindedness. Just how many riders can say they did that? The feat still merited warm words from the Italian later that evening and spoke more about the man than victories and podiums ever could.

‘When I think about standing on that podium in Valencia in ’06 and they let off the yellow fireworks that was a moment that still gives me a little grin,’ Nicky once told me. I know, when recalling that sunny November day, ten years ago, many will react the same. RIP

Photos by GeeBee Images