rebelpacket.net weblog

Its another monday. What better way to kick it off than with some a Mad-Max / Motorhead compliation? I do not recommend watching this before driving into work.

Despite my technical job, I often find myself “behind the curve” of technology. I don’t subscribe to spending copious amounts of money on new phones and gadgets, I’d rather buy motorcycle parts and food. I don’t have a need for a gigabit ethernet switch, multi-function scanners, printers and fax machines, or cameras that toast bread.

But this week, I was forced to make a change towards technology. After fighting with my phone company over the costs associated with fixing the excess line noise, I gave AT&T the proverbial middle finger, and switched to VoIP (Vonage). Despite a scheduling mix-up that left me without a home phone for three days, I must say I’m impressed.

I was paying 27-35$ a month for local-only phone coverage on a line so noisy that I often had to press the phone hard to my ear, and plug my other ear, just to hear what the party was saying on the other line. I now pay 24$ a month to call anywhere in the US. I get voicemail service for free, and they get magically delivered to me via email, so I can keep up on correspondence, even if I’m not home. If I need to travel on business, my home phone can come with me if needed.

Most of you know I’m not big on telephony, but this has me pretty jazzed up. VoIP is here to stay. With the internet more proliferate than aging telephone technology, its only a matter of time before the telephone line as we know it, simply fades away like VHS tapes, and Cassettes.

I’m considering axing my website. Only a few people I know read it, and I’ve done a pretty good job letting it fall into disarray. Work is nuts, and keeping the bikes that still have good motors running has become a full time second job. Who reads any of this shit anyways?

In completely unrelated news, I found a couple of fleas on Lola. In my three years of dog ownership, I’ve never had the pleasure of dealing with anything other than the occasional tick. I know dogs are not the most sanitary animals around, but seeing things crawl all over her fur gives me a slight case of the willies. For rolling around in the sand, and then all over my bed spread, Lola’s getting a cold bath in the driveway with flea and tick shampoo.

Because I live under a rock, I didn’t know about RedBull’s Last Man Standing until last night. These guys are some tough bastards. Not Dakar Rally tough, but damn near close. The course consists of 80 miles of varying terrain, from man-made obstacles, to ridiculous rock gardens. They run the course 80 miles forward during the day, and 80 miles backwards at night.

This picture made me laugh out loud. You can’t see the riders face, but I’m pretty sure he’s got one of those “But that doesn’t even look like it was ever a trail” expressions going on. The straight faced trail official pointing to a pile of sticks is the icing on a very muddy cake.

I disabled comments. Its not that I don’t appriciate all your feedback. Its the 5,402 spam comments I get. Rather than try and come up with inventive ways to get around all the spam, I’d rather just nip it at the bud…

Me:“Web Doctor! It hurts when I do this!”
Doctor:“Well, just stop doing that…”

I finally got a motor-building bench together, and set everything up for the big motor breakdown. Never worked on a motor like this, so I’ve been pretty good about taking my sweet-ass time taking it all apart. A little here, a little there, and plenty of photos to look back on when I can’t figure out how to put it all back together. Of course, I’m about 95% done removing the parts before the case-split, when I hit a big roadblock. The 5mm allen fastener that holds the gear shift selector drum into the cases is stuck. I hit it with the impact gun a couple times, and was only rewarded with a slightly rounded bolt. Going to buy a heat gun tonight and hope that a little warmth releases the bolts death grip before it rounds off. Ideas are appriciated.

Another 5:30am wake up. Its race day. No slowly getting out of bed with groans and protests. I was up, dressed, and ready to roll in five minutes flat. Gave the lady-friend a kiss and a hug before she fell back asleep, and Lola and I we’re out the door and into a truck overladen with racing equipment.

Standards McDonald’s breakfast fare (nothing but the best) and we’re moving. Making good time at that. By 7:00am, I’m 3/4 of the way there. Considering practice starts at 10:15, I figured I’d have plenty of time to set up my pits, and get my tires changed over. But whats this? I see a white Dodge Durango in a rest-stop, with its hood up! And its got a KTM 590 SMR, plated #67 on the back of it. Sonovabitch! Zsolt! I pull in to find an aggravated Zsolt yelling at triple-a about something or another, and the contents of his radiator running down the road into the storm drain. Crap. Zsolts race day ended before it even began. He didn’t get home until 3:00pm.

I get back on the road, now running late, and get to OVRP by 8:30am. Set up pits, and start changing out tires frantically when registration opens. In between wheels, I run in and register for the same two classes I raced at Englishtown, Open Amateur and Novice. OVRP runs transponders, so I had to give them my ID as collateral. I just start changing my front tire out, when the first practice group goes out. Curses. I try not to rush the tire change, and get it done, and geared up just in time for the last of my four practice sessions. I go out for five laps, before I ask too much of lukewarm tires, and bin it in. No damage, I ride the bike back to my pits.

The riders meeting bears that we will be running an eight-minute heat race to determine positions for qualifying, and a eight minute qualifying session (to determine starting positions for the actual race). Some joker decided that a 20-lap race would be a swell idea. Someone else asked to switch around the order the races we’re run. Before I could get a word in edgewise, the schedule was set, and the meeting was adjourned. And there it was. My race schedule was two back-to-back eight-minute heat races, two back-to-back qualifying sessions, and two-back to back races.

I used the heat sessions as my practice, and then the qualifying sessions, as well.. qualifying. I didn’t do too bad, qualifying fourth in Novice out of 14 riders, and 8th in Open Amateur (out of 12 riders). But as I rolled off the track, after my second qualifying session, I could feel how spent I was already. My laptimes on the qualifying board foretold the story that would soon become my day at the races. A 44.5 (second) fastest lap in my first session, and a 46.5 on my second session. Two whole seconds off my time. In every day life, two seconds isn’t a heartbeat. In racing, two seconds is an eternity.

Race #1, Open Amateur. Flag goes up, and I get a good start, pass two people right off the line. I pick off a guy on a KTM 525 EXC down the front straight on the brakes after three laps of trying passes, to no avail. I started really wicking it up now. The fourth place rider was way ahead of me, but I just wanted to put some distance between me and the guy I spent three laps trying to pass. I managed to put a good second or two lead on him through a few laps. The two flags in a X come up, and I’m halfway through the race. A lap or two later, I feel the KTM guy breathing down my neck again. I start pushing again, but I’m exhausted. I start missing shifts out of corners, and I even put it in neutral coming into turn one, and he zips by me. Adrenaline takes over, and I stay with him for the rest of the race, but I can’t make a pass. But he’s getting tired too, I can see it. We’re making some of the same mistakes, and on the last lap he misses a gear coming off the front straight, and I zipped up the inside of him, and over the start/finish line. As we exit the track, he reaches back and shakes my hand with a big grin and says “That was a hell of a battle huh?”.

I pull right off the pit-out road, and right back onto the starting grid for my novice race. I can barely pull in the clutch to put the bike in gear for the start. This is when I realize that I’m in serious trouble. Again, adrenaline takes over as soon as the officials hand goes up, and we’re off. I maintain my position in fourth, while the sandbaggers in third, second and first take off with the race. Someone passes me on the brakes into turn one, after the first lap, and I find myself running fifth. The red mist comes out, and I start chasing the rear tire of the guy who passed me.

I’m going all out, trying to set up passes on this guy. I hear my peg whacking the asphault on a couple turns, and I know I’m cooking. I get it sideways a little bit, matching his braking point into turn one. About eight laps in, I start missing shifts again. I know I’m done at this point. I over-exerted myself in the Open Am race, and its left me useless for the only race I have a chance of truly contending in. I look back and see Tim Moore (#427) who I’m pitted with behind me, right on my rear tire. I know I’m done, so I wave him by. By then end of the race, I’m pretty sure I’m close to running last, and its all I can do to simply finish the race.

All in all, I’m very disappointed in myself. If I spent less time sitting on my ass over the winter, and more time in the gym, I’d have the physique to at least do better than I did. I had the bike, the tires, and everything I needed to contend, except for the stamina. While its by no means a waste of a race weekend, it feels like that.

I’d like to thank my sponsors, Edwinwhite, and Teknikos Racing for their continued support, even if I’m sucking wind at the moment.

I hate it when I have to “make parts fit”. Its a weird technical skill that I must admit I’m not good at. Today I got the freeze-plugs for the jugs on my 900SS. When I measured them, I specifically needed 4 16mm plugs, and 2 20mm plugs. After checking with Ducati, it seems they only make 17mm, and 20mm plugs. I know my measurements weren’t off that far, but Miles from BCM assured me that after taking the Dremel wheel to the holes where the plugs live (to clean out the nasty black gunk that accumulates there) that they’d fit.

Two hours with a dremel, and I managed to get them in. But oh boy, it does not look pretty. But then again, none of my bikes look pretty. Maybe my wrenching goes with my chic biker style?

Just need a few more parts, a confirmation about the ring gaps, and I’ll have the new pistons in. And then I have to get the heads back together. Oy-vey..

Torch-mounted control for TIG welders, suck the big one.

Seriously. I just about threw mine right into the wood stove tonight. Why I didn’t get a foot pedal, I dont rightly know.