Slimy, slithery Carolina

In contrast to the past couple posts, this ones pretty short. Given the nature of Cross Country, its actually amazing we have the pics we do, and to have large quantities is definitely rare. Anyway, hard on the heels of Gatorback was the next race up in Fountain Inn SC. It was the first Carolinas White Lighting, a two day event put on by Greg Holder, Al Roof and their brood. There were four of us that met up for this one: Max, Jay, Chad (still burdened by a BSA single), and me. We arrived in the middle of the night surprised at how cold it was, only to get to wake up to the surprise of how cold AND rainy it was. A sane person would've crawled back in his sleeping bag and gotten someone to bring back breakfast....instead, we got suited up and headed out for the sighting lap. It became evident pretty quick that the weather had taken its toll on the course. What was probably a nice, hard packed solid surface just a day before was now slippery and slushy. The sighting lap was pretty horrible, one climb in particular I was greeted by Jay and some other riders waving us off the marked line, which was so slimy and chewed up it was already nearly impassable. A sane person would have gone to find some BBQ and beer in a warm dry place...instead we lined up for the start. Chad was nowhere to be seen, his ignition had packed up on the sighting lap...again, so a shivering Max, Jay, and I readied for the off. It was bad. Just from the sighting lap the course was chewed up and sloppy, with roots peeking up out of the mud and a true variety of clays, muds, and gloop of every color and consistency on offer.

At first I could at least see, but as the rain kept falling first the goggles got crud covered and unuseable, then the glasses. It didn't help that every time the bike got stuck or stopped a cloud of steam would waft up from the engine completely fogging my glasses. I finally gave up and just took my glasses off, deciding a fuzzy view was better than a completely obscured one.

Jay survived a lap and then his survival instincts kicked in and he got off the bike just past the timing tent and lay down on the ground. I had no such sense. For reasons I can't explain, I went back out. I couldn't see, my tires were loaded up and not grabbing at all, and the constant battling with the big Triumph was taking its toll and I was making mistakes. At one point in a V shaped trough thing the bike just went, leaving my leg pinned under the stonkin' hot head. With nothing to grab onto and unable get traction with hands or boots, the head started cooking its way through my soaked pant leg sending me into something of a frantic scramble to get my left leg onto the top of the seat to sorta kick myself free. Eeeesh.

Max was holding up better, he's a smoother rider, so wasn't getting as worn out. Which was great because it meant he had some spare energy when he came around to lap me at the bottom of a red clay uphill chute I was having no luck with whatsoever. Perhaps it was cruelty on his part, but he helped me get up the climb meaning I had to keep going...cruel indeed.

Max got around that lap and finished, even with his tires loaded up and looking like they were actually made of adobe

I was done, but still out on the course. I had fried my clutch, my brakes were pretty much gone and I really just wanted to get out more than finish. When I came to the hill that had already been a disaster on the sighting lap, and just couldn't get up it, I was just too tired to wrestle it up that climb. Just as I was about to bag it and walk out Max came back down the trail to find me and got my bike up the hill, prolly more because he felt bad for the bike than me. With that, I headed out. We all had hypothermia, so we retired to a hotel for warm showers, comfy beds, decent Mexican food and beer. We headed back in the morning for day two, which Max was actually going to run, to find it still raining and the days racing called. Which was fine with me, because even if my clutch hadn't been a charcoal briquette I was done for the weekend. Even a couple years on its still the nastiest thing I've ridden, mainly because of the combination of slimy course and a lack of experience on my part. Little did I know rain was going to be a near constant companion for the rest of the season. Maybe those desert racers were onto something....

Gatorback!!

I'm gonna try keeping typing to a minimum on this one for a couple reasons; first, because this is another rare case where we have tons of pics, so I'm mostly gonna let them tell the story, and second because it took a while to go through all said pics, and its time to get them up, dammit. But first, the usual introduction. After screwing around over the winter it was finally time for the season to start back up and generally get our asses in gear. The first race of the year is traditionally our home race, coinciding with the start of Daytona Bikeweek and this year had switched from Hardrock to Gatorback Cycle Park. Max had done a truly fantastic job destroying his engine at Durhamtown, trashing everything from the head down. He literally collected the engine's innards in a bucket. Amazingly, he got it back together for the race, but it was a very fresh, very tight engine. For this first race we had guests! Chad "the Flying Brisket", another of the NC boys, had put a bike together and had come down to join in the fun. It was another of them BSA single things, maybe a 441, B-40, B-50...no idea. But our guest of honor was Alex the Mad Russian from Ton-up Stockholm, who had come to the US with his wife for a vacation and decided to waste the trip watching us race. However, it is mainly due to his presence that we have so many pics. George still wasn't quite ready to go racing, so I believe he also took some of these, but I'm not sure which ones were taken by who. So lets just get right into it!
The "race" started the night before at the pub, gotta condition ourselves, of course,

That's Alex in the back there, helping Gorge get his Tr5t started. His foot still wasn't 100%, so starting was a weird side-saddle, lefty hop dance. Not the most graceful routine, and part of the reason he took a pass on racing just yet.

I guess we got some sleep, because we were up at the crack of dark to head to Gainesville the next morning. Here's some mood shots getting gas,

The AJS Stomper, itchin' ta git',

If you have kids that can read Swedish, they might not want to read Chad's requested decoration,

As the sun rose, we arrived and unloaded,

Chad, on his momentarily running BSA,

Waking up a Triumph,

Then it was over to register and tech in the bikes,

Dirty thing, still has Georgia mud on 'er,

Cleaner, just off a fresh rebuild,

One seriously tech'd in dude and his motersickle,

Which meant it was time for the sighting lap,

Here's me talking to our friend Fred. At this point he was a friend of a friend, but he's definitely grown to be one of the guys we like seeing at races. Fred is a hell of a good guy and a damned good rider.

Lined up for the sighting lap, this is the most nerve wracking time, after this it gets easier, because from here on you just get to work,

For me it was mostly a straight forward sighting lap, but Max was watering his engine when I pulled back up to the line. Apparently the fresh engine was wanting to seize, he was cooling his plugs so he could actually touch them to see if he was running lean,

That didn't seem the case, so it was likely a tight engine, rings not seated, and generally not run in. Max had a few things to balance in his head. He figured if he had to break it in, it might as well be now, but also, if it was gonna blow, then it was just gonna have ta' blow. Not starting never really entered the thinking, just a bit of calculus regarding what he should do during the race: flog it an' see, or nurse it around.

Chad was no where to be seen, his bike deciding to have ignition trouble on the sighting lap, ending his racing for the day. Luckily my biggest problem was being a large, hairy, sweaty dude,

So we lined up, and got ready to get on with it,

Did Max take it easy on his ailing machine? Shit no! Max is physically incapable of laying up. He was first off the line with the hole shot up the hill,

I was a bit further back, as usual,

And Max kept it up,

Until he seized it, that is. He managed to keep it going, seizing, limping along, going when it would let him. I was oblivious, and just kept plugging along

Eventually I passed him, but it was odd to come across him, I'm so used to never seeing him during a race until he comes up to lap me. In the next pic you can see him behind me. He stayed with me a bit to push me along and keep up a bit of pace himself

But even at my pace he kept seizing, and slowly dropped back. I kept plowing on. I seem to have a sixth sense for screwing up right in front of cameras, as you can see in the next series I call "Overcooking a Turn: a Photo Montage"

This type of screw up is bad. It may not be a crash, but these little mistakes are what wear you out the most. Once you're off your line, you have to get back on course, get your speed up so you can get back on the pegs. A series of these little mistakes throughout a race will do you in quick. Here's Max taking the same turn clean. You can clearly see how smooth riding not only allows you to go faster in a direct sense, but it wears you out less

Max was certainly still fresh, but his bike was protesting, he had no choice but to lay off. Not that it wiped the smile off his face much

That pretty much left me out there grinding on, here's the start of the last lap

And the finish...not sure which is more worn out, me or the bike

This type of racing kicks your ass, but its amazing how quick the smile comes to your face afterwards

Even Max was pretty happy, not about the bike, but because there were chicken strips waiting in the truck

With spirits running high, we loaded up

And headed back to St. Augustine to drink beer and...um...drink beer

As a parting photo, here's a group shot: L to R, George, Alex, Max, Jimbo, me, and Chad.