This year has been a blur, and it’s not over. The pitfalls started when my motor wasn’t going to arrive until after Sturgis. Then my painter, Jim Murillo passed away unexpectedly, and the pressure mounted. He was a good man and friend. I was attempting to build a vintage land speed racer under difficult conditions and faced ridiculous time constraints. For some unforeseen cosmic reasoning, we experienced a large culmination of roving guests this summer. Plus I was suddenly working with my son, then my grandson, on motorcycle projects.
First, JoAnn Bortels flew into town a couple of times while building an all female-built custom Mustang for a SEMA promotion, sponsored by a couple of Sorc magazine titles, and SPEED Vision. Then Nicole Brosing popped in from Australia for her annual foray into the states, and perhaps Sturgis. My grandson called weekly on Monday evenings and asked if I could stop Bikerneting on Tuesday and just work on motorcycles, and of course, his 650 XS we are building with Mr. Lucky. I recruited him to help me with the Bonne Belle.
Ray C. Wheeler, our esteemed Performance Editor, escaped north to find the pieces of two motorcycles, his record setting Dyna Glide, and his new 124-inch turbo-charged Twin Cam for the salt. So our consistent team member missed all the action preparing for the salt as he bounced from Washington to Morgan Hill, California searching for parts and Hyabusa components. While we began the final effort preparations, making t-shirts, banners, patches, hats, and finding supplies, like Spectro Oils, we also searched for the perfect vehicle and trailer. This is not out of the ordinary. All teams face similar circumstances for every meet, but our over-amped list of projects slammed together in the last two weeks.
We started on the Bonne Belle six years ago, and all the exotic pieces were now falling into place. Even in July, we were still discussing compression ratios. Mikuni suggested a minimum of 9:1 for their 42 mm flatside carburetor, but while riding through Maggie Valley on the 20th of June, Dale Walksler was adamant. “No more compression than 6.5 or 7:1 in a flathead motor, or they will run like shit.” He explained how difficult the spark and flame front reacts when combustion occurs over the valves and not the piston. I was beginning to get it, and relieved Lee Clemens of his concerns when I pulled the plug on the higher compression. That communication took place while riding a Victory Highball to the 12th Annual Smoke Out in Rockingham, North Carolina.
I was anxious to return to the shop, work on the roller and wait for the Departure Bike Works crew to report on a running engine. Here’s where all the speculative planning and preparations started to move toward a life in the Bikernet Interplanetary Headquarters on the edge of the Port of Los Angeles. I’ve built a few motorcycles, and most have been rigid big twins or Evos. Nothing too exotic, until this one.
Since I wasn’t attending the mandatory Hamster Run, the good Doctor Hamster and I road-tested our new Evos on a 700-mile ride to Mammoth Lake and back to check in with the Hamster contingent rolling out of San Francisco, through Yosemite. We peeled out to meet them. Hell, some Hamsters rode from Spearfish and beyond, back to Yosemite to catch the ride. We spent the night, tinkered with the Doctor’s FLH and rode back to the shop, where the real work was happening.
It was going to be two weeks before I could pick up my engine, but the daunting work list hovered over the shop. Chris Morrison agreed to take on my sheet metal painting after my good friend Jim Murillo passed, although they were creative rivals. With the help of George, The Wild Brush, artist and pinstripper, I ran from one end of town to the other in an effort to handle the final coating as efficiently as possible.
I started the simple wiring harness, coupling only the battery to the Wire Plus speedo system and idiot lights for oil pressure and neutral. It was a breeze with the tiny battery and I found an adjustable bungee to hold the battery in place, but it made me nervous. Somewhere in the rulebook, it calls for a metal strap to secure the battery. I started to search the shop for options. Before we left, I found a chain and two taught springs to hold it securely in place.
I couldn’t start on the BDL primary belt installation without the engine. I couldn’t even adjust the rear chain. But I could install the transmission loose and the Biker’s Choice clutch cable, perhaps from Motion Pro. We started to work on a series of articles on how to order custom cables. It’s always a trick. With clutch cables, I dug around and measured using a stock cable, and the difference. The catalog lists all versions of stock cables, and somehow I figured it out. I’ve got to give the staff at Biker’s Choice credit, including Carmen, who always reached out to a knowledgeable staff member, including Charlie Haydia, to help steer me in the right direction.
Before final clutch cable assembly, I oiled the cable the old-fashioned way, taping a zip-lock bag to the bar end of the cable and adding just enough Spectro oil tranny fluid to allow it to seep down the cable. In a couple of hours, it was soaked and ready to rock. I also used an old traditional clutch lever, by boring out the bar portion of the lever so the housing fit into the lever, and then I drilled the Teflon bushing and inserted a cotter key and a couple of washers to hold it in place. I greased the mess, and the cable was ready.
Ah, but when I pulled the end off the transmission, I discovered no throw-out bearing, and no bearings or ramp. I dug around my transmission file and discovered exactly what I needed. Again, a close call. Later, I discovered I forgot the protective rubber boot, especially important in the salt and when the adjuster might rub against the frame. I disassembled the cable and installed the boot.
Lee coached me over the phone. “You must have copper wire core spark plug wires for this magneto-driven motor.” I went on the search and quickly discovered the lack of wire-core spark plug wires at local shops, but I found a set of very cool old school LowBrow wire core spark plug wires, but would they be long enough?
With the sheet metal installed over the new Avon tires, I pondered removing the wheels and having them shaved for enhanced traction at Nate’s. In the meantime, I kept busy studying the rules, and safety-wire drilling axle fasteners. Then Nicole Brosing rolled into town from San Francisco with Sin Wu.
This is where life started to heat up. A couple of days prior, Richard Kranzler called out of the blue and asked if I would be interested in a trade of a 2004 high-top Chevy Express with a tow package for my Sturgis Shovelhead. We were in a heated search for a better Bonneville vehicle. “Send me a couple of images, but it sounds damn good,” I said, biting my nails. It was around the 6th of August, and Sturgis sizzled in the Badlands. I had two weeks to finish the Bonne Belle and peel out.
The images arrived, the van was perfect, the girls were going to San Francisco, the van was in Tacoma, and Richard was on the road, driving a truck. The girls turned us down. They wouldn’t recover the van—squeamish. I looked into shipping it, but because of the high-top, I was looking at over a grand. What a strange gig shipping is. You can’t talk to a shipper. You negotiate with brokers and they grab any truck in the neighborhood to handle the job. I must have received 200 calls and e-mails trying to snatch my business.
The final option called for me to fly to Seattle, pay for a limo to haul me to Olympia, and drive the van home. I was going to save $300 and lose three days. We just kept moving forward and crossing our fingers for a break. The first break came when I called my past webmaster, Jason Douglas. He offered to pick me up at the Seattle airport and fly me, in his private plane, to Olympia. Beautiful, and that would save us time and $200. Then McDonalds afforded us the big break. Richard hauled loads of potatoes from farmers to Mickey Dee’s processing plant, but the potatoes were too small, and they needed them left on the ground for another week to grow. Amazing, Richard caught a break, serviced the van and drove to Los Angeles.
Now get this. He was going to hop on the Sturgis Shovelhead and ride it back to Tacoma. I would have the van detailed; a local company would skin some of the windows with Bikernet logos. I would need whatever trailer hitch and electrical connector to make it all work, and I was down to just over a week and still waiting for my engine. Oops, I forgot the key element or two. I had a trailer from a divorced friend, but a buddy of the friend borrowed it. I needed to give him a call, and get the custom trailer back. Plus we were waiting on Tobey’s Ninja to be shipped back from New Jersey where famous tuner/builder Bob Carpenter performed headwork. We were also waiting on the big dog, Ray C. Wheeler’s 120-inch twin cam monster.
I called Jeff Levy about the trailer and he announced in a casual voice that it would not be available until the middle of September, two weeks after Bonneville. Holy shit! I didn’t blink or drink more whiskey, but immediately drove out to Carson trailers. I looked up trailers on Craig’s list. I made numerous calls, and then called Frank Esposito at Kendon. There was a chance we could cut a deal. This conversation took place on Tuesday, almost exactly one week before our departure.
On Wednesday we had a deal, Thursday I published the Bikernet Weekly News, and Friday I called to confirm with Frank and he was out of town. I left a message. Hamsters were arriving home from the Badlands, and I reached Howard. My engine was only a day away, and not far. The next morning, Howard called. He had it delivered to his home in Hawthorne, just five stinking miles away. The next morning, I pulled up to his pad and was greeted by a securely wrapped magnum 45 engine on Howard’s engine stand.
You can imagine. Shit was beginning to fly. We still needed to build the exhaust system and pray my hunt-and-peck alignment procedure for the transmission and the BDL primary would work. I had all the stainless D&D components to make the pipes work, and I spoke to Aaron, the tech guy at D&D, about design and length.
I immediately stripped the engine of its padding and heaved it into the Paughco frame. This was just the start of a lengthily self-testing procedure. There were so many unanswered questions. Would the engine fit? Could I TIG-weld stainless? Did I cover all the safety requirements and would it pass on the salt? Would the bike run? Could it carry the gearing? Would it handle? Could Tobey ride it? Would the trans align with the engine? Would the bike survive a pass on the salt? And would we, could we set a record?
The engine fit like a dream, but we still needed a top motor mount. I had to pull a couple of headbolts, get longer jobs, machine spacers, etc.
Nicole offered to assist, as she is as mechanical as she is artistic. She immediately read the Run Whatcha Brung rules and started to inspect the bike. We drilled more holes, inserted the flameproof protection over the gas line, and she didn’t like my length. She wanted more. Just like a woman…
I started to cut lengths of D&D heavy-walled tubing for the stepped exhaust. The D&D crew sent plenty of pieces with various bends, but it was still a challenge, and my first attempt at TIG-welding stainless was awkward and troublesome. I didn’t like the flow or the bead, and it was time-consuming. My list was a mile long and I had less than a week. My goal was to complete the pipes on Friday and the mental pressure was slowing me down. Then the phone rang. It was Tobey, the local certified welder with the Ninja. He offered to roll over and help with welding—a miracle.
Over the next few days, Tobey gave us fantastic hints about TIG welding, my welder, tips, purging welds, you name it. My TIG welding will be much improved in the future. He welded the first front pipe together and each weld was absolutely perfect. He explained that if we could purge the pipes with gas, the weld on the inside would mirror the smooth beads on the outside.
We made our goal of finishing the manufacturing of the performance exhaust system on Friday, but Tobey would come by after work on Saturday and finish the final welding. He was beginning to get nervous about the location of his Ninja. Nicole looked at me on Saturday morning and muttered, “Would you rather be alone with your list?”
That was an interesting question. I’m accustomed to working alone in my shop and making stuff happen, but this was different, and enlightening. I was well aware of pressures, and how important every helping hand had on our progress, including Nicole, Richard, Tobey, Jeremiah, Chris Morrison, George The Wild Brush, and soon Dr. Willie. Shit was coming together fast as a team.
After I installed the rear fender, we set the seat in place and discovered a problem. The panel on the plate covered a portion of George’s numbers. I discussed the placement of the numbers with George, but I was thinking about the class lettering open space and missed the seat consideration. Usually, George rolls over to the headquarters and would have witnessed seat placement, but we were moving fast, and George was painting graphics on race boats.
I called Nicole and asked her to sketch the modification on the seat skirt, which was polished stainless steel. She did, then picked up the high-speed cut-off wheel and went to work, another project clipped off the list. I could write another paragraph about her measuring and sketching considerations. She measured that seat in a myriad of fashions to make sure it aligned properly.
Richard arrived with the van, and we started a process of detailing and skinning the side windows and rear window with Bikernet logos, then along the bottom with 5-Ball Sponsor stickers. Jordon handled the detailing, with Kyle’s assistance.
Before the van arrived, we sent images of the Van windows with careful Chris Kranzler measurements to Wellington Signs, who were in the process of moving their headquarters. In the meantime, I worked with Andy at Crank and Stroker on our 5-Ball racing T-shirts, and Nyla worked on hand-knitting 5-Ball logos to grass hats.
Then Dr. Willie stopped by. Willie is a master H-D mechanic. He has worked with and for the best in the business, but the slipping industry left him without much involvement. He asked if he could help. He started to pop over on a daily basis.
On Saturday, we completed the exhaust system. Willie had a notion for the top motor mount, but made me raise the tank for spark plug tool clearance. Then he didn’t like my oil line routing and altered the return line, but in his process he snapped the fitting off the oil pump. We took a dangerous step backwards.
I was making serious progress, and Willie brought me a custom oil filter housing that bolts into the generator hole. I had to re-drill and tap the holes in the billet aluminum housing, and for some reason, this is where our hefty progress subsided. I could not line up my new mounting holes with the holes in the case. I fought it for a couple of hours, then gave in and crashed.
So much about any project is about never giving up and seeing the project through, no matter what. I stumbled on a couple of recent endeavors, and then built my confidence with the Mudflap Girl FXRs. This project languished way too long. It was time to see it through—no matter what.
Willie has that custom tendency anchored in his blood. He wants to change everything, but now we were pulling the cam cover. I wanted to check for aluminum shavings from my oil filter operation and Willie needed to retime the oil breather system. This turned into a major operation. Then Willie didn’t like the sparkplug heli-coil in the front head and decided to replace it with another insert. All these extra projects were adding time to the effort.
It was Sunday. I was hoping to pick up the Kendon, combo, three-bike trailer on Monday. We woke up to a van flat tire. I dropped Frank a note, and due to a powder-coating booth shutdown, and increased orders, my trailer would not be ready until Wednesday at the earliest, and maybe not until Thursday or Friday, the day I planned to be in Wendover. Our plan called for rolling out on Thursday. It didn’t matter when. That was the Wink Eller code—get out of town on Thursday.
I had to spend some time on the Sturgis Shovel, and Richard needed to cut a dusty trail back to Tacoma. We finished the new insert in the head, the top motor mount, fixed the Express tire, sent Richard down the road and cut into Tuesday. Tobey came over and sat on the bike. The pipes were working out fine, but I needed to build a major heat shield, which I did with Samson spares from around the shop.
For some reason, we grappled with other items while struggling to align the trans with the engine. Willie had a plan to machine Lee’s spacer to allow the BDL Sportster’s notched sleeve to reach deeper onto the shaft, but we needed another engine pulley, and Willie was kind enough to make a couple of runs to the BDL factory until we had the correct pulley. The trans aligned perfectly with a few shims, but we had a few issues with the clutch. I put it together about three times. Twice I installed the clutch with the new BDL locking tool. It kept hiding in the clutch, or it was late and we needed to knock off shop work and hit the hay.
I believe it was Tuesday before we received the final word from Kendon. They were shooting for a Wednesday pick-up. We were beginning to look at burning through Thursday and making the long haul on Friday. The van was prepped and detailed by Wednesday morning when Willie and I peeled toward the Kendon headquarters just about 30 miles south of us. The Kranzler 5-Ball van already made our day. It was smooth and comfortable. We filled out the paperwork at Kendon‘s Anaheim headquarters, said hello to Ken, and discovered our hitch was too low.
Then we received a panic call from Tobey. His bike couldn’t be delivered on Thursday, maybe Friday. It was currently in a warehouse in Orange, California, the next town south of Anaheim. We could pick it up, except the van held no straps, plus we needed the proper electrical connector and a new hitch drawbar. We searched for a Pep Boys on the internet and discovered the missing location. The second one was golden. We received MapQuest directions and in 20 minutes we found the Allied Van Lines warehouse. But would they release his bike to a couple of grubby bikers in a van?
“The Allied motorcycle division treated me like a king,” Tobey said. “They bent over backwards to keep track of my bike, to handle my pick-up needs. They were very helpful and professional.”
It’s crazy how a couple of thugs burn through a day on a couple of missions. Hell, one trip to Pep Boys for a handful of items turns into a burnt 45 minutes. We debated straps and Willie won. I’ll never use these bizarre bastards again. (Keep in mind that I had a bag of 20 or so straps at home.). We bought a hitch with three different sized balls. Hopefully, that will answer all our questions for years to come. Who knows? A vast array of various electrical connectors lined the counter and we dug for 15 minutes trying to find the perfect connector—success.
We called Tobey, he called the shipper and negotiated with them for the release of his upgraded baby, and we found the warehouse amongst a maze of white, tilt-up concrete buildings. We followed the GPS to the spot where the girl at the switchboard gave us a hint. “It’s behind the Pitney Bowes building.” I also received a call from Ray C. Wheeler. He wasn’t going to make it. I was relieved for Ray. He needed to take careful tuning time with that monster.
We shot the shit for two minutes while a forklift delivered Tobey’s Ninja outside to our trailer. The warehouse contained at least a dozen motorcycles, including new Harleys strapped to pallets. They probably would have given us a couple of straps. Remember the Michael Lichter rule–always four straps. We peeled back to the headquarters where the Bonne Belle was complete, but wouldn’t run. We called Lee for guidance. He machined the flywheels so there were some timing-mark doubts. We tried everything, still no running motorcycle. It fired once or twice, but it wasn’t comfortable with our timing. We shifted gears to loading the van, checking the air pressure in the rear airbags, and grabbing for anything we might need.
Tobey unloaded his bike and decided to do anything he could before we reached the salt. That was a solid notion, but I wanted to work on his Ninja about as much as I wanted to paint this building by hand. But we needed to get the job done. I loaded, and Tobey stripped the bike down. This was a scramble and the lovely Nyla had bowed out until the last minute. She purchased some supplies, like a large plastic container of peanut butter filled pretzels for protein, trail mix, and cases of bottled water, vitamin waters, and green tea. We needed a new 10-by-10. The last one was dinged and I gave it away at the Mojave Mile, and then learned that they run almost $200 clams for a quality tent. I’ll never throw one away again, but they are still junk. I’ll tell you the tent tech tip story later.
We scrambled into the night, with a diminished team, more bikes, and new vehicles. It was a guessing game. Our well-thought-out, concise organizational skills were toast. We tossed shit in the back of that wide-open Express, including our Kendon stand-up lift, and hoped for the best.
I helped Tobey with the gearing change, the new chain with riveted master link. We worked on it until 3:00 a.m. on Thursday, slept to 8:00 and peeled out. What’s the deal with riveted master links? Not sure I like them. Master links allow you to make additional changes, but these bastards are a pain, and you’re shot. If you need to break the chain down, you need another link. Fill me in?
I was going to attempt revelry at the crack of dawn, but fuck it. We needed some sleep. We backed out of the highly secure headquarters parking area as the iron gate closed, drove a half-mile, pulled over and checked the straps. We were on our way, Friday morning, direct route to the Salt Flats, 684 miles.
[page break]
We drove all day, and the Kranzler Van made the trip. Whatta score. I hope he doesn’t want her back. Since we worked night and day for the last couple of weeks, my note-taking efforts slipped to the back of the bus. We were just glad to be near the historic salt and ready for something, anything, even if it was wrong.
Saturday, we pulled in line at 5:30 a.m. for set-up, pre-registration and inspections. My list called for fixing my primary and my battery strap. There would be no racing today, and at 8:00 p.m., I needed to be trolling the Salt Lake Airport for Lee Clemens, who was flying in from Richmond, Virginia. They didn’t allow us onto the salt before 9:00, and by then, all the good spots were taken with barriers and bullshit on the salt. Why the hell would we come early, if some were allowed to grab all the good spots the previous day? I could have slept in.
There were a few spot squabbles, but peaceful heads prevailed and all settled in for a week of land speed record attempts. I stood in line to register in the Run Whatcha Brung (RWB) class. One of the previous years, this class was organized on a separate short course. I wanted to test this puppy, since I didn’t believe this flathead was capable of breaking any 750 cc records. The RWB class only costs $200, whereas other classes are as much as $700. Later, I heard riders complain about RWB guys holding up LSR attempt teams from running. Made sense. Time is always a major issue on the salt.
Okay, so we jammed over to the line, but were informed that only pre-registered riders would be handled today. Ray C. was supposed to pre-register all of us, but was too busy on his rocket ship. Another lesson learned. We might lose a day on the salt. As it turned out, toward the end of the day, I checked on registrations and they slipped me through. Tobey was negotiating with the ERC Fuel truck about fuel, and wasn’t having a good time. He wanted specifically MR-12 gas, and the ERC representative would not acknowledge any knowledge of such a fuel. His truck rig contained 50-gallon drums of ERC 110K, ERC A-19A, ERC MUL/A and ERC A-8C.
We drained Tobey’s tank and he was required to have a specific gas inserted, then the tank sealed. As it turned out, the new seal could have capped off his gas tank venting system. Saturday was a scramble to set up, sign up, have the bikes inspected and fueled, and prepped for passes the following day.
I had my series of goals to encounter and overcome. One of the first was to pass inspection. I was as nervous as a kid with a bag of marijuana trying to get on a plane. I guess I’m just an old outlaw always trying to get away with something. It was nearing the end of the day as I pushed the little 45 silver bullet toward the inspection area. We never built a kickstand and were forced to carry a couple of 2-by-4s everywhere we went. Later, I discovered that our bench jack would work perfectly, but it would have been a heavy bastard to haul around the flats.
The line was brief for inspection, but the Bonne Belle was a bastard to lean over and steer. That resided next on my list of hurtles: How would this puppy handle? Everywhere we went, folks fell in love with the Belle. She was a sexy bullet, made up of a unique combination of vintage components. The big-guy inspector took my paper work, grabbed a RWB check-off sheet and his young assistant immediately and energetically ran from one end of the bike to the other shouting off checked items and asking me questions. The process flew from safety wiring to tire stem caps, and I was finished in a flash of hot sunlight. What a relief. Tobey’s sport bike goals were more specific and technical with fuel injection maps, fuels, and gearing.
“Where do you want the tag?” the kid asked me.
“Must be on the left side.” I pointed at a fork leg. I was dazed and relieved as I walked scott-free from the impound yard, like a prisoner being cut loose.
Next, a dash to the airport almost two hours away to find Lee Clemens. Next on the list was making the Bonne Belle run, and to witness how she handled, and if Tobey could ride her? By the end of the day, both bikes were registered and inspected. We were ready to make a pass. Well sorta.
Sunday, we were back on the salt before the sun came up. Tobey was just about ready to get in line for a pass when he discovered misaligned brake pads from our late-night gearing change. I have never run across a caliper fitting over a brake rotor without the pads residing on either side. This Kawa allowed us to install the caliper without the pads in the correct position. We corrected it while Lee went to work re-timing the Bonne Belle. He donned his Nyla-stitched grass hat and went to work.
Tobey made a back road pass for the first time on the Bonne Belle while Lee listened intently to the engine and shifting. Handling was awkward and Tobey pointed at the steering damper. “It could be too tight, and I’m fighting it.”
I backed off the adjustment and the neck-bearing nut. The next test run was golden. We were almost ready for a pass when a storm front rolled over the flats and opened up on us. First, the wind kicked up and we scrambled around the tent, attempting to pull off the cover and lower the structure. We quickly learned not to fasten the hood with the center Velcro straps. What a pain, when the tent wants to be a sail and fly away. We pulled, yanked, and then ducked into the glorious van.
Ray had just arrived but ran for the border in Wendover. He shoulda stay and helped. Ten minutes later, the rain passed and we were straightening out our pit area. We attached the remote battery, hit the Willie starter lead and she fired up once more. We were definitely ready for a pass, but the day had ended. Monday would be another day. Unfortunately, the FM radio connection wasn’t good off the salt and information was sketchy. We checked the Bub website but nothing. They could set up a free blog and download reports on a minute-to-minute basis easily.
Washed out the next morning and sequestered to our rooms, we made a dash to the famous Wendover Air Force Base, and then decided to take the tour—Amazing. I fought with the hotel over internet access. It wasn’t available in the rooms. I used the Starbucks connection in the coffee shop. I studied the Bub/AMA sites and the classes and records for the 750 cc class. I constantly questioned my RWB status. If the bike hauled ass, I was wasting time. The record in the MPS-VBG was 86. That’s a blown record and I didn’t fit. The SC-VG was 46, and VF was 97, but I also didn’t fit. I kept searching. The A-AG record at 148 was probably out of reach. Then I ran across APS-VG at 106 and APS-VF at 113. They were doable and I was kicking my own ass for not researching more. But ring seating was also a consideration. The bike needed to be run in heat cycles to 220 degrees several times to ensure the rings had seated.
The next morning, we were back on the salt at the crack of dawn. Tuesday turned into a turning point. Tobey asked me to work the pits with him during his passes, since Ray was socializing and looking for a girl to make a pass on his bike, so we jumped into line. Over 285 bikes were registered to run and the lines weren’t so bad, but slow moving. We waited three hours to make our first pass, and Tobey pulled a disappointing 179.
“It ran clean for the first two miles, and easily up to 13,500 rpms, 500 past the factory redline,” Tobey said. “I was well into 6th gear; then it started to surge and lose rpms, down to 11,000 then back up to 11.5, then to 12,000 and down to 11,000.
We immediately got in line for another pass and waited another 2.5 hours to face the green flag again. Tobey wanted to run on the long course, so he had time to adjust his position and work up to speed.
“This time it ran clean to the 3-mile marker and started to surge even worse,” Tobey said. Another so-so pass at 184 mph. Tobey began a harried investigation and after four mechanics, all agreed that it was a fuel delivery issue. He also found a Kawasaki week link, the in-tank fuel pump had a historic problems. Tobey began to ask around in the pits for another fuel pump. I called Lee in the pits. Should we attempt another pass or get the Bonne Belle out to the track. “We need a pass, so we can tune for tomorrow,” Lee encouraged. Tobey was a man with a mission. He spoke to everyone, made calls into town and checked his pocket book, which was empty.
Ray’s old pal, Lynn, and his son showed up and offered to roll to Salt Lake and retrieve the fuel pump. Tobey called the Kawasaki dealer South Valley Motorsports and spoke to Josh in the parts department. He didn’t have one unless they pulled one off a new ZX10R. It was remotely doable with the blessing of three guys above him. An hour later, a positive decision arrived and Lynn and Bob would take the 5-hour journey to Salt Lake and back. Tobey made a call to Los Angeles and a friend with a working credit card.
Another problem nudged Tobey, the ERC gas and its response to his dyno-tested mapping. “It wasn’t working,” Tobey said and spoke to Jason DeSalvo, a National Road Racing Champ. Tobey road raced for three years, and was acknowledged by Gary Dixon as a tough competitor at one La Carrera race.
Jason spoke to the team in the Triumph America pits and turned up at our pit with a 5-gallon can of MR-12 from VP Fuels. Amazing, and the team was on the road to Salt Lake to retrieve the pump. They delivered it to his room at the hotel in the evening.
For the first time, we were grappling with the downside of having two bikes in one pit. It’s tough enough to deal with one bike; what if we had all three? It was almost 5:00 p.m. before the Bonne Belle reached staging and they shut the track down at 6:00, another day shot.
That night at dinner, Lee explained how he ran a Departure Bike Works drag bike crew for 25 years, and a few of his rules, like not having more than one bike to focus on, and not allowing the pilot to work on any aspect of the bike. “If the pilot works on the bike, he’ll treat it with consideration, when we want him to run the piss out of it. “
We agreed that Wednesday, our last day, had to be devoted to the Bonne Belle, then Ray could pit with Tobey for the final day, while Lee and I peeled toward the airport.
We discovered serious reversion occurring around the carburetor. Gas was flying out of the carb instead to being sucked into the compression chamber. “We’ve watched this change significantly,” Lee said, “by holding a screwdriver across the back of the exhaust.”
We had high hopes on the second pass, and Lee jacked the timing to 40 degrees of advance over 25. Tobey enjoyed the ride, was comfortable with my wild shifting operation, but again we watched him shift up to third gear and then face problems. The bike made another 66-mph pass in second gear. “One guy said he never saw a 45 flathead go over 60,” Tobey said.
We watched a Bandido crew running a stock 45 flathead, and they hit a consistent 84 mph. Fortunately, he ran it in the 1000 cc class, but he was also disappointed. “I have a stock 45 at home that will do 100 mph, and this is my race bike,” the Bandido, said shaking his head after the race.
As we headed to the airport Thursday morning, Tobey replaced his fuel pump, and refilled his tank with MR-12 fuel, then switched his class designation to fuel. He was ready for the pass under cool, overcast skies, and a perfect no-wind day. Tobey, with Ray at his side, rushed to the staging area as fast as he could and waited for 1.5 hours before the green flag fell.
“The conditions were perfect,” Tobey said. “The air was perfect, my fuel was right on for my ignition mapping, and I was in the fuel production class.” He worked up through the gears, which were set for a 207-mph top speed. “I pulled clean to 13,500 rpm and held fast. I reached sixth gear, felt a smooth rush of wind over my body, with no chop. I was in the zone and smiling from ear to ear.”
Just as he approached the 3-mile mark, his engine shut off. He quickly steered with his left hand and messed with his ignition key with his right, the kill switch, but nothing happened and he pulled off the track to the right, where he discovered the absence of his kill switch lanyard. It yanked the ignition connection as it was trained to do, and lay in the track.
With the lanyard retrieved, he begged to a return pass, but was told to return to staging. He jammed back to the pits, altered his gearing to one tooth lower at his rear wheel and jammed back to the staging area for another pass. Two and a half hours later he was set free on the international long course. By now, it was afternoon and a 10-mph headwind faced him, and then it started to rain. He faced wet surfaces and wheel slippage, and a lackluster pass of 179 once more. The Bub’s meet was over.
What a rush of adrenaline, just to be there, to learn about our machines in tough conditions. Ray is looking at the Mojave Mile for his first pass with his 5-Ball Raycer, and Tobey will be there to confirm what he believes his Ninja is capable of. The Bonne Belle will return to the salt after some Departure gang tuning in Richmond, Virginia. And the 5-Ball racing crew will chase more records in the future.
5-Ball Racing Bonne Belle Sources
Accurate Engineering
BDL
Departure Bike Works
Kustoms Inc.
517-627-3131
Grand Ledge, MI
Pacific Coast Cycles
2430 Lewis Ave.
Signal Hill, CA 90755
(562) 426-8095
http://www.pacificcoastcycle.co
Paughco
Performance Machine
Street Walker Exhaust
U.S. Choppers
http://www.uschopper.com/
Wire Plus
Yankee Engineuity
http://www.yankeeengineuity.com
