| Author | Message | ||
     Sportyeric |
G*d. I feel like I've gone three rounds with Mike Tyson (except my ears don't hurt.) If you're looking for rest and relaxation, hanging out with the Pacific Northwest Buelligans is not the place to be. On the other hand,if you're looking for a rip-roaring good time, on the road or stationary, then you've gotta be at SPLASH! Sport Laps Around Saint Helens. Our story begins north of the 49th parallel. Stuart, manager of Vancouver's Buell dealership, has phoned all possible There's a BBQ dinner waiting in Woodland, courtesy of Chris and Lonny, with A.D. doing chef duty, so we forgo the scenic route and boot down the I5 to Tacoma. Boooorrrring! At least the pace is 1500 rpm off last year's 120 mph freeway leg. The odds of this old engine lasting the weekend are improving by the mile. From Tacoma, the plan is to play, doing the Groovin' on the corners, finally, (2pm and we've been at it since 9am) and the fun comes to a crashing halt. Bike down! But everybody's standing. Could be worse. It's Stu! Hit an oil slick deep enough to ladle with a spoon.Big gouges on everything on the right side, but still rideable. Stu's gonna be sore but undamaged. "Didn't expect oil in the corner!" "Sorry,"says I,"But that's what they all say. Didn't expect the gravel/sand/frost heave. That's part of the game. Gottta leave room for it." If there's anything worse than snide critism from your superiors, it's commentary from the peanut gallery. Sorry, Stu. On we go, Stu leading at his usual fearless pace. The meek may inherit the earth, but they'll be left behind riding with this lot. Bright afternoon sunlight, strobing through the trees, makes frost heaves and road repairs hard to spot. Bending the laws of physics and chance, we burn south past St. Helens toward Woodland like Alice's white rabbit. I'm late! I'm late! Spotting familiar landmarks. There's where Deb bagged Bambi last year. There's where Mat summersalted Deb's bike last year. Hey. Are the only landmarks bad ones? Are the only landmarks Deb's? That was a tough weekend, wasn't it? Hey. There's where Neil blew his belt. One final challenge: hey, there's the gravelled roadwork that bent Jim's front rim last month! It's better going southbound. The cut in the asphalt makes a jump just before the corner instead of a curb just after it. I can't believe the p@#%ks haven't fixed that yet! Almost bags Aaron braking through it on the Ninja. Mark that spot! And then we're there. Many faces familiar, others that we hope will become so. Names attaching to faces and memories. Barbi's still burning so we didn't miss dinner even 2 hours late. But no beer! Backtrack three blocks to go get some and load it up on the S3s. They get out of the parking lot enough ahead of me to miss out on my navigation skills. Mac and I a little slower helmeting up, and Mac almost turns onto the Interstate instead of the hotel and lake access road just beyond it. Did our pack mules go to the hotel or the lake? Not at the hotel. Hey. Not at the lake. HaHaHa, I'll bet they're on the Interstate! I wonder how far the next turn-off is. What a hoot! Hey. They've got the beer! to be continued.... | ||
| Davet |
Sounds like it was an eventfull trip so far! Too bad about Stu's bike, talked to Pete today, he says it's pretty nasty. At least he wasn't hurt. We had a pretty good time at the track. My pegs are alot smaller today. Kim was an animal on the track! This was her first aggressive ride on her new bike, I could keep up with her in the morning, but she was pulling away in the afternoon. She was putting her knee sliders to good use. Let's here the rest of the story!!!!! More more!!! Dave | ||
| Blake |
Great tale Eric... looking forward to more. Thanks! Blake | ||
| Sportyeric |
"They're going to McDonalds, then coming along," someone tells me, so I saddle up and chase after. Where the hell did they go? Where's McDonalds? There they are on the left. Next left into the parking lot, circle the building. Poof! They're gone! Couple of Harley dudes point out the way with the urgency of survivors directing a rescue squad to an avalanche or something. "Hurry! They went through that there gap in the fence and then south! Quick.You can get 'um." Vanished again! The hell with them. Didn't want a McAnything anyway. Go hungry? No way. Did that last year. There's no food ops 'til mid-afternoon. Hey! Grocery store will do. Healthier and cheaper. A banana, an apple, a couple of donuts, tie it to my belt, bag on my lap, and back to the lake. See Deb and Loraine and think of the old joke:"Hey, is that a banana on your lap or are you just glad to see me?"Use it on them to good effect. LOL! In hindsight, the donuts probably would've made a good joke prop, too. So I cram down the fruit, save a donut for later. The group reunites, and we're ready to go. Bob, the usual leader, has announced that he won't be capable of taking pole position since he's switched brands to Triumph and so would just hold us back. The engines are running. We're ready to go. All we need is a leader and one doesn't show. So I get the ball rolling by staging at the head of the road. The line forms behind me and Stu bails me out. We rip out of Woodland, me second in line. The twisties come quickly. I'm out of my league. Cold engine, cold tires. Disaster lurks. The hotshots should pass me. What's holding them back? Tight blind left, then a sudden turn left! Wrong turn,oops. Dead end. Some follow us, circling, others stop on the main road. I'm laughing too hard to continue but I've shaken the lead spot, thank God. The pack, reshuffled, gets back into play. The back of the bunch sits dangerously exposed, stopped on the corner."Go ahead," I wave. I'm up out of the way. I'll work my way up to a comfortable spot. Time flows. We get into a wonderful rhythm. Toes on the pegs, hang the butt side to side, knee stretches out. Transitions are smooth. Don't downshift too eary! Hold 'er steady. She sings. That's a crystal clear treble. Wonder what note? Middle C,maybe higher. Blake probably knows. Fifty five hundred, she's happy. Life's good. Hard on the Brembo, double click down. Load the thighs up, lean forward and round them we go. Don't apex too early. Hold that line, hold that line. OK. Now! Then dial up the throttle and see what comes next. Where's that nasty rim-eating gravel patch I'd told everyone about? They thought I was crying wolf but I knew it would claim another victim for sure. 10 miles out of Woodland, I'd told everyone. But the lay of the land was totally wrong. I'll know it to see it but I'm not in the lead. Nothing, just smooth corners. Then fuelling again. Bummer. State troopers. No radar,thank God. They pull out to follow. That'll ruin the fun. We pull over. He doesn't. But where will he stop? He wants us. He'll get us. What'll we do? Stu has a plan. I had missed seeing the dozen Triumphs stopping to fuel just as we left Couger Creek. We'll let them run the 'Smoky," then we'll scoot by while he's busy! A wee bit of guilt, to hatch such a plot. And what of the gravel? They should be forewarned. But you can hardly flag down strangers and say "Careful! There's gravel and maybe police up ahead!" Duh! So they zip by in three groups. Almost fall over laughing when the second and third bunch mistake us for their leaders and decelerate hard. Keep going, you fools! We're not who you want. Your friends'll be stopped further up, don't you fear. Then away we go chasing, until, oh, my dear.LOOSE GRAVEL, the sign says. But I know it means more. Jam on the brakes and hope those behind are alert. Sh*t! There's a bike over the edge in the dirt. There's a hundred foot drop down on a seventy degree angle. Funny how hitting a tree can sometimes be a good thing. Good news in threes. The bike is the focus so the rider's OK. And they aren't all from our group so it must be one of the Trumpeteers that went down. We help with recovery and repair, then carry their bad news to their group waiting ahead. | ||
| Davet |
Don't stop there! I gotta go to work now wondering how the rest was! Oh well, will see Stu today and get some details. | ||
| Sportyeric |
We meet up with the lead Triumphs at the top of the pass. The shoulder widens up to form a gravelled viewpoint, looking across a wide valley to the mountain looming large to the south(?). We pass on the crash news and stop for a chat. All Triumphs but one: a 996 wearing a Triumph decal on the tank. Seems it's a brand exclusive group! Some guys are B.S.ing,, others having a smoke. I do neither then remember my stashed donut. As I amble back from my bike towards the main group, my treat catches the eye of Chris and some others. A comment seems called for so I fire first: "God bless America!" I proclaim, "There's a Tim Horton's just around the corner!" Gets a good laugh. Then we're ready to go. Stuart hundred-yard-wheelies and we're off. It's the usual rollercoaster up Windy Ridge. ("I wonder why they call it that?" somebody says later.) The whole twenty miles or so is almost exclusively second gear. One of the near-final sweepers, you can see the track across the narrow valley as the road does a 180, gets my confidence high. Full lean, full hang, and then hard parts hit hard. The pivot point tower of my shifter (see the pic in the tranny section) hits hard. The bike throws full upright (or did I make it do that?) If I had been at all seated that would probably be it but I'm only in contact with the bike at feet and hands as I'm hanging so I pull her back down with my right knee to regain the arc. A short lapse of attention: I see the cliff face where I could land. I deny that as an option and reset my goals. The line on the edge and I won't go beyond! There's no room to scuff that damn shifter again! We make it. I'm grateful. Then at it again. Up at the top it's a two-wheeled zoo. The two dozen Triumphs behind were just part of the group. They were the "sport" group, doing the ride counterclockwise. Another sixty or eighty of the "touring" group were going at it in reverse! The "sport" group shows up in a while, as does a group of twenty or so Ducatis with an MV Augusta thrown in. Everybody wonders over to drool on it when I decide that the owner must be getting a swollen head from all the attention. As my engine and tires cool off, I warm up my mouth: "With a bike sharp as that one, I wonder why it pulled in near the last?" Gets no reaction but I psychically sense the shame. It ain't the tool. It's how you use it! Nice bike though. Brutally race posture. A couple of the Triumph boys are leaning on the fence near my bike. Most others are prepping and staging to resume. "Hey Stu!" I call out. "Maybe we all should try to get away real quick before all the Triumphs plug up the corners!" I think it's hilarious. They don't. I ask them why they aren't heading out with their crew. They reply,"That's the 'touring' group. We leave after you" I'm thirsty as hell. There's nothing up here. Then I grab one of last night's left-over beers from my pack, and a plastic glass from there,too. I get a glass full of foam for my efforts but it settles in time. Chris saunters by. He's amazed. "Where'd you get a beer from up here?' "Want a donut?" I answer. We both grin ear to ear. I love a running joke. Offer a beer. "No thanks. But I will have a sip." We remount and head out back down the hill. Only a few in front of me and behind us the "sport" Trumpets. Don't want to see them go by so I hold a good pace. Hard braking, hard throttle, looks so much more comfortable on Duane's S1 ahead. (An S1 looks comfortable?! At least he stays seated.) Off the Windy Ridge roadway and back on the main highway. Don't let that fool you. It's still twisty as hell, but bumpy as well. The one can of beer now needs to come out. My kidneys are too distracting so I drop out. I wave to my gang to carry on through. If they're held back by traffic I may catch up, although its a pretty empty road. As I walk back to my bike the roads's empty no more. There go the Triumphs! Here's an interesting challenge. I run the hundred feet to my bike when they've gone out of sight. Jam on my helmet and gloves and jump into battle! Gotta catch'em before blocking traffic gives an excuse. Every shift smooth as butter. Everything's holding so well. Engine still singing. Style's always improving. Faster and faster. Come on the gas sooner. That sure makes a difference. Where's Eeeeek do his riding? I'll show overstressed. Reel them in in five minutes or so then harrass the back one with chopped throttle exhaust blats. Through two or three corners I stay twenty feet back but let my noise level tell them I've caught them real quick with throttle to spare if they'd let me use it. AARRRGGGHHH! BBBBLLLLAAATTTT! AAAARRRRGGGHHHHH! BBBBLLLAAATTT!! ARRGHH! BLAATT! AARRGH! BBLATT! The back marker moves over and motions me by. I consider the future and the likely reaction when the frontrunners see that a Harley wants by. There's not a long enough road to get by them all. We'll hit the next gas stop with me in the middle. In the meantime they may be able to up the pace and I don't have much reserve left. I may badly lose face. It's enough that they know I caught up so quick. I'll make sure those in front know it later, I think. So I back off and wave for the back marker to proceed. We're low stress cruising for the duration, relatively speaking. Damn! Damn! Damn! I forgot about these. A series of beautiful downhill switchbacks. I love those. I know these. I could pass the whole lot. Its the men from the boys and I wish I was leading. At Randle, my group are already fuelled and waiting. Triumphs next at the pumps and then me. So I take off my helmet and yell over their heads at my group, "Sorry gang. Had to stop for a leak. Thought I could catch up but the Triumphs were blocking the way!" That gets a glare so I follow it up. Catch the eye of a couple,"Hey, I thought the other bunch was the touring group." Bookends! Sass'em. Thrash'em. Sass'em again! Stab and twist! Telling the tale to Frank and others over dinner later, Frank says, "Hey, Howard Stern made a million bucks being loud and obnoxious!" to be continued? | ||
| Sportyeric |
Ah. That would be Loni and Chris. And no beer at the park cause it's illegal. And no offense intended. Frank. You're only loud. | ||
| Blake |
Get thee a Buell! | ||
| Shooter |
Great Story Eric.Wish I could have made it, but 3 days after aa 800 mile ride back from Laguna I just couldn"t do it. Someday I will post a border raid story if I can remember any of it.  | ||
| Davet |
Yes Mike we're all waiting for your story from last year! Will you make it up here again this year? | ||
| Shooter |
Got a race that weekend, but if the race Buell blows up (not unlikely) I will be there again.God help Whistler!! | ||
| Davet |
If you can't make the Border Raid, at least try for Sportbike West, it'll be great fun. I think it's August 24 or somewhere around there. Buell has an entire motel reserved for Buell owners. There going all out for this one. Give Stu a call for details 604-299-3278 | ||
| Shooter |
sounds good...thtas a free weekend for Me...wonder if Hoser can make it? | ||
| Hoser |
Shooter: I'm goin !! , border raid too !! See ya there Jeff |
