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


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
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...
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!

Sunday, March 24, 2019

She is a real "loose end"

Circa 1976....While working for Dyke's Bikes bicycle shop in Fort Collins my pop met my Mom. That was cool for me. Mr. Dykman, my Pop's boss had a 1956 Willys jeep. I was told they would load it full of fixed up old clunker bikes and deliver them to less off kids on Christmas eve. My Pop took ownership of the jeep after being owed a few too many paychecks. A few years later after I was born my Pop took the engine out to rebuild it. I was 3 then. Anyhoo, my mom and Pop split up and it got a bit ugly. The engine got tossed out with the bath water but I made it through. Kind of. When I was 16 I went and drug the jeep out of the neighbor's field who had been storing it there for my Pop. As a 16 year old I knew that all it needed was a fancy paint job and a big ass roll bar. Total fuck head. So the jeep then sat in my step-father's field for another 16 years and then I got a shop with a yard and stuffed it into a horse trailer and brought it to a new home. The day after I started into the project the green bug followed me home. Projects multiply so well.

I have no want for a jeep and other than being a patina pervert it has no value to me beyond my Pop's history. My motivation right now is centered around building a daily driver race car out of the green bug. But in trying to tie up a loose end I did go pick up an engine for the jeep last weekend and plunking it into the old chassis did do something to me. I wonder how long it will sit before I try to make it all run again. The jeep is a lot like my family relations. I try. Now and then we all try. Thankful to have what I have and I hope my friends and family are as well.

Friday, March 22, 2019

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Big Japenese motorcycle engine... ok, so it is a car engine

 It is just like a big Honda engine. Me valve seat tools fit perfect and say what we all want to say about cages but at least their valves cost 1/5 of the price of motorcycle valves. Even OEM. Heads are re-built as the half of the valves were bent a mere .010" form the head on impact the ol 2.5 RS suffered. Free loader Freddy scored again when my neighbor gave me another Subaru 2.5 engine with the smashed cam pully and timing belt covers I needed. I cant help it, the freakish four wheel gods just keep giving me the ingredients...

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Friday, March 8, 2019

In rust we trust. The 4 wheel disease spreads. part 4x2

Mary Ellen was the owner/operator of this 1966 volkwagon "car for the people right up until 1973 when it was parked running. Parked too close to the road though and parts disappeared until the shell was all that was left rotting right into the ground where I plucked it. What have I got myself into? Why am I having trouble sleeping. My brain only produces dreams of replay scenarios like mating a subaru engine to a vw transmission, converting to independent rear suspension, disc brakes, fuel cells, cages, harnesses... madness. I may be losing my mind but the creative process has unlimited potential. 
Trying to keep it together while letting loose of it all.

Something about bugs rotting into the soil.

The engine I found for the jeep is not going to work. At least I don't want to make it work. and fuck up an other wise original vehicle. I am putting the jeep back out to pasture to graze on desert rays for another stint of time so I can feed the bug. But does my brain feed the bug or is the bug feeding off of my brain...

Monday, March 4, 2019

The Atack of the Two Too many Wheels - Part 4x1

I was just starting to settle in to my new shop, filling up wall space with posters, arranging my motorcycle feng shui, of course feeding my constant fetish for hoarding junk. Now that I have my own yard the first thing I did was go drag my Pop's old 1956 Willys jeep out of the field and start to finish what he started 35 years ago when he went to rebuild the engine and then the family fell apart. Never mind that I am my father's son! I have a yard. Lets fill it with junk already. And then a few days after starting to tear into the jeep an old timer came into my shop asking if I would like a few old dirt bikes he had rusting away in his yard. He had an impressive junk yard; cranes, tractors, classic rust heap big finned cat eyed beauties. Acres and acres of junk. He had to clean it all out as property tax was whipping it's enslaved free world order down on his old timer back. I am sure that will never happen to me. No way. Next to the rusty old dirt bikes was a VW bug... Just like I always wanted. Even my favorite color. And wouldn't you know, it literally followed me home. To be continued....

Thursday, February 21, 2019

ooooops, there goes that $50.

It just followed me home! Can we keep it?

Now What? I am thinking hill climb race car... Anybody have any resources for me on parts< what kind of parts, or what kind of pain I am in for?

Friday, February 15, 2019

Holy Honky Honda Hombre

Currently in the shop I have three personal projects going. Truth be told I have a few others but these are the top three and of course they are all Honda four stroke XR thumpers, if you would allow me to call a mini bike a thumper.

A few weeks ago another XR650R came into my shop. Customer said it had been run without oil so I tore down the top end to inspect and found no trauma. I went to check the clutch basket bearing as I have seen this fail on the trusty tank of an engine once before, it was fine. I pulled out the sump screen and found a pea size piece of shrapnel... a magnet went fishing into the trans and snagged a big ol chewed up chunk of carnage-asada… Sweet I finially get to split the cases on one of these indestructible beasts. Fist gear on the counter shaft was fuct beyond believe. And to think the bike made no noise and operated completely normal! The customer didn't want to fix but I did. I have talked long about turning one of these bikes into a DTX tracker rotax killer. With correct bearings and some spacer rigging I mounted up my old beloved SV's original front end with the front wheel from...

The XR600 former Pikes Peak racer I picked up last fall. Since I last talked about this neat old 1988 historic air cooled Honda I have installed an ebay XR650L shock that I worked over the shim stack. After the sprocket bolts backed out of the CR500 hub I opted to test my TIG welding skill and but humpty dumpty back together again. I un-laced the old 19x3" Sun rim and will lace it up to the 650R tracker above. For only 20$ including fright Buchanan shorted their 30 year old spokes and re-threaded them for me to go back to an 18" hoop that I had retired from Molly my 450X. New bearings, 120 Maxxis Desert IT and a seat cover and now I am ready to upgrade the front end to the 650R one that I just removed from the tracker bike above.
Last but not least is this 1982 XL100 that my Mom bought herself at a garage sale so she could go riding with me when I was ripping up my CR80. We had some fun times together camping in the desert a few miles from where my shop is now located. I eventually ran the bike into the ground after I had done the same to my CR80. It sat in the back of a hay shed until last summer when I dug it out from several feet of cow pies knowing I must revive it and let my Mom ride it once again. -If I don't run it into the ground first using it for Motoball. I sorced some old RM shocks and a front end that I have yet to fit steering stem bearings to. I also have a big bore top end and hopped up camshaft on backorder....
 Since this picture was taken I downsized the front wheel back to a 19" and found a better fitting seat. The tank is not original but I'm pretty sure what's left of the rear sprocket is!

Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Are my dirty Dickies days done

When I was a teenager I raised a lot of hell. Or at least I sure was bent on trying to. So many are the times that I was cuffed and stuffed into the back of a cop car I can't re-count the count. Taught me a thing or two learning things the sure and hard way is always a good way to learn something. What that something is I am still figuring. When I had disembarked from my punk rock band of brothers I grew up with and dropped out of college after my first semester, I knew I was searching for something. Just as well could have been running from something but that has never been my way. I found a clue in the back ad pages of an Easyrider magazine while I was driving combination tractor trailer beer trucks across the open roads of the western Rocky Mountains; MMI, or Motorcycle Mechanics Institute, or as I later learned: Micky Mouse Institute. It ended up becoming the best way I have yet learned to make $18K disappear but anyhoo here I am so fair enough. I remember trying to pick up girls in that hell hole north Phoenix tech-scholastic stint of my life by telling them I was a washed up old Punk-rocker. -True it was but old was something I had no clue or grasp of until maybe perhaps lately as my hair farming chin is sprouting grey hairs. Not just a few but a full on patch. Stereotypical 36 year old freakout moment im not having. but it does make me ponder how washed up of an old Punk-rocker I am now. Silly thing it is to just write about but something on my mind lately and after sitting down to think about it while I try to spell shit on this keyboard I reckon that there is no true time we ever grow up or grow old. No moment we become washed up. Only one moment at a time.  But there is certainly a time when we can go race our motorbikes and live a life that isn't anything short of a true epic good fucking time. 

Tuesday, February 5, 2019

2019 racing has begun

Sir Mick had the idea to go arenacross racing while the national series came to Denver. Seemed like a great idea except for the potential ambulance ride. But hey, he was the one coming straight off of a shoulder surgery and a few months out of the saddle. After two full days and making both night programs I did see a lot of unhappy bodies leaving the arena on stretchers but we both managed to stay safe, free and clean. Even bagging a few top five finishes in the night program. Not bad for a couple of moto misfits, head light bike and all. Best of all was hanging with my Cookie who drove out from Kansas and hanging with Wallace in the pits. I even got to see some good old Denver faces. Happy trails friends.