Tuesday, September 5, 2017
Monday, August 28, 2017
Wednesday, August 16, 2017
I still call it Carl's bike but I reckon I own it now, at least in physical form. I was happy to make her my own and carry on with it where Carl left off. First up was a new race body so as the original could be preserved. I am happy with my spray paint job and 1993 ZX7 design but Scott my neighbor who runs Vinyl Works knocked it out of the park with the Ninja font Newbold's Motorbike Shop decals. I mounted up some remaining Pikes Peak tires and before heading to the track I stopped by Carl's old house. His garage was completely as he left it with a few pieces of yard work and miscellaneous house-work junk now starting to pile up on what he left behind. His vintage triumph dirt bike's top end lay neatly scattered on the work bench with two years of dust now settled onto the job. I riffled through his race parts bin hoping to find the kit harness computer link cable I needed to operate the kit ECU. I grabbed a cell phone chord out of despair but later found it would not hook up to anything kawasaki. I got a bit weird feeling when I started to find things I knew Carl was treasuring. I found sprockets and brake pads and other bits for the ZX10 but with nobody to ask if it goes with the sale of the bike or not I left it all. I grabbed the service book, the ZX10's tire warmers and left. A few minutes down the road I realized I left without grabbing the spare set of wheels that came with the bike. The main thing I went there for. I didn't know if I should turn around or what I should do, I just went to the race track; doing the only thing I ever know how to do. My first few outings on the bike went well. I was overcome with the bikes speed but very pleased with how it kept it's composure and instantly I felt more at home on it than any other racing street bike I have ridden. Fuck is it fast though. Practice sessions completed and I was amazed at how easy the bike was to ride. Then My race came and after I did the warm up lap I gridded on the back row as I have not raced in almost a year and had no points. I launched at the start light but the bike stayed in some sort of limiter mode. Computers. Not having a book for the kit ecu or a computer I could not find any faults. I drank two beers and went to sleep in my little old shitty camper I love so dear. The rain came down hard while I slumbered and I hoped I was not going to need the rain tires that were still sitting in Carl's garage. I awoke to a brilliant sun rise over the corn fields surrounding the race track. The bike ran spot on in practice and I was only left now with the premier race of the day. It was my first time racing the premier class, my first time on a liter bike, and my first time racing short course in almost a year. As I staged I noticed I was the only bike without a brand new tire mounted. Again, I gridded last. The start light went out and I got pinched out in the first corner. I saw elbows bumping in front of me and bikes checking up. I hit my apex onto the long back straight and as I grabbed gears I felt the sensation of flying. The bike is a missile! I out braked and made my way around a few bikes. A few laps in and I was passed back by one of the racers. I figured I was done to settle in the back of the pack with my lack of experience and un sure of my stamina for the 14 lap money class race. But then I started to gain on the rider so I passed them back again, I caught some other riders and passed them as well. I was pushing hard but I felt like I was with in my limits. At the end of the long straight I missed my brake marker at what must have been close to 180mph but I kept it on track and kept the hammer down. My rear tire was giving up the fight as I snarled my way up out of the corners, the traction control keeping things in check. I pushed on and finished my fastest lap of the race right before the white flag came out. 15th place out of 26 expert racers. Plenty of room to improve. The world has much to offer. Fuck yeah! I did it. I raced a liter bike. Carl's liter bike. My liter bike.
Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Sometimes life has me feeling like a dog on a leash that is all tangled up and wrapped around my legs like a twisty vine. So when Warren asked me if I wanted to spend six days riding up to Jackson Hole Wyoming I figured I could use some unwinding. Fuck it. That is why I own a goldwing. We stopped by my parents ranch, slept under the hay shed, rode the back roads including the legendary all dirt Irish Canyon. 20 miles from our destination we got blasted with a hail storm that left us with oozing welts, soggy britches and feeling alive. When we reached the camp the Bolts crew had tacos, cliff diving, and swimming in mountain streams colder than any thing I have dared to know. A quality group of active people. We did the turkey tour through yellow stone and saw the classic shit. On the way home the shovel head gave up the fight with bad internal noise. Fucking Harley Fucking Davidsons. I don't get the craze. I did get the explosive shits though. Picture me squatting roadside in the reed grass blasting out my internals when out of nowhere the girls high school volley ball team comes walking down the road. Classic. And we doubled up nuts the butt on the goldwing and lived out our dumb and dumber dreams. Life is what we make it and the people we share it with are what help make it worth making it.
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Round number three of the Colorado Hill Climb Association. Only four motorcycles entered. If only I could convey how fun this kind of racing is. I can't. It is weird misfit heavy horsepower car stuff and maybe that is why nobody shows up with a bike. Maybe Hill Climb racing is only thought to be drag racing with a long ass swing arm. Maybe proper Hill Climb racing needs a better name. Maybe I like it so much because nobody gets it. Flattrack/Dirt track everybody seems to get and I don't know why but I have had zero interest in racing on the dirt ovals for some time now. Maybe I can put into words for some to understand why I like the weird misfit easy going Hill Climbing.
I cut some grooves in some customers old take off tire, load the van and stock up on beer on my way out of the hot and overcrowded city. A few hours into the mountains and it is raining, cold, and flat out fucking beautiful tits. I unload and set up pits and get on my XR to go pre run the course. After getting to the finish line I pass through an active mine and keep going up on some old mining roads. I get lost. I take the beer out of my pocket and drink taking turns holding it with my cold and numb hands.
Cuddled in my 50 year old down Northface mummy bag in the van drifting off to a deep pre-race slumber to the pitter patter of mother nature watering the race track. At dawn's crack I emerge from my cocoon enough to start the coffee a perculating. After a few hours it is my turn for one of four saturday practice runs. The awaiting has left me anxious to hammer on the throttle and not wast any entry speed into the densely treed hair pin corners. Full bar lock loam sliding. 5th gear needle threading. Adrenaline. In the pit I drop a few jet sizes. On the next run I drop a few seconds and break the course record I set three years ago. Sardine sandwich and a few more seconds dropped on a few more runs. Whiskey, spam, and another night of my van's roof drumming out the sounds of hero dirt perfect traction. Sunday is the day of worship, two race runs with a weird veteran decision to sit out the over saturated second run out of it not being necessary for the win. Perhaps age is setting in. Could be wisdom. Could be bullshit. 40 applauding racecar drivers can't be all that wrong.
|I'm going off the rails on a crazy train|
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
The wind machine sooths the grind. We all need an ultra sonic spa. Today's work bench brought to you by Olympia. It is the water.
|Project gonna go fast. Long live #217. Hot Carl's new colors brought to you by Krylon|
|The golden ticket|
|I am not here for a long time. I am here for a good time|
|Let'g get a shotgun and kill Barney|
|Heinz- 57 drawers|