As the kinked links on my chain ran through my countershaft sprocket with a whack, whack, whack like a drivetrain on a self-destruct timer, I thought, “I bet I can put this off a bit more. It can wait. How bad could it get anyways?”
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“There are two things I can’t stand doing slow,” Mots softly says, “skiing and riding motorcycles.”
Having done both with him, I can attest that he is slow at neither. Mots was my speedy riding partner that day as he ran point, carefully dissecting eastern Washington’s rolling farm country with scenic cuts through green fields, red barns and brown cattle.
“I came out of the bathroom at the back of the bar,” Currie Collier exclaimed, eyes wide, “and all I could see was a motorcycle headlight shining at me. I freaked. I mean, who expects that when they come out of the bathroom?”
No one really. Unless you are participating in the Colorado 500.
My conversation with Steve Wellman as we stood in the sweltering Bonneville heat was like facing machine gun fire. I was not totally prepared. Thoughts, ideas and visions of the future were shot at me thousands of ideas per minute, propelled by the passion of someone whose brain runs on high octane dreams. I couldn’t help but think that if this creativity and drive were focused, if this rate of fire could be harnessed, the effect would lay waste to any foe.
Well, it has been focused. The bike is called the Nagual. Bonneville is the enemy.
Nothing keeps the Wild Rose Squad from Canada. Undeterred by attempts ruined with rain, terrible traffic or broke down bikes, this smaller, quicker offshoot of the Wenatchee, Washington based Mild Hogs touring group always returns. Despite life’s determined pull to keep us shackled to our daily drudgery, we break free and head north during this same time window each year.
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Every hero battles an enemy, achieving their glory by overcoming foes that cause corrosive self doubt and questioning of their skill. This fire of testing purges the slag and hardens their resolve, screwing their courage to the sticking place despite violent opposition. In World Superbike racing, that violent opposition weighs just 370 lbs. with over 230 horsepower.
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We all have our local roads that we hold dear, the hidden gems, the secret stash of perfectly paved paradise that you safeguard lest the masses descend and destroy your hidden haven. It might be as short as a few miles or as long as fifty, but it’s your well-worn friend in the dance. You keep its location secret, its very existence guarded, the details only revealed on a “need to know” basis to those worthy of your trust and possessing proper riding abilities.
I will now violate that trust…
An old tire, a long wood screw, a power drill, a tire repair kit, and a rather enthusiastic motorcycle “do-it-yourselfer” with a quirky sense of humor…what could possibly go wrong here?
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Hit the reset button on all of the stereotypes you once held about the Pacific Northwest, i.e. it rains all the time, the locals are grumpy, the beer is warm and the roads are crap. True, there is a tiny spot in the state where disgruntled natives seek shelter in the local Starbucks, staring into their devices while moss grows between their toes. However, there’s more to the story.
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