The Lee family is who I have to thank for my Pikes Peak experience. one year they had something like seven Lees racing the hill. Chuck Lee is kind of like my MR. Miyagi. He told me to buy my first set of dirt track tires and life has never been the same. Chuck's brother has the Indian nick name: Dances with Booze. We pitted next to him and Chucks son and a few other Lee kin. Pallets were burned in the infield, Pot luck dinner was devoured and many a can of beer and more than a few jars of new mexico moonshine were emptied. Sandia speedway is worth a drive. Super tacky clay steep banked 3/8 with a short track inside sharing the start stretch. This confused me in practice as both tracks were to be practiced on. I watched before entering the track to see how exactly this sharing of the tracks was going to work. I watched as a figure eight style collision put on old fellow in the meat wagon with a broke hip, multiple fractured pelvis, busted nine ribs, broken collar bone, broken thumb, and a whack to the head. Hmmm, maybe a rider's meeting should commence.
Other than that it was a smooth two days of racing. We all did good. I won all my races until my rear brake broke on the last turn of my last lap leaving me a bit all to relieved to sit out the pro main with a growing hang over and another jar of shine. We stayed the night at a Lee family compound on the way home. I can't even put into words how much Tecate was drunk. I awoke to the sounds of Lee family still drinking at 8 or 9 in the morning. They are like indian blooded energizer bunnies. With 80's rocker hairband styling. For breakfast provided real genuine entertainment; one unfriendly tackle and one willing suicide belly flop from way to high up into a rock bedded ankle deep stream. No one missed a beat. I think the most enchanting part of the whole trip was the lack of cell phones, cameras, and general concern for anything other than the here and now.