I have read Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance a few times. Once because of the tittle, again to try to understand the plot, and then a few more times because the more sense it made the less sense I could make of anything. I reckon it is that whole philosophical ponder into morals, a life worth living, a quest into quality. Undefinable quality. I have no idea why I started this post with this. I haven't touched that tattered book for a long time. Like long before I ever started to doubt my superpowers. The internet is funny. like in a funny clown that you don't know when it goes from making you laugh to the bloody machete massacre. I miss the days when only your mom's dusty old photo album could scare you with candid embarrassing photographs from your past. The Pikes Peak interviews, the self-posted proclamations on social media, the interweb persona... what a load. Don't get me wrong I love to express myself. On this blog more than anywhere else. But shit this new age of sharing your life online is beyond exhausting. Downright ridicules maybe, at least in my opinion. I reckon what I am itching at is my obsession with finding quality over quantity, while I amass as much material, mindful, and cosmic junk as I can possibly get greasy, throttle happy hands on....Yeah, quality over quantity.
I went riding with my good ol pal Lord Mick and when I ride with him I rarely look behind me to see if he is there because he is usually on my trail like a blood fucking hound but I happened to look back after crossing a wash only to see him waving his arm at me from behind a tumble weed that was made up of a fair amount of barb wire. Ha ha. 
Being a new dad in my 40's, being both a tiny bit mentally and physically fucked up from covid, plus life in general has me feeling a bit over the hill. Or at least I don't feel like the invincible dirt bike racer hell bent on checkers or wreckers I once was. Hell ask my wife, I might even get a bit bitchy now and then about saddling up and going for a ride if it is below 45 degrees. Peter makes me feel real good. He has been riding dirt bikes and working oil and gas out in the western colorado desert all his life. He dont give a rat's ass about nothing other than having a good time. Feller can ride a dirt bike. even if it is older than all the riders he rides with. He knows better and lives better than all my other friends I reckon. And that is saying something.
My ego was needing a scratching. (I can't help it!) Plus I have always wanted to race the 600 since I built it a few years ago. It had been about 2 years since I last raced dirt bikes proper so I woke up and drove 6 hrs to an AHRMA vitnage cross country. Had about 15 minutes to gear up and take a piss before the sighting lap. Raced my ass off for an hour and drove home. Funny thing about the race was how old I was feeling before the race. On the sight ing lap I saw a young buck on a late 80's CR ooking the business. I figured I was going to have to work hard if I wanted what my stupid over inflated ego expected, an overall win of course. I botched the start but battled my way into the lead on the first lap. I heard a bike behind me for a few laps and then got away form the boggy. However on the last lap they put the pressure on me. I could feel them breathing on my ass as I tried to keep my composure. With two corners left I started to choke and bobble. I kicked my shifter back and it stuck back. rather than try to shift with my heel I just pinned the ol thumper for all it was worth in 2nd gear across the finish. I stopped to high five 2nd place after the finish and who was is but 62 year old Fred Hoess (go ahead and google him if you don't know). Holy shit what a mind fuck about feeling old...
Customer brought in this photo of her dad Elk hunting in my back yard some time ago.
She is my everything
This poor Honda I molested is still around...
I am pretty bummed about Sideburn going out of print. Writing for that magazine and for Gary not only made me lots of connections in the racing world but I made a lot of really great friends. I might not reach out much but you all know who you are. 
I reckon life has a way of taking you for a ride. Sometimes far and away. Getting pitted, hanging ten, sufing high on the tide and where it takes you and when it dumps you is just part of the ride. Desires and dreams can fill your sails and take you anywhere but your elbow grease is what ties the knots and mans the ores. I have learned to be carful what you wish for. Often times less is more. I can have as much fun in a junk yard go kart as Mario Andretti.
In my quest for quality over quantity I think I can sum it up best with some words from the great Chris Ledoux - "It aint the years boy - It's the miles."