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.