Monday, December 10, 2018

Saturday, December 8, 2018

“Deep and simple is far more essential than shallow and complex.” - Mr. Rogers

I acquired my latest project the day after I finished my last project bike, the Excess 650 (780cc motocrosser) winning it's first race/shake down ride. I traded two other old dirtbikes, my TT500 and an XR500 for this XR600. I tore down the engine and freshened up the top end with new rings and oversized valves. The frame was totally fucking broken around the left footpeg. I think the sidestand mount must have hit a rock and peeled the frame proper fuct. I put the plastics from Beasty, the old LA/Barstow Vegas bike on and replaced the 19" front dirt track wheel from it's last ride up Pikes Peak in '96 with another robbed skab off of Beasty, origanolly canobolised from an '84 XR500 now on 17" wheels known as the Womble, or Project Retard. -How far back did I loose you? Or lost my thread all together... Ah yes, this fine old archaic air cooled contraption of simple flawless operating beauty. I was hoping to rip it across Death Valley for Thanksgiving weekend and making Beasty proud of her former fenders but Baja needed some rest. She is doing much better now but the recovery was/is slow. She is just an old dog now. Still bat shit crazy as fuck though! Anyhoo, riding this bike in the desert on a cold December Saturday all by one's self is as gratifying as any encounter with true and pure living can be. Simple tasked machine from my simple rider's rotating wrist. Rewarding, like old shoes. Dependable as time. Now, lets service them suspenders...

Friday, November 23, 2018


          I have been feeling some weight of lately. Maybe it is just the post action blues from making the move over the summer and now having my own shop finally. Maybe it is just something I feel every year when the sun is not out as long and we are forced to set our clocks back an hour. Or maybe it is just the struggle of living 13 hours away from my beloved wife, my soul companion, life force, my best friend. Anyhoo, I was pretty excited to load up and hit the road and drive 14 hrs straight east to the three day Oklahoma Gold Rush Grand Prix. Not only is it a multi day weekend of different races at the most beautiful Hallet Motor Speedway but it is only a few hours from my Love. She was to meet me there. Baja dog and I arrived and got a few hours of good sleep in the back of the old van and enjoyed some track cafĂ© breakfast burritos. Cowboy, also only a few hours away tracked down to join us as well. First up was the supermoto and I had my dirt track racing wheels mounted up for the cold and wet multi surface track. I battled hard with a local fellow. In the main my muffler innards came apart and clogged my spark arrester with fiber glass packing. Old Molly the CRF450X was sounding like a muffled Honda Helix scooter every few laps. I fought hard right up to the checkered flag for the win and like a fairy tale scene, my beloved princess had arrived just in time to see the finish and was there waiting for me as I took off my sweat soaked battle armor. It had been almost one month since I had last seen her and damn was she fine to hold again. That night was the infield motocross. I battled hard again managing to get up to 2nd place in the main event after a shit start. The next day was the premier race; The 2 hour Grand Prix. As we awaited the starter's flag to fly straddling our front wheel between our knees facing our bike backwards, I realized that I was the only one on the front (pro class) line without a KTM, or an electric start magic button. Or a bike made in the last decade. I got a clean leg over my stead and made a successful stroke of my kick starter. By the first turn I had several pumpkins in front of me but the leader bobbled just a tiny bit and I smoothly applied throttle until I was exiting the first corner in the lead and wide fucking open I went out of that field and onto the road race track. My knobbies were drifting all over but I held the lead off of the pavement and into some 5th gear rolling grass track and then onto the previous night's motocross track for a lap. My trusty red headed stead Molly felt like the well worn comfortable glove she is. As the course went into the dark and tight wooded section that made up the majority of the Grand Prix I felt like I was dreaming; Leading the whole pack of racers, the gold and brown oak tree leaves covered the trail, by the 2nd lap all of the sketchy roots, rocks, and ruts were exposed. Some mud pits but mostly magic Velcro red clay dream dirt. On the 2nd lap I started to get a bit of tingle hand and I tried to slow down and relax a bit to shake it off but I could see 2nd place charging right behind my with their shinny new KTM, single digit pro plate and all. I charged on and got the pit sign from my darling Cookie. "Gas next" or did it say "DICK TITS"? I pitted for gas and saw the young KTM pro take my lead. It was at this moment that I wished I had put on my other fuel tank with the dry brake and brought along my quick full gas can. I put the stretch to my throttle cable and bashed out another flawless lap regaining my lead when the other rider pitted for fuel, pulling out only a couple of bike lengths behind me. I rode all six laps with out a mistake or even a bobble and when I crossed the finish line 2nd place was nowhere near. This was my first overall at a major off road race. I have been trying for it in the Expert/Pro class now for over ten years. I felt good, especially with my Love there at the finish. It was the most fun she has ever had at one of my races cheering me on.
We went and got a room in Tulsa. Without my partner Sir Mick who is healing a broken collar bone I opted out of partaking in Sunday's team race and went to stay the remainder of the week with my Cookie at her college student home in eastern Kansas. Time together for her and me is now more valuable than anything else in my life. A few days later Baja, my trusty sidekick of over 12 years now had a bit of an episode. Like a seizure or a stroke. Her eye balls darted around like ricochet bb pellets in a beer can. It was one of the most awful, scary things I have ever seen. After a few minutes she snapped right out of it and went straight to fetch her stuffed toy. Two days later she did it again, I awoke to her unable to get up and flopping around the floor in a giant puddle of her pee. She didn't snap out of it but after a day her eyes slowed to a rolling around and after a few more days she was able to go to the bathroom on her own and after a few more she could eat on her own. I am happy to say that after two weeks she is very recovered though she is for sure not the same dog as before. It is like the poor old girl feels like she just got off the merry-go-round. Her world is spinning but she is doing very well and most importantly I can tell she is not in pain and has a better attitude about it than I do. She has taught me more about living than any other soul I have ever known. I am blessed with having some of the best companionship a dirtbike bum could ever dream of. With her condition and my Cookie's homesickness I opted out of the LA/Barstow to Vegas even though I have a special new/old bike prepared, we are all together, at home, this thanksgiving weekend; I have much to be thankful for!!! 
Don't forget to live good and hard because someday your going to be dead!

Monday, November 19, 2018

Motoball USA

Read all about it HERE!

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Excess 650 (780cc)

The Come And Go Blues

Motorcycles- The come and they go; Something I am always saying. Like
many of us two wheel lovers, I get emotionally attached to them. I am always having to tell people that I am not a horse trader and buying and selling bikes is
not what I do, I only work on them… but running a repair shop, building bikes from what is left laying around, and constantly surrounding myself with like
minded others means that I end up with more than my fair share of
bikes. Like a crazy cat lady or a refugee animal shelter. I have to be
carful. I can only keep so many of them healthy. Enter the story of
last weekend; A race report, a drama, and an explanation…

The first bike that entered into my weekend’s complex was  an old XS
given to me like so many bikes. “Here Newbold, I know you can do
something rightous with this.” The rusted, locked up, and given up on
Yamaha was the 6th or 7th XS twin in such state I have been given the keys to.
I made it my ‘home shed’ project. I stripped it and began collecting
various motocross parts for it at my local motorcycle salvage yard;
1970’s YZ front end and rear wheel, A twin shock Suzuki RM swing arm
and other bits I had collected awaiting such an occasion.  The ‘Home
Shed’ project went kaput when we sold our home. It got bucked around
to my former shop.  The motor was totally gone through. I mean full
crazy build. I do what I can with what I have but when I build a race
engine, I build nothing but the best and yes, it can get expensive. But
nothing costs more than the heart break dealt from a blown up power
plant. The Engine was the climax of what I have learned building XS
race engines, And fresh. So I put it in my old trusty flattracker that
was so strung out it was starting to blow oil though the old case
castings like a drunk puking into a hand full of Subway napkins. The
old lump was ready for an easy life as a motocrosser, someplace other
than constant redline every straightaway. So enough back story on this
motocross XS bike, I finished it just in time for the weekend, the
weekend of the last vintage motocross of the season. And guess what-
The big ol girl got the holeshot and won her first moto against early
1980’s production MX bikes and then did it again in the second moto.
Not bad.

Ok, the second bike of this Saga is a little more heavy. Heavy of
heart that is. The late great Hot Carl’s 2013 ZX10R race bike. You know the
one if you know of my doings . I could go into deep detail on how and why. I wont. I don’t want to talk about it. But I will explain myself in why I came to sell it.
No, I cant talk about this. Don’t want to but lets just say that my
summer of moving shop and not working has left me with some Visa
plastic lashes on my ass. I now live 5 hours from the nearest tarmac
track. I have not ridden this expensive tire eating bike for over a year. Most of all to my defense is that Carl I feel would agree that I am a DIRTBIKER. I loaded the bike and took her with me on my way to the Vintage Motocorss race. I met my contact along the way and passed on a very special and I hate to say; lucrative race bike. He was going to race her and that made me a bit happy. Come and go. Ah!

Bike number three: Molly my trusty red headed 2009 CRF 450X. No story
needed other than the Vintage Motocross has a class for modern bikes
and it brings out a lot of nutters who enjoy the luxrery of a groomed
smooth vintage track lacking the bumps that modern bikes can make. I
battled. Passions exchanged with hot headed moto young’ns who don’t even
know the semblance of 1980’s, let alone true vintage mx.  Ten year old
Molly and 35 yearl old I made the podium, headligh, beer belly and

And now the real cherry of our weekend’s tale. Bike number four. –I
know you are wondering how I could fit all these bikes in my van; I
used a little help from my friend tiny trailer. This bike has a rather
important back story. Ok. Ready; While racing the Alta in Portland I
met a friend of a friend who is a very real and genuine individual.  He
must have deemed me a decent enough gent because over a year latter he
contacted me and said he wanted to deliver his father in-law’s old
XR500 to me in Denver all the way from Portland. All he really wanted
in payment was for me to race it and send him a picture of me jumping
the shit out of it. This near perfect condition old gem was given to
me just before I packed up and moved shop this past summer so the first time I touched it was Friday morning. It started right up and ran perfect! It smoked
a wet haystack fire! I changed the oil. It was of the consistency of the black
tar found in a dying lung cancer victim’s lungs who lived on
filterless Palmals. I did not have time to put a fresh rear tire on it
which was funny because it was as bald as a bull frog’s ass. The 23”
front was nothing to get excited about. Once the bike made it’s first
lap around the track I was delighted to see it’s previous lap’s track,
like a worm trail in the wet sand. There was no mistaking what line
was left by me on the stock beauty. Moto one: I nearly got the
holeshot in the ‘Enduro class’ against nearly modern bikes as long as
they had lights. I bagged a vey solid win. Moto two: I got pinched on
the inside of the start straight by an Orange KTM with over zealous
early braking power. I had nearly no brakes and no choice but to auger into their swing arm and I did an impressive endo at speed. I picked up the poor abused and not so long ago perfect old bike to find both front brake and clutch
perch broken along with bent shifter and rear brake. I got it fired
and managed to jam it into gear and pass every single bike on the
track. Once in first place I committed a ruthlessly simple tip over in
some slimy mud ruts. I kicked and kicked and kicked but the old girl
was not having it, finally after last place passed me I saw that the
shut of switch was not in the run position. Back at it I tried my best
to re-pass everyone again with only a lap and a half to go but with
many in front of me and half a lap to go the chain broke. At least it
did not damage the cases but the poor old bike looked awful. Dents and
scratches in the tank form my knees, both lovers flopping around like
fingers that were mostly chopped off in a hydraulic log splitter, mangled chain tensioner, seeping blown shocks and all. I had a feeling I might miss-treat her so. The bike clearly deserved better than me. Maybe she had the most thrilling day of her life. However I could hardly stand to look at her. But wait! The Happy ending ensues!
After the race I attended the season final party at a nearby fellow nutter’s house and compound. This guy had Honda SL350 sidecars ripping around his yard, other XS650 DIRTBIKES and way more crazy cool bikes in his shop than even I
and guess what?! He had a 1988 XR600 with a pikes peak inspection
sticker on it. The thing had a big fin head and enough curiosity bits
and bolts on it that I had to have it and a deal was made! For this
hunky old Pikes Peak racer I traded the poor XR500 that I had just
committed severe battery and abuse upon plus my Yamaha TT500 vintage
racer that I raced last year( a whole other story all together)! Fair deal says all! Now all I have to do
is delivery one Yamaha. They do come and go… All I can do is try my
best to treat them well or at least find a home where well is well
enough. Enough… for now!

Tuesday, October 2, 2018

Return to Off Road

It has been some time since I have done the ol race report. When was the last time? Was it Pikes? After Pikes I do tend to wish to kick back and drink beer for the remainder of the summer but this summer was a lot different than most for me. Now settled in back on the western slope of Colorado in my new dream shop. I figured I had better get back to the off road way. After all out here there are nearly no tracks and plenty of open country. And after all my roots are deep in the land of off road DIRTBIKES! So I pre-registered for the Chimney Rock enduro, less than two hours away in the middle of Utah’s endless desert. Much excitement and anticipation leading up to this as I had not raced an off road event in some years. My 10 year old CRF450X –Molly, didn’t need much dust knocked off as I have been flogging Molly on the closed dirt road hill climbs of the CHCA and even motocrossing her, head light and all (It sure pisses off them young track rats!). I prepped the ol red headed girl proper with new knobbies, mousse bibs and all. And then two nights before the race I split my face clean open on my dirtjumper pedal bike being a complete dumbass, 13 stitches and all. FUCK. “Well, as long as I can get my helmet on- I can still race it” I told myself. The night before the race I tried to slide a helmet over my forehead. No go. No way. So I ate a big plate of rice, steak and peppers and my usual couple of beers, and set my alarm clock. Laying in bed I had the great idea of taking my cheek pad out of my helmet and putting the helmet on and then re-inserting the pad- It worked. I was on row 12. With the extreme dusty conditions and over 80 rows I felt blessed by the moto gods for this and I knew I must take advantage so even though the first few miles were only a transfer section, I pinned it like Johnny mother fucking Cambell to the first special test getting in front of as many racers as possible. I put my head down, or actually up as my swollen eye lid was in the way and focused on focusing. At the end of the desert race/ enduro I had been fastest overall in 2 of the 6 special tests. Not bad, I thought being that over half of the near 300 entrants were desert race regulars welcoming the Colorado mountain enduro boys to race with them. I finished 2nd overall. More important to me is that my aging beer belly carcus was not that tired after the race. Maybe taking a few years off and having 13 stitches in the face is a good thing. That and a few beers!

Saturday, September 15, 2018

New Chapter

We have fled the city. The gun shots have subsided and the dust appears to have settled from my crazy homeless summer. Back in May we sold our house, making out like filthy bandits with a bunch of yuppy ass gentrified fake real-estate money. The plan was multi fold; Get my Cookie her Masters Degree, get my far too busy to enjoy shop out of the city, and get away from the exploding populated gross metropolis that was once Colorado's front range. Back to the Western Slope. Where the oil wells and meth labs run free and the raging liberal hippy douche is not trying to close our public lands in the name of freedom. Nothing makes sense to me either. I am sure that I will be just as sick of the diesel dork red neck bigot fucks as I was when I left the western slope seven years ago in search of the love, peace and understanding. I found a lot in Denver and I don't regret any of it. However, I can rant for ages about the lack of respect that all the transplants moving to my mountains shit all over. Literally littering their shit all over. Trail heads look more like a Great Dane Labrador's back yard poop pile. Anyhoo, I did not want to write this overdue post to bitch and piss and moan about SHIT. Fuck whining. My motto this summer has been to make shit happen. It has not been easy and it is not going to be but I signed papers on my own building. 2700 Square feet of happy place. Behold my forever shop.  Let the hoarding begin.

Tuesday, August 28, 2018

They'r gonna put me in the movies...

And all I got to do is act naturally.

Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Dinah-Moe Humm

Finally got this thing together. And I am stoked!

"MOTORCYCLE BOY" The Legendary Tigerman from James F. Coton on Vimeo.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Out in the yard

The mice leave their little black capsules where I eat. The Bunny rabbits keep the lawn mowed down for Baja. Her capsules are not so tighty. Nervous and scattered. Nobody else around except for the imprisoned dogs at the near by dog kennel; Barking, yipping, and whining their erie cries. When they finally go quit then Baja and I can go to sleep. Crack! - I awake. What was that noise? Another Crack, the distinct blast of a gun. I grab my shot gun and then begin to think...Who? Why? What the fuck am I really going to do? Another 5 or six shots. An un-easy night of sleep in Rocky Flats.

Wednesday, July 18, 2018


As soon as I knew she was serious about moving, I knew hard days were ahead. Struggles lead to accomplishments, not always, but ours sure as shit better. As with racing, I must be patient. I want so much to charge to the finish right now but I am building myself up for it and preparing for the final lap. calculating victory.
Living out of my backpack in all of June was not so bad. I had the Peak and the Lone duck has nice laundry facilities. We bought a new house on the first of July which I am thrilled about. However it is there and my shop is still here, 4 hours away. This I find worse than not having a house at all. My dream is to buy my own shop and I have come close several times in the past few months but there is a lot of difficulty involved with commercial lending, municipal planning, and red fucking tape. I am a  C class racer and have tasted much defeat lately. Only one way to move up; get up.
I have always been at war with the mice in my shop. I kill off a dozen or more every year and I am ok with the task. 20 minutes from my shop on the radioactive grounds of Rocky Flats is where my camper is parked and has more or less been not so much home but lets call it base camp. This week the mice finally got into my camper. I figured this would happen. But the little critters then hit me where it counts. They got into my van. My sacred capsule. No provisions are safe. Not for me or Baja. The little rodent fucks have infiltrated my soul space. I feel a bit crushed but again, I must not stop charging. Clean up the carnage, take a baby wipe bath and keep on keeping on. I went to the store and bought a 30 pack of PBR. The idea is to finish my chopper project of many years for the Run To Raton this weekend. With the sweat stinging in my eyes I tried to find the oozing oil leak on the cylinder that I had poured many hours and many dollars into. I got it at the junk yard and bored it over 4mm. I finally found where the cam chain guide had some how punctured a hole into the cam chain tunnel in some mysterious event before I came along and had my bore bar make long and churning love to it for many hours. I had even welded broken cooling fins on the old bag of dicks. I fixed it. I also removed a broken off bolt that I did do my self. (I am very good at not only fixing but also breaking!) It was then near midnight and I had lost count of what number PBR I was on and one of the cam tower bolts kept right on spinning, torque wrench and all. And then another one also pulled it's threads right out. I think the thread sealer I was using did em in, along with the fact that this is a 40 year old lump of bits and shit. Tear back down and drill, tap, install thread serts. Sleep on the cot next to my tool chest. Awake, feed Baja and Await reply for my dream shop I have put in an offer for...

Monday, July 9, 2018