94 Pikes Peak Hill Climb

Such a cool old video. Guy must have had a vhs recorder in a back pack! I sure am greatful that I got to race it when it when it was dirt and we got to go bar to bar. I hade some good battles for four years and then did six years on pavement racing one at a time. I miss the mountain.

Getting through the winter hump

 It is the time of year that the racer finds only solace in the shop. The gear bag is giving bed to the dust bunnies. The sun shine rises late, shines low through windows giving new perspective and light to the dwelling artifacts of the shop, and then the ball of fire sets too soon to do mini bike laps in the back yard. The porcelain tea mug has darkened with stain growing long in the tooth hoping to avoid the cement floor, an immanent demise of all the racer collects and drinks from. Beyond renewing the race club memberships and reserving the holy number not 666 but rather 747, there are other responsibilities. The father, the husband, the maintainer of house and cars. Damn you Mr. Ford. The owner and operator of a full time busy as all hell motorbike shop. The balance. Constantly seeking the balance. Years are few and dreams are many. Will this be the year to focus on taking a race car to the next level. What comes after a class title. Both bike and car, was a lot but addiction says: more, more, more, If you can do it once do it more. The madness is both numbing and captivating. To take something from the brink of the trash bin and put it on top of the podium. That first Pikes Peak win ruined me. It showed me that all the consumer based advertisement fueled colosseum scene is a lie. All the money in the world will not build a race winning vehicle. The desire is was counts. Ambition, work, limber optimism, and bit of JB weld.

This here head is from an old Honda four wheeler. It has a big dumb thermostat otherwise it will fit on a Honda two wheeler. Go Honda! Go two wheels!

It is a head worth doing some work with to make work with what I have.

Aluminum welding skills are still eluding me but I figured what better way to learn than dirty old cast on a very unique and un-replaceable piece. I finally gave up chassing the pin holes and dabbed them with good old JB Weld.

Back-cutting and refacing the oversized valves. The only reason that I can do what I can is because of my stubborn refusal to spend money. That said I must admit that I am a very privileged cracker to have what I have. This old valve grinder was bought for pennies or given to me when my shop was in Denver, like so many of my tools and valuable experiences I have acquired.  I was never the fastest or most brilliant but things came to me I think because people thought, hey what will this dingbat do with this.... 
I reckon opportunity is sometimes dressed in a green mohawk with a firm yet respecting raised middle finger to the status quo. Yo. 

Toying with the idea of boring out this FCR out on my lathe but I am pretty sure I will fuck up the taper bore. I love these carbs. They are like my happy place. I would rather re-build and tune one of these any day over some electronic buzzing whimper of a robot wet fart.

Come Sunday. This winter has been delicious for riding. High 40's or even 50's with just enough moister. Not much snow pack in the mountains but I am not complaining. Yet. This ol 88 sure makes me smile. There are single track trials I can ride on this former 1996 Pikes Peak racer as fast as I can on a modern bike. I wonder what another 30 years will bring. I hope nothing much.

Feeling like a real proper race car guy shit building some sidepods to house heat exchanger for small block cheby. The Coyote calls!

Thinking I might need to bring the back of the pod back further. I didn't want to trap the radius rods but maybe I could just extend the sheet metal and roll a bead like taper flare it up/out a bit like a skate ramp with coping at the lip. What do you think? Like a field of corn; I am all ears...

Here we are. There it goes. Where it's at.

 Finally have shifter. Shifting gears. Metaphor of life. 

Grab too tall of a gear - blow the corner. 

Miss a shift - make a savings withdrawal.

 Smooth transition.  Not grinding.  Not missing.

Finding it. Minding it. In the shop I keep grinding it.

Blue lever is the twin master cylinder turning brake. Push to go left and Pull to go right or is it the other way? ... Think fast - don't die.

Not a lot of room. Not a lot of aluminum welding skill. But I just keep on finding a way. I tell my daughter constantly; "If you can think it- you can do it"

How is this LEGAL?! Driving the Discommon SVF1 Eagle | Henry Catchpole -...

A dirt biker looks at 40 (mother mother ocean, get me through the season...)

 The Solstice. The time of year to find gratitude along with repulsion. The beauty of nature along with the vile pervasion of some, mostly humanity. The Substance of life is sometimes more than I think my hill-billy country bumpkin back side can handle. The experiences I have had have been great, many, and out of this world but sometimes the common journey of fatherhood is more than mind blowing for any ol beer drinking grey haired greasy finger nailed weirdo wanker wanna-be. Through it all, the confusion gives me clarity through racing. Motor sport. The Joe Camel Marlboro Man savoir. So much is the vulgar display of commercialism that at least I know it is transparent. Despite the decades of puffing ciggies the transparency was always pure and never have I wanted to be anything fake. Only a racer. The holidays are just the off season. Waiting....  

After months of trying to meet up with Martini, the three time ago previous owner of my Coyote, I finally made the connection; At a Motel 6 in Gallop New Mexico. I pulled up in front of his ground floor room as the skunk aroma rolled. Along with the sporting goods and contraband he bestowed upon me his old Simpson race suit along with his CHCA race jacket. The torch was passed.

When Martini raced this Coyote at Pikes Peak he had her looking so good.

Trying to fit my 6 foot two inch giraffe leg having frame into this car is a real challenge. Let alone fitting a two cable shifter in somewhere right next to a two master cylinder turning brake. I figure making a shifter is about as good of a chance to exercise my brain as any other crippling aneurism.

On a bright yellow sun shine note of crisp two stroke resonance revival I did get the 76 YZ125 a proper (ish) front end so I could finally ride it a year after building. No dents in the alloy tank, whew!

Last weekend I got Danny to come down from the mountains to play race cars with me on some of the best roads. My back yard is straight out of a video game. Danny turned my old 79 Pontiac Grand Pirx back into a proper dialed race car. I would never have sold it to him if only I had the patience and knowledge to set it up like he has it now. My buddy ol Peter who showed me these roads came out with his dirt bike. It sure felt good to get back in the car after the last race in September. I was hitting corners like a slot car madman. I found a nice 4th gear road jump and flew a car for the first time. I made some corners obey my cosmic powers and it felt good. Really good.

After a near brain aneurism trying to engineer my own shifter I came to my senses and bought an old Toyota MR-2 shifter off ebay. But the leg room is a serious issue.... 

If all else fails, it is slot car season: GAME ON!

Vahsholtz Racing at Pikes Peak - Full Documentary

What an influence these fellas have had on me. 2015 was one heck of a year for me up there.

Holy glory given; when your racin your livin

 I have come a ways since I started this blog. It amazes me how much can be done with little at hand other than a good attitude and a willingness to see things through. I owe so much to the many good folks who have helped me along the way. This shop is a collection of so many generous gifts, labors and loves. In this picture I see a two post lift from Mikey at West Side Auto, A staircase built by Frank, a welding bottle cart from Clint Donohue who once drove a Porsche off the top of Pikes Peak.... And so many other things that I have scrounged from trash cans or have been gifted. Cheers to the Gods of Speed.

Custom length axles are not cheap but VW bus axles on Ebay are so I cut some and made them what length I want. If they break at least I'll know why.

The Porsche trans axle flanges are actually 3/8 thread so in order to use the needed 8mm bolts I just slapped some helicoils in 'em. No drilling even needed. Will it hold up? We shall see...

Yes, some old Yamaha dirtbike shocks from my hoard piles.

Drove out to Colorado Springs with Nova for the CHCA awards banquet. We took the Geo Tracker to make it an adventure. 

I have not made it to the banquet in many years but I figured I should since I won two class championships. The Super Sprint championship means a lot to me with the Hayabusa Homebrew car. Even Gary got a trophy in the motorcycle class. Pretty badass with his drum brake air cooled XL350.

I made some new T-shirts. Things are getting out of hand here in the desert so I feel the need to preach a bit.

Get yours here

Spencer Steele | Climb to the Clouds 2017

Here is our local badass Spencer Steele doing what he does out on Mt Washington. They are bringing back this hill climb this year... The week after Lands End... Not sure my Homebrew could handle the bumps, not sure I could afford to drive that far to a race, not sure I'm not sure if you know what I mean....

Mounting a Coyote tranny with Colorado Kool-aid machine.

 The Aluminum molten puddle is a lot like the secret to joyful enlightenment. True happiness and inner peace. A state of perfection if you will. There are many things that can make an old refrigerator sized Miller 330 AB/P welder not create that shiny molten puddle of perfection. After trying to tig weld aluminum with this old boat anchor for 10 years I finally found it possible to make a bead with the correct amount of preparation, practice, and focus. I have been told many times I should give up and buy a new digital welder that would make life much more easy. However this old Welder has a story: When my shop was in Denver I had a sketchy automotive shop one block down 38th Ave. One day the sketchy mechanic said he was out and if I wanted his tig welder it was mine but his sketchy land lord/fellow tenants were on their way to seize anything left behind. So I high tailed it over to his shop on foot as that was all I had and started rolling the giant welder down the sidewalk. I could not get it across the intersection so I left it in traffic and went back to my shop for some tie down straps that I could use to better pull, tug, and haul with. I got it to my shop and found it would not fit through my shop door! The tenant behind me let me take out some drywall and 2x4s to get it into my shop. And then I began the struggle to learn how to weld aluminum. I think I nicked a hole in the torch's gas line during the moving process causing intermittent issues and many foul words for many years.  A customer identified my welder, with it's unique decal logo numbers as one of the welders he worked with at the Coors brewery in Golden just up the road. Who knows how many beer kegs the machine once put together.

I built a jack as practice before tackling the engine and trans mounts. 

Luckily someone else has previously cut the car up so I don't feel as bad attempting my fabrications on it. The car has previously had a Subaru, Ford SHO, and other engines. It is recorded as being totaled at least twice.

I am going a different way than all the other CHCA cars and doing soft mounts with the thinking of less cracking....

Some of the previous repairs and alterations make me feel not so bad about my welds...

But I have a long way to go before I reach true enlightenment. Hoping my future is not full of cracks....

Greely to Telluride

Good ol Mick wanted to go flattracking. How could I say no to my oldest and fondest dirt bike buddy. I also needed an excuse to get John's Champion XS framer out that he so kindly is leaving in my care for the time be. I even took Mick out to some patch of flat desert and gave him one of my old steel shoes to see if he had more than just blind ambition to go fast and turn left. He did. So I buttoned up the Champion, dusted off the old Pikes Peak bike with some fitted 19"s, and loaded up my future; Nova Rose and her Lightning bug bike. The drive to the Mile High Showdown was on the other side of the state and it took us all day. The chatter in the van was mostly centered around racing, flower print dresses, and "what's that sign say". After unloading the bikes my daughter was stone quite as we walked the track inside the stadium. Her eyes were wide and my stomach had that old familiar tinge of excitement. It has been about 7 years since I was racing flattrack regularly.  The only other time being the Am Nationals in Illinois. Nova and I practiced late into the night friday before retiring into the ol trusty van. We woke to camp stove burritos and coffee. My little chip off the block was her usual timid and smart rider rather than racer in her heat races. I told her if she wanted to race rather than ride she had my blessings. I am proud of how brave she is but even more proud of how smart she is. In her main event race she pulled the cork out and passed tow bigger older kids to finish 2nd, earning her first trophy. Proud dad moment. My races were good but nothing spectacular. With big purses the competition was stiff. The Champion desperately needed a gear change but I forgot my quick change sprockets and did not have time to do much anyhow. I did remember the CRF gears and got it dialed in good enough for 2nd in the TT 40+. In the 40+ short track I got the holeshot in the main and was feeling good when I got run into by a rider trying to pass me on the outside. I had to restart from the back and worked all the way back up to 4th. Mick bagged a win the Amateur TT, he must have a decent coach!  Max Whale from Australia was in attendance and cleaned up the pro class. It was fun to strap my steel shoe back on and for a few days I was buzzing on doing some more flattrack. It would be great learning for Nova at least until she gets to the 85cc when shit gets serious. I don't know though, the little impact I had, not even going down, was still enough to remind me of the dangers of banging bars so close going around in circles. I always thought when I got older that I would be more of a flattrack racer than anything else but honestly it is the first form of competition I that I have grown to fear the dangers of. Fuck old age is replacing young desire... We shall see....

I may be older but I am still a ham

Getting to share the podium with my good old buddy Matt was a real pleasure. We grew up riding dirt bikes and playing in a punk rock band together. I introduced him to flattrack a few years back and he has taken to it mighty fine. Last podium we shared was probably at our local moto cross in 1998 when we were 16 year olds.

I started racing with Mick in 2006 when his parents gave me consent to drive him to Lake Havasue and sign his minor waiver.

Nothing more flattrack essence than skidding around a couple of old tires played out on the ol desert floor. I remember how cool it felt to get into flattrack back in 2009. You could only get tires from one A and A racing. It was like joining a secert club. I think Mick and the bug. I told him to build a vintage tracker...

Van life is the good life

A week later we were invited to a right proper concourse on the Telluride golf course by our good friend Dylon who we race the Colorado hill climbs with. He has connections... and they wanted bikes to spice up the ordinary show of Jags,  high end Porsches, GT40, open wheel Indy cars....

So I brought Beasty the old desert sled. Did not even wipe off the years of dust.

Of course Nova stole the show the Lighting bug. It was also a good excuse to dust off Lipstick, The late great Tommy's Triumph Shop show bike/real hooligan flattrack race bike/ Dirt Quake USA race winner. It was a fun different way to spend a day. And I will probably never again be invited to any golf course let alone the one Tom Cruise uses. Always fun to be the turd in the punch bowl :)