Long overdue summer report. It was busy. It was good. And the fear, addiction, and loathing of the words on the web help or hinder; I do not know which, but I must barf out this consumption that is life. As always the racing is the only road map I have to make sense of this journey. PPIR round one is the only Colorado Hill Climb Association course not on a real road. Rather it is a course in a field with technical challenge without the danger of cliffs, boulder fields, or trees. A rather advantageous course to my little homebrew car. I left the new big bore bike at home in an effort to not feel obligated to chase the points championship in the bike class and perhaps grow my skill in the two too many wheeled cage. On the opening lap I opted to take it easy but in doing so I overcooked a corner, spun, and without reverse knew that I either cause a red flag or give the gas pedal a little stomp to jump the inner berm. I did a big boner wheely right in front of the cameras and landed on the corner marker flag bending my tie-rod. I battled all day for the overall fastest vehicle and noticed the tie-rod was bent only after the day was done. On race day I fell victim to thinking I had a 10 second advantage only to find out the ol veteran fast guy of course kept 11 seconds in his trick bag to beat me. I found out at the awards podium ceremony with my cheeky little fast qualifier medal in hand. I smiled.
Next I raced a motocross/off road (Worx) race at my old home town local track 3.5 hrs north of my casa. Fun to use a starting gate. I got a good launch, coming into the first corner I see a young buck to my inside and one to my outside so I think it wise to not go all out for the holeshot. The young bucks collided in front of me and I hit the eject button. Before I am done rolling I start screaming at the young buck underneath me about how he is a fucking maniac and I have to go to work tomorrow. I re-mount and pass all the way back up to 2nd. A month later and I finally know how Sonny Hooper felt in the Burt Renyolds classic movie Hooper. I need to learn how to slow down and make this magic last.
Temple Canyon Hill Climb is the 2nd oldest Colorado Hill Climb on the schedule next to the Great Land's End Race. Oh I forgot to mention Land's End was cancelled this year thanks to fire crews being busy keeping our back yards and beautiful rocky mountains from burning. Broke my fucking heart to not get to race Land's End this year. Since Pikes Pike it has become my Hill Climb race of the year. Anyhoo The Temple Canyon Hill Climb is pretty sweet. I think of it as 3 different courses wrapped into four miles. I went to kick start the big bore hopped up TRX top end hill climb bike for the first practice run and my hip/groin pops and is angry. Apparently soias muscles and bursitis are worthy adversaries of Sonny Hooper. I literally couldn't lift my right foot back onto the foot peg without a whole body spasm jerk of teeth grinding grunt tear jerking wince every right hand turn. I qualify fastest on the bike with only my first run opting to save my tears for one race run, winning the motorcycle class barely. I felt good in the car but on my last race run I was putting in my perfect run when I missed out on a money finish, missing a shift on the very last corner. The gears grinded so bad I thought I threw a chain, rolling backwards out of the race line. I would find out later that I had fatally rounded my transmission gear dogs. Time for a Hayabusa engine build...
Last week I got a visit from an old friend who you might know if you go way back on this blog. He was the best man at my wedding. The partner in crime to so many high school good times. The guy who taught me how to shred at ninja level speed, hang dry-wall, Take a big road trip, handle a felony charge, use a paint sprayer, survive a car crash, file taxes, land a kick flip, start a family, and live life with a huge positive attitude. Over the summer he had been diagnosed with leukemia. A few hrs after visiting me and laughing it up, looking healthy as can be his wife found him non responsive on the floor. Game over. Two little kids left behind. Only 40 years. So it goes. Nobody gets out of here alive. It is not if but when so keep it wide open, keep it sunny side up, Don't let the bastards bring you down. Life is a precious task. Love it.
The new radical CRF450 big bore with the trick TRX head did not blow up in it's maiden race :)
Aftermath of the team race earlier this summer.
Aftermath of going over the bars on my bicycle. I swear that I am maturing as a responsible adult.
Off the race line a bit.
The spoils.
Responsible adulting. Yup, that's me. 
Me and the old Miller 330A/BP buzz box are learning to get along ok. The engine and trans mounts on the Coyote.
The old ugly "Yard Art" MX250 revival is looking a fair bit less ugly.
The Coyote is nearly near the nearly done part of a build where the last 10 percent takes 90 percent to finish. I found some pictures of ol Wells Coyote chassis 013 from it's previous adventures...
