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.