Pink to Purple!

Tarmac takes tenacious traction
blind bending arcing apexes
ferocious financial feeding
It is the flat-out speeding I am needing

Pikes Peak 2016; Wrenching not racing

So there I was, sitting in the exact same spot that I had last seen Hot Carl alive one year prior. Instead of strapping on my helmet and gloves this year, I was checking tire pressure and taking the tire warmers off of a Ducati Multistrada that I had spent the last six weeks prepping for Paul Baleta with the Speed Therapy blog. As I watched him take off on the same upper practice section that last year had ended Carl's life. I could not help but feel some cold rocks in my gut. A few minutes after he left my sight the red flag came out. I kept my cool but on the inside I was burning metal on metal. Oscar, our Pirelli guy finally walked away from the marshal and then straight to me. His face was as sharp and cold as angle iron. "It's Baleta" he said, "He has gone off".  I kept composure but on the inside my pistons were siezing and I could feel a big end rod bearing start to knock. All the possible bolts I could have left loose danced in my brain. I waited more. Watching all the other mechanics watch me. Watching Jim, the director who scolded me for even showing up as crew after my banishment. I could feel eyes from all directions on me as I waited. And then there appeared my rider on the back of a sweep riders bike, safe and sound.   Racing is not for the faint of heart. Outcome: No crash: Good. Snapped crankshaft: Bad. We sourced a replacement engine. Imperial was on the ball about getting it done and making magic happen. In the mean time we dusted off my ol 450 2012 winning record setter junk yard beauty and gave paul his first experience on a supermoto for the Ws practice day. He was setting times faster than all but two of the other supermotos. The new engine back in the Big Red Duck ran good for Paul on his second day practicing the upper section. It was Thursday. And again it was very hard to not dwell on what gone down last year on Thursday practice near the summit. With out loss it is hard to appreciate gain. The smile on Paul's face, the new and welcome camaraderie, and the whole experience of racing on Pikes Peak kept me positive and some how an understanding of why I value my lifestyle more than any other I could imagine. Friday's qualifying/ bottom section of practice went well. It was a bit frustrating to see the lack of runs the riders were allowed but again, just seeing how much fun Paul, as a rookie was having more than made up for any bitter feelings I had towards the race and put things into perspective. Paul raced to a respectable 11:21 earning himself 4th in the Heavy Weight class. As soon as I watched his transponder cross the finish line I jumped on my borrowed street bike and booked it off the mountain. I really don't know if I will ever be back. If only I could find another patch of race track that pulls on my throttle cable so and affords my wallet... I reckon the future is what we make it to be. Thanks Paul, It was a huge honor to put together and prep your bike and a lot of fun being on the race week crew!!

Happiness

Happiness is new knobbies
Fresh socks
My favorite pasta
A unsuspecting band that rocks
Traveling the land in a van
Making a stand caus you can
My dogs kisses
Welding metal that hisses
Cold beer soft hugs
Staying out of jail and off the hard drugs
Holeshots skid marks high fives
Just simply being alive.

It is what you make it

Life is and will only ever be just what we make it out to be. Nobody or no thing can change our perception of any bit of it except our selfs. No matter what shit gets shoveled in our face, no matter what hand we get dealt; It becomes what we make of it. That said, from I, a privileged farm raised white boy with a life I wouldn't trade for another. Yeah, I still have the use of my legs, I have a some what functioning brain, and I can go to the bathroom with out any assistance. I have an assortment of motorcycles to ride and I work for no one but my self. I have a best friend that is a joy to be around and I married her. Life is pretty fucking peachy at the moment. Yes, I am lucky. But it is not luck that has got me where I am . I do not believe in fate or a destiny created by any other than myself. I was given opportunity that some do not get but what I have and where I am is a direct result of choices I have made. I am perhaps ego driven but I do not think of myself as an ego maniac or narcissistic or full of myself. I may think and ponder my inner workings more than most but I am a mechanic. I fix what is broke. I build race bikes that can win. I take what is not working so well and make it work to it's potential. I believe that as a person I must take control of handle bars and pilot this craft or body through this life. If I want to be a good person than I surround myself with only good people. If I want to be smarter than I do not hang out with mindless blobs. If I wish to ride faster than I ride with fast fuckers. When I need inspiration I am thankful to have friends that provide. It is not easy. Far fucking from it, but it is a conscious decision. A way of life devoted to quality. A motto to peg the fun meter... every single fucking day. Peace.

PIKE'S PEAK race - Team RONIN 2015 Travis Newbold

Some entertainment after the race footage so grab some popcorn. Bosozoku style. pause at 35:16 and you can see the deer I dodge at 100+mph. What a good time I had last year!

Thanks Mom.

 When I was a boy my mom thought I needed some tools. Maybe it was because the dirt bike that she had bought me for $400 from a newspaper classifieds add was only serviced once a year. It was serviced by a shop called Z’s Motorsports and only brought to them in a horse trailer with my other dilapidated old motorcycles that neighbors had donated to me, the hopeless motorcycle want-a-be. I never did get any of those bikes to even so much as burp a flame induced spark and neither did Z’s. They were old junk but, the Prized $400 CR80 would run after they did their carb clean or top end replacement. For, I had yet to learn of such things as cleaning and oiling an air filter. I just rode when I could. Sometimes I could not get it started. Sometimes, many times, It ran out of gas and I would push it home though farm fields. There it would sit until the next time gas, oil, and the stars aligned for me to try again. Once I rode until it would not go. The sprocket teeth were all worn smooth.  Every time the shop fixed my bike they must have thought what a complete oblivious spoiled kid I was. But nobody had taught me how to maintain something other than airing up my bmx tires. My mom would pay the repair bill and I rode until the air filter would again suck dirt and seize the engine. Maybe it was after one of these repair bills that Mom thought I needed some tools. Since we were in town, we could have gone to the department store or the farm supply store for some nice complete tool set with sharp screw drivers and metric wrenches to fit my Honda. But no, we went to a store that was a place that interested me: The pawn shop. I remember all the pneumatic ½” impact guns, the cross bows, and Nintendo games. We decided on a near complete set of ½” sockets; 3/8” all the way to 1 ¼”. A breaker bar, extension, and even a universal swivel. Why my mom thought I needed this I had no idea. But I liked the hard metal case and the idea of something I was to be responsible for. I didn’t know what to use these sockets for on my CR80 but I somehow did learn the  process of keeping a clean and oiled air filter. I can remember using the ½” ratchet to hammer my jet needle straight after fucking it all up trying to cram it into the carburetor. That socket set was the beginning of a life long quest for tools. I now have more tools for working on motorbikes than I would trade for a complete furnished casa in Bali with gold capped banisters. Somehow, from that insignificant little case my mom bought me, I have evolved a life long craft of riding, wrenching, and loving the bikes I craft with my wrenches. Thank you Mom. I am forever grateful for your patience, your foresight,  and, your unconditional love and understanding.

Life goes fast… Have a blast

Days pass so fast

   Youth and talent never last

Just a kid bombing hills

   Eventually growing gills

His mongoose evolves

   Mechanical speed equations he solves

Becoming internal combustion led sled

   Orbiting into cosmic death bed

A rainbow oil drip

   The puddle reflection eclipse

Gone tomorrow, yet here today

I race my ghost

   To roost the most

I want to play

   Every god damned day

For berms that bounce

   And tyres that grip

A crank shaved ten ounce

   A clutch disc transferring perfect slip

I offer up this toast

   To make the most

Live large and never lift

   Winning is hard, but live the gift.

TWIST THAT FUCKING THING YOU PUSSY!

The Magpul Ronin - DAM

Return to Moto

The vibes on the starting line engulf me like an old itchy wool sweater. My leg is twitching with a bounce comparable to a jackhammer on the concrete starting pad. I worry it will lock and hyper extend my twice operated on knee. All the racers around me have a mechanic sweeping clean their start gate. I leave mine covered in the dirt clods left by it’s former tenant. The board goes sideways and my eyes lock on the gate awaiting the first sign of movement. It drops and I launch, shifting my weight and feathering the clutch. I elbow the racer on my left and grab 3rd gear. I find the high line in corner one and make my new knobblies work hard to hold. Back on the gas hard, I leave the corner in the lead. As I hit the first jump I imagine being landed on be some 17-year-old foot peg dragging, Bubbu scrubbing, rev limiter leaper. But my old school straight up and down style gets me over the jump as fast as any of the new school style and I hold the lead. I hear engines revving behind me and see a wheel in my peripheral. I hold my line and charge onward. I bobble in a rut and am overtaken but the intruder carries to much speed into the next turn and I dive down to a loamy rut on the inside and re-take my lead. I hold it as I complete the first lap but see waiving red cross flags as I approach turn one. I pass bodies in heaps at the sight of my glorious hole-shot. As I pass the spectator area I see fancy Redbull KTM jackets frantically waving on who ever is on my six. It makes me dig deeper and find more speed. After the first four or five laps I feel my strength leave me. I am tired and have not raced motocross in many, many years. My hands struggle to keep grip and my legs do little to keep the bike weighted as I wheelie through loamy rollers. This is the last moto of the day and I tell my self to just hold strong. The white flag is out and seeing it gives me a boost of strength and courage. Just one more lap. I can. The cheering for who ever is behind me is intense. Whoever they are, with their glamour Oakley wrap around sunglasses, they don’t want to see their rider finish behind some old clapped out Honda with a head light number plate. Fuck them, I am here to prove a point with my 20 year old pink riding pants and beat to shit image. There is a cold Popsicle waiting at the van and I want it. I earned it.

Good bye cold winter

All the snow has turned to water. Christmas days have come and past. Broken toys and faded colors, are all that's left to linger on. - John Prine

True, a lot of the good shit has all ready happened, but tomorrow is what we make it! The snow is all melting! The traction is aplenty. New races, new faces! It is looking to be a fun spin around the old calender this year. Shredding!!!

Open: 12-3 on Sunday. Bring an empty van and some cash.

"Let me tell the difference between personal property and a corporation: a corporation is chicken shit! If anyone tells me what to do with my personal property, they can fuck right off!" It is nice to find a place that still does business the honorable way these days. Especially when that business involves GT550 engines, RD350 tanks, Near new XS650 cranks, Red CR engines on the bottom of a shelf behind shopping carts overflowing with shocks, and stacks, piles, heaps, shelves, lofts, sumps, rafters full of what ever treasure you seek.

6 days on the road. (Bunch of great fucking people!)

One van. Four dudes. Portland. The show and then the race. You can guess which one I was there for. Having never been to a real motorcycle show before I was surprised at nothing. It was actually more fun than I thought but with so many friends that I don't get to see often, of course it was a shit ton of fun. It was cool for me to be around the pikes peak Ronin and the crew again. The fucking bike is super special and evokes many emotions from me. It is hard to put into words what racing that bike was like and I reckon what it comes down to is that the guys at Ronin are top notch people. It is hard to feel proud sometimes and they know what it is all about and with out the people that bike would not mean much to me. But it does and it was cool to refresh my memory as to why. It is a rare thing when people can go through shit like we have and not loose any respect for each other. Not even loose cool. Shit we as cool as James Brown. Though many high lights like; Getting reefer headed and going into a truck stop that sold everything known to the critter world, getting kicked out of the titty bar with Jeff Wright, walking the city in big circles trying to find our lost way, or taking a 200 mile detour or the van flatulence. But the best part for me of course was the racing on the last day. When the helmet and leathers go on. I get it on. Had a blast winning the Vintage twins class and the Hooligan race... well that's a whole story for another time. Lets just say: If you ain't first, your last!

Sugar, spice, and all that is nice

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Jonesing for some summer pretty bad. Snow is a coming down hard right now. The sofa is not lonesome for hiney. But the days are getting longer and the thaw is infiltrating the cold and wet. Shit, saturday was a beauty day at the tarmac track on the SV. Finally getting the suspension sorted and looking forward to thrashing the back sides off of the bikes that were in front of us last year. If we can just make it through a couple more months of frozen fucking water droplets mixed with sunny warm strip tease days we are sure to see good times. The quality stuff; Racing, camping, and shitting in the woods. welp, as Doc Watson said: Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side.