Throws of addiction

At 3:55 in the A.M. on the first Sunday of the year my alarm awoke me to more pain than I awoke to today on Monday. And that is saying something because yesterday at full speed on the end of the front stretch I hit the ice hard and slid at 60mph like a ninja turtle into a snow bank. As I type this I feel like my chair is giving me a Mike Tyson charley horse. Ice racing in Colorado means waking up so damn early just to get to the track in the dark, find a sketchy place to park that will require a tow strap to get out of and then freezing your little piggies off all day. If I were not a full blown motorcycle racing junky I sure as hell would be doing something warm and involving more booze than this but there I was. Nothing like sriping off your one pice long underwear in a dark porta-potty and trying to un-clench captain sphincter enough to let the horse out of the barn when it is near zero degrees. After trying out my XS twin in the vintage class once a few years ago I swore it off. It was like Lane Frost riding a greased up bull on pcp. But the buzz has been big this year with many friends and since I still had the tires I figured I would mount em up on my proper 450 race bike and give it a modern effort. (Thanks for the fenders Garrett!) And of course I mind as well throw myself into the A class cause Momma didn't raise to powder pony piss ant. Just a dumb, numb, throttle twisting, high octane huffing, conversion van gypsy jockey. In my heat race I went for the holeshot like I have trained myself to always own like a mule. I may have taken it had I not lost the back end like a slug of lead leaves its shell casing in the first turn. Ice is hard and it slides a body a very long ways. In the main I led the first two laps and dropped to 4th. Not bad but I am looking forward to round 2 this weekend after I sort out my suspension some. Maybe I may win or maybe I may swear off this January sunday addiction for good. Peace, grease, and polar fleece. -Uncle Newbold