Monday, June 12, 2017
Tuesday, June 6, 2017
I must have some of the best luck! Or maybe it is just the universe balancing out for all the time I spent in hand cuffs before DIRTBIKES saved my life. Anyhoo last Wednesday my buddy Campo who runs Meta magazine came in my shop and said he could get me a spot in the 125 dream race at Thundervalley. I am not worthy but my 2003 Amsoil Factory Connection Chris Gosselaar former pro number 39 bike knows a pro prepped track. I was planning on taking it easy before pikes peak to not risk injury. That plan fucked right off. Saturday found me in the middle of a full 40 bike gate in the middle of a national motocross. The sound of 40 125 two strokes had me shredding into the first corner with both raging goose bumps and a big ol' pre-mix boner. Thanks to Aaron Sauerbrey for the pictures!
Friday, June 2, 2017
I was told Friday that I would fly out Monday to Spain to test the bike. I spent Saturday and Sunday racing the Temple Canyon Hillclimb some 3 hrs south of home. I won and set a new motorcycle course record and had a shit ton of fun doing it. I got home late Sunday night just in time to let the dogs out and have them get sprayed by a skunk. I packed my bag and wished my wife the best of luck with giving the dogs a bath. After three planes and many hours I arrived in Spain where Bottpower David picked me up at the Valencia airport and we went straight to the shop where the bike awaited me. We spent several hours securing large bundles of excess wire spaghetti piles with zip ties and duct tape. Not exactly what I was expecting. At the local Kart track that afternoon I got to spin some laps on the beast and was happy with how it handled. The next two days I spent with the bike up on a lift back at the shop, I diagnosed and fixed a charging system failure and did my best to tidy up some of the last minute stuff and give all the fasteners the touch of a wrench. We then drove 3hrs to Aragon home of Motorland, the most amazing track I have ever seen let alone ride. It has been home to Moto GP! The next two days we sorted out many issues. I did my best to keep positive and keep progressing with the bike. It is a very capable bike for pikes peak and I should have it up on my lift at my shop next week for some final messaging love. We will do some more testing and a track day before heading up to the mountain next weekend for the early practice weekend. With the team of friends and support we have I am confident we will have the bike operating in top form and I will gain next level confidence allowing us success.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
I met Carl at the 2013 Pikes Peak race to the clouds. We hit it off. He was getting into dirtbikes and looking to me for help. I was getting into tarmac racing and looking to him for help. In 2014 he bought a ZX10 and raced it up the hill finishing in the same amount of minutes and seconds as me. I don't remember the time but I do remember having a real good time that year. He was always a lot of fun to be around. He inspired me to buy an old SV650 to turn into a track bike and he was my instructor for my MRA licensing school. In my first race I was doing nose wheelies into turn 1 and Carl, his wife Lacy, and his brother Chris all told me that they would hate to see what I could do on a real race bike. I have done my best to transform the little SV into a proper bike but it will always be a sub hundred pony power pusher. But it does make some mother fuckers angry in the corners. Any how, I am tired of hearing people tell me that "I'd hate to see what you could do on a real bike." So I am buying the late great Hot Carl's ZX10 from Lacy. I want to put together a program next year to travel to new tracks and be a superbiker and I am going to give it everything I got.
Friday, May 5, 2017
How Instagram has instantly instilled insecurity in in-sequentially inumerable inadauquite enormouse amount of shitty camera photos:
|6 mile chocolate cake road race track on knobblies.|
|I have been riding as much as I can.|
|Gary built me a sexy exhaust. Gary is cool.|
|I bought a Goldwing 1500. Oh yes I did.|
|My work bench is my canvas.|
|The good, the bad, and the ugly.|
|I am building myself a new chopper. Because I am not sensible, smart, or able to come to grips with the standards of a society that sells smart cycle brain washing machines. Mikey builds me springer parts. Mikey is cool.|
|Gary builds himself a motorcycle. Gary is cool. Upside down stickers and all.|
|My happy place. Little Goose. Chris Gosselaar's 2003 (He finished 5th in the outdoors that year) Factory Connection CR125.|
On the pipe.
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
This weekend is the Colorado Hill Climb Association's round one at CORE off road park out in eastern Colorado where the only hills to climb are figurative. I am not sure what to expect but I hope to just get some high speed handlebar time in in preparation for the BOTT.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
Monday, March 27, 2017
Sunday, March 26, 2017
As I lay on a cold and dirty concrete floor going in and out of sleep, my stomach cramping from a nasty bought of Portuguese airport pub food revenge, I was not at all the least bit bummed out. I had just had the most un-real experience of going as fast as I dared on a 2016 KTM 500 for five straight days through Dakar rally stages, great big Saharan sand dunes, and some amazing Moroccan countryside. I believe that the moto gods created Morocco as a utopian dirtbike paradise. I knew my trip was going to be good when we arrived at the Moto Aventures home base and upon the briefing of our ten rider group, Johnny, our African Clint Eastwood like leader informed me that due to his injury from his last Sideburn tour was not going to be able to guide us and instead I was to be the guide. Fucking shit I thought, we are all going to die. Luckily Johnny has been running Moto Aventure tours for over 20 years and like a Mcgyver /Crocidile Dundee, he always knows exactly what to do. He had given every bike a nice GPS device and was going to follow us in a Range Rover to pick up the broken bodies and bent mangled motorcycles. So I was given the freedumb to ride as fast and far as I wanted to the next fuel stop or hotel. Wherever the GPS took me Sweet! So we all fueled up on Sans Plomb ((Unleaded) Green handle)) and made sure everybody’s GoPro was dialed in and took off out into the desert. The first vehicle I saw was an army tank. After identifying it as such I stopped riding directly at it. For the first few days I struggled with my role of guide/ group ambassador. My desert racing background has left me as scared of dust as a cat is of a full bathtub. I tried to ride a subdued pace but some of my fellow Colorado buddies seemed to want to ride hard to keep up with me. One of them severely dislocated his thumb but managed to ride the whole trip with a mangled and swollen hamburger paw. I finally decided that my dust would not be anybody else’s problem and just opened it up and hammered down pretending I was actually riding a Dakar rally. We would meet up at scenic spots were I could peel away from my inner desert racer and take in the amazing scenery. We met up for provided lunch (Usually stewed and roasted meats with vegitables served in ceramic ant hill looking baking pots called Tanduri). We laughed and some teased me about my stupid speeds. We enjoyed stories of each other’s moments of greatness. It was a fun social trip but on a whole it was very personal and something I enjoyed mostly solo. Day three and four were spent mostly riding sand dunes. Some dunes were over 300 meters high. The wind was blowing and conditions were not ideal but it was like nothing I have ever done on a dirtbike. Johnny our guide had to saddle up and show us how to ride dunes as one could get very hurt or lost in the massive out of this world landscape. Johnny, the former Dakar racer, mounted with only work boots and no helmet thoroughly impressed me with his skills. It was very apparent that he had a lot of experience riding. After the dunes we spent a night in a bivouac. The wind howled through the camel hair tents and filled everything we owned with sand. This was probably my favorite part of the whole trip. The clean hotels with their fancy pools and Jacuzzi tubs were nice but the organic conditions of the bivouac made me feel less of a tourist and more at home. The riding was challenging and most of it very fast with plenty of danger. By the 5th day our group had two broken wrists, one dislocated thumb, and one badly blown up knee. I fared well with my desert racing experience but the universe keeps it’s balance so on my flight home I had a 20 hr layover in Lisbon which I mostly spent violently excreting my guts out and curled up on concrete floors. The yin and the yang. I had more fun in Morocco than I think one dirtbike bum should ever expect to have in a lifetime but I sure hope to make it back to the moto off road Mecca again!
Saturday, March 25, 2017
Thursday, March 9, 2017
I took a little trip down memory lane on this blog looking for an old picture. I found it. I also found that I have changed a lot over the last ... fuck! - A lot of years have gone by. Of course I changed and damned if I have not shown signs of growing up. Damn. I don't want to grow up and get square but I am starting to find myself carrying out the most mundane of lame tasks from time to time. If i don't fertilize the lawn who will and that damn rabbit needs to get the hell out of my lawn. I have been filling holes, patching fences, and even spending good money on decoy owls and fake wind chime eye balls and shit. What the hell is getting into me. Ten years ago I would be drinking beer with that bunny. maybe even sharing some mushrooms with it and learning about the universe. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining one bit about my role in this system; I think I am living the dream. most of the time anyhow. I am one lucky bastard to hitch up with my best friend who happens to knock my dirty socks clean off. I have not had a boss for five years now and I think I would rather die than go back into that kind of incarseration. What I am getting at here is something deep inside. Some kind of struggle to fight the power that is mini vans, nightly news show watchers, and conformist shit eating sheep telling me how to live my life. Thank fuck for my motorcycles and my tools that allow me to enjoy them. When ever I feel beat down by the pigs that are all around, salvation is never far. I get in the fucking van. Or I build the engine. turn a few wrenches and make a few bucks. Buy some tires or a plane ticket or what ever it is that us free people can buy with this stupid form of currency that harnesses us like a mule. I look at how many great things have come about in my life because of motorcycles and I just want to rub it in the face of all the preaching teachers who told me to accept metiocraty as not only acceptable but honorable. I know from here I can only get older and slower but I will put my own head in a vise and crank it until my skull goes pop if I don't continue to follow my childhood dreams and learn something new everyday that can help me achieve moto-nirvana. Peace.