Wanna see big air?

Why some people shouldn't use e-mail

2009-12-17T22:20:49Z

I received the following e-mail this morning:

Guys
The meeting is for Friday night at 6:30. The plan is for a bit of a Christmas party is movie games ect.I will not be able to make it unless I can get there late. If you can can you bring a backed good. Re the pie backing for Sat. The firehouse had another event come up so we can't use the kitchen. We are going to cancel this for Easter season. Sorry for the incontinence.
Thanks

My response:

You have my permission to get there late. Are we doing the can-can and just what is a "backed good"? Never heard of that one. Are we still doing the pie baking on Saturday? Why has it been cancelled for Easter, I thought we were just doing it for Christmas? By the way, you might want to look into a product called Depends for your condition.

The response I got back:

Smatass

Question...

2009-11-19T22:56:33Z

For the last week I've been watching WWII in HD on the History Channel. It's a first-hand account from WWII veterans, both living and deceased, with restored color film. For anyone who is clueless about WWII history, this is an excellent documentary.

Anyway, for the past couple years I've been toying with the idea of working with my dad to document his experiences during WWII either in written or audio/video format. Of course there is a whole slew of this out there so it's not something I'm looking to do for financial game. Mainly I want my children and future generations to understand why my father fought in the war. I want them to know why we (the United States) did what we did during this time. They need to understand, and not forget, the history.

My dad is 90 so the time to do it is now.

Should I?

catraprez @ 2009-11-03T17:13:00

2009-11-03T22:43:45Z

I got talked into riding the final round of the New York Air-Cooled Trials (NYACT) series that took place in Moreland, NY last Sunday. Now when it comes to trials, I'm about as useful as a fart in a jar. Normally trials is scored like golf, where you're shooting for the lowest score, and it's just as frustrating. However NYACT events use a gate system where the object is to ride through as many gates as possible, within a section, without taking a dab (putting your foot down). If a rider can go through a section clean (no dabs) they score one point. For each gate the rider passes through they earn one additional point. However if you dab just once within a section, your score is zero for that section.

The course was laid out over a ~2-mile loop that contained a total of 10 sections. Within each section there were five gates, making each section worth a total of six points. We had four hours to ride a total of four loops bringing the total number of possible points to 240.

This is only the second time I've ridden a gate trial. The last time was a year ago at this same trial. Past experience and my (lack of) skill as a trials rider has taught me to only go for the easy points. This somewhat worked to my advantage as there were only two sections, 8 & 10, that I could not ride through clean all day. I was, however, less than 3-feet from cleaning section 10 on my fourth loop when I rolled off the throttle, to keep from smacking a tree, and didn't have enough momentum to carry me the rest of the way up the hill. Two more sections, 7 & 9, were laid out in muddy ground. My first attempt at section 7 was in first gear and I didn't have enough momentum to carry me through the mud. My second attempt was in second gear, which carried me through the mud and up the hill where I promptly forgot about the hard right turn and had to dab. My third and fourth attempts were much better. I was able to ride clean and and ride through two gates picking up a score of 3 both times. On the flip side I was able to clean section 9 on my first two loops, picking up an extra gate both times for a score of 2, but on my third snd fourth loops the rear tire wouldn't hook up enough and I ended up dabbing for a big fat zero.

Last year, at this trial, I was much less confident in my skills. Most of the time I would only go for one point and attempted very few gates. This year I found myself attempting to ride through at least one additional gate in each section. As a result, when I did not completely fuck up and dab, I was able to pick up one or two additional points in each section. I'm getting much more comfortable at making tight turns without footing. Softening the suspension up did help making it easier to load and unload the front or rear. Additionally the new clutch cable and longer clutch arm make it easier to feather the clutch to control the power. The clutch, although still somewhat still is much easier to pull with one-finger. However being all metal plates the friction zone tends to move around.

Probably the biggest hinderance is the bike itself. While it is a vintage bike and this was a vintage event, the Alpina has higher transmission gear ratios than a true Sherpa T. Going up 8-teeth on the rear sprocket did make the bike somewhat easier to lug around, but the spacing between first and second is still too large. Two of my buddies were riding true Sherpa T's and were using second and third gear in most sections whereas I was using first and second. I do have access to a basket-case Sherpa T (250) motor and may swap the gears over to my Alpina this winter. This is probably the cheapest option as it will only cost me a gasket set to perform this swap. Another, more expensive option, would be to locate a complete Sherpa T 350 motor.

Think you can ride like this?

2009-10-27T02:00:26Z

And here I thought I sucked at trials...

2009-10-26T01:02:42Z

Is it me, or would George of the Jungle be a better theme song for this guy?

Two-Stroke Cowboys

2009-10-16T15:07:54Z

Found this on another forum. It appears to be from the Scottish Six-Day Trial (SSDT) in the early to mid-seventies.

Jacob's Trophy

2009-10-15T21:02:08Z

Looks like he's saying; "You may have beat me by 6-points, but I'm still taller than you!"

Riding in NYC

2009-10-13T14:57:55Z

A Weekend of Riding

2009-10-12T16:51:29Z

Saturday was the 19th Annual (my 6th) Spanish Motorcycle Owners Group (SMOG) East Trail Ride. Sadly, this year, I left my camera at home so no pictures. Also in attendance was tomatoe333 at his first SMOG Ride. Despite some rain the day before, the trails were in spectacular condition, i.e. fast and fun. For most of the bikes, and a few riders, this is the only time all year they ride off-road. I got to witness a few spectacular crashes on the first hill. Ended up riding over a combined 40 miles on all three of my bikes.

Sunday my son Jacob wanted to ride the observed trial at CATRA. He had a spectacular day dropping 16-marks his first loop, 9-marks on his second and 6-marks on the third for a total of 31-marks and second place in the Youth Class. I didn't do nearly as good in the Vintage Class. For some reason they have us riding the tougher B-line in the sections. With four loops and eight sections in each loop it was a struggle. Two times I fell over, dropping 5-marks both times. In one section I managed to drop only one mark, but in all the others I dropped 3-marks for a total of 98-marks and a solid lock on third place.

Time to buy another 50?

2009-09-16T19:44:28Z

Judging from that smile I'd say it is.

Maybe two more...

Bultaco vintage trials bike

2009-09-14T23:04:35Z

Not mine, but it pretty much sounds and runs the same.

That Sounds Expensive!

2009-09-13T21:40:55Z

So Thursday afternoon I pulled my Bultaco Sherpina out of the shed and started getting it ready for the last two rounds of the New York Air Cooled Trials Championships.

Right after I fired it up a loud rattle developed in the lower end. It sounded like marbles rolling around inside the crankcase. An expensive sound I might add. So I pulled the ignition cover and rotated the flywheel back and forth and each time there was a loud clunk similar to a rod knock. Yes, a very expensive sound indeed.

Friday I pulled the motor from the frame, brought it up to the work bench and began taking it apart in anticipation of splitting the cases. When I removed the primary cover I found several pieces of the chain tensioner laying in the bottom. I fished out all the loose parts and removed the rest of the parts rubbing against the primary drive chain. When that was done I rotated the engine back and forth again and the clunk was gone.

I called my buddy Pete and asked if he had a spare tensioner laying around. His response was to forget about it and run the bike without it. Pete does have way more experience with Bultacos, but I was still skeptical. Then I noticed the engine being torn down in the manual I have did not even have a tensioner. So I put the motor back together and voila, it fired right up, sounded normal and works as good as... well... and old Bultaco.

I'm sure that after 36 years the primary drive chain has some extra slop. One of these days I'll get around to replacing the chain. Hopefully before it breaks giving me instant neutral. Of course the best part didn't cost me a dime since I could salvage the gaskets and I was changing the oil anyway.

Lesson # 1 - Momentum

2009-09-02T16:03:59Z

Glad it's finally over...

2009-09-01T06:16:13Z

Riders Meeting - Who's the dork standing in the back of the pickup and why is everyone looking at him?

tomatoe333 - Get yer nutz on the gas cap, get your leg forward and don't look at the photographer...

Like this guy...

Or this guy!

Even the BTR boys like an occasional grass track...

To dice it out on.

Pretty sure this guy has a smile too.

Spoonie carvin' up the grass track on one of them funny bikes with no seat.

Keep your feet on the pegs.

Where'd this rut come from?

Look ma... I can do a pop-a-wheelie!

Hehehe... A Gasser leading a Kraut Trail Machine.

15 years ago this was the ultimate 4-stroke dirt bike. Now it's a 280+ lb. pig that wears the rider out.

This guy was worn out at the end of the day too cuz that Husky 610 is kind big for some of the trails.

More pics from the 2009 CATRA Turkey Run can be seen here.

Guess I'm just lucky.

2009-08-02T02:33:45Z

Friday - Rode 50 miles in the pouring rain. Can you say mud and deep water? Hope Turkey Runners like rocks cause we found a few. Think I finally killed my enduro computer.

Saturday - Jacob raced in his second pee wee scramble. He got stung by a bee and crashed on a bridge. Yeah, I thought it was BS too until I saw the welt. Some other kids got stung too. He finished and not in last place, but the best part is he had fun. Met some nice people, but a few are definitely living vicariously through their kids.

Sunday - Work party... more time on the pegs.

Almost finished...

2009-07-23T01:40:14Z

Slowly, but surely, it's coming along.

1978 Bultaco M-206 Mk11 (250) Pursang - Right Side.

Left Side.

What I started with.

At least this Bultaco has the rear brake/shifter on the "correct" sides. My slow brain can't handle the reverse rear brake/shifter on my other Bultaco. Now I just need to grow a pair for some vintage motocross racing.

Great Memories...

2009-07-22T17:06:36Z

From the 2003 "30th Anniversary" ISDT Reunion Ride in the Berkshire Mts. of Mass.

I was at this ride, working checkpoints and spectating. In fact there's some cameo appearances of me and my oldest son, when he was 18-months old, in the final motocross test scenes. Also there's some pretty famous off-road racers in various shots.

Too bad there will never be another event like this at that location. The trails in Savoy State Forest were closed to motorized off-road access in 2004.

TMI, but funny none the less

2009-07-16T03:49:44Z

So Monday morning I'm out scouting trails on my buddy Bob's Yamaha XT350. I'm riding through the woods on this seasonal road when suddenly the bean burrito I had for dinner the night before starts knocking at the back door. I stop the bike, take off my camelbak, jacket and enduro bum bag to dig out my stash of bung-wad. Then I pulled down my riding pants.

I'm about to pull down my compression (bicycle) shorts and squat down to squeeze out the burrito when all of a sudden the XT tips over. I was going to leave it, but saw gas flowing out of the overflow tubes and didn't know how long I'd be occupied. I also know how hard it is to kick-start a flooded 4-stroke, so I decide to pick it up before doing my business. Walking like Tim Conway immitating an old man on the Carol Burnett show, I shuffle over to the bike, bend over and... OH SHIT!

Now being that this had once been a bean burrito, soild is not an adjective one would use to describe what had just filled my compression shorts. The worst part is I was trying to decide if I should leave the bike on the ground and finish business or pick it up and hope the rest of the burrito does not come out. Clinching my butt cheeks hard enough to crack walnuts I lifted the bike back onto its side stand. Then I whipped off my boots, riding pants, knee guards, knee supports and socks. Damn, that's a lot of stuff. For good measure I took off my jersey as well.

Once I was wearing nothing but my soiled compression shorts I headed back into the woods, bare foot and stepping on sharp stones the whole way, pulled off said shorts and chucked them into the woods. Then I squatted over and let all fury fly out of my ass at supersonic speed. Luckily I had brought a full roll of bung-wad. Using water from my camelbak I cleaned myself as much as possible. I'm sure glad nobody saw my naked self standing there in the woods, but the mosquitos sure found me and I have welts that itch in unmentionable places.

Once everything was clean as a whistle I got dressed again, but this time going commando in free-ball mode. I hop back on the bike and check my map once more before firing it up. Just then this gal comes over the hill walking two dogs. She smiles at me and says; "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

I just looked at her and replied; "That it is!"

I sat there for a bit because I didn't want to fire up the bike and startle her dogs. She kept right on walking, but one of the dogs was sniffing around in the woods where I had just done business. She called to the dog and he came running out with my compression shorts hanging out of his mouth. I fired up the XT and got the hell out of there quick.

Duct tape and zip-ties accessorize!

2009-07-15T22:30:26Z

So after writing about gadget-guy I started thinking af another guy I met at an enduro one time. I was on minute 30-something that day and, being that it was an AMA enduro, there was a AA rider on my minute. His mechanic, who was fast in his own right, was also on my minute. I didn't have a snowballs chance in hell of keeping up with these two guys.

When I spotted the third bike on my row I immediately knew I'd like the guy. He didn't have a pretty bike. It was an older KTM, or at least it looked older. It proudly wore the battle scars of some ferocious encounters with trail nasties. Every piece of plastic had been stitched at one point or another making it look like Frankenstein. Hey, why buy new when you fix it good as new with safety wire? The pipe had obviously been waffled and blown out a few times, but now it had a home made cage wrapped around it like on this bike. I'm sure it added a few pounds, but that's what I call protection.

I introduced myself to him. His name was Herb (or perhaps John, Frank or Carl, but he looked like a kid I went to school with named Herb, so Herb it is). Herb was around 20 years my senior, maybe more, since he was in the Super Senior (50+) class. He was tall, perhaps 6'6", maybe taller, and his bike had been modified (or Herbified) to fit his tall stature. It bore a set of Jimmy Button-bend Renthal bars, the tallest you could get at that time. Foam had also been added to the seat and recovered in what looked like a recycled vinyl seat cover from a '69 VW. Actually the seat made the bike look pregnant. It was also obvious that Herb liked to accessorize with duct tape and zip-ties, or maybe he just had a fetish for holding things together. About the only thing new on Herb's bike was the tires. It wasn't pretty and neither was his gear. An open face Arai helmet with one of those Scott roost masks. His pants were neon pink, at one time, making them at least 10 years old. His jersey was even older and had been torn and repaired more than a few times. Even Herb's gloves didn't match. Right away I knew I wanted to go riding with Herb.

Herb told me I could go in front of him since he wasn't fast. This usually means he's faster than me. So on the start I let the AA rider and his mechanic go and I followed them while Herb brought up the rear. We headed down the road a bit then turned into a trail. Mr. AA and mechanic were gone from sight as I struggled to keep from crashing my brains out too early. Suddenly this white and pink flash streaked in front of me. It was Herb. I tried to hang with him for a bit and managed to keep him in sight, but I couldn't reel him in. Quite honestly Herb could ride.

Now this enduro contained many sections that crossed or skirted fields. In these sections you could wick it up a bit. I think my computer recorded a high speed of 70 mph that day and that wasn't done going down the roads. Of course Herb never really went that fast. He just maintained a nice even pace. Once in the tight woods he would fly. Thing was I might have been a 1/4-mile or more ahead of Herb going into a tight test section, but he would catch and pass me then let me follow him. Even if I crashed, which I did more times than a cheap computer that day, Herb would back down just enough for me to catch him again, then take off. I think he actually enjoyed this little game of cat and mouse we were playing.

Herb also had another trick up his sleeve. He was an "old fashioned" timekeeper. No computer, just a watch, odometer and rollchart. Back then I couldn't keep time worth a damn. I even burned (came in too early) an easy check that day as did Mr. AA and his mechanic, so I don't feel so bad. Not Herb though. He rode the possibles like a master in the art of timekeepers. I was just a pawn in his game, but I was having one of the best rides of my life.

We talked quite a few times during the day as this enduro had some really long resets after the test section. I even got to see Mr. AA throw his helmet on the ground in disgust for burning that easy check before the gas stop. Herb kind of chuckled an mumbled something about primadonna. Obviously this wise "old timer" knew more about the game and life than some young hotshoe.

Herb took second in his class that day. I told him he should've just kept going and not slowed up for me when I crashed. Then he told me somehing I'll never forget.

"I've got dozens of trophies at home. I had a lot of fun riding with you today. Not too many of my friends ride dirt bikes anymore so having someone I enjoy riding with is more important than a cheap piece of plastic. Take care Bill!"

And with that Herb left. He never even got his trophy. I never saw Herb at an enduro again. I looked up his full (real) name on the results sheet and tried contacting him, but never could. I hope some day I can be that wise old man who passes on some of that wisdom to another young whippersnapper.

Gadget-Guy

2009-07-15T07:39:19Z

A few years ago I went to one of the Western NY Enduros. Speedsville, Barbed Wire, one of them I forget now. I post-entered and wound up on a late minute which is usually where they stick all the newbies. Well I go and line up for the start and the only other guy on my minute has a brand spankin' new Suzuki DRZ 400, the street-legal model. This thing was clean, too clean in fact. It shined like a nickel in a turd. So I strike up a little conversation since I'm probably going to be seeing this guy for the next five hours. "New bike?"

"Yep, just got it last week! I'm Fred..." (or maybe it was Mike or Joe or Bob, but will go with Fred for this story) "This is my first enduro!"

"Really?" As if the blinkers didn't give that away. It had some modifications, like cheap wrap-around plastic handguards and real knobby tires, but the bike was painfully stock. "Hope you got some good pictures of it." Because it's never going to look this good again, I said to myself.

Now the term pretty is usually not used to describe my bikes unless followed by the word ugly. I'm lucky if the graphics last an entire season and the plastic bares a peculiar resemblence to Edward James Olmos' face. Fred's bike looked mint as did Fred in his brand new matching riding gear. I haven't had matching gear since 1989. In fact I still had a green helmet from my Kawasaki days, although it now had quite a few battle scars. I'm sure Fred was wondering what trailer park I came from.

"Say..." goes Fred "is that one of those enduro computers?" Great, Fred's a gadget-guy. I hate gadget-guys. They have to know everything about everything and they think they know everything too.

"Yes it is, but all I really need to do is write faster across the face, because that's all it ever tells me." Obviously I lost Fred at this point.

"So you've done one of these before?" And just how did Fred think my bike got in the condition it is? Okay, maybe it could've fallen out of my truck going across the Thruway.

"Yeah, a few times."

"So you can give me some pointers?"

"Sure, first thing... well, next time load your rollchart the other way. You need to be able to twist your throttle and scroll down with your left hand. The knobs are on the wrong side." Again, way over his head.

Pretty soon our minute came up and I fired up my bike and Fred was kind enough to let me lead. Now the club usually ran two options. Option one we run down the road for a while and they have a sneaky check going into the first test section. Option two they run us straight into the woods sometimes with a sneaky check and sometimes without. This was option two. For some reason I always hate enduros that send you right into the woods almost as much as I hate gadget-guys. It usually takes me a few minutes to find my riding mojo and I find it faster if I'm not dodging trees, rocks, mud, ruts and roots. However that day it wasn't bad. The trail was wide, fairly straight and the speed was an easy 18 mph. I knew the first possible couldn't be until mile 3.0 so I blazed ahead to mile 2.9 and checked my odometer against the mileage. It was close enough and I was still 10-seconds or so hot when Fred arrived. He stopped and looked at me. Now I told Fred there's a check ahead, but what I should've said was there's a possible (meaning possible checkpoint) up ahead. Since saying possible would've sent gadget-guy Fred into overload I kept it simple and I'm sure he thought I was God at that point. I waited for time to tick off plus a few more seconds before leaving with Fred glued to my rear tire. I came around a bend in the trail and no check, so I grabbed a handful and probably inadvertently roosted Fred's spanky new machine.

As I'm going along I think to myself, "self, this seems kind of easy. I bet they're going to send us into that ignorant tight-Jersey stuff." Now for those of wondering what the hell I'm talking about, ignorant tight-Jersey stuff is where you cut down your handlebars to 30" wide and trees are 29" apart. So the next year you cut the bars down to 29" and the trees are 28" apart and so on and so on. Anyway, at this point my mind is in enduro mode. I'm trying to think what trick the club is going to throw at us next. I'm running about 30-seconds hot (early), so I slow down. The trail is very easy to maintain an 18 mph average, so I slow down even more to drop into the top of my minute. All of a sudden I hear a horn beeping behind me. I glance over my shoulder quickly and here's Fred waving his arm frantically for me to move over.

Now I've never been fast, so I'm pretty much an expert when it comes to getting passed in the woods. I will hold my line and point for the faster rider to pass, but I'm racing the clock too so pulling over and stopping is not an option. Jeff Fredette passed me one time on a trail no wider than a strippers thong. You couldn't have slipped a dollar bill between us, but it was a clean, no-contact pass. That's why he's a AA rider and I'm not. So here's Fred behind me, wanting me to pull over, but there's plenty of room for him to pass on my left. He's still beeping that fucking annoying horn and if I could've shoved it up his ass at that minute, I would've. Luckily I'm at the very top of my minute, so I slow way down, point to the left and he goes around me grabbing a handful and almost crashing out. Once past he just had to beep that horn one last time. Fucker! Looking back though it was Fred's moment of glory. He passed an experienced (and I use that word loosely) enduro rider. For a few minutes he was fast.

Okay, so I didn't play the game right. There was no sneaky check before the ignorant tight-Jersey stuff and I went in on top of my minute. Not only was it tough to maintain 18 mph in this crap, but the club bumped the speed average up to 24 mph just to make it cruel. Keep in mind Fred knows nothing, but he is ahead of me and soon I can see his taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight...taillight... brakelight... It's almost as annoying as that horn. Well I didn't have a horn, but I'm sure he could hear me blip the throttle of my two-stroke. Finally I nudged his back tire and shouted the enduro riders code for let me pass, "trail!" Of course Fred had no idea what this meant and thought I wanted him to stop, so he did right between two trees. He turned around and was saying something to me, probably pissed off at me, but not as pissed as I was trying to squeeze my bike between him and a solid oak without killing my motor. I might have mumbled jackass or something in the process to, but I can't remember.

I managed to get by and get through the section, hit the check where I'd dropped points like a bad habit and make it to a nice generous reset putting me back on time. Fred pulled up with less than a minute to spare. He was fumbling with his rollchart. "I see what you mean about reversing the knobs. Sorry about stopping back there I thought you were trying to tell me something?"

"Trail is the universal code for 'pull over please' in enduro language. We don't use horns."

"Oh, I didn't know that. By the way, how do I adjust my odometer to the mileage. It just keeps goign to 0." Fred had a trip meter.

"You can't do it with that odometer. Just match the mileage markers to your route sheet and your watch."

"So I should get one of those enduro computers?" Gadget-guys, they just don't get it. Suddenly Fred's bike wasn't looking too spanky anymore. Neither was his gear.

"Did you crash back there?"

"Yeah, and this bike is heavy!" And with that it was time to leave the reset.

Unfortunately I didn't see Fred until the end of the enduro. He houred out before gas. His bike looked like it had been through a war. The blinkers were gone. The taillight was broken. The plastic looked... well, better than mine. He managed to break off his roll chart at some point too. I wonder if the horn still worked? Fred looked like he'd spent a weekend in Vegas with two hookers and a pound of cocaine. Seriously he was beat, limping and had a massive hematoma on his thigh, but was grinning from ear to ear. I'm sure every muscle in his body was two heartbeats away from cramping up.

He walks over to my truck. "Hey Bill, how'd you do?"

"I dunno, they haven't posted the scores yet." Think I walked away with secong or third in my class. "How'd you do?"

"The sweep riders caught up to me and some point and I houred out."

"Did you have fun?"

"Oh yeah. I've never ridden trails like that before. They were tough. I tore my jersey and I think I need to do some work to my bike. Now I see what you meant about the pictures." Hmmm, maybe he does get it? "Say, where do I get one of those enduro computers." Nope, still a gadget-guy.

I handed Fred a cold, refreshing adult beverage. Not sure if he liked it, but it was my favorite kind, cold and free. He nursed it while I sucked down two of them to ease the pain of the cramping about to cripple my body. When I offered him another he refused it, so I drank it instead. Why waste cold beer.

Now I don't know if Gadget-Guy Fred (or whatever his name was) ever rode another enduro or not. They're not for everybody, but he certainly seemed to enjoy himself that day. While he may not have gone home with a trophy he did get a free beer out of it.

Jacob Rides

2009-05-26T21:18:24Z

He finished!

2009-05-18T20:38:00Z

It was a tough mile and half of trail complete with mud, rocks, roots and trees. Jacob was in the Pee Wee V class along with 8 other racers. After the parade lap he was put into the third row. On the start Jacob grabbed the holeshot, putting him out front going into the first turn. But he quickly fell back to fourth place and four kids in the fourth row eventually passed him. Jacob was able to stay ahead of one boy, who was also racing in his first Pee Wee Scramble, and one boy broke down on his second lap and was unable to finish.

During the race I rode along as a sweep rider, helping out other kids as well as Jacob. He took several soil samples during the race, but only needed help twice when the engine died and he had trouble restarting it. I was really impressed with how well some of the other kids were riding. Of course most of them were in the Pee Wee IV class riding liquid-cooled KTM 50cc 2-strokes.

Jacob finished his third lap just before the 45-minute time limit and went out for a fourth, and final, lap. He was the last racer off the course and ended up in seventh place, one place out of a trophy position. He was still extremely happy with his results along with being very tired. He commented that he finished seventh, is seven years old and wears number seven on his baseball uniform. He also walked away with a finishers medal.

"Okay Dad, when's the next race?"

Let's see...

2009-05-15T01:29:33Z

1. ~~Wash bike.~~
2. ~~Clean and oil air filter.~~
3. ~~Change oil.~~
4. ~~Adjust and lube chain.~~
5. ~~Check/adjust tire pressure.~~
6. ~~Make sure all fasteners are tight.~~
7. ~~Fill tank with fresh fuel.~~

My oldest son is competing in his first off-road race on Saturday. I'll be transitioning into my new role as pit dad. All bullshit aside, I don't care if he comes in dead last just as long as he has fun and doesn't get hurt (or mom will kick my ass).

Happiness is...

2009-05-04T22:09:02Z

Spending a Sunday afternoon trailriding with your son.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Just like Griffey... maybe?

2009-04-21T14:02:27Z

For those of you who don't get the baseball reference, for 2009 Ken Griffey Jr. returned to the Seattle Mariners after nine seasons playing for the Cincy Reds. In much the same way I may be returning to Seattle going back to work for the company I left over 10 years ago.

For those of you unaware, I was laid off. Actually 50% of the salaried staff and 20% of the hourly staff was laid off from the plant where I worked. To be quite honest I'm actually quite happy because I hated my job. I should've left a couple years ago when the economy was in better shape. Right now there's a lot of people looking for work.

Fortunately I've developed a fairly good network of people in the industry and I've already had a couple of interviews. Unfortunately each one will require me to relocate and, right now, nobody is offering relocation packages for new-hires.

Anyway, last week I was in Seattle visiting my parents. Before leaving I called a friend of mine, who still works for my former employer, to see if he wanted to meet for lunch one day. Less than five minutes on the phone I had an interview with the company President scheduled for the next day. The interview went well and we had a second interview last Thursday where I was offered a job.

Of course there's no relocation package and, normally, I wouldn't even consider it, but this time it's not about my career. You see my parents are in their mid to late 80's. They still live in the house I grew up in and it's too much for them. Not only do they need to be in some sort of senior housing they also need family nearby and, being their only child, that burden falls on me.

Of course my wife isn't exactly thrilled with the idea. All her family lives in the Houston area. This time it's not about advancing my career, it's about being close to my family (parents) when they need me most. So n matter how this shakes out there's bound to be some big changes coming about.