Round number three of the Colorado Hill Climb Association. Only four motorcycles entered. If only I could convey how fun this kind of racing is. I can't. It is weird misfit heavy horsepower car stuff and maybe that is why nobody shows up with a bike. Maybe Hill Climb racing is only thought to be drag racing with a long ass swing arm. Maybe proper Hill Climb racing needs a better name. Maybe I like it so much because nobody gets it. Flattrack/Dirt track everybody seems to get and I don't know why but I have had zero interest in racing on the dirt ovals for some time now. Maybe I can put into words for some to understand why I like the weird misfit easy going Hill Climbing.
I cut some grooves in some customers old take off tire, load the van and stock up on beer on my way out of the hot and overcrowded city. A few hours into the mountains and it is raining, cold, and flat out fucking beautiful tits. I unload and set up pits and get on my XR to go pre run the course. After getting to the finish line I pass through an active mine and keep going up on some old mining roads. I get lost. I take the beer out of my pocket and drink taking turns holding it with my cold and numb hands.
Cuddled in my 50 year old down Northface mummy bag in the van drifting off to a deep pre-race slumber to the pitter patter of mother nature watering the race track. At dawn's crack I emerge from my cocoon enough to start the coffee a perculating. After a few hours it is my turn for one of four saturday practice runs. The awaiting has left me anxious to hammer on the throttle and not wast any entry speed into the densely treed hair pin corners. Full bar lock loam sliding. 5th gear needle threading. Adrenaline. In the pit I drop a few jet sizes. On the next run I drop a few seconds and break the course record I set three years ago. Sardine sandwich and a few more seconds dropped on a few more runs. Whiskey, spam, and another night of my van's roof drumming out the sounds of hero dirt perfect traction. Sunday is the day of worship, two race runs with a weird veteran decision to sit out the over saturated second run out of it not being necessary for the win. Perhaps age is setting in. Could be wisdom. Could be bullshit. 40 applauding racecar drivers can't be all that wrong.
|I'm going off the rails on a crazy train|