I have done a fair
share of desert races. I have also ridden many a gnarly duel sport
rides. But I have never partaken in an organized duel sport ride
until this years 31st running of the LA Barstow to Vegas. Two days,
500 miles and some 600 riders. It was dusty. I started the build of
my XS650 specially for this event two months ago and I had my doubts
about getting it to the finish. I bought the bike as an ugly old
cafe race/ chopper with an extended swing arm, super low clubemans
and a big end bearing knock despite the 2000$ worth of receipts of
engine work. I paid 200$, replaced the crank with a spare lying
around in my "rape room". I rigged on an '84 XR500 front
end salvaged from "#project retard", An XR250 sub frame
and of course the daunting mounting of a '91 YZ125 swinging arm and
mono shock. Despite fettling the shims in the shock 3 times and
creating the most stiff spring I could it is still under sprung and
blows through the damping like a bullet through a brain.
The chassis did
very good however. As long as I didn't charge big whoops and g-outs.
I was bewildered buy the amount of big money desert racing machismo
wantabees with support rigs and satellite communication and
navigation. I had a flask, a film canister of Colorado's finest and
a roll chart. Learning how to use the roll chart was fun. So was
passing KTMs one after another being piloted by over weight stock
brokers wearing "adventure" jackets that cost twice as
much as my bike. Things were going great on the first day until
internal engine noise suddenly became very apparently external. I
removed the clutch cover, entailing removing kicker, foot peg, and
brake pedal to discover the clutch spring bolt had pulled its post
clean off of the clutch hub. Removed the little fucker, little bit
of JB weld, quick aluminum and some oil resistant medical tape on
the case cover and back at it. Day two was going great as well until
this time a clutch spring bolt backed out. Same fix, One mile later
and one snapped off the post again. This time leaving a hole big
enough in the case to see the bastard of a shitfuck clutch spring
bolt. By this time the sweep riders (not much help they were) had
passed me. I had also lost my wing man earlier when I had to take an
emergency trail side shit. I spent a good two hours in a wash alone
a long way from any roads wondering why I forgot my map and if the
JB weld would get me out of there. It got me close when another one
snapped off. Again; remove cover, remove aluminum chunks and patch
cover back up. With three of the six clutch springs remaining Loc
Dog thought it wise to take the interstate the remaining 80 miles
into vegas.
Beer was drank, fun
was had with Co-Built Geoff and the crazy Bixby scooter trash guys
and I look forward to next year. The End.