Confessions of the ego

Well, It is that time of year again. The van is loaded and ready to roll down the road to that 14,0110 foot mountain. America's mountain. The place where that lady wrote the words to America the Beautiful. The Second oldest motor race in this spacious sky having darn country. The race to the clouds. This is the first time I have not had the van packed to the Las Vegas styled rope lights and mirrored ceiling. This Is also the first time I have not had to stay up late prepping the bike. I have not done these things because as you all who read this "Hey look at me!" motorbike blog know, I am racing a Ronin. And not just any Ronin but a Pikes Peak Special Ronin built form an EBR 1190 with a master level of attention to detailing. No expenses were spared with material or the components. The top level computer aided engineering mixed with the kind of craftsmanship only expert hands can create, And wham! The most exciting and pleasing race bike to ride that I have ever known. I feel like a lot of great people have stepped up to help me this year and for them I am immensely grateful. I know that now all I have to do is ride the bike and that is what I love to do most. Thanks Sideburn Gary for making the cosmic network align, Without Ronin this would not be happening. I am especially thankful for Johnny the bike's golden wrencher. Thanks to Cosmic Cowboy for the team shirts and I am sure the moonshine that will be supplied as usual at the Lone Duck campgound a.k.a. my paradice. Nate at Blood Nickel for making art out of the leathers and even at the last minute. Hot Carl with the Wolf Brigade blog to the side has been my buddy, road race instructor and he to has a cool guy Ducati ride on the hill this year. Shit, with out all my beer drinkin, fart sniffin, throttle cable stretching buddies, I wouldn't be who I am with out you! My patient love Cookie, Thank you for helping me train for this race and be prepared mentally and physicly. I have not felt this well for years, I would be forever lost with out you. Fuckin shitty titty gang bang and PEACE!!!!!

Mongo only pawn in game of life

Live large - Take charge -and always fist pump the dude booter!

Raging the Ronin

The primary race bike was finally complete and ready for the 2nd early practice weekend. It was worth the wait. I stopped by the Ronin shop Friday afternoon before heading out to the Lone Duck camp. The Ronin team were swarming around the bike buttoning up the last minute stuff. Saturday morning at 3:00 a.m. I stumbled out of my little old shit box of a camper to find Johny with the bike ready to go with a pot of peculating coffee. The life of a factory racer is really not bad. I was a bit apprehensive to ride the new bike for the first time on the mountain and at speed. After the first few runs I was getting used to the extra 40 horse power and the shiznit brembo brakes started to bed in and just about the time I felt like I could start to find the performance race bred soul of the bike the practice session was over and the highway opened back up to the public as it does at 8:30 every day except race day. Sunday was the bottom section. The serpentine flowing faster than a speeding bullet section. I was ready to find the soul of the Ronin that started out as an EBR1190. The thing sounds like a chili cheese burger dragon fart when it launches at the green flag. I tuck in and hold the fuck on with everything I have and drag my knees in the first few corners for my first time. The front end floats through the chicanes as we dance from side to side and then grab a hand full of break leaving nothing but air for the rear slick to grip. Riding something so powerful on such a road is just plain fucking bonkers! I have found a new plain of existence and am far closer to enlightenment than I ever could have imagined to exist. I can remember how fast I felt when I broke six minutes on the bottom. Yesterday I did it in 4 minutes and 22 seconds. With the time dropped I have to remember the respect that must be gained. Respect for the road, the machine, and my loved life.

Watch out for bears near the picnic ground

The first early test weekend up on the hill was great. Back to the good old Loneduck campground for some 3:30 AM rise and shine. Friday was the first day the road was open all the way to the top. 30 fucking foot snowbanks line the road in spots! So we only practiced half way up the "w's" Double you's? Double U-s? Big switch back ass hair pins that traverse the face of America's mountain! Any hoo, saturday practice went well. The Ronin was the fastest bike in every practice run. Faster than the HRC CBR1000 and all of it's 160 horses with 450cc record holder (was my damn record!) Jeff Tigert on board and faster than the super cool looking and mean sounding RSD Victory bike with their three van twenty man team. Go Pink to pruple! I told Johny, my right hand man and master Ronin wrench how it was responding at altitude and he removed the air box lid. It then at a certain rpm literally felt like it was ripping my chest out of my ribs. We put the cover back on and made a few small mods to it and it was all good. We didnt know how the road was going to be so we ran rain tires. By the time I started to wick it up Sunday morning the tires were spent and I was riding the thing like an XR750 in the marbles at Lima. Even when the thing is sliding like a tracker it is still very smooth and easy to maintain. I am already looking forward to early practice weekend number two. Hopefully the snow banks reside and the sun keeps shinning.

In Honda we trust

Racing, living, loving, and red fucking carpet

Busy weekend. Friday practice at HPR. Bike was puking oil out the breathers so bad I thought I botched the top end rebuild. Routed the hoses up high and into a catch can and all was fixed. Drove back into Denver to pick up my beloved Cookie at the airport after her two weeks checking out India. Back to HPR before the sun was up Saturday and finished top ten in two classes and then crashed out in the third. Drove the 70 miles back to town Saturday night for my buddy Campo's Meta magazine issue 003 release party at Erico where the Womble (project retard) and my BSA chopper were on display along with the Ronin secondary pikes peak bike. I straightened the SV up, took a shower and made the party. I was totally blown away to walk in and see my bikes on center stage. It was a very good time. I managed to only have two free beers and get to bed before any pumpkins appeared. I didn't even loose my glass slipper. Back up at the butt crack of dawn for another drive out to HPR. 4th in modern vintage. 7th in Novice GTU. 4th in Thunder bike and finished it off with a 2nd in Supertwins GTU (from the 12th row) just in time for the clouds to burst. I took the day off yesterday to celebrate my Cookie's birthday and ride some roller coasters. Now it is time to work. Anything worth doing is worth doing as hard as you fucking can.

Take your protein pills and put your helmet on

The first ride was a pretty darn good success. This is the secondary race bike. The primary one is going to be mental! I was pleased to find the Ronin handled very well. I pushed it harder and harder all day and did not have one single moment that the tires did not track like rails. The next month is going to be a lot of fun as I get more seat time. I am one lucky fucker!

In memory of 808

Once a year we get together and it is WHOOPED OUT RACING! This was the 6th annual 808 memorial W.O.R. ride. What an amazing ride ot was! Good camp fire feasting, whiskey and whooped out air festival. The five bike bar banging battle that took place up the wash after the group photo will go down in my memory as one of the most truly epic fun times I have ever had on two wheels. R.I.P. Levi.

It was about this time of year in 2008 when I was about to go race Pikes Peak for the first time. I was ready for something new. I had raced the Baja 1000 the two prior years and felt like I had exhausted my off road enthusiasm. I had no idea what Pikes Peak was. I had only seen it on tv as a kid and figured I was more than up to racing flat out on a gravel road. I had been doing a lot of it on my Xr650. It was right about this time of year when 9 time Pikes Peak winner and western Colorado resident and Local legend Chuck Lee herd about my entry into the race and stopped by the shop where I worked to see if I had any questions. He immediately set me straight on needing some 19 inch dirt track tires. I laced an old hub I had to an old stop sign shaped rear rim. Getting Dirt track tires was another story. It seems until recently they were more hard to come by than patchouli oil at a Slayer concert. I finally found them and gave my credit card the biggest shwack I had ever done. I had them drop shipped to the Lone Duck campground. The Lone Duck was another Chuck Lee recommendation. Chuck was a local sort of hill billie legend. He had lost his drivers license so many times that I am sure it is still missing. He was known for leading cops on the longest dirt bike chase known to the western slope. They caught him when he finally ran out of gas zig zagging dirt allies in town. So I thought the Lone Duck was going to be some anarchistic biker party. I was given a camp on the other side of the duck pond and surprised at the solitude of the camp while I spooned on my new tires. The first day of practice was on the only asphalt, the bottom section. It scared the holy living shit out of me. I was ready to pack it up and go home. Luckily Chuck told me I needed to move my camp over to his crew. His fellow long hare indian blooded brother was racing and he had plenty of his specialty home brew moon shine. Chuck's son was racing and he was so wild he never made it to race day. His daughter was married to another racer who also had a racing brother and His old gray haired dad was straight out of a biker movie. Even Chuck's girlfriend was racing. The Lone Duck campground became my happy place. Real Good Nice People. I remember rain that night and every one dancing around like whooping savages. Day two of practice I found out why. The decomposed granet pea gravel on dirt track tires was unlike any joy I had ever experienced. I was done. Line hook and sinker. Since then I have watched the hill get paved over bit by bit and become fair skilled on the tarmac. I became a faith full racer of the dirt ovals (Still on the same stop sign shaped front wheel; It provides a good excuse for my crashes). In 2012 I built a purpose specific Pikes Peak bike and won the 450 class. This year for the first time ever I will be racing a bike built and prepared by others. A true no expense spared race machine. I will be competing in the heavy weight class with the big dogs.

Bikes I miss...

Problem is one honky can only fit so many machines in a space. Give me an airplane hanger and I bet I could fill it up with in 6 months. That explains why I let the Gold Wing go. Fuck, that bike was a blast. Case of beer in each saddle bag with a 30 pack in the trunk, Credence on the tape deck, a burrito in one hand, cup of coffee in the other with the cruise control set and the arm rests. And that thing did BIG wheelies. The xr50 was the first bike I modded out. learned how to do a back flip on the little shit. So many fun times but all my knee surgeries and every motorcycle ER visits were a result of the little monster. The Champion framer, GT500, and my XS hardtail were sold to start my shop and keep it open it's first year. It is said that they come and go but nothing ever compares to that first kiss. More than any I regret most loosing my 1983 Husqvarna 250. That thing made me a man. 6 gears. Twin shocks with 3 feet of travel, and a spark plug that hid beneath an expansion chamber that changed sides of the bike at least 4 times. If I still had that machine I think I could conquer the galaxy. Or at least the modern vintage MX class.

Pressure

What I am talking about is the pressure we feel. The constraints, the shackles, the laws against nature we deal with. Where does this pressure come from and how did it develop? Are the cosmos coming in on us? Is there some deep unknown telepathic energy telling us to live our life with the most fulfillment or else perish namelessly amongst so many others? Perhaps we are just surviving and thriving as the dominant species. Performing as nature has programed. All I know is that the very split instant the green flag starts to move there is a total release of pressure. A dry ice bomb completely discharging all pressure. It is no more what was once potential energy is suddenly all at once released. Happy place. The checkers pass and normal breathing comes back. The brain starts to resume its normal thinking as the adrenaline diminishes. The pressure begins to build.

Sunny now that it is monday

I got to ride practice before the race weekend was cancelled. My three year old rock hard rain tires probably were not up to racing any way. It was a fun six laps though. The thing about the rain is not the traction or lack of it. It is the lack of visibility. Not the track so much but the other riders. When you ride around others you are always making note of what they are doing. Are they braking early. Are they going to leave me room to get around them. What is their body position saying. is the wrist bent. the elbow down. It is very hard to see the body language when the visor is shit.

It aint the years boy, it's the miles

If you took all the bashing, the smashing, and the crashing then you would probably look the way I do. -Chris Ledoux I don't race much enduro these days but I still do enjoy a good flog on old Molly. What better place than my old western colorado stomping grounds. The adobes. A lunar landscape lacking vegetation. Hardened sand dunes divided by rock littered ditches and back braking g-outs. For some reason I ride fast in this shit. And I like it. Especially the fast part. Saturday was the kids race followed by the hairscramble team race. Young Jake Miner raced his first off road race on the same 1986 XR80 that I raced my first off road race on. He got 2nd place. Lord Mick and I teamed up for the team race. I got the jump on the first corner. The local hotshot cut the 2nd corner and we went off into the desert side by side in a kamakazi roulete of macho throttle jockeying. He finally got scared and backed off. I led the rest of the first lap before handing it over to Mick who alternated laps with me until I took the checkered flag. It felt neat. All warm and fuzzy inside. Nice riding Mick. You old sack of dog shit. Your cool. Sunday was a 70 mile endure with 6 special tests. I gave it my best. Lots of dust and one pecker head who thought I had to "earn" passing him every fucking time I made up the minute on him. The fucking twat cost me some time. Ahhhh, any hoo, goosfrabahhhhh. I ended up tied for the over all. After breaking the tie with seconds over minutes I ended up third. 14 seconds behind 2nd place and 37 seconds from 1st place, the local hot shot

. Peace, Grease, and old bull riding country music.

Einhorn is Finkel

Fuck yo couch

0415 30+ Heat 1

Back to Bangin Bars

Battling it out with Mike who I went to Del Mar with.

It was a lot of fun to get back to flattracking last Saturday night. Had a good win in my Vintage heat but had to lay down my 450 in the 30+ heat while challenging for the lead. But everybody said it was a grace-full crash. Is laying it down a crash? I think it is only a crash if your hands come off the bars or your hands come off your arms or your bars come off your bike... any hoo, I led the entire vintage main.. well not the last few yards, I got nipped at the finish. That allowed some color-full self commentary inside of my helmet. Its good to feel alive and know those feelings. They are what i believe push us to achieve greatness. In the 30+ class I had a back row start which left me with the problem of passing nearly every one in the first turn. I nearly lost it out in the marbles but rode extra hard and sideways the entire race ended up 3rd, should have had 2nd but I couldn't control my heavy throttle hand. I laid down some nice full corner rubber arcs and had that pink and purple bitch on the lock speedway style. Not the most fast way to get around but I sure did have fun.

Shit in the shop saturday morning

wont you be my neighbor

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