BOLTS WY 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.

Colorado Hill Climbing

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

9 lives dumped from phone

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.

New race bike motor. Just you wait and see. VMX TT500 stock stomper Dick Mann man

Paint booth

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

Jeff Stanton

 Let'g get a shotgun and kill Barney

Heinz- 57 drawers 

American muscle, spanish engineering, and a dirtbike kid

Motorchycho

You! Yes you! get yourself a copy of issue #31 (13 backwards!)
Email motorcychomag@gmail.com today! It has a nice tale I wrote about love, life, and DIRTBIKING in it.

Pikes Peak 2017

It is over. I have been home one week and acclimated back to normal society the best I can. It was one hell of a ride. Really, what can I say? It was the most mentally tough thing I have ever done. Not so much the race but keeping it together mentally. The first time I saw the bike in Spain and how far behind schedule it was at becoming a safe bike to ride on the mountain I thought long and hard about calling it off. I thought long and hard about calling it off all race week but I reckon deep inside I knew I would give it my best despite knowing there was a good chance the bike would run out of gas before finishing. For this race, giving it my best was not pushing to the limits of the bike but pushing hard enough to make a decent finish but most importantly not pushing so hard that if something went wrong on the bike (like it did) that I would have enough room between me and the edge. Despite countless setbacks and many mental hurtles we ended the race week all wearing a smile. With a class win and 4th overall motorcycle behind the factory supported boys and tried, tested and true bikes I am very happy with how it turned out, be it just by the skin of our teeth. Read all about it in the new Sideburn out very soon.
A big thanks to all that have helped support me in so many different ways. As always racing is teaching me and the learning is what I crave. And the dirty hot nasty speed.