Monday, March 12, 2018

The year I drove a BMW

It was a $600 20 year old four door 317I with over 340k on the clock. I wanted to escape the small town trouble I was getting into and follow the national off road WORCS series. I found that my bike fit quit nice into the back seat after I removed the wheels, forks and handlebars. At 40 mpg the I wonder why I don’t still travel to races in such a fashion. I would arrive to a race pit swarmed with giant semi trucks and grey hound bus sized RV campers and easily find room for my bike stand. While I would assemble my bike with a special pride. Some people would strike up a conversation about how I was keeping the soul of the sport while most people would just stare. At round 3 of 12 such a conversation was struck with the Maxxis tire support truck and before I knew it I had a job spooning on 50-100 tires at every round of the series. At $10 a tire I was now paying my entry fee and some of the travel expense. By the halfway point of the season I was a known face at the WORCS races. The races were spread across the western USA; SoCal, Utah, Arizona and up to Washington state. Washougal MX was the first destination of many for my then 6 week old Border Collie pup Baja. I remember showing up to the locked front gate in the middles of the night and like always I slept out beside my car in my old mummy bag. I tied some nylon chord around my pup and held it in my hand but when I awoke to the procession of big rigs entering the gates my pup was gone. As soon as crawled out of my fart sack to the laughs of passer bys my little black and white buddy came leaping out of the dense forest to lick my face with the pungent stink only puppy kisses hold. I ended up taking a job in Seattle for a month and a half followed by two weeks working in Vegas on a big trade show while being put up in the now demolished Sahara casino. I returned home to Colorado a man that the boy I was could never have become but from following a dream. That summer I stuck that little Beemer axle deep in Pismo beach as the tide came in and filled my floor boards as the local Cali bros filled my pockets with hashish in admiration for my mode of travel. On a lonesome blistering hot stretch in Nevada I punched out my broken sunroof in a desperate rage to get cool air. Within a mile the pulsing wind made me turn around to retrieve my sunroof and duck tape it back into place. I would often pull off into truck stops, driveways, and vacant fields and dump out onto the ground to sleep only to awaken to a bustling California fruit stand or a lot lizard in a crack come down frenzy. Many a midnight songs were cranked through that CD player. Many friends were made at the races. Even a pit tootsie or two snuck some naughty in that little car. My hard sweating work on the tire truck changing tires between my races helped my push myself. My racing results were on par with some of the top racers. I was invited to eat diner with the best of people in the paddock from the everyday mom and pops to people like Destry Abbot. The late Nathan Woods once let me sleep inside the back of his toy hauler. I was pickep up by some sugar daddies to race for Team USA in an FIM Asia Enduro round in Thailand. Simply because of how I did things. By the final round of the year I won an amateur over all class championship. All this with no real source of finance. Just the desire to race. That winter I bought a van and since then I have chased my never ending dream. The adventure will always be whatever we make it to be…

Thursday, March 1, 2018

The Land's End Hill Climb 2018

Read all about it in the new issue of Sideburn Magazine. Pictures by Brapp_Snapps Wallace. Get it here -Do it now!!

Monday, January 29, 2018

Look At Life 1960's Scrambling

Found this good glimpse into another world that once was over at Thanks G!

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Check yo self befo you wreck yo self

The old knee wrap ice machine. My old friend, I have not seen for years. Just a simple line of plumbing coming out of a small igloo cooler.  A small electric pump, an analog control valve with a mercury thermometer, and a wrap to compress over the knee. I have had three knee surgeries. Some more successful than others but the last one has left me pretty good.

When I was young I landed my self 86 hours of court appointed therapy. This would have been a total bummer had it not been that my therapist was a rather interesting and intelligent man of  psychology. And an outspoken user of LSD. The old fellow talked and I listened. One lesson I learned from him that I have taken to heart: If you don’t want to get caught, don’t break more than one law at a time. If you are going to drive without a license than don’t have a cracked windshield, or roll a stop sign, or not use a turn signal. If you are going to live a life on the run as an outlaw with a warrant out than don’t break any other laws. You can tell how I have used the lesson mostly involving my passion for operating vehicles at speed. Now I mostly use closed course race tracks but it was not always so.

I broke too many rules last weekend and that is why I have the companionship of my old ice pack machine. Friday was a mad scramble for me to finish the complete restoration of my 1998 KX500. A fantasy bike come to fruition. I had never ridden one other than customer test drives around the shop I have wrenched in. Saturday I awoke and rushed the big green dragon of a mythical bike to the local pro motorcross track. The reputation of the bike was up to snuff. Fast. Scary. Scary fast. I was constantly giggling at the gobs of horsepower the big bore two stroke would cough out at any rpm. I over shot more jumps last weekend than I have for the last ten years. Power galore but suspension way way way to under sprung. But as the weekend progressed I kept pushing it farther and farther. Until I was battling with the A riders who were not as old as my bike. The perfect storm was building. Not only was I breaking more than one rule at a time but I was breaking many. They stopped making 500 cc two strokes along with three wheeled atvs for a reason. They are unforgiving and undersprung in my case. Sunday afternoon, and I was getting tired. I was outfitted in ridicules 90’s freestyle motocross gear, The thick canvas cow skin pant weighed a ton and were like giant bucket scoops around my boot heels. Wallace said he was going to get right up in the corner and I was eager to give him a glory shot for his camera lens. I rode into the corner as hard as a Bruce Lee roundhouse and gave the throtlle the beans. Right  then the meat of the berm blew out under the assault of such shredding and as the suspension compressed an absurd amount my knee became pinned under the handlebars. My foot attempted to posthole into the loam. My knee brace earned it’s weight in titanium. With out it I would not be walking today, but hobbling. My own medical prognoses is merely stretched tendons. Not torn. Lucky I am. And reminded once again to not break more than one rule at a time. Anybody want to buy a bad ass KX500?

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Game on!

Well the friendly people of the Pikes Peak race committee have welcomed me back to race once more. This will be my 11th year on the hill. One of those as Crew for Paul, two years on bikes with with nearly as many cubic centimeters of displacement as feet of elevation at the summit, and the other seven years on 450cc Honda dirt bikes. Back to the fun of it is my plan for this year. No carefully worded press releases or expensive matching wardrobes. Just a van, a dog and a DIRTBIKE. And of course some good friends. So far Johnny Mother Fucking Goldwrench has come on board with major help along with some help from good friend Julian with Dues Motorcycles USA. I plan on upgrading my good ol Pink To Purple steed with a slipper clutch and a Lectron carb. It is a 450cc comeback attack and I am as eager as a squirrel on a tour of a peanut factory!

Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Crowning turd

The days are now slowly getting longer. Waning towards the racing season. Can I make it. I know I can but sometimes feel the darkness take hold like an endless dream of a tar pit dragging me down into winter's digesting foul bowels. Waiting to be shat out and free to be the happy throttling turd I am.  This is the time of the season I plan my attack. Devise the battle plan and make the most of what worn weapon I have heaped in my shop. Making a nickel purchase a dimes worth. The commerce of my business nears hibernation. A ground squirrel holed up in the frozen dirt. The heart beats so faint, feeding only enough blood to keep the brain alive. Ready for the first sign of the season to re-boot and slowly shake away the inactive death virus that many a man has fell victim. Replenishing health and the divine will of nature to shred. Shred!

Thursday, January 4, 2018

Getting through winter the only way I know how

Bigger is better.
I have gone overkill with the engine. 750 high comp wisecos, Web number two cam, VM36 round slides, Gutted bottom end, cut down, knifed, polished, and welded crank, Accel total loss coil. YZ front end and rear wheel with RM swing arm. I have much to do to the frame and shock mounts. Shed life.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

2017 Racing Reflections

With the end of one season of racing brings the start to a new one. I feel I did less racing in 2017 than years prior. The Bottpower bike was an exciting and all encompassing experience and it was the focus of the first half of the year. Getting to go to Spain and test on the MotoGP Aragon track was special even though I never had a complete lap without the bike literally falling apart. The Pikes Peak race week was stressful with the bike seeming like a sure suicide machine but coming away with a class win and respectable overall finish was rewarding. Since the race I have not spoken with Bottpower. After reading my story in Sideburn I imagine I am not well thought of. I see pictures of me on the Bott all over social media and the internet and rare is any credit given to me. When I see my picture on 10 foot posters at the Eicma show and no mention of my name or instagram pics of my race number with out a tag I feel almost plagiarized. I reckon the monkeys that were sent into space never had mention of their name either though.
Other highlights of my 2017 season were purchasing and racing the late great Carl Sorensen's ZX10. It is a proper race bike and I look forward to taking it to new tracks and having fun with it. Raging a DIRTBIKE through Morocco for Sideburn was totally rad! At the beginning of the year I got to race an electric Alta at the Indoor short track is Salem Oregon. That bike is amazing and I want one very much. The ultimate urban enduro assault bike! Later in the season I had a lot of fun with vintage MX. It is a very fun form of low pressure racing. I am building a yamaha twin for this coming season. For the 2017 season the only series I followed was the Colorado Hill Climb Association. these are not hill climbs like you think but more like a sprint rally. Gravel road racing on a 500cc or less dirtbike. I hope to get more moto racers involved with this great form of competition.
Much love and happy trails for this upcoming race season.

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Farts in the wind

I find it amusing how series some of us racers take our racing. I know that if we do not take it serious it is very hard to succeed but at what cost and for what reward? I fondle the thoughts often. People ask me often how I manage to sacrifice so much of my resources or why I choose to spend so much time preparing, fixing or driving to and from.  Racing is life is an easy enough answer but I know it goes a lot deeper than that. Maybe my molecular make up still harbors some cosmic radioactive space dust spit off of a passing fire ball of a comet. Or maybe I just watched a lot of Dukes of Hazard. Stunts are cool! and A-team; Vans. With a van you can.  And MacGyver taught me that I can build anything out of any old piece of trash. Chips; bikes get babes. But seriously, I get tired of people asking me with such astonishment how it is that I can do what I do. And I get tired of looking for an answer. Shit, 2017 saw me chase only one championship series. Only one. Maybe people are getting to me. The mortgage broker, the insurance sales man, and the square family poster people. Ugh! The more I think about it the more I feel like signing up for the most absurd race I can and getting the fuck away from normality. I have been lost before. After enough time in handcuffs I found my savior. It has for the last 15 years taken me places I could never have dreamed. I have given my all to racing bikes. And I feel that the bikes and racing have never left me short changed. So I fully plan on committing my nearly 35 year old carcass to the closest thing I have found to nirvana. I cant begin to fathom the amount of passion towards racing motorbikes all the past and present racers have sweated out. The greats of the Isle of Man to the 80% sportsmans. How many lost souls have found the light and lived my it's creed faer beyond their prime. Just giving it you all every lap. What else? Why else. The best I can ever hope is to live with out regrets. Complete combustion. Back in grade school the first quote I ever memorized went something the sorts of:

Life is not the intention of arriving in the grave in one pretty and well preserved piece.
But rather to slide broadside thoroughly used up and worn out shouting Geronimo.

I am only babbling on about such thoughts because I have some pictures to post of an old race bike I dug out of a neighbors weed pile. The previous owner had lost his passion to race long ago. a cold 50$ was all he cared for. The mechanic who built the bike however still had a passion and after hearing of the sale found my shop and told me all of the battle stories he had. The front brake, half hydraulic and half cable was built to rid the problem of breaking "expensive hydraulic brake levers. The MRA sticker on the fork is a badge of colorado Mountain Racing Association that I races the ZX10 with this year. With some cool old Bates pegs and nifty safety wiring I wish I could say that I revived the old racer but my passion as of acquiring  the bike was with my TT500 vintage motocrosser. So I sludge hammered out the old rusted piston and sold the bike to another keeping only the Bruce Sass built head. I put it on my TT for the last race of the season. It had a sticky valve that sounded like a jack hammer but it kept up the fight for all four motos and without a problem to speak of together we took home some trophies , some glory, and some reason.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

I'm just chill'n, like Bob Dylan

I have been struggling with the world around as I perceive it.  Mostly disturbing because I am part of it and most harsh on myself I can feel. It is my attachment to my phone, My bad driving, My frustrations with people I must interact with. Like the pissed off check out manager who cant swipe my card either. I am America. Check it out on instagram.  A picture of pecker head perfection.  Piss on your neighbor.  All my friends are made up. But my old truck has loud ass fucking pipes. I smoke weed all day playing Super Mario bros NES and am drinking beer for lunch. Don’t bust my balls at the stop light bitch. I’m working a real honest 9-5.  Keep your chicken picken fingers off my bread dough. I get up and make an honest effort every day to find meditating moto jesus farting on my yoga mat.  I am my own 18 year olds laughing bald spot of a douche bag biker. Cash register clinking polo shirt petrol pimp. Two wheels of glory spent my life writing this story. From a bmx back ally barspin to hired moto ninja racer. The real freedumb I have found is profound. Double bound. Or else I would be in the pound. I am going to take this exit and abscond.

Monday, November 6, 2017

More pictures of me!

I can't help it. And Wallace (@brapp_snapps) takes such lovely pictures. Just out playing on the Lil' Goose. I am so lucky to have this bike, It is more fun than a barrel of drunk monkeys. A proper set up MX race bike indeed. The suspoosh is so amazing be it a bit under sprung for me but I don't want to mess up the shim stacks as the 15 year old boingers are unlike anything I have ever ridden. IT is apparent though that I am packing on a lot of extra beer gut since pikes peak (25 lbs!) And it is only a 125 but with a power plant that I imagine was built by Mike Gosselarr, when it is on the pipe it is getting it. The little tiddler is confidence inspiring enough for me to try and get my bar in the dirt. Just having fun. If only these pictures had sound...

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Moto Motto

Fuck, I need more weekends in my calendar. Every thing the radio tells me, all the things the TV shows me are trying to steal my life away. I don't need your lower rate finance plan or your season blow out sale on denum dungarees. Take your over priced plastic piece of kiddy hauling cage and just dump it in the junk yard where it will end up within a few years any way. The free man needs none of this capitalist slavery. Freedom is a dirt bike or something of such simple nature. Be apart of the system enough to get by and keep gas in the tank but keep the knowledge of the truth in a financial driven society. I wish I could escape it all but it is everywhere and in it is the last small shred of the American dream. I am far more fortunate than I let my self believe but what more could I want than my two wheeled toys and those to share in them. The years are ticking by and I see that life is not anything more than a good chance for me to fuck off every chance I get. Make a few bucks during the week and wring the shit out of what ever throttle I can every weekend. Here today gone tomorrow. Respect for you and respect for me and future generations. Respect the will to live and die free. WFO.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

THE WORST 38 MINUTES OF MY LIFE ...That I can remember

Every Morning when I get to work Baja gets out of what ever mode of transportation we took to get there. Bicycle trailer, motorcycle or the less exciting van like we took today. As I unlock the door she makes her way to one end of the parking lot to sniff what ever dogs sniff. As I go inside to start wheeling out bikes she makes her way to the other end of the parking lot. This morning I had to piss and by the time I came out with my first bike I was oblivious to the fact that she was not any where near where she always knew to be. She was gone. Dog gone. After the second bike was wheeled out I registered that she was not herding my heels and watching out for the things that a heard dog watches out for when her master is maneuvering motorcycles through a 30" door. This has happened before as A free range dog will often wonder in to the neighbors shop if the door is open and she so inclines to visit. I checked. Not there. I walked up the street a few houses but I knew she would never wander. I knew she had been snatched. I have seen it nearly happen several times before. She is friendly to greet a car that pulls up into our parking lot just like her mother and all the other collie pups we raise on my parents ranch. City life is not the same as ranch life and some do-gooder people don't really think about what good they are actually doing to their surroundings. I called the automated city animal control. I called the police dispatch and left the needed info. Black and white, No collar, no tracking chip. Please call me back. My heart sank deeper than any lost object sucked into any black hole in all of unknown space. I sat by the sidewalk like a piece of road kill and felt the worst feeling I have felt for such a long time. 11 1/2 years of a collie dog that is beyond words. A true best friend.  A long life by the standards I have implemented upon my companion. It has not been easy at my side. The crashes. The all weekend fetch sessions. The RC toy chasing. The whiskey riddled songs I sing with my broken 6 string. Fuck, the women, The hot vans. for the love of kibbles and bits. It has been a good long trip. The thoughts behind my melting face as I watched the cars pass by. This morning I felt such shit. Such total and complete shit. I accepted my irresponsible ways. Fuck collars. Fuck not letting my country dog prowl her own damn parking lot. fuck it all. And then I saw an animal control police vehicle, I ran out in front of it causing it to swerve off the road. The officer said he had just picked up a dog. black and white. Could I be so lucky. Did he have my dog in his truck. I peered into the dark tinted window and through the caged door of a tiny kennel I saw two  sad big brown eyes meet mine. WHEW!  I finally lost it. I hugged the officer three times. He gave me the number of the people who picked her up. I had visions of my fist breaking jaws before but now that my best friend was back with me I let my nerves wind back together. I lay on the floor of my shop and let her saliva become sticky and then dry upon my face. I called and a lady said that her daughter had picked her up and wanted to talk to me. both the mother and the officer had said how my dog was wanted to be contained by another. The instant gratified teenage girl wanted what was not hers. Is it like some game they play on their shiney balck rectangle? Is this justified to the mind of a self centered do-gooder. brainless. My door was wide open not 30 feet from where she was snatched. The entitled teenager voice on the phone sent shivers down into my ranting raving anti humanism good deed hating deep dark corner of my soul. She reprimanded me to go to wallmart where they sell dazzled collars with names. I reminded the young lady that with out dog snatching my smarter than the two of us dog needed no such dignity defying device. but thank you for letting you mom call the animal control. thank you just the same. and have a good day. you too. I fear I dont belong in such a time or society. I fear the City cant contain my capitalistic venture that allows me some freedumb in our world of corporate power and currency obedience. But those brown eyes are all I need to see to know that to be free we only need what we need. Nothing more. Our world is just what we make it. Emotion aside and inside all I need is what I got. Companonship. A loud motorcycle or two.  Some tasty nuggets. And Love. Love in all the different ways people dish it out. Love.