At 3:55 in the A.M. on the first Sunday of the year my alarm awoke me to
more pain than I awoke to today on Monday. And that is saying something
because yesterday at full speed on the end of the front stretch I hit
the ice hard and slid at 60mph like a ninja turtle into a snow bank. As I
type this I feel like my chair is giving me a Mike Tyson charley horse.
Ice racing in Colorado means waking up so damn early just to get to the
track in the dark, find a sketchy place to park that will require a tow
strap to get out of and then freezing your little piggies off all day.
If I were not a full blown motorcycle racing junky I sure as hell would
be doing something warm and involving more booze than this but there I
was. Nothing like sriping off your one pice long underwear in a dark
porta-potty and trying to un-clench captain sphincter enough to let the
horse out of the barn when it is near zero degrees. After trying out my
XS twin in the vintage class once a few years ago I swore it off. It was
like Lane Frost riding a greased up bull on pcp. But the buzz has been
big this year with many friends and since I still had the tires I
figured I would mount em up on my proper 450 race bike and give it a
modern effort. (Thanks for the fenders Garrett!) And of course I mind as
well throw myself into the A class cause Momma didn't raise to powder
pony piss ant. Just a dumb, numb, throttle twisting, high octane
huffing, conversion van gypsy jockey. In my heat race I went for the
holeshot like I have trained myself to always own like a mule. I may
have taken it had I not lost the back end like a slug of lead leaves its
shell casing in the first turn. Ice is hard and it slides a body a very
long ways. In the main I led the first two laps and dropped to 4th. Not
bad but I am looking forward to round 2 this weekend after I sort out
my suspension some. Maybe I may win or maybe I may swear off this
January sunday addiction for good. Peace, grease, and polar fleece.
