The fucking essence

 After racing for 25 years now, I have come to know some interesting folk, I have seen some crazy shit go down, and I have always come to philosophize every bit of it that I can wrap my head around. The always asked "Why?" is more of an inescapable ponder than an answerable question. All I know is what I have come to dig up and dust off like some archeologist stuck in their own back yard. My back yard is racing; The art, the act, and the blood, sweat and piss of it. There are some folk who are such divine seekers of perfection, their image is a window to the thoughtfulness of there obsession. Displays of beauty and power have always been in natures arsenal of dominance and survival. I love to walk through a race pit or paddock ogling the display of machinery, gear, and tools. I also really enjoy the back row where there are privateers with no matching outfits or loud banners proclaiming loyalty to a corporate sponsor. Something transparent and organic can be found in the less than perfect and it makes me feel good, warm, and, maybe even at home. That rare place where I feel complete and wholly alive. Like being right on the edge of disaster. Giving it your all and pushing with every bit of will and desire to win. Along with the raged edge comes the mind bending adrenaline and acknowledgment of one's own true self. The insane moments of speed and serenity, the true fucking essence of racing. Mmmmmm, racing.

Sheep and other small brained animals

 There was a moment last month during the LA/Barstow-Vegas were I felt lost and did not trust in my roll chart/ odometer navigation, Ok maybe many moments but a few still stick in my memory. I was trying to make sense of my roll chart and figure out if I had made a wrong turn and would need to re-calculate my mileage. I met a rider head on and after passing I met another rider head on and we were going slow enough through the rocks that I asked him if i was headed the wrong way but he said that I was going the correct way but it was just "hard as hell". I continued and yes it was difficult for a bit and there was a satanic decent of seat puckering down hill. It was one of the most fun challenging things I have ever done on a overweight street bike with less than properly working skimpy old dirt bike brakes. 

Soon after I was again having doubt in my navigation and I stopped at a group of other sheep who like most on the riders were using a GPS and I put my trust in there direction and was soon completely off course and with no GPS I had no way of finding my way and was not going to follow them any longer. I missed out on much of the first day's afternoon course but learned not to follow. 

Near the end of the second day I was finally making my way to the famed red rock canyon into Vegas. I had become stuck on my roll chart and odometer navigation like a little calf to a tit and was sucking it like my life depended on it. Down and down a rocky well beat in shelf trail right into a wash were I was instructed to turn up into the wash and go up it. But all tracks turned and did not go up it. I to turned and my rear tire up turned a stump and for the first time I tipped over the XS750. Fuck she is a heavy bitch to pick up! I met another couple of riders doing the stumble and they said their GPS said the same as my roll chart said so I said fuck it and headed up the wash. As I slipped the clutch hopping logs, stumps, and big rocks from a recent flash flood I thought for sure I was being a fool and was about to expose my Street Bike's weakness to death from clutch punishment but on I went in and out of embankments until I was in a slot wash carving corners where only maybe five others had been before me. Of the 500 entrants, here I was and then just when my roll chart told me to leave the wash there was an exit, out and into the glory from what is only known of those not afraid to not follow. Those are some things I remember.

The first Vahsholtz racer

 If you know me, you know Pikes Peak is in my blood. I have experienced it 12 years. Some have experienced it much more. The Vahsholtz family the most along with the most wins. I first met son Clint Vahshotlz at my first year or two. He was a Nascar cup racer, Pikes Peak region local, and former motorcycle class champion. His stock car had duct tape holding make shift brake vent ducting and Coors beer cans keeping the throttle body intake protected. He was fast and I liked him. He was fastest overall racer this year in his homebuilt open wheel car. After my first few years on the hill, grandson Cody Vahsholtz started to race and he wore old hagard flattrack leathers. Like his father he was all go and not concerned with a super clean image. We became friends. We have had many a tight battle on the dirt CHCA hill climbs. We swapped wins this year in the two CHCA hill climb races (I edged him by a few points by winning qualifying). We never were classed together at Pikes Peak. He won the 250 class when I won the 450 class and then he won the middle weight class when I was on the heavy weight bikes and when I had my first year not racing he was on the factory Ducati big bike team with Carlin and Carlin died marking the end of the bikes. But the beginning of Vahsholtz racing is with grandfather Leonard or actually his wife, she was keeping the books for his mechanic shop and was skimming 10% without telling anybody and when he wanted to buy a brand new 1976 Ford Torino race car she surprised him with the available funds. He raced that car "The Red Sled" for three years at Pikes Peak(1977,78,79), gaining Factory Ford Motor Co sponsorship, and then became the most winning racer of all time on the hill; a record he would then loose to his son. Leonard has built some very special hill climb cars and still builds some fast as fuck Nascar engines. He is a legend amoung the dirt CHCA scene. One of my customers kept on telling me that he had a Vahsholtz car. I finally got him to show me a picture of it. I showed the picture to Cody and as I suspected he verified that it was not a Vahsholtz car. But than a week later he messaged me back and said that it was in fact his grandpa's first race car... So I kept nipping the ear of the owner until he finally said I could come take a look at it. So I brought a trailer. It was under a few fiberglass semi truck body panels rotting into a field of sage brush. I waited until he became frustrated with an old pick up truck of his that wouldn't start. After the 4th cup of gas poured down the carb throat didn't do the trick I pulled out my Benjamin bills and asked if these would make him feel better. We dug the car out with a back-hoe and on to my trailer, home to my shop it went. It has sat for 40 years, It's 427 big block had been robbed. It had spent a cruel spell on the circle tracks doing roundy round smash and crash and it shows a lot of wear and tear. It is in rough shape but I can see some potential. Maybe a long term restoration back to The Red Sled's former glory. Maybe Leonard wants it back and has a spare Nascar small block chevy engine to spare...

Links below:                  

https://coloradomotorsportshalloffame.com/leonard-vahsoltz/

http://www.coloradospringssports.org/wp-content/uploads/Vahsholtz-FINAL.pdf

[HOONIGAN] Gymkhana 2020: Travis Pastrana Takeover; Ultimate Hometown Sh...

I remember when watching the first Ken Block Gymkhana. It was the first time I experienced you tube in a way that was more than two or three minutes at a time and the first time I realized that the internet was becoming a marketing tool that can continually feed one thing into another leading you down a worm hole of never ending feed. Up until then Ken Block and Pastrana were people that I knew from racing with and I was then proud to brag to people that I had met them. I am not sure why. But soon later I got my first computer and discovered blogging and I loved the time I spent with my computer. I was addicted for sure but looking back from the facebook/instagram age I sure miss the good old hay days of blogging. I still get super excited when I see a creation of words or thoughtful pictures on a blog but it has become few and far between as it seems now that the gram has takin control of taking control. A few days after getting Layla I realized that a puppy was far more essential to give my attention to than a stupid phone screen thing that is far more scary than anything Orwell ever wrote about. So I deleted my instagram app and am trying to look at the feed once or twice a week to answer business messages. So far I have reloaded the app twice to post something and then instantly instagram is deleted from my phone again before I can start the droning scroll and feel the need to like the others cought up in it, ok maybe I look at a few of my homies but then I delete!  It is just my way of finding balance and probably has a lot to do with were I am at in my life. I remember others telling me the same thing and I thought to my self what the hell is wrong with them and why cant they keep from endlessly scrolling and then I found my self sucked in doing just that for hours a day! It makes me disgusted to even admit that! So anyhooo. I still like the internet and the wonderful endless library of both media and knowledge, I am just trying to find my elusive balance. The quality. After that first Ken Block Gymkhana many have tried to copy but fall short (Except that Danny MacAskill pedal power duder) but a big enery drink budget and somebody like Pastrana is sure to appease. I remember watching all the Nitro Circus movies over and over again and thinking that Pastrana would never make it out of his youth alive but here he is, still living on and over the edge. Living it up.

Turning gears

 We all have gears inside turning, giving us our drive. I have been keeping my mind sane with the building of different motorbikes for about 15 years now and lately the four wheel virus. Building a race purpose small black chevy on the the cheap has been the latest obsessive venture. Lots of new stuff to learn and learning to exercise needed patience. Most people talk about this year going down about as well as gangster rap karaoke at the babtist church sunday school social. But for me it has been just a busy year, getting to go into the liquor store looking like I am going to rob the place, and an excuse to be as anti-social as I pleas. Any-hoo, I am trying to explain my motivation of lately to build a v8 car engine. Something lots of people know a lot about and I knew nothing about before a few months ago. Last year I got to be involved with the worlds fastest two stroke (as I think of it) and that was really cool. The people involved. Something about the whole experience made me want to not be afraid of attempting things beyond my confidence zone. I have not stopped building project bikes on top of doing customer bikes all day but the race car stuff  has me firing a clean hot burning efficient combustion. Very invigorating. 

Exploding Whale

I am currently weening my self off facebook/instagram with youtube.

LA/Barstow to Vegas 2020

 

I have tried since 2014 to make the final hard section into Vegas through Redrock Canyon. The bike has always broke and left me to far behind but this year we did it and it was everything I had dreamed of. After riding nearly 500 miles my next roll chart note read: 3.8 small rock garden. I rounded a turn and there it was, hundreds of meters of boulders, good proper hard enduro bullshit. Modern bikes and bodies strewn everywhere. Percolating clouds of antifreeze, puddles of blood, tears, and engine innards on the aluminum scared rocks. I never slowed or even acknowledged the other riders waiting in line or conjuring up their courage. Spectators jumped to there feet as I took creative high lines and zig zagged around the carnage of smoking stuck tires and burnt auto clutch KTM being tugged on by the sweaty faced. My stock bouncing diaphragm carbs began to flood and load up the engine so I gave the engine a few revs to clear out the 750cc double pumper. I heard somebody yell: "YEAH TRIALS GUY!" and a few shocked riders jumped out of my way as I kept on chugging through the ledges and boulders and then it was just me and the trail again. Solo as it had been since the morning before, back in Palmdale where we started. Or very nearly never started at all. It was 5:30 AM and still dark when I unloaded Big Beasty to head to a gas station and then to the event start. It was below freezing and the bike was not wanting to run on both cylinders. I checked the new old breaker points that came out of one of my junk storage coffee cans a few days prior. I went through the carb. And just when I was about to admit defeat and unload the back up bike (a preparation advised by the wisdom of the wife this year). I finally tried a new spark plug... Yup two hours late to the start to diagnose a fouled spark plug. DOH! Off I went. hitting all the stop lights out of the city, everything seemed good and then she just died. Nothing. Blown fuse. Grip warmers, lights, ignition? Nope the Regulator/rectifier had shorted. Damn. Who needs a charging system with points ignition anyhoo so I un-plugged everything except the ignition and bought a spare battery from a Chinese scooter shop on my way out of the city. My first stint out into the desert my odometer stopped working. At the next trail intersection I caught up to the sweep riders and fixed my odometer cable. The sweep rider looked at my set up and questioned me using only the roll chart and odo to navigate as he watched me wrap my odo cable with black tape. "No GPS?!" I told him I was good. I even had a spare battery strapped to my chest to prove it. I told him I am going to take off in front of him into the big desert and I hope not to see him again. And I didn't from there on out ol Beasty was as reliable and as nimble as an ox. All the way on into Barstow and then to Vegas the next day. I never had time to open my tool bag to use my left handed cigarettes, PBR beer, or the spare battery that beat my rib cage to a purple pride felt carcass. No casinos, tiki lounges, or even omelet house this trip but instead just good quality vanning with Cookie and Layla. Glory.