Good to be a lucky dog

Looking back at some of the far out bikes I have been given a chance to race.

I am thankful for these experiences that were offered up to me. I am a lucky dog.

a bad day dirt biking...

Besides a bit of good luck,  just about everything good in my life has come from my ability to ignore common sense and throw caution to the wind. It does occasionally bite me in the ass though. Take yesterday for example, All my buddies were too smart to want to go out and slop around in the first January thaw. I could not resist though. The urge was just to strong and pappy needs his medicine. So I got up early (for a sunday) and went into the shop to prepare a stead... My trusty ol XR650R, My titts KX500, My most sensible red headed 450 Molly? No, those were all practical and nearly ready to ride, But my new old 1988 XR600 was just tugging at me. And plus I had just re-valved a XR650L shock I bought off eBay and was eager to try it. So installing this piggy back shock into the little hole next to the air box wrapped in the non removable sub-fram where the stock remote reservoir shock nested, well lets just say I had to channel my inner Harry Houdini. If i hadn't believed the kool aid internet forums I would have gave up but at last and before noon I had it in and was really happy about how it's dampening felt. I drove out into the north desert high country where snow was as scarce as I could find, less than two hours away and then another 20 minutes down a road so wash-boarded out it made Mexico jealous. Geared up and eager I not 5 minutes into my ride I crested what resembled and mars clay dome, so slippery that by the time I skidded to a stop I was behind the point off doing anything except to continue down its crevicey eroded slope that looked to go vert just at the bottom. Not an ideal transition on a bike I was not exactly ready to get all Graham Jarvis with. as I started to try to slide sideways the front tire wedged into a snow covered crevice and over the high side I went. in the midst of belly flopping onto a few nice of milk crate sized rocks I saw my goggles slide into a crevice resembling a rabbit hole to hell.  I used every bit of my lanky arm to retrieve and even more of my lank to upright the now broke in well aquatinted newold air cooled stead now missing it's front brake lever. A few more sketchy descents (even better with out a brake) and I was able to finally find the trail that I had set out looking for in the first place. a few minutes into the single track and I was starting to find the rhythm. Bout damn time! What was that noise? Must have been a rock in my chain. Brawwwp-waaaa. Fuck, must have thrown the chain? Nope, a quick glimpse affirmed the nightmare carnage only found when a squid has loose sprocket bolts. Yeah, I should have checked the torque on those right after I liberated this bike from a 22 year shed nap. I hiked some miles back to the van and drove it as close as I could which was not much as I did not want to continue my downward spiral with a stuck van. I had no appreciation of the bikes true iron girth until pushing it up and out of the rocky washes. At least I did not have a heart attack. And I even managed to get out before dark. AND... I was thoughtful enough to pack a victory beer! And you know what? It is true; A bad day dirtbiking is still pretty fuckin cool!!!

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