Saturday, October 12, 2019

Moped Dick

There I was perched on another exotic motorcycle. I am not sure why I am so lucky or maybe it is just my lack of concern for my well being. But I'd like to call it my life's destiny. As I applied throttle and lifted my feet up and way back to the pegs the bike began to lean over more than the forward momentum and 14 degrees of steering lock could compensate for and my first ride on the special 50cc land speed bike from Norway ended in a crash not more than ten feet from where it started. Luckily there were no major damages. I felt a bit sheepish but my ego is able to take much worse. We re-started the engine and off I went down the old abandoned pot hole riddled highway behind my shop. As the engine revved up to 15,000 rpm it started to really move me. At 16,500 I was in my happy place; That precious rare place, as narrow as the power band on the little home made engine. So rare and precious. Yes! A feeling I was not expecting as the days prior we had made the trek to the holy salt flats only to find that over night rain had turned them into a giant lake. SCTA World Finals was canceled. All was not lost though as a good attitude of the crew was upheld despite Jim and Don driving all the way from Arkansas and Alex the amazing Norwegian two stroke stuffer flying half way around the world after building the entire bike in a few months. The quality of the crew was top notch. So I offered my shop and the back roads of western Colorado for our own speed trials week and it was a great way to break and repair parts. The bike should be a real contender for some record setting next season. Viva "Moped Dick"!



Friday, September 20, 2019

The Vicious Cycles - "High Noon Scramble" (Official Music Video)

I keep saying it but someday I really do hope I end up at the High Noon Scramble!

Thursday, September 19, 2019

Devil Duck

By Sam Turner.
I hope to make some t-shirts

Thursday, August 22, 2019

Lands End 2019

Wallace kills it with his camera as usual:






Im working on a report of sorts but for now lets just say I really like this bike.


Wednesday, August 7, 2019

Been working on my tan

I did it. I finally built an XR650R tracker. After talking about it for over ten years now. I got the lead out of my ass and whipped it together in less than two weeks. Also got a wicked welding sun burn. The aluminum welding on the frame was a mother fucker as my old Coors keg ice box sized tig machine don't work so good on anything thicker than a bottle cap. As my arms and crazed Tupac expression can tell you, I was holding that torch to her like a last ditch crack head trying to burn out that last bit of resin from a twilight tweeker light bulb crank pipe. Thug life beotch. No seriously though this bike is a loud mouthed mean mother with a devine tendency to leave nasty ass sideways rear tire marks into, around and right on the fuck out of corners. The front end off of my old SV with caliper, over sized rotor, and R1 17mm master cylinder pound my pud into the XL350 tank with an authority to be cautious of. And a squeal like a poor baby seal getting clubbed by a commercial fur trader. Strictly commercial.  Though I started from the bare frame last week I did already have the steering mocked onto another frame and I started building the engine one piece at a time as money would allow through out this year.  The organ donor engine came into my possession via major transmission carnage. The doner frame came into my possession via customer loosing his "Fat Samantha" (Beloved trusty XR650R) to a Moab flash flood that filed the engine with so much mud and sand I have yet to tackle the resurrection. But if Jesus can do it... I have faith in the big red pigs. Dr. Frankenstien creates a true monster on this one. This weekend I will flog her up the Lands End Hill Climb. New Record? ... I hope. And like last year I will load up after sunday's race and drive through the night to race the Stockton 1/2 mile monday and tuesday night. Hopefully my welder tan blisters are done peeling before I cram my carcass into them pink and purple leathers....
All eyes on me

Hi Mom

First test ride went pretty well other than the post adrenaline Michael J Fox shacking hands and a weeping kick starter seal

Im getting better at fab work but it is still farm boy fab at best. Exhaust was mainly built from my VW bug's old steering column shaft (way too big). The out-put tips are stock car inspired.
If it's too loud - you'r too... what? .... WHAT?

Cockpit is just that. 
Note: I love these bikes so much, even in stock form. So the only things I did to this bike that can't be undone or brought back to complete stock form was the drilling of two holes in the subframe crossmember for the seat and the tank mounts witch could be cut and ground off if I ever turn into some old wrinkled assed metamucil farting preservationist twat. ( Im already all except the preservationist.)

Thursday, July 18, 2019

Felefold cycles


Half way through the year 2019. Really? No doubt. Still here. Still racing for the win. Here, there, anywhere that feels right. Not on that mountain this year, though I felt it’s pull all spring. Springs pull and push as all forces have flow that goes both ways. But after the waves come in and out I am happy to find myself constant. With or without the race to the clouds, I am still here.  Another will never return from those clouds and due to his prolific stature I reckon the motorcycle’s days on the hill may be done. The vintage motocross did end up taking me full circle of sorts. Turns out the friendly fellow I pitted next to at the Dick Mann dream race offered me a spot on a dream team joy ride in having a go at a 50cc record in Bonneville. Hell yeah, why not! The engineer bike/engine builder form Norway seems a real ace and if nothing else I look forward to sharing a cocktail or two. Been about ten years since I went my first and only time to the salt, inspired by ol’ Joe the hairy old pikes peak racer that  not only got me to the salt that year but also gave me light to build an xs 650 flattracker and have a go at roundy round racing. Thanks Joe.  How the hell? One thing leads to another. I sure am sure about one thing and that is my luck. I am not sure how I end up with the rides I do but I ride them like I do. If that makes any sense. Still, my luck is amazing and if the collection police come to take me know that I am satisfied with it all. Old dog, Love lady, Precious plain old van and all. Any hoo, Rambles shmambles. I won another race or two since last post and I am still doing my best to finish the 4 wheeled cage Subaru vw bug racer car named: Adolf Wusabee. Fucking spell check fail. I feel stronger and stronger about giving up on the artificial life that computers have become but here I find inspiration and hope to spread to others. Keep dreams conscious, don’t wait until tomorrow, love your loves, and for fuck’s sake keep it pinned wide fucking open,

Bull Hollow raceway was a perfect day for a street bike shred. As captured on camera by good old Brother Mick

Last weekend I drug Baja out of retirement and raced a 2.5 mile hill climb on the old XR600 that had not been raced since Pikes Peak 1996.
Keep on Keeping on.

Monday, June 10, 2019

Head Waters


Like a single drop of water making it's way through the water table, I have found my self back at my origination. The head waters of my life. I have come from nil and have pondered the potential of world class, I have been beaten down, pissed out, and remained moist all along. So far.
When I was a boy about 10 years of age my single mother knew I needed something so she let me ditch school, gave me some money to ride the bus, and spectate the first motorcycle event of my life; The Steamboat Springs Colorado Vintage motocross. All I remember is being awe struck at the noise. speed and dirt flying in the air. I wanted to catch a chunk of the flying roost and bring it home with me. So I did. Later that week I clipped the newspaper's account of the races and started a scrap book. I started to save money to buy DIRT BIKE and Dirt Rider magazines. I was completely fuct for life. Some 25 years later I found my self strung out on racing motorbikes. trying to deceiver the role of a true racer from an ego gladiator. The day and age of self promotion and corporate sponsorship clouds our feeds and like the dust from a stampede of fad following Fonzie look -a-likes. I sometimes wonder if there is a reality. If my dream is real or just another product of a consumer based society hungry for a hero; tragic, ugly, and flawed. The only thing I know is that when I am twisting the fucker, I feel alive and ready to smash anything and everyone. This drive has left me near ruin, near great, and always seeking the true righteous racer's path to glory.
For the last 12 years the month of June has been occupied by Pikes Peak. Not this year. The June before I started racing to the clouds I flagged for the Steamboat Vintage Motocross. Dick Mann, the one and only beat everybody with ease and style. He then came over to me and asked me to remove the decal on my mini bike that said: FUCK THE DRAUMA- ROLL A BOMBA. I obliged. That is my one and only conversation with the legend even though he gave me his autograph yesterday. This year I was invited to partake and none the less on a Dick Mann build BSA 441 Victor in a Dick Mann frame. I won all four of my motos and was told that Dick Mann commented on my riding. It involved a nod of approval. My first motorcycle race in my home town brought me the feeling of full circle. Back to my head waters. At peace, and ready to do it again.





Thursday, May 30, 2019

80 beer can trophy

I used to be obsessed over collecting trophies. I did some really brave, courageous, and dumb shit just for a trinket. If I drove home with some hardware I was happy. They filled a hole in me that had been created from childhood years of never feeling good enough about my self. While other kids scored goals and made out with prom queens I felt like the social reject I was and still am. Then I started bombing hills on my bicycle and in turn received attention and that led to winning races on my motorbike and the trophies received re-assured me that I was good enough. Trophies made me proud of my self for probably the first time since I was 3 yrs old before my parents divorced.  I started to doubt my obsession when I moved and then when I moved again I realized I had a problem and not only were trophies mostly meaningless, they were a burden to not only move but display and seeing them now just makes me feel a little misguided with vanity.  But I reckon it is a good idea to stick to what one is good at. And I am only good at a few things. I must have a couple hundred trophies now. Mostly plaques, plastic crap figures of the classic 80's mx cross up figure, some crystal heavy chunks from Pikes Peak, and a few unique ones but nothing is as cool as this one that was made from 80 (estimated) beer cans drank around the camp fire last weekend. Winning the overall at a big endure for the first time is cool but what means more to me is that because the race organizers didn't have their shit together and no trophies were handed out my friends decided to take it on themselves to stay up way later than I did, drink a shit ton of beer, melt their cans, and sand cast me a fucking trophy!
I know now that trophies are not at all special but what they represent sure as shit is!

Tuesday, May 21, 2019

May Race Report

Two weeks ago I overalled an RMEC enduro for the first time. It was cool. Oldest guy and bike in the pro class. FTW.  Last weekend I knocked the cobwebs off of the ol Pikes Peak bike and squeezed my bulging beer gut back into my leathers for the first time in nearly a year. I won the Open Supermoto and got 2nd in the Asphalt A class. Almost won it but got passed on the last lap of the 2nd moto. I was having a hard time feeling my front brake as my arm is suffering from some disruptive nerve damage in my shoulder. I am aging but I feel well. Very well.


Thursday, May 2, 2019

The year I drove a Beemer

The year I drove a BMW

It was a $600 20 year old four door 317I with over 340k on the clock.
I wanted to escape the small town trouble I was getting into and
follow the national off road WORCS series. I found that my bike fit
quit nice into the back seat after I removed the wheels, forks and
handlebars. At 40 mpg I wonder why I don’t  still travel to races in
such a fashion. I would arrive to a race-paddock swarmed with giant
semi trucks and grey hound bus sized RV campers and easily find room
for my bike stand. While I would assemble my bike with a special
pride. Some people would strike up a conversation about how I was
keeping the soul of the sport while most people would just stare. At
round 3 of the 12 round series such a conversation was struck with the
Maxxis tire support truck and before I knew it I had a job spooning on
50+ tires at every round of the series. At $10 a tire I was now paying
my entry fee and some of the travel expense.  By the halfway point of
the season I was a known face at the WORCS races. The races were
spread across the western USA; SoCal, Utah, Arizona and up to
Washington state.  Washougal MX was the first destination of many for
my then 6 week old Border Collie pup Baja. I remember showing up to
the locked front gate in the middles of the night and like always I
slept out beside my car in my old mummy bag. I tied some nylon chord
around my pup and held it in my hand but when I awoke to the
procession of big rigs entering the gates my pup was gone. As soon as
I crawled out of my fart sack to the laughs of passer bys my little
black and white buddy came leaping out of the dense forest to lick my
face with the pungent stink only puppy kisses hold. I ended up taking
a job in Seattle for a month and a half followed by two weeks working
in Vegas on a big trade show while being put up in the now demolished
Sahara casino.  I returned home to Colorado a man that the boy I was
could never have become but from following a dream. That summer I
stuck that little Beemer axle deep in Pismo beach as the tide came in
and filled my floor boards as the local Cali bros filled my pockets
with hashish in admiration for my mode of travel. On a lonesome
blistering hot stretch in Nevada I punched out my broken sunroof in a
desperate rage to get cool air. Within a mile the pulsing wind made me
turn around to retrieve my sunroof and duck tape it back into place.
I would often pull off into truck stops, driveways, and vacant fields
and dump out onto the ground to sleep only to awaken to a bustling
California fruit stand or a lot lizard in a crack come-down frenzy.
Many a midnight songs were cranked through that CD player.  Many
friends were made at the races. Even a pit tootsie or two snuck some
naughty in that little car.  My hard sweating work on the tire truck
changing tires between my races helped my push myself. My racing
results were on par with some of the top racers.  I was invited to eat
dinner with the best of people in the paddock from the everyday mom
and pops to people like Destry Abbot. The late Nathan Woods once let
me sleep inside the back of his toy hauler. I was pickep up by some
sugar daddies to race for Team USA in an FIM Asia Enduro round in
Thailand. Simply because of how I did things.  By the final round of
the year I won an amateur over all class championship.  All this with
no real source of finance.  Just the desire to race.   That winter I
bought a van and since then I have chased my never ending dream. The
adventure will always be whatever we make it to be…

Monday, April 29, 2019

Thursday, April 25, 2019

Baja's Bash






After Baja had a stroke last fall she stopped smiling. After her party last weekend she started smiling again. We have some really quality friends. Makes me smile too.

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

Motorbikes

What is my life
Why do the two wheels move me
Even when they do not move
Am I here just to make a buck
Or do I really not give a flying fuck

The fancy sponsors
Custom fit leathers
Air fare rental car provided
Bike prepared on stand awaiting my privileged ass
It's cool but far from necessary

The bills are paid
The shop paves the way
Far from a dealership but a till the same
I take the money, force a smile
All the while, I play the game

Up on the mountain
Out in the desert
Alone
There is a trail
To take me home

After a while
I get the urge to share
Post a picture
Sell the soul
Then my wheels don't roll

Success, the created illusion
Egos fed. obese and oozing
Find something pure and then desecrate it
Human nature

Deal with it.

Just love it.

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Big Bad Bush Basher

The 1988 XR600 former pikes peak race bike and ice racing state champion got a new front end from an XR650R and a XR650L shock that I removed half of the shims from. I shaved down the base plate to increase the shock's extended length but not enough. Or so I thought. The bike has been strapped and loaded in my van for over a month awaiting a test ride with the new suspoosh and wheels. I finally got out and rode last weekend and...
THIS BIKE IS THE BEST TURNING DIRTBIKE I HAVE EVER RODE!
On the dirt roads there is no bounce or buck from the back end most squishy old XRs have. Nor is there the mid corner twitch there is with all new rigid aluminum dirtbikes. This over weight old girl just squats and holds a line, any line like a slot car. Then on to some high speed single track and more of the same; she turns. The extra weight can make the brakes seem a bit weak but who needs brakes when you can make it turn anyway. I would like to put some stiffer springs front and rear and an FCR carb but hot damn am I stoked on how fun this old bike is to ride!

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Last saturday I went to visit my Dad. It was cool.

The more I keep searching in life for things the more I keep finding that the only thing worth searching for is lost. Being lost. Losing it. Simply not having IT. I am not sure if that sounds at all positive but I mean it to be very much positive. The lost I talk of is not the not knowing where so much as the not knowing what we are told we need to know from a very young age. Knowing how to dress alike, go to the schools we are told lead to success, acquire debt, and feel like you are nothing compared to the people on the road side bill board or the tv show family who have it all. These are the things that so many people think give them direction when it is really making us hopelessly fucking lost. The lost I speak of is the loss of these standards our society have imbedded in our assimilating culture. Now I am not advocating complete anarchy but the more I think I about it the more I miss how free I felt when I wore a neon mohawk and a stitched on upside down American flag. I just want to feel a little more off the beaten path and I wish everybody else did as well. If everybody who had the time to reflect actually did and went about making their immediate surrounding a little more bountiful in quality to them selves than maybe we could all find the apathy and perspective to care for one another a little bit more. I know it is hard to break away and being insane is the easy path but I try to keep the balance. I support the capitalistic system because it is me and I am it. I have no answers to this rant other than build a sketchy motorbike with what you have and go take it for a ride. See how far you can take yourself...
State line. Old Hwy 6 & 50. Now dirt. Snow in the mountains.

I realize that after writing this that I was channeled subliminally from Kowalski, the Vanishing point hero. Vanishing Point is a movie worth watching for any stunt man wanna-be. but I guess it has stuck with me. Scenes of it were filmed here and I don't care to invite other tourists. But who am I. I am them.

200+ mile first real ride maiden voyage on the last bike I built before I got out of Denver. She is a real nice road worthy scary fun mother fucker.

Reaal  nice


Saturday, March 30, 2019

Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage

My cage rage continues. It is a fever with no remedy burning away. All I can do is feed it dumpster bit parts and cheap hand me down jumble bits. Spending money only on the truly needed. I do get off on seeing how much I can do with so little.
Sourced a 74 Suoer Beetle transmission, Independent rear suspension and a couple of bitsa front ends. Welding the IRS trailing arm mounts into the frame was a mother fucker.

The local VW shop Kustom Coach Werks has been a huge help as I didn't have anything to learn from piecing new things together. It took me three front beams before I had a rust fee one to build off of. I welded in suspension pre-load ride height adjusters that are basically a jam nut that holds the center of the torsion springs within the front beam. Simple. The KCW shop has a Class 11 bug they race baja with and had front disc brake conversion kit laying around.


Today I welded in a cheapy class 11 roll cage. Rat cage!