Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

The first ride was a pretty darn good success. This is the secondary race bike. The primary one is going to be mental! I was pleased to find the Ronin handled very well. I pushed it harder and harder all day and did not have one single moment that the tires did not track like rails. The next month is going to be a lot of fun as I get more seat time. I am one lucky fucker!

In memory of 808

Once a year we get together and it is WHOOPED OUT RACING! This was the 6th annual 808 memorial W.O.R. ride. What an amazing ride ot was! Good camp fire feasting, whiskey and whooped out air festival. The five bike bar banging battle that took place up the wash after the group photo will go down in my memory as one of the most truly epic fun times I have ever had on two wheels. R.I.P. Levi.

It was about this time of year in 2008 when I was about to go race Pikes Peak for the first time. I was ready for something new. I had raced the Baja 1000 the two prior years and felt like I had exhausted my off road enthusiasm. I had no idea what Pikes Peak was. I had only seen it on tv as a kid and figured I was more than up to racing flat out on a gravel road. I had been doing a lot of it on my Xr650. It was right about this time of year when 9 time Pikes Peak winner and western Colorado resident and Local legend Chuck Lee herd about my entry into the race and stopped by the shop where I worked to see if I had any questions. He immediately set me straight on needing some 19 inch dirt track tires. I laced an old hub I had to an old stop sign shaped rear rim. Getting Dirt track tires was another story. It seems until recently they were more hard to come by than patchouli oil at a Slayer concert. I finally found them and gave my credit card the biggest shwack I had ever done. I had them drop shipped to the Lone Duck campground. The Lone Duck was another Chuck Lee recommendation. Chuck was a local sort of hill billie legend. He had lost his drivers license so many times that I am sure it is still missing. He was known for leading cops on the longest dirt bike chase known to the western slope. They caught him when he finally ran out of gas zig zagging dirt allies in town. So I thought the Lone Duck was going to be some anarchistic biker party. I was given a camp on the other side of the duck pond and surprised at the solitude of the camp while I spooned on my new tires. The first day of practice was on the only asphalt, the bottom section. It scared the holy living shit out of me. I was ready to pack it up and go home. Luckily Chuck told me I needed to move my camp over to his crew. His fellow long hare indian blooded brother was racing and he had plenty of his specialty home brew moon shine. Chuck's son was racing and he was so wild he never made it to race day. His daughter was married to another racer who also had a racing brother and His old gray haired dad was straight out of a biker movie. Even Chuck's girlfriend was racing. The Lone Duck campground became my happy place. Real Good Nice People. I remember rain that night and every one dancing around like whooping savages. Day two of practice I found out why. The decomposed granet pea gravel on dirt track tires was unlike any joy I had ever experienced. I was done. Line hook and sinker. Since then I have watched the hill get paved over bit by bit and become fair skilled on the tarmac. I became a faith full racer of the dirt ovals (Still on the same stop sign shaped front wheel; It provides a good excuse for my crashes). In 2012 I built a purpose specific Pikes Peak bike and won the 450 class. This year for the first time ever I will be racing a bike built and prepared by others. A true no expense spared race machine. I will be competing in the heavy weight class with the big dogs.

Bikes I miss...

Problem is one honky can only fit so many machines in a space. Give me an airplane hanger and I bet I could fill it up with in 6 months. That explains why I let the Gold Wing go. Fuck, that bike was a blast. Case of beer in each saddle bag with a 30 pack in the trunk, Credence on the tape deck, a burrito in one hand, cup of coffee in the other with the cruise control set and the arm rests. And that thing did BIG wheelies. The xr50 was the first bike I modded out. learned how to do a back flip on the little shit. So many fun times but all my knee surgeries and every motorcycle ER visits were a result of the little monster. The Champion framer, GT500, and my XS hardtail were sold to start my shop and keep it open it's first year. It is said that they come and go but nothing ever compares to that first kiss. More than any I regret most loosing my 1983 Husqvarna 250. That thing made me a man. 6 gears. Twin shocks with 3 feet of travel, and a spark plug that hid beneath an expansion chamber that changed sides of the bike at least 4 times. If I still had that machine I think I could conquer the galaxy. Or at least the modern vintage MX class.

Pressure

What I am talking about is the pressure we feel. The constraints, the shackles, the laws against nature we deal with. Where does this pressure come from and how did it develop? Are the cosmos coming in on us? Is there some deep unknown telepathic energy telling us to live our life with the most fulfillment or else perish namelessly amongst so many others? Perhaps we are just surviving and thriving as the dominant species. Performing as nature has programed. All I know is that the very split instant the green flag starts to move there is a total release of pressure. A dry ice bomb completely discharging all pressure. It is no more what was once potential energy is suddenly all at once released. Happy place. The checkers pass and normal breathing comes back. The brain starts to resume its normal thinking as the adrenaline diminishes. The pressure begins to build.

Sunny now that it is monday

I got to ride practice before the race weekend was cancelled. My three year old rock hard rain tires probably were not up to racing any way. It was a fun six laps though. The thing about the rain is not the traction or lack of it. It is the lack of visibility. Not the track so much but the other riders. When you ride around others you are always making note of what they are doing. Are they braking early. Are they going to leave me room to get around them. What is their body position saying. is the wrist bent. the elbow down. It is very hard to see the body language when the visor is shit.

It aint the years boy, it's the miles

If you took all the bashing, the smashing, and the crashing then you would probably look the way I do. -Chris Ledoux I don't race much enduro these days but I still do enjoy a good flog on old Molly. What better place than my old western colorado stomping grounds. The adobes. A lunar landscape lacking vegetation. Hardened sand dunes divided by rock littered ditches and back braking g-outs. For some reason I ride fast in this shit. And I like it. Especially the fast part. Saturday was the kids race followed by the hairscramble team race. Young Jake Miner raced his first off road race on the same 1986 XR80 that I raced my first off road race on. He got 2nd place. Lord Mick and I teamed up for the team race. I got the jump on the first corner. The local hotshot cut the 2nd corner and we went off into the desert side by side in a kamakazi roulete of macho throttle jockeying. He finally got scared and backed off. I led the rest of the first lap before handing it over to Mick who alternated laps with me until I took the checkered flag. It felt neat. All warm and fuzzy inside. Nice riding Mick. You old sack of dog shit. Your cool. Sunday was a 70 mile endure with 6 special tests. I gave it my best. Lots of dust and one pecker head who thought I had to "earn" passing him every fucking time I made up the minute on him. The fucking twat cost me some time. Ahhhh, any hoo, goosfrabahhhhh. I ended up tied for the over all. After breaking the tie with seconds over minutes I ended up third. 14 seconds behind 2nd place and 37 seconds from 1st place, the local hot shot

. Peace, Grease, and old bull riding country music.

Einhorn is Finkel