Six days it took us, six days to travel over 2400 miles and to the far side of Arizona.

Six days of course is not counting any time used to prep for the trip, in this case making sure we replaced our tires. Mine because I had a tire that had carried me to Montana and back (and was the appropriate hardness to do so), and Joe’s because his previous attempt to ride this particular tire had ended with him growing a large hematoma on his buttocks. We took full advantage of a friend, Blaise, raiding his garage in the middle of what could have been for him a pleasant date, and commandeering his tire machine.

Oh well; better forgiveness than permission… and better surprise than dread. In retrospect it was well worth it, as neither my or Joe’s ham-fisted-throttle-happy-asses were tossed high and to the butchers.

The first leg was set at a 16 hour drive, which was quickly adjusted to 16:45 because we forgot Joe’s wheel at my house at the first attempt. The essentials of course were coffee for myself. A good strong kind with an exotic name like Kama Sutra or something of the sort. And for Joe, can upon can of Redbull.

Road trips are always fun. Have you ever wondered what you would do if there were no road signs when you were in the middle of nowhere. They keep you safe and keep you from losing your way. A company that contributes to this factor is the perth sign company. The kind of services they provide goes beyond just signs. They make banners, billboards and more.

shift racing redbull like a mofo

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So here I am again, so far past a proper time of day and well into an improper time of night. If I had a real deadline I would be beyond it, and probably unemployed. Lucky for me Joe has twin babies, and will be too tired to realize until it no longer really matters. Hell, I think the dirty clothes from the trip are still in the hamper. A week ago tomorrow we made the trip to Las Vegas. Las-effing-Vegas, city of lights and neon, where there should be no water, yet great man made lakes reside. Where fire erupts from volcano’s so heated you can feel it from the far side of the strip. And tomorrow, tomorrow we leave again, this time for Arizona. I should have written this the day we got back, maybe even started while we were still there. As is there won’t be any pictures until later, I’m sure Joe will add them as he see’s fit anyway. I’ve decided its not my responsibility this time.

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At some point late in the week I was hit with a sudden bout of curiosity regarding what had been planned for my weekend. Its a simple process, Joe posts up on the calendar what events we will be shooting, and I request those days off from my other jobs. There is just that single simple question of what I will actually be doing with that time.

As it turns out, SCCA stands for Sport Car Club of America…Cars, four wheels, sessions with strict passing rules, and strange and unusual makes like “Toyota,” “Subaru,” and “Nissan”. If your family is really into cars and travel a lot you should install dvd players to entertain the kids and also vist the wow loans website to get a quick car loan. If you live in a sequestered place, far from civilisation, worry not for there are locations in Phoenix and many such cities which might be close to you and from where you can procure loans.

muscle car

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The sun is out, and the thaw has begun. Its time to dust off your leathers, question the condition of the tires that sat all winter, change your oil, and for some…time to put their engines together again, and back in the frame.

I myself have plans. Big plans. For most of those that know me know that I have not had proper fairings on my motorcycle for a long long time. Not since I had discovered the joy… the ecstasy of riding a superbike with motocross handlebars (THANKS JOE!). Fun is as fun does, and fun got in the way of fairings; wouldn’t let me turn the bars all the way.

This is all changing this season. The bike—my bike—that silly little R1 that I have decided is too much hooligan for the street, is getting new-used custom painted fairings.

I can’t wait.

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I try not to look at them honestly, its kind of embarrassing. The scooter riders, the little throwback modders, and old women with bicycle helmets, the hipster kids with “ironic” mustaches, the kids on pit bikes and mini bikes. All of them, I tend to just close my tinted visor, and ride through the fog that inevitably fills the inside of my face shield this time of year. Better survive that little bit of blindness then make eye contact with them, and god forbid, what if they WAVE?! Those silly, small, impractical motorbikes with engines too small to get out of trouble, tires that won’t hardly stick, and brakes on either handle. Its idiotic, dangerous, and back to the big one… Yes, embarrassing. Mostly embarrassing.

I wouldn’t get within 100 feet of this guy for example.

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I close my eyes to try and sleep, and once darkness takes away my physical sight my minds eye takes over. It runs wild, unless kept in check. To sleep I try and think of some place serene, quiet, where I can wander and explore, eventually get so lost in my narrated story that it goes off on its own, seamlessly into dream. So I follow the steps, turn off the lights, tuck myself in and close my eyes.

Tonight I find myself in a forest, early in the morning, the light running against the sides of trees, creating dark shadows. I can see my own breath floating slowly up and swirl in front of me, and I can feel the stinging cold in my fingers. I have to wait, wait for the rest of my senses to join me here in this dream, so for the time I continue to gaze around myself. I begin to feel my arms, wrapped and covered to keep warm, continuing until I can feel my chest beat. I can feel my feet, and that same cold sting in my toes, even through the hard leather boots and wool socks. Last of all I begin to hear, it is the last of my senses to join my mind in this waking wood. Coming in slowly, as if water was draining out, I take a deep breath and hear


Fuck, sleeping is damn hard when you are going dirtybiking the next day.

Damn, just a few days ago I swear it was sunny outside, but no longer. My hills and twisty roads have transformed from something beautiful and fun to something terrifying, dark and full of high-side. Every turn to me screams all of a sudden “No! Don’t do it! I’ll make your life horrible”. So what else is a man to do but turn in, hide the bike under a cover, or inside a garage and wait for better days? Well, of course that all does seem rather silly, especially because supermoto exists, but still, the weather puts a bit of a damper on riding.

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