Operation Coyote commence

 

When this John Wells built Coyote chassis #13 dream car more or less fell into my lap almost two years ago I was just completing my Homebrew Hayabusa car so I made my self promise to not touch it until my Homebrew was ironed out. A smarter man than me would perfect the homebrew but a ball chasing border collie is a ball chasing border collie. After Land's End, with one race left in the season, and the points lead, I repaired an axle and loaded up Homebrew into the trailer. I un-tarped the Coyote and pushed it into the shop. I was so eager to un-box the adaptor kit I ordered almost two months ago and fit the ebay Porsche transaxle to the SBC power plant I built and ran in my Pontiac Grand Prix that I couldn't believe I was not 7 years old but this is the dream car I envisioned when I was 7 so I got right to it.

It did not just pop right together but after some grinding, some cutoff wheel, wome very colorful bits of vocabulary, and my big red fucking hammer; it went together. More impressive was how it fit into the chassis.

Again, it didn't just fit right into the old chassis... I am used to working with motorcycle engines and I am at the age where physical limitations are starting to be yielded to. The pain is real. But after some creative use of jacks, hoists, and my beloved two post lift I got it. I was sure I was going to need to cut something but to my amazement it fit perfect. Well better than OJ's glove anyways!

I feel like a proper penniless white trash version of Colin Chapman! I think this thing is going to be the complete fucking savage race vehicle of my dreams!!! 

Pikes Peak Hillclimb 1975 "Tame The Tall Mountain"

Lands End Hill Climb 2025 - Livin in America

 Welp, the biggest race of my year has come and gone. It was everything I have been dreaming about for a whole year and more. What do I have left in my teeth to chew on but the savory meat of enjoyment. While children starve to death, power mad dictators of the world spew bullshit, and the poor brain washed masses consume the bullshit being shoveled down their gullet every screen filled spoonful by soothing dopamine pixelated spoonful.

It rained friday night for the first time in the Grand Valley in a long hot dry windy blue moon of a burning summer. The track was wet and fast for saturday's practice/qualifying. The new motocross tread atv tires were hooking up like velcro. For the first time ever I felt I could get the car to turn when and where wanted with out the under steer that I have been trying to rid the homebrew hayabusa. On only my second run I ran a 4:22 on the 5.5 mile course. I was even yellow flagged on the run and slowed after catching the car in front of me, following for a couple corners, and then passing them. Getting me the 3rd fastest run of the day overall. 4WD rally turbos lancers, 800 hp open wheel cars and all. Not bad for a rage cage built here at home in the metropolis of Mack CO. amoungst a pile of ol dirtbikes and toddler trikes. The track dried out and the hero dirt turned to a slower but magically fun dry slick. The Peat brothers came from California with their proper European Semog cross karts. They are from the UK and have national rally championship experience and cars waiting for them over the pond. They raced Lands End last year and were smoking me. This year they had some problems including one of them having a massive scary crash off the edge into some trees. I managed to beat the other brother by 2 seconds with a smoking 4:20 -Duuude! In the Motorcycle class I struggled with times almost 20 seconds off my best. Lord Mick was pushing me like a pacific north west hobo with a shopping cart full of Colt 45 on roller skates. I managed to drop down to a 4:28 for a race run giving Mick 4 seconds and another year to think about de-throning me next year. I have won the Motorcycle class at every Lands End since 2016. I found myself thinking how much I wanted to trade my bike runs for another run in my car. I don't know what is happening to me but I knew from the get go that the two too many wheeled virus was not fucking around with me... I reckon it's not what you eat but rather how you eat it. It is not the size of the peanuts in the poop but the poop in the pants. The mysteries of the universe. The leftovers from the Indian restaurant. The warm last horse fly infested margarita after the ice melts. Yum.