Cowboy's wake

A little over a week ago I drove 13 hrs out to Tommy's Triumph Shop to celebrate one hell of a man. I lived out of my van for 5 days, drank a lot of whisky and beer, and got to spend a day at Mark's Diamond Auto body.  (Long time friend of Tommy's and race team member who bought my old Champion framer that helped fund the opening of Newbold's Motorbike Shop). Thanks for the crash course in auto body Mark! It was a great trip and gave me a lot of time to reflect on our time in this universe. Like a common fool, all I listened to on my drive was news and talk radio and I came to the conclusion that brainwashing is a huge part of our society. I realized that when we get scared we look to the media to get our answers and it is currently not working out so good . It is hard to find our own conclusions but if we all tired a little bit more and looked towards others a little less than I think we would find that everything is pretty darn mighty fuckin fine. Go out side, ride a bike, kill your screen. Find your own answers.

What would Cowboy do?

Don't need no fucking toilet paper!

Take it like a man

The day before I put my beloved Baja dog down I fell on my ass.

More like a super strong freak gust of wind blew my dirtbike right out from under me on one of the more big jumps on any motocross track I have ever ridden and I fell like two stories past the landing zone and slammed my less fun to look at area to the hard pack. 

So the last three and half weeks have been tough on me. Living with out my Baja is like loosing sunshine, comfort, and companionship. I had no idea how massively much those knowing brown eyes of hers meant to me. It has been a tough past few weeks to say the least. The one form of therapy I know to always work is seat time on my good ol dirtbike but even 2 seconds in the saddle is more pain than my stench secreting crevasse can bare so all I have been able to do is work away the hurt and stay off my ass.

 Loosing Cowboy and Baja have made me a little more human and little less carefree dare devil. Fuck, I must be getting older. Roll cages, wet wipes, and Metamucil. A pathetic rant on this blog would always incite the Cosmic Cowboy and I could never refuse his wise words of telling me to shut up and go racing. Shit I don't think I have gone this long with out going to a race in a very, very long time...

Short Haired Country Boy with out the hair

I am tired of people blowing wind in my ear about not being lazy. I think a lot of people have given a bad rap to the word lazy. Now this is more than just a stoner thought so hear me out. I think I’m doing all right. I am for sure not saying that I have anything figured out but I am more than happy to put down my tools and fire up a little ol dirtbike and it sure makes a lot of things seem a whole lot more in focus when I do. Don’t get me wrong, I work hard. My new shop has bills the size of French Bull dog balls. And I find a lot of value in following my dream to the finish, just like a big desert race, this shit takes work. But the same people who give me a hard time or make me feel self-conscience are usually the same blow-hards driving big un-paid for brand new vehicles like the ones on the bill board sign and always pissed off that they never take vacations or have any free time to do what I make time for. I to once drank the kool aid, I had huge accounts on all the tool trucks, spent time in hotel lounge bars during annual multi day technical update seminars, and all the while making my boss as much money as I could bill in a day just like one of the hamsters running in one of the spinny fucking wheel things.  I am glad I did because it helped me start out on my dream of having my own shop. But it was tough and no matter what kind of capitalist cookie cutter conformity surrounds me telling me to bill out ten hours a day at $100 per hour for 6 or 7 days a week I know that no amount of money is worth the quality time that life’s clock keeps ticking down. Now I am going to go drink beer and fuck off. Peace.

Time to fab a skidplate...

Got Bug Problems

A few weeks ago I went and picked up another bug. This 68 is completely blown apart for restoration. It already has new floor pans and heater channels welded in so I am learning body work (I'm good with a saws-all- CHOP AND DESTROY) and dreaming up a paint job. The engine was built for drag racing and I managed to fire it up and evacuate the oil sump all over my floor. Fucking sweet! I am thinking daily driver baja bug. With of course a roll cage. Maybe just build a full class 5 desert racer. Fuck it. I wish I had the money. At least I got some time. This shit keeps my brain from melting down.

The Most Powerful Two Stroke Assembly Part 2 - Primary intake

latest video from Norway has just dropped. Don't forget to catch up on the others I have not blogged. This is very exciting stuff for me. Also I am glad that no tortillas were harmed during this.

mini bike and sx on the big screen party

Adios Baja

The words usually come to me but this time it is hard. 

How can I write an elegy. I can't. Not yet any way. The bond between her and I was such that I feel not only loss but totally lost. Not to say that I am not with out means to find my way. But I am so far away from where I was a week ago. 

However, I know there is meaning to my sadness. I know she was always teaching me. And continue the lesson I shall. Time. There is never enough time. Not much means more than packing as much love into the precious amount of time we have. For nearly 14 years we spent nearly every hour of everyday together. This past year was borrowed time and I knew it. I knew going on adventures in my van without her changed my whole outlook on weekends. I knew more emptiness was around the corner but no amount of preparation could soften death's blow.

She could not get up all day. We phoned the vet. Then she got up with some help. On her own went out and had a piss and then puked up the biggest yellow hairball you can imagine. I took her to the shop and gave her a bath. Content and at peace she slept into the night. Near midnight I awoke to find her shaking and for the first time ever I knew. I knew time had come.

I knew that what we had was special and no chemical injection from a stranger's needle in some over lit pet hospital was justice to her bad-ass epic life. I grew up on a working ranch and I know the shocking cold crack of a bullet. The contradiction of harsh and sweet, the straw floored stable I first met the puppy is a stable I have seen many an animal birthed and yet many a still born I had to haul to the bone yard as well. We took one last drive, her head calm in my lap. Her shaking stopped and I knew we both knew each other's thoughts. Once out side of the city limits I pulled over to park and overlook all the twinkling city lights below. 

Out side the wind blew so fierce I could hardly stand as I brought her out to the damp ground. She lay on her bed calmly embracing the strong currents around her majestic beautiful coat. Coming out of nowhere. Howling like no wind I have ever known.

This is where I can no longer describe.

It is not easy to be brave. 

She was.

The next morning I put her in the ground behind my shop.
I cried for two days straight.
I sure am going to miss her and will always be grateful for our time together.
Time.
There will never be enough time.
Fill it with all the love you can.

Slideways FUN

I could not wait any longer even though the winter is being winter. Loaded up and headed out into the desert to my favorite road. I drove around for 1/2 hr looking for a dry place to make sure the car could get back up the loading ramps but all I found was snow. Fuck it. I unloaded and took off feeling the car out. Little booger hooks up with the weight in the rear. Likes to understeer but if I used the hand break to set it up for corners and steered with the rear it was amazing. I think I may need a brake proportioning valve because the disc brakes in the front over power the rear drums so that using the brake pedal to set up the corner was futile. Otherwise the Edamame Commie had zero issues. I was having so much fun I could not turn around. All of a sudden I was an hour in and on top of the book cliffs in 4 foot snow banks. I could not turn around. I kept at it knowing I was being a real idiot. snow drifts were busting over the hood as I climbed the last steep hill. I finally reached an oil well and turned around and when I got back to the trailer the little bastard even had zero problems getting up the ramps. Sweet!!!

begininnings, stepping stones, and destinations

 I rode my BMX to the video rental store and the clerk, bald on top waterfall mullet on back, let me rent On Any Sunday with out paying and I had to convince my mom to rent a VCR from the grocery store.. Then it was The Dirt Bike Kid, Winners Take All, Time Racer,  and Herbie The Love Bug. I must have been 7 or 8 years old. I watched them Duke boys jump that charger and the A Team. I rode that BMX all over town and took to diving dumpsters. My single Mom let me pile up my findings in the yard. I hauled a clothes dryer on my wagon home. I snuck into the train yard and hauled home giant coil springs. Xerox machines, old bicycles, anything.
It should be no surprise the first word I learned to spell was JUNK. Followed shortly after by FART.
The dream was to build my own vehicle. My vision was a super buggy.
30 years later:

Subaru powered VW bug rally car

In case anybody wants to know what I have been up to for the past eleven months...

As with all my two wheeled builds, I did this on a tight budget. How tight? well tighter than a Nun's...  you know. Typical trash bin ravaging, junk yard scourer, free loader freddy every friend, acquaintance, person who will talk to me charity bit and piece conceivable.

Really it is just a bunch of time plus a $50 66 VW bug shell and a $75 crashed 2000 2.5 RS

It is amazing what you can do with help from decent people and eBay.

As soon as this winter freeze breaks I am taking this "Edeamame Commie" straight out into the desert and hopefully having more fun than a well oiled midget. The real vision is the Colorado Hill Climb Association 2wd rally car class. Something to do between the motorcycle class. The sickness is real. Sweet motorcycle jesus save my two wheel loving soul. er fuck, hail satan! oh holy father of hot fast nasty speed! Hell yeah! Fucking rage cage chariot of fire take me home.

Number font inspiration

Pillaging the internets for ideas to paint some old school stock car style numbers on my four wheel project...

To harness my inner Death Spray Customs/ Ornamental Conifer or just wreck slop havoc like the GP racer above...

Pikes Peak Closure

The first time I raced Pikes Peak I knew I was taking part in something special; At the riders meeting I was sitting between Eddy Moulder and Joe Kopp. It was the first time I had ever been on a race course with anything other than knobbie tires. It totally blew my mind. It turned me into a full blown high speed junkie and as the surface became less dirt and more pavement over the years I learned how to race my dirt bike with Supermoto slicks and then a full street bike and then a couple of full blown pikes peak specials with enough power to scare the shit out of anyone. After 11 years of competing (one of those as crew chief for Isle of Man racer Paul Baleta) I am trying to hang it up. Again.  2019 was the first year I didn’t show up and it will most likely be the last year motorcycles will race there.  Too many deaths and no bikes will be allowed next year... Closure.

The place has shown me great victory and horrible loss. One of the most amazing spectacles I have ever seen was Mike Ryan drifting his several thousand horsepower semi truck. Like a Run-away locomotive belching black smoke, sliding sideways through corners only inches from the edge of sheer cliffs. One practice morning he spun out on the lower section, his 18” wide truck tires leaving massive skid marks off the road where his rig left a huge swath of clear-cut forrest. He totaled his truck but come race day he rode his street going motorcycle to the top just so he could be there. The worst spectacle I ever saw was up top. After completing my race run I went to watch other bikes cross the finish line. The first bike I watched was a Triumph Daytona 675 with a cheeky rider giving the two finger hand signal as he crossed the checkers. The hand signal can mean peace or victory, neither of which he was about to receive. As his hand was not on his break lever he veered off the edge of the road surface at 80+mph and into a boulder field. His bike and body exploded right before my eyes as they rag-dolled through the air pinwheeling off of the large rocks.

In 2012, my 5^th year racing I had finished runner up twice and 3rd twice in the 450 class. It was the first year I built a Pikes Peak special race bike from the ground up. It was also the first year I got lucky and convinced a girl to slumber in my van with me during race week. To the credit of the special lady and motorbike I won my first class victory on the big hill. I used the large victory pay out money to open my own shop and I married that wonderful women.

My next victory on the hill was actually another 2^nd place finish but it was 2^nd overall motorcycle and 1^st was a HRC backed American Honda CBR1000RR with a full time pro employed by Honda so I consider it a victory not just for me but for the team I was on and the special construction Ronin EBR1190 radical motorbike they created in only a matter of a few short months. It was all the more meaningful of a finish since my friend and road race instructor Carl lost his life two days prior in practice near the top of the mountain.

Carl’s death led me to say some things to the press about the lack of communication and shitty organization of the race so the committee banned me. So the following year I build a Ducati Multistrada for Paul Baleta to race and worked as his mechanic and coach. It gave me a whole other perspective of the race and I realized the stress the dangers of the event put on those close to the competitor. I thought of hanging it up but the opportunity of a life time came together for me to race a Pikes Peak special construction Buell XBRR (1340 cc race use only twin cylinder air cooled push rod beast of an engine making over 100 ft lb of tourqe and 150 plus to the rear wheel.) Because of the "Moto GP engineered" superficial beauty of the bike and it coming from Spain I was accepted back. The Spanish “Moto GP engineered “ bike looked amazing with it’s hand painted carbon fiber body and even carbon fiber fork tubes. But it was so poorly assembled that in the 20 times I tested or practiced on it not once did it perform without something terribly wrong happening. During the race run the slipper clutch locked up solid and the lever would not budge. Pulling the lever was my only fail safe the many times that the throttle bodies would pop off the manifold causing the beast to rev to the moon. That bike finished 4^th over-all and won me my 2^nd class win. It also was the closest to suicide I have ever been.

My final year on the hill I went back to my 450 and tired to just have fun but like a sick pervert that had been exposed to some sick hardcore shit, the thrill was gone and my home built 450 was not enough to scare the living crap out of me. We finished runner up once again. I knew the special time was over. If I was king of the universe I would rip all the pavement out and go back to racing the mountain on dirt, bar to bar like those first few years I took part. Those were a truly special time in motorcycle racing that I am sure happy to have been part of. But instead of looking back it is much more essential to live in the present moment and make some future awesomeness happen.  Onward and upward!

Thomas E Dorrell - The Cosmic Cowboy

The first time I ever met him it was actually one of his many Triumph motorcycles that I met. I saw it parked in front of a Café in the middle of Kansas while hopping from one small town to another during the Kansas fair flattrack series. The ratty street tracker was a few years ahead of it's time in terms of Internet trends. The bike struck me so much that I had to turn around and take a photo with my camera. Later on in that same county fair flattrack series I saw the bike again in the pits at Norton Kansas after the races were over. It was weaving wildly through the grassy paddock. It's pilot, wearing sandals, a Hawaiian shirt, and large cowboy hat while handing out cans of PBR from a milk crate with reckless grace. From that moment on we were friends. Good friends. Best friends. He frequented often on this blog. The Cosmic Cowboy was his handle. Cowboy. A former Dodge City gun fighter. Stunts, movies, Vietnam helicopter gunner, Preacher, Skateboard shop owner, Family man, and of course Tommy's Triumph Shop. He sponsored me and many other racers. He would fill up my van with gas using his veteran assistance credit card. While visiting his shop he would send me home with a van load of five or six motorcycles to sell for race money. He brought a bunch of pampers diapers to Davey Durelle's Pits when his little ones were all over. He would bring back a tire for me from Davey's Pits when my tire was as bald as them little one's backsides. His Tommy's Triumph Shop shirts are worn by many, even Chris Carr. Never could I have ever had a better crew chief. He kept me fed, informed, and well hydrated... especially after the racing was over. For nearly ten years we had a lot of fun meeting up at the races in Kansas, Nebraska, Las Vegas and even driving together to Dirt Quake USA in Washington State. What a road trip that was. The dropped ice cream cones covered in Baja hair he ate while cursing. The whiskey. The Women. The party. And of course every flea market, swap meet, garage sale and antique store from Denver to Portland. Every single one of them. He knew how important Pikes Peak was to me and even though he hated the place, especially after Carl's death, he made sure to be there and to look after me with his blessings. He was preacher at my wedding and damn was he top notch. That god damned son of a bitch could dance! The stories are far too many to tell and some just far to fuct up to explain. Dealing with his passing is painful for sure as it must be to so many others in his huge network. He had some big boots. Very big and no one or nothing will ever come close to filling them but we all must do our best to keep alive the spirit of the greatest outlaw motorcycle cowboy the cosmos have ever known.
Ride on old amigo.

04-26-14 Flat Track 30+ Main @IMI with Bangin Bars

Good old Banging Bar days at IMI with Michael Neal all over my 6