Zen!

Zen! Look at that moon tonight and find your Zen! Great trip to Denver and a great party by Ronin! TRAVIS and Cookie put me up! Travis's Mom and Sister were In town and a Good Time was had By All!only bad thing is I found a Longboard shop next door to Ronin and have since spent $400 on a new Longboard! Wait that's not bad that's GOOD!

PIKES PEAK RONIN HELMET CAM REPLAY XD PRIME X

Ronin party

That was fun!

High plains drifter

Last weekend was my third time having a crack at "course style" road racing or "street bike racing" as I like to call it. I am starting to get the little SV dialed in and even have it almost hanging in draft on the straights with some of the high horsepower super built SV race bikes. Saturday we did a parade lap around High Plains Raceway in honer of Hot Carl. The track was full. His race bikes were rolled out to the start finish line at sunset for some pictures. I was offered to race his triumph next round and I think I will. It was weird being at High Plains and not having Carl there. He was who got me into racing this stuff. What I learned on the hill on the Ronin seemed to help as I got three podiums and had some epic battles with Adam on his super twin. I swapped paint with a few others and made some friends, gained some respect, and had a shit ton of fun. Looking forward to more.

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

I like to make spectators scatter.

So in one of my practice runs I saw a rock had fallen into the road. Just a basket ball sized rock so I went around it but then I realized I was hauling major ass into a corner that I should of hit the rakes for some time back. I thought for sure I was going right over the fucking guard rail but I got the bitch sideways and made the hay bails earn their keep. I don't think I even touched the guardrail. Maybe just a tap to set my weight back and on the throttle right on out. It was still one of the fastest runs of the day. And it gave me a nice main line shot of adrenaline. Ah the good stuff.

Warren takes pictures and lives life like he loves it

Life is worth loving

Every god damned fucking bit of it

Start line with Carl's widow Lacy in back ground. Heavy. Respect.

PPIHC

I hate this Moutain! said I, She said, holding me up, Find your Zen, look at the moon! The moon will never be the same to me! Thank you Mona Lisa!

Well...

We all have seen the movie where she asks the hero "If you risk you life for something than shouldn't that something be very important?" And yes, it better be. or something like "Some people go through life not being good at anything and blah blah blah". Well, I think racing is life. But, not because it is the only thing that my under- self-esteemed child has found to build my adult ego. Not because it brings glory and fame and sometimes even money. It is my life because it is what I used to learn life. My parents did a pretty good job but it was a broken family and school? How much life is a green spiked mohawk going to learn in school!? I learned how to live by learning how to race. Facing the fear of lining up on a starting gate. Getting hurt and figuring out how to avoid injury. Fixing clapped out garage sale race bikes. Fixing hand me down conversion vans to get to the race. Saving money to go race and learning how to get on the podium. Be a champion and not be a dick about it.
Practice on the hill last week went great for me. At least until Thursday morning. This is when things turned around for my companion Carl. His bike was finally tuned and taking throttle for the first time all practice week and the early practice weekend before. The red headed italian bitch of a bike was finally letting him ride with out sputtering and fart burping like a drunk having an epileptic  seizure. Carl was all smiles as usual when he put his helmet on. I was fumbling with my ear plugs and he got the jump on me to practice line. I watched him launch and grab gears like a pouncing tiger.  On that practice run near the top of the mountain I ran wide in one corner. "OH SHIT!" I said as I neared the slippery white paint line on the edge. A few corners later and I saw a photographer waiving something. Awaiting to come backdown as a group the word went out that number 217 went off... Who is that I thought as if my brain was trying to keep it from me. It registered. On the way down there was an ambulance and flagging on the out side of Cog Cut, a blind apex corner that had become so bumpy bikes were jumping through like a mx whoop section. We sat at our pit waiting for the ambulance to pass us and head down the mountain. It never did. My retarded brain finally computed what the flagging was laid down for and why I would never again hear Carl's laugh. See his ear to ear grin and listen to him teach me about getting off the seat, looking through the corner and keeping my god damned feet on the pegs.
Friday morning I qualified P 2 less than two seconds of pole.
Saturday we rode our street legal bikes up with normal traffic. Nearing the summit I stopped where Carl flew off. There were bumps. Big greasy fat marmot whistle pigs hanging out like Nascar fans. A culvert and many jagged boulders. My wife squeezed me and I knew she did not care to stop and see. She wanted to keep moving. Keep moving forward. On ward and upward.
Sunday morning I felt solid. I had a real team around me making sure everything was ready. My Love and friends were all supporting me. I hugged Carl's widow and then turned to my Love and gave her an embrace and then swung a leg over the super machine. The flag waived and I gave it the beans. All week the bike launching from starts was the talk of the pits. Every time it launched it spun, crouched and wheelied as I feathered the clutch. This time it nearly shit the bed. Starting on a cold engine was not a good idea. after a mile of throttle massaging it finally started to rev. Then she revved to hard and to much exiting a hard corner. Ass end gone. I was tossed out of the seat holding on to the bars and twisting that fucking thing for dear life, somehow my lower body founds its position. Whew! The back was total grease on the gas. Nothing I did to accelerate could keep it from stepping out. In one long horse shoe corner I felt it start to go, without thinking I stood it up and rode it into the drainage ditch. I kept it pinned and rode out never missing a beat. Up through the double u switch backs sliding every corner. Near the Devil's Playground as I approached my cheering fan section the bike went into limp mode. Over heated and probably as angry at me as I was at it the thing went retard and limped all the way past the downhill of Bottomless Pit. It finally cooled down and regained full power. I lofted the front wheel in every shift and made my way to Carl's Corner. It took everything I had to not completely let off the gas. Two corners left. Everything I had was given. I crossed the line. The last dirt on the mountain is in the summit parking lot. I pitched that thing sideways to celebrate but this beast has no steering. I hit the locks and dumped it over the highside. The camera crew interviewing the HRC honda who finished a mer 14 seconds in front of me for 1st caught it all. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. Feel ashamed or honored. All I know is I am learning the way every day and from hear on it is on my shoulders to do my best every time I line up. No matter what that line is. I will keep charging forward.  2015 2nd place Heavy weight and 2nd motorcycle and 10th overall vehicle with a time of 10:18. Good bye Pikes Peak. It has been amazing.  R.I.P. 217.

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.