As a general rule, contributing to this blog is what I do when I run out of things to do in the real world. Recently I've been finding myself involved in more and more photo and blog worthy projects and activities, but instead of breaking from the excitement(because trust me, it's exciting shit) to go grab my camera, I've been opting to stay focused and actually get some work done. However, for the moment I have successfully appeased Adam (the ADD monster that lives in my brain) with large quantities of watermelon sherbet, the sweet sounds of Murphy's Law, and promises of exploring the new building I now call home, so with out further adieu, so far this month..
By an amazing demonstration of poor planning, the 5 of us all managed to convene in Rockingham, NC for this years Smokeout. Camp Coconut was hastily set up and hastily blown away by the most intense wind and lighting storm I've ever done a burnout in the middle of an open field during as documented by Weird beard's waterproof electronic digital soul stealer. Actually that statement isn't entirely true. Kenny's tent was in fact not blown away as it was being held static by the intense weight of his chrome plated balls. Once the storm passed underwear was changed and the camp was rebuilt.
At some point on Friday a very persuasive voice announced over the PA, "anyone interested in running their bike on the dragway should meet at the start line with a helmet and leather jacket." Enter Adam the ADD monster in my head, and I instantly forgot about how I was supposed to baby my KTMAHA for the required 10 mile ACO ride the next morning. "Get your shit together asshole, I wanna race" was all I heard. I cant remember what my time was, but I know it sucked. No way was I being that guy that launches his uncaptained chrome pony through the traps on its side (he showed up later) so I totally babied it when the light turned green. What I do know is that the little hamster that could exited the 1/8 mile at 97mph. I'm fairly certain it exited the 1/8 mile about 10lbs lighter too as almost every nut and bolt I forgot to safety wire decided to peace out.
Next up was the glorified piece of Harley Davidson farm equipment I so lovingly call "Hope." (see: Abandon all..) Hope exited the 1/8 mile at something like 76mph at another irrelevant time. Sadly she exited the track with all of her 498lbs. Soon after while on the way to acquire delicious meats for crucial bbqing, Hope's transmission gave up the ghost. Once home I pulled the transmission out and found I had broken a tooth off of my countershaft third gear. Now my gears are in the capable hands of Gentle Ken and his boss..and I'm sitting on my floor eating sherbet, listening to Murphy's Law, and typing run on sentences about things no one could possibly care about. Adam says its dinner time.. to be continued