Northwest Fastest
(Vintage) Bavarian
No that isn't it - we ride motorcycles.
We’re headed out for Bonneville, and I am excited. I
have learned that it takes a passionate group of people
to get a race venture off the ground. The last few
weeks have been busy. We would not even be on our way
without our generous sponsors who have all pulled
together to support this adventure. Just last week,
Charlie McManus and Jacqueline Plattner at the Primo
Grill in Tacoma hosted us for a talk and slide show,
and added to our funds as well. Our donated camper van
(from my parents) is filled with water from Tammi’s
Water company Crystal Springs. Tenzing Momo, the herbal
apothecary at Pike’s Market, has sponsored us this
year, as they did for the last several trips. Our loyal
backers from our first attempt, Carpenters’ Local 1144
and 1797, contributed. South Sound BMW is not only
helping financially, but Marty is getting photos and
articles posted that talk of our racing. Our friends
and the Vintage motorcycle Enthusiasts have most
generously donated money, time and effort. They have
been coming by the house, helping on projects in
whatever way they can.
Dean heads out early from Olympia to Spokane to get his
brother Lyle and then go stake out a pit on the salt.
He is schlepping a lot of gear and the Honda to use as
a pit bike. Rob and Ron have the R25 “Freedle Flyer” in
Rob’s truck, and they will start racing as soon as they
have made it through tech inspection. We are following
slowly in the camper-- Kevin, Uncle Fred, Barb and
Bogie and Sammi (dogs), towing Jeff’s trailer with the
R50 ‘Bonita Rapida’ and the replica Rennsport.
The first thing we need to do is to drain the bad luck
out of the trip, which we do by getting a flat rear
tire, fixing it a Les Schwab, and getting a second one
right after that. By this time it is 4 am, so we camp
out at the next Les Schwab and catch a few zzz’s until
they open. $600 later we are on our way riding on 4 new
tires. Finally we see Wendover Will in the distance-
the cowboy who smiles over east and west Wendover. Our
excitement starts to bubble as we pass ‘Welcome to
Bonneville Salt Flats’ and head onto the salt. We drive
across a huge expanse of bright white salt and scour
the pits looking for Dean.
There is a huge amount to get done all at once. Unload,
check in, get wrist bands for the racers and crew and
neon participant stickers for the van, start paperwork,
get bikes and riding gear through tech inspection,
unload trailer and get trucks set up as push vehicles.
Everyone leaps into action- Dean has set up camp, Rob
and Ron have already gotten a run in. With everyone’s
help, we even get Kevin and Bonita out onto the special
course for a test run. I am glad he is testing the
salt. It looks soft and a bit fuzzy in the turn off
area, and this makes me nervous. The run is a warm up,
unexceptional, and everything seems in order.
We head back to the bend in the road, walk the dogs,
chat and then Kevin and I head to the
truckstop/gas-station/shower/convenience
store/restaurant marvel that sits back up the road a
mile away. The walk is a nice way to unwind. We walk
back under bright stars, and fall into bed. Racing
starts up at 7am, so we will be up early.
At dawn, we join up with the caravan headed out onto
the salt. We get into the pits, and the Bonneville Salt
Flat Fever hits me hard. The sand is hot, white, sun
reflecting everywhere. People are busy and intense,
working in teams to launch their vehicles. It feels a
bit like a huge country fair, but instead of animals,
everywhere you look are weird and wonderful colorful
vehicles of all shapes and sizes. There are 50cc bikes
here, and things that look like spaceships. Rat rods
swarm up and down the pits, and custom rods with
fantastic paint jobs gleam and shine as they parade
around like peacocks.
There are stories behind each race car or bike. The
French team, all decked out in baby blue matching
T-shirts, couldn’t afford shipping, so they completely
dismantled their 50cc Motobecane and put the parts into
their luggage. I guess they did a good job putting it
back together, because I see them in impound. A Texan
hauled his Indian Chief out from his barn, dusted off
40 years of grime, got custom grey leathers and rode it
122 mph. Rob and Ron turn up with their own story-
their 250cc Freedle Flyer, named after Rob’s best
friend, running in the Production Pushrod Vintage
(P-PV) class just broke last year’s record. They are in
impound, and need Kevin to come over and chat with the
inspector.
Adding to the fun, more friends are
cruising in. Dave Legg and Ron Verano have come, and
Ron has his camera out to capture all the eye candy.
Scott strides in, having ridden all the way from
Missouri on his V-Strom. Kathy and Bruce arrive in
their camper. We christen it the Café de Bonneville, as
Kathy promptly cooks up a spaghetti dinner and doles
out snacks. Brent and Sue appear, trailer in tow. They
have Brent’s new green and silver Blitz Schnell
partially streamlined 500cc bike and are eager to run
it. They hook the bike shoe onto the truck and head out
to race. Meanwhile, everywhere I look Steve Skeels and
his son David are photographing and videotaping all the
goings on. They stand up high on his cab bed or roof
and take in the racing and unique vehicles. Steve
interviews Kevin and me, Rob and Ron, under the canopy
with the sun blazing all around and our neighbors
trying to start up their race car over and over. Steve
takes out his generator and hooks it up to our
campervan to try to cool it for everyone while David
jumps on a bike and tours the pits.
Kevin, Dean, Lyle and I head out with Bonita Rapida and
the Rennsport. The sun is beating down and we hold
umbrellas against the glare. We droop against the truck
door, waiting our turn on the special course. Our pick
up man is Lyle now- he is handsome and patient and puts
the truck where it needs to be. We are all hot, sticky
and sweaty as we load and unload the bikes, and change
in and out of black leathers and helmets. We stink
and our eyes are gritty.
We see Rob headed back and holler at him. He tells us
they are headed back to impound again! Broke
this
year’s record
with the Freedle Flyer!
I am on deck to get my rookie run out of the way. I am
nervous and feeling definite butterflies.
I gear up, swing over the bike and settle into a
crouch. Kevin checks my chin strap and reminds me to
enjoy the ride. He starts Bonita, and I sit very still,
waiting on the starters, Dean and Wes.
They are incredible- on the salt from dawn till dusk,
turning a burnt caramel color, sweating in the sun as
they launch hundreds of vehicles. They keep their humor
and sense of perspective, and are supportive and
professional. I try to get Wes to run off with me. He
tells me about his burro. He prefers her- he feels she
is less complicated. I say, at least get out of my way
then and let me get on down the track. He motions 1-2-3
and right- this means, after the third mile, get off
immediately, don’t hog the track and slow the racing,
and go right to meet your pick up vehicle. I revv it up
and clean it out at 6,000 rpm, then drop it down and
into gear. Suddenly I am launching down the track
filled with joy at being on the salt.
I flatten down and pull my elbows in
tight. It seems long till mile one, I am already well
into 3rd
gear. Suddenly we fly
past mile 3 and I am faced with the turn off onto the
ungroomed surface. I slow the bike way down because I
fear most dumping it right at the track edge. I make
the turn, and see the race track officials coming
toward me. We are great friends. I entertain them, and
they tell me things like “too long getting off the
course, too tight a turn, where were you going? You
scared us…”… “Nice ride” is not in their vocabulary. I
am bouncing up and down. They cannot dampen my
enthusiasm at being on the salt. Lyle roars up, Kevin
jumps out, we load the bike and head to the timing
booth. I have turned in a smoking rookie run, 99.78
mph, faster than Kevin’s record of last year.
The next day I am eager to ride. I have discovered the
salt is hard, fast and clean to ride on, and there are
no distractions. It is a magical privilege to just be
able to focus completely on the ride, with no deer,
rabbits or coyotes to worry about. Just go fast, get
into your crouch and handle your shifts well. I do get
lost once in the gear box, flopping between third and
fourth and somewhere in between. But I am having too
much fun to dwell on it. I chat with gals from New
Zealand, racing bright red Hondas over 200 mph. I meet
lovely women from Australia, who also want to be in the
‘Red Hat’ club. They are friendly and supportive, and I
am electrified with energy. Here we are, international
women, racing on the flats. On the line again, I
visualize my run and work the lanyard kill switch onto
my right wrist. I am smiling at the Australian gal, and
wave my arms enthusiastically, jerking the lanyard out
and shutting off the bike. Kevin rolls his eyes. He is
not fond of kick starting the bike in 100 degrees. I
reward him with a speedy run that places us in impound.
The next morning we turn in 100.4 on a qualifying run,
and it puts us back into impound for another run.
It is the end of a busy, hot week, and most of our team
and friends have left. I am again struck with how
generous everyone is- all pulling together to make
racing happen. Our team of Uncle Phred, Dean, Lyle,
Rob, Ron, Dave and Ron has worked really hard. We
decide to stay longer to continue diagnostic runs. I
tell Kevin how romantic this has been. He looks back at
me. Working hard all day long in the grit and sun,
taking motors and clutches apart and putting them back
together, loading and unloading bikes, talking riders
through runs, analyzing results all seems less like
romance to him and a bit more like hard work. But it’s
all romance to me. I bounce up and down as he loads
Bonita up for another run.
I am ready to ride. I have perfected my crouch, and
roar up hard through the gears. She is spinning well,
we are flying. I am welded to the tank, leaving the
dents requested by Ron. I cannot see the tachometer
because my helmet is tucked down behind the bars. I
watch sideways as the black line flies along beside me.
We blast past mile 3 and I sit up, roll off the
throttle and make my way off the course. I am hopping
with excitement. Waiting for Kevin on the salt, the sun
is so bright I cannot lift my visor.
I know we went fast and sure enough, I just secured the
run on Bonita at 100.2, for a record in the books at
100.33 mph.
I am elated to be here, too hot and sweaty, surrounded
by people trying to go fast. This is it, I think. This
is the ultimate E-ticket ride.