What we all need are more black moto T-shirts

 

Sam Turner drew up this and since it is so rad I put it on a bunch of nice quality T-shirts. I think you should go buy one and maybe another for your nice neighbor down the street that shovels your side walk or your granny because remember that she used to make you really good mac and cheese and she never told your dad about that time you crapped your pants. She was also a wiffle-ball champion and you owe it to her.

Link below:

Click here: https://newboldsmotorbikeshop.bigcartel.com/

Link above...

 

Current events

 

It has been very easy for me to embrace my anti-social behavior lately but I am trying to keep the balance. This should be a very good time. I plan to have support fuel trucks, shuttle vans, and beer wagons. Anything from street legal chopper routes to extreme single track tech. Any and all are welcome. Come out and say hello.

I have been teaching Layla the 'Wild Thing' to skate across the shop.

The plan to transplant the Hayabusa engine into ol Salty Balls has made about as much progress as humanity has this winter. It will happen eventually. The salt flats are calling...

I am now an Ohlins dealer. Shocking- I know. I did a deep resto on these old crusty boingers and I reckon I think I deserve a medal or something... Actually I will just settle with putting them on my Excess 650 and seeing how long it takes to un-straiten the shafts.

The getting has been real good here lately. I must remember how lucky I am to live in a part of the universe not drasticaly effected by politics, disease, religous prosicution, famine, genicide, space junk or all the other crap going on. Every day is a treasure and as far as I am concerned there aint a damn thing worth bitching about.

Back on track

I am pretty excited about this...

CLICK HERE 

That Nitro EFI setup - Most Powerful Two Stroke Ever.

JP Wallace and his camera

 

Harness the gnarness

 

Three days ago I took the race car out for a spin on some back roads and it made me feel amazing.

Two days ago my mom unearthed my baby photo album I had never seen before and it made me smile and then... left me feeling not so good.

By the time I shifted the car out of 2nd gear I was sliding sideways linking a couple of corners together. I was completely in control of something most never experience.

Before I was three years old I looked to be a perfect piece of my perfect family but before I was four my parents split and all I remember is the fighting. I will probably never know why.

Being a racer has given me what nothing ever could.

But racing has always been more than a pacifier to me. It has been a teacher. I still have so much to learn...

David Munyon - Ridin' High, 1977

Gigantic shit in the shop dump

Hi. Here is-are what I have been doing-done. All about me you know. This ego of mine needs a place to broadcast. The internet is inner-involved. Introspective progressive regression. Interjection of passive aggression. Self projection lacking affection.  

Gary gives me a beautiful tig welded piece of art. Chop and destroy is my nature. Added a chunk with gas torch and ss spoke filler rod.

I have work to do. And then I need to go racing. Wipe the dust off your wings and the sleep out of your eyes old Pontiac, you will climb hills of gravel roads slideways once again.

The shop is busy. Yes, I know, that is good. I am lucky. If money was the reason, I would not be the same. Work is my middle name.

The after hours project is slowly creeping along. Like a bug. A purple baja beetle bug...

The Torino someday project. Starsky and Hutch; I haven't seen it either.

Heart of the Pontiac hill climb car nears completion. Layla is a might bit camera shy... But she sure knows where it's at.

 And in other news I have been suffering with an inner groin issue getting on and off the sofa. It is an old snowshoeing injury ( I wish I were joking) that has me un able to lift my foot to walk at times. Absolutely ridiculous. The pizza and beer physical fatness training program is still yet to be determined an adequate method...

Good day-  

The art of racing and growing old

 OK, so I know I am not old yet but I am older than I was yesterday. Older than my prime. At least I feel that way. It could be my achy clicking knees or the friends no longer with me but I know I have a lot of gas left in my tank. Last year was... last year.  It was not all that bad for me but I am sure we all agree that there sure as hell was not enough racing. The couple of years before that were a bit consumed by my relocation which involved my wife spending a year schooling abroad in Kansas and me living out of an old Cowboy camper in a sketchy junk yard but after the dust settled we are content and I have my own property for my shop. Back out west and away from the hustle of the big city. It is hard to believe that 5 years ago I was attending the Denver Art Museum where there was a giant movie screen showing my ugly mug talk about racing, my race bike and leathers on display alongside a bunch of valuable samurai stuff and a bunch of high class folks eating wine and cheese. I remember at the time I had become numb to the attention and I was nonchalantly doing interviews left and right. I am not even sure I kept a single copy of the Westword feature. Much the same as I never kept a single issue of the Dirt Bike magazine with my full page |Klim advertisement years prior. Perhaps, even then I knew those things were not important to who I really am. The experiences shaped me but the person I am today is who I really am. I am still the same obsessed nut I was 15 years ago; Plotting out my yearly racing itinerary with sloppy ink on a calendar. I want to give 2021 a good run and focus on some racing again. It gives me reason to stay in shape both physically and mentally. I refuse to let any outside crap drag me down because after all anything is only going to ever be what we make of it. The world may seem to be a wreck and it may very well be but that does not matter. The potential for quality spent time is any time. All the time. A positive point of view is a powerful perspective.

Just another rambling preach about taking the reins and blah blah blah. Go and get it. make it happen. And blah blah yeah.

The Universe Provides

 So we all get dealt our fair share of shit now and then. Sometimes we bring it on ourselves and sometimes it is hard to know where it comes from. Like a meteorite or even a chunk of blue ice from the sky chunked down right on your melon. But I try not to dwell on the negative as it never seems to do me a bit of good and what is the good in telling others about your problems when most everybody does not care and some are probably glad you have problems. So how about the positive shit that the cosmos deal out, the good shit. The stuff smiles, hopes, and dreams are made of. Like an inspirational poster that speaks to you. How about some go fast old school race car revival. This old Vahsholtz Pikes Peak Torino of mine is not on my front burner but it is stuck on my trailer at the moment so I started checking around town for some old tires or wheels get it at least able to roll of the trailer. No luck at any of the tire shops. 14" not so common nor the 5 on 4-1/2" bolt pattern. None nowhere, but then I ask my neighbor who has an old car shop and: ... no.... wait, them old slotted aluminum mags above the tool box way up on the wall that were there when he bought the shop from the previous owner, coated in dust and mounted with old Mickey Thompson circle track rubber. I'll be damned if they are not the same wheels mounted on the old Red Sled in the picture posted way down below when Len raced her way back when she was new. My neighbor was just happy to see them find a proper home. As an old Cosmic Cowboy used to always say: "The Universe Provides."  And the other week I saw a Craigslist ad for some old Ford engines and parts just a few blocks from my shop so even though I am still simmering the Torino on the back burner I thought I better see if he happened to have a builder FE block. He had four. two complete, two bare blocks, and a big block. And a shed packed full of FE cranks, heads, and all sorts of other stuff including tools, old memorabilia, and random shed bits. I said I could not take the whole lot of his hands, I just needed one engine. I told him I only had $300 in my billfold. He said "How about $150 for everything".  And voilà, I am a horder. 

1964 Ford Galaxie 427 stock car Junior Johnson at Ascot Park

Of all the different things I have done, I have yet to find a thrill that is greater than flat tracking, the simple pleasure of pushing it on a dirt corner over and over and over again.

Ronin #1 (OISHI YOSHIO) in the 93rd Pikes Peak International Hill Climb

Samurai shit.

This will probably always be the most gnarly I ever get.

Right up to the edge and over it just a bit.

It was just three days after Carl died on the corner at 10:20

Strong feelings.

I still can't believe I dumped $150K after the finish hamming it around. Typical :)

The fucking essence

 After racing for 25 years now, I have come to know some interesting folk, I have seen some crazy shit go down, and I have always come to philosophize every bit of it that I can wrap my head around. The always asked "Why?" is more of an inescapable ponder than an answerable question. All I know is what I have come to dig up and dust off like some archeologist stuck in their own back yard. My back yard is racing; The art, the act, and the blood, sweat and piss of it. There are some folk who are such divine seekers of perfection, their image is a window to the thoughtfulness of there obsession. Displays of beauty and power have always been in natures arsenal of dominance and survival. I love to walk through a race pit or paddock ogling the display of machinery, gear, and tools. I also really enjoy the back row where there are privateers with no matching outfits or loud banners proclaiming loyalty to a corporate sponsor. Something transparent and organic can be found in the less than perfect and it makes me feel good, warm, and, maybe even at home. That rare place where I feel complete and wholly alive. Like being right on the edge of disaster. Giving it your all and pushing with every bit of will and desire to win. Along with the raged edge comes the mind bending adrenaline and acknowledgment of one's own true self. The insane moments of speed and serenity, the true fucking essence of racing. Mmmmmm, racing.

Sheep and other small brained animals

 There was a moment last month during the LA/Barstow-Vegas were I felt lost and did not trust in my roll chart/ odometer navigation, Ok maybe many moments but a few still stick in my memory. I was trying to make sense of my roll chart and figure out if I had made a wrong turn and would need to re-calculate my mileage. I met a rider head on and after passing I met another rider head on and we were going slow enough through the rocks that I asked him if i was headed the wrong way but he said that I was going the correct way but it was just "hard as hell". I continued and yes it was difficult for a bit and there was a satanic decent of seat puckering down hill. It was one of the most fun challenging things I have ever done on a overweight street bike with less than properly working skimpy old dirt bike brakes. 

Soon after I was again having doubt in my navigation and I stopped at a group of other sheep who like most on the riders were using a GPS and I put my trust in there direction and was soon completely off course and with no GPS I had no way of finding my way and was not going to follow them any longer. I missed out on much of the first day's afternoon course but learned not to follow. 

Near the end of the second day I was finally making my way to the famed red rock canyon into Vegas. I had become stuck on my roll chart and odometer navigation like a little calf to a tit and was sucking it like my life depended on it. Down and down a rocky well beat in shelf trail right into a wash were I was instructed to turn up into the wash and go up it. But all tracks turned and did not go up it. I to turned and my rear tire up turned a stump and for the first time I tipped over the XS750. Fuck she is a heavy bitch to pick up! I met another couple of riders doing the stumble and they said their GPS said the same as my roll chart said so I said fuck it and headed up the wash. As I slipped the clutch hopping logs, stumps, and big rocks from a recent flash flood I thought for sure I was being a fool and was about to expose my Street Bike's weakness to death from clutch punishment but on I went in and out of embankments until I was in a slot wash carving corners where only maybe five others had been before me. Of the 500 entrants, here I was and then just when my roll chart told me to leave the wash there was an exit, out and into the glory from what is only known of those not afraid to not follow. Those are some things I remember.

The first Vahsholtz racer

 If you know me, you know Pikes Peak is in my blood. I have experienced it 12 years. Some have experienced it much more. The Vahsholtz family the most along with the most wins. I first met son Clint Vahshotlz at my first year or two. He was a Nascar cup racer, Pikes Peak region local, and former motorcycle class champion. His stock car had duct tape holding make shift brake vent ducting and Coors beer cans keeping the throttle body intake protected. He was fast and I liked him. He was fastest overall racer this year in his homebuilt open wheel car. After my first few years on the hill, grandson Cody Vahsholtz started to race and he wore old hagard flattrack leathers. Like his father he was all go and not concerned with a super clean image. We became friends. We have had many a tight battle on the dirt CHCA hill climbs. We swapped wins this year in the two CHCA hill climb races (I edged him by a few points by winning qualifying). We never were classed together at Pikes Peak. He won the 250 class when I won the 450 class and then he won the middle weight class when I was on the heavy weight bikes and when I had my first year not racing he was on the factory Ducati big bike team with Carlin and Carlin died marking the end of the bikes. But the beginning of Vahsholtz racing is with grandfather Leonard or actually his wife, she was keeping the books for his mechanic shop and was skimming 10% without telling anybody and when he wanted to buy a brand new 1976 Ford Torino race car she surprised him with the available funds. He raced that car "The Red Sled" for three years at Pikes Peak(1977,78,79), gaining Factory Ford Motor Co sponsorship, and then became the most winning racer of all time on the hill; a record he would then loose to his son. Leonard has built some very special hill climb cars and still builds some fast as fuck Nascar engines. He is a legend amoung the dirt CHCA scene. One of my customers kept on telling me that he had a Vahsholtz car. I finally got him to show me a picture of it. I showed the picture to Cody and as I suspected he verified that it was not a Vahsholtz car. But than a week later he messaged me back and said that it was in fact his grandpa's first race car... So I kept nipping the ear of the owner until he finally said I could come take a look at it. So I brought a trailer. It was under a few fiberglass semi truck body panels rotting into a field of sage brush. I waited until he became frustrated with an old pick up truck of his that wouldn't start. After the 4th cup of gas poured down the carb throat didn't do the trick I pulled out my Benjamin bills and asked if these would make him feel better. We dug the car out with a back-hoe and on to my trailer, home to my shop it went. It has sat for 40 years, It's 427 big block had been robbed. It had spent a cruel spell on the circle tracks doing roundy round smash and crash and it shows a lot of wear and tear. It is in rough shape but I can see some potential. Maybe a long term restoration back to The Red Sled's former glory. Maybe Leonard wants it back and has a spare Nascar small block chevy engine to spare...

Links below:                  

https://coloradomotorsportshalloffame.com/leonard-vahsoltz/

http://www.coloradospringssports.org/wp-content/uploads/Vahsholtz-FINAL.pdf

[HOONIGAN] Gymkhana 2020: Travis Pastrana Takeover; Ultimate Hometown Sh...

I remember when watching the first Ken Block Gymkhana. It was the first time I experienced you tube in a way that was more than two or three minutes at a time and the first time I realized that the internet was becoming a marketing tool that can continually feed one thing into another leading you down a worm hole of never ending feed. Up until then Ken Block and Pastrana were people that I knew from racing with and I was then proud to brag to people that I had met them. I am not sure why. But soon later I got my first computer and discovered blogging and I loved the time I spent with my computer. I was addicted for sure but looking back from the facebook/instagram age I sure miss the good old hay days of blogging. I still get super excited when I see a creation of words or thoughtful pictures on a blog but it has become few and far between as it seems now that the gram has takin control of taking control. A few days after getting Layla I realized that a puppy was far more essential to give my attention to than a stupid phone screen thing that is far more scary than anything Orwell ever wrote about. So I deleted my instagram app and am trying to look at the feed once or twice a week to answer business messages. So far I have reloaded the app twice to post something and then instantly instagram is deleted from my phone again before I can start the droning scroll and feel the need to like the others cought up in it, ok maybe I look at a few of my homies but then I delete!  It is just my way of finding balance and probably has a lot to do with were I am at in my life. I remember others telling me the same thing and I thought to my self what the hell is wrong with them and why cant they keep from endlessly scrolling and then I found my self sucked in doing just that for hours a day! It makes me disgusted to even admit that! So anyhooo. I still like the internet and the wonderful endless library of both media and knowledge, I am just trying to find my elusive balance. The quality. After that first Ken Block Gymkhana many have tried to copy but fall short (Except that Danny MacAskill pedal power duder) but a big enery drink budget and somebody like Pastrana is sure to appease. I remember watching all the Nitro Circus movies over and over again and thinking that Pastrana would never make it out of his youth alive but here he is, still living on and over the edge. Living it up.

Turning gears

 We all have gears inside turning, giving us our drive. I have been keeping my mind sane with the building of different motorbikes for about 15 years now and lately the four wheel virus. Building a race purpose small black chevy on the the cheap has been the latest obsessive venture. Lots of new stuff to learn and learning to exercise needed patience. Most people talk about this year going down about as well as gangster rap karaoke at the babtist church sunday school social. But for me it has been just a busy year, getting to go into the liquor store looking like I am going to rob the place, and an excuse to be as anti-social as I pleas. Any-hoo, I am trying to explain my motivation of lately to build a v8 car engine. Something lots of people know a lot about and I knew nothing about before a few months ago. Last year I got to be involved with the worlds fastest two stroke (as I think of it) and that was really cool. The people involved. Something about the whole experience made me want to not be afraid of attempting things beyond my confidence zone. I have not stopped building project bikes on top of doing customer bikes all day but the race car stuff  has me firing a clean hot burning efficient combustion. Very invigorating. 

Exploding Whale

I am currently weening my self off facebook/instagram with youtube.

LA/Barstow to Vegas 2020

 

I have tried since 2014 to make the final hard section into Vegas through Redrock Canyon. The bike has always broke and left me to far behind but this year we did it and it was everything I had dreamed of. After riding nearly 500 miles my next roll chart note read: 3.8 small rock garden. I rounded a turn and there it was, hundreds of meters of boulders, good proper hard enduro bullshit. Modern bikes and bodies strewn everywhere. Percolating clouds of antifreeze, puddles of blood, tears, and engine innards on the aluminum scared rocks. I never slowed or even acknowledged the other riders waiting in line or conjuring up their courage. Spectators jumped to there feet as I took creative high lines and zig zagged around the carnage of smoking stuck tires and burnt auto clutch KTM being tugged on by the sweaty faced. My stock bouncing diaphragm carbs began to flood and load up the engine so I gave the engine a few revs to clear out the 750cc double pumper. I heard somebody yell: "YEAH TRIALS GUY!" and a few shocked riders jumped out of my way as I kept on chugging through the ledges and boulders and then it was just me and the trail again. Solo as it had been since the morning before, back in Palmdale where we started. Or very nearly never started at all. It was 5:30 AM and still dark when I unloaded Big Beasty to head to a gas station and then to the event start. It was below freezing and the bike was not wanting to run on both cylinders. I checked the new old breaker points that came out of one of my junk storage coffee cans a few days prior. I went through the carb. And just when I was about to admit defeat and unload the back up bike (a preparation advised by the wisdom of the wife this year). I finally tried a new spark plug... Yup two hours late to the start to diagnose a fouled spark plug. DOH! Off I went. hitting all the stop lights out of the city, everything seemed good and then she just died. Nothing. Blown fuse. Grip warmers, lights, ignition? Nope the Regulator/rectifier had shorted. Damn. Who needs a charging system with points ignition anyhoo so I un-plugged everything except the ignition and bought a spare battery from a Chinese scooter shop on my way out of the city. My first stint out into the desert my odometer stopped working. At the next trail intersection I caught up to the sweep riders and fixed my odometer cable. The sweep rider looked at my set up and questioned me using only the roll chart and odo to navigate as he watched me wrap my odo cable with black tape. "No GPS?!" I told him I was good. I even had a spare battery strapped to my chest to prove it. I told him I am going to take off in front of him into the big desert and I hope not to see him again. And I didn't from there on out ol Beasty was as reliable and as nimble as an ox. All the way on into Barstow and then to Vegas the next day. I never had time to open my tool bag to use my left handed cigarettes, PBR beer, or the spare battery that beat my rib cage to a purple pride felt carcass. No casinos, tiki lounges, or even omelet house this trip but instead just good quality vanning with Cookie and Layla. Glory.

Little Layla

 I got a reason to start wearing my seat belt again.

She was the runt of a liter of 7 (actually 9 but two died), her right front leg was paralyzed and she had worms. I gave her a worm pill and she shit giant wads of squirming spaghetti.  A day after shitting out the parasites she started using the paralyzed leg. We have been at each other's sides 24/7 for the past 16 days and life is good.