Monday, December 30, 2019

Pikes Peak Closure



The first time I raced Pikes Peak I knew I was taking part in something special; At the riders meeting I was sitting between Eddy Moulder and Joe Kopp. It was the first time I had ever been on a race course with anything other than knobbie tires. It totally blew my mind. It turned me into a full blown high speed junkie and as the surface became less dirt and more pavement over the years I learned how to race my dirt bike with Supermoto slicks and then a full street bike and then a couple of full blown pikes peak specials with enough power to scare the shit out of anyone. After 11 years of competing (one of those as crew chief for Isle of Man racer Paul Baleta) I am trying to hang it up. Again.  2019 was the first year I didn’t show up and it will most likely be the last year motorcycles will race there.  Too many deaths and no bikes will be allowed next year... Closure.


The place has shown me great victory and horrible loss. One of the most amazing spectacles I have ever seen was Mike Ryan drifting his several thousand horsepower semi truck. Like a Run-away locomotive belching black smoke, sliding sideways through corners only inches from the edge of sheer cliffs. One practice morning he spun out on the lower section, his 18” wide truck tires leaving massive skid marks off the road where his rig left a huge swath of clear-cut forrest. He totaled his truck but come race day he rode his street going motorcycle to the top just so he could be there. The worst spectacle I ever saw was up top. After completing my race run I went to watch other bikes cross the finish line. The first bike I watched was a Triumph Daytona 675 with a cheeky rider giving the two finger hand signal as he crossed the checkers. The hand signal can mean peace or victory, neither of which he was about to receive. As his hand was not on his break lever he veered off the edge of the road surface at 80+mph and into a boulder field. His bike and body exploded right before my eyes as they rag-dolled through the air pinwheeling off of the large rocks.
In 2012, my 5th year racing I had finished runner up twice and 3rd twice in the 450 class. It was the first year I built a Pikes Peak special race bike from the ground up. It was also the first year I got lucky and convinced a girl to slumber in my van with me during race week. To the credit of the special lady and motorbike I won my first class victory on the big hill. I used the large victory pay out money to open my own shop and I married that wonderful women.

My next victory on the hill was actually another 2nd place finish but it was 2nd overall motorcycle and 1st was a HRC backed American Honda CBR1000RR with a full time pro employed by Honda so I consider it a victory not just for me but for the team I was on and the special construction Ronin EBR1190 radical motorbike they created in only a matter of a few short months. It was all the more meaningful of a finish since my friend and road race instructor Carl lost his life two days prior in practice near the top of the mountain.
Carl’s death led me to say some things to the press about the lack of communication and shitty organization of the race so the committee banned me. So the following year I build a Ducati Multistrada for Paul Baleta to race and worked as his mechanic and coach. It gave me a whole other perspective of the race and I realized the stress the dangers of the event put on those close to the competitor. I thought of hanging it up but the opportunity of a life time came together for me to race a Pikes Peak special construction Buell XBRR (1340 cc race use only twin cylinder air cooled push rod beast of an engine making over 100 ft lb of tourqe and 150 plus to the rear wheel.) Because of the "Moto GP engineered" superficial beauty of the bike and it coming from Spain I was accepted back. The Spanish “Moto GP engineered “ bike looked amazing with it’s hand painted carbon fiber body and even carbon fiber fork tubes. But it was so poorly assembled that in the 20 times I tested or practiced on it not once did it perform without something terribly wrong happening. During the race run the slipper clutch locked up solid and the lever would not budge. Pulling the lever was my only fail safe the many times that the throttle bodies would pop off the manifold causing the beast to rev to the moon. That bike finished 4th over-all and won me my 2nd class win. It also was the closest to suicide I have ever been.

My final year on the hill I went back to my 450 and tired to just have fun but like a sick pervert that had been exposed to some sick hardcore shit, the thrill was gone and my home built 450 was not enough to scare the living crap out of me. We finished runner up once again. I knew the special time was over. If I was king of the universe I would rip all the pavement out and go back to racing the mountain on dirt, bar to bar like those first few years I took part. Those were a truly special time in motorcycle racing that I am sure happy to have been part of. But instead of looking back it is much more essential to live in the present moment and make some future awesomeness happen.  Onward and upward!

Monday, December 16, 2019

Thomas E Dorrell - The Cosmic Cowboy

The first time I ever met him it was actually one of his many Triumph motorcycles that I met. I saw it parked in front of a Café in the middle of Kansas while hopping from one small town to another during the Kansas fair flattrack series. The ratty street tracker was a few years ahead of it's time in terms of Internet trends. The bike struck me so much that I had to turn around and take a photo with my camera. Later on in that same county fair flattrack series I saw the bike again in the pits at Norton Kansas after the races were over. It was weaving wildly through the grassy paddock. It's pilot, wearing sandals, a Hawaiian shirt, and large cowboy hat while handing out cans of PBR from a milk crate with reckless grace. From that moment on we were friends. Good friends. Best friends. He frequented often on this blog. The Cosmic Cowboy was his handle. Cowboy. A former Dodge City gun fighter. Stunts, movies, Vietnam helicopter gunner, Preacher, Skateboard shop owner, Family man, and of course Tommy's Triumph Shop. He sponsored me and many other racers. He would fill up my van with gas using his veteran assistance credit card. While visiting his shop he would send me home with a van load of five or six motorcycles to sell for race money. He brought a bunch of pampers diapers to Davey Durelle's Pits when his little ones were all over. He would bring back a tire for me from Davey's Pits when my tire was as bald as them little one's backsides. His Tommy's Triumph Shop shirts are worn by many, even Chris Carr. Never could I have ever had a better crew chief. He kept me fed, informed, and well hydrated... especially after the racing was over. For nearly ten years we had a lot of fun meeting up at the races in Kansas, Nebraska, Las Vegas and even driving together to Dirt Quake USA in Washington State. What a road trip that was. The dropped ice cream cones covered in Baja hair he ate while cursing. The whiskey. The Women. The party. And of course every flea market, swap meet, garage sale and antique store from Denver to Portland. Every single one of them. He knew how important Pikes Peak was to me and even though he hated the place, especially after Carl's death, he made sure to be there and to look after me with his blessings. He was preacher at my wedding and damn was he top notch. That god damned son of a bitch could dance! The stories are far too many to tell and some just far to fuct up to explain. Dealing with his passing is painful for sure as it must be to so many others in his huge network. He had some big boots. Very big and no one or nothing will ever come close to filling them but we all must do our best to keep alive the spirit of the greatest outlaw motorcycle cowboy the cosmos have ever known.
Ride on old amigo.


Tuesday, December 3, 2019

04-26-14 Flat Track 30+ Main @IMI with Bangin Bars

Good old Banging Bar days at IMI with Michael Neal all over my 6