Mick Bonner and Maybeline were featured in the Landmark’s August 27th edition sharing details with the public about his upcoming motorcycle trip to benefit MFF. View the original article from The Landmark here.

            The Marsh family and I would like to thank the following people for all of their help:

    Jayma, Kim and Eric of Cycle Design in Phillipston Ma. (www.cycledesignonline.com) for all their help spreading the word and gearing me up for the trip.  Literally.  Jayma, because she is always so generous.  Kim for her efforts in spreading the word through her road racing connections and conducting the first raffle, and Eric for coordinating the local news papers.  If I needed something, Cycle design got it for me.  Simple as that.

     Jeff and Eric Wood of Penguin Roadracing school in Winchendon Ma. (www.penguinracing.com) for their generous donations towards the raffles of free tuition to their classes.  If you want to learn how to road race or just be a better, smoother, safer rider on the street, then step right up.  This is the place to do it. It’s inexpensive and invaluable in improving your riding abilities.  What is more fun than ripping around a race track and learning to be a better rider at the same time?  All you “squids” and “sport riders” out there, stop talking about it and do it.  Let some experts show you how to do it right! You won’t be disapointed.

    Cindy, Jennifer and Harry of Heli Modified inc. in Cornish ME. (www.helibars.com) for their contribution to the raffle and for saving my back and wrists over 10,000 miles.  Heli’s handlebars saved me from certain torture.  Maybeline’s stock handlebars were meant to disjoint your wrists and lower back over time.  Heli’s bars were a bit higher and angled better to a more natural position for your wrists.  They were quality made, installed easily and I didn’t lose a thing in handling.  A well thought out design.  Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

     J.T. of Zero Gravity corp. in Camarillo CA (www.zerogravity-racing.com) for another generous donation to the raffle to help out Morgan, Tristan, and Liam.  Also for promptly sending a replacement windscreen to Wendover Utah when Maybeline had her unfortunate incident.  I had E-mailed J.T. along with several other potential sponsors/contributors while planning this trip.  J.T. personally called me back within a couple of days willing to jump on board to help a good cause.  This, to me is a statement about Zero Gravity corp., considering we are on opposite ends of the country and have never met.  Maybelines new windscreen was more suited for touring, priced right, good quality and unlike some other manufacturers bolted on just like the original in minutes. (twice)  Thanks J.T.

     Pete Giammalvo of Sideways Promotions in Winchendon MA (www.sidewayspromo.com) for helping spread the word through the dirt track racing community.  And that is a community.  Check out the schedule on the sideways site and come see the grass roots racing.  For a few bucks you get to see some real warriors bang bars for some of the best racing you can find.  Just as exciting, and a bonus is watching the young kids starting out tearing it up.  It is always a good time.  Thank You Pete for keeping it alive and in the public eye.  

  A big Thank You to Barbara Buckley for setting up the group on Facebook as I am deeply, techicnicalisticly challenged. (see what I mean.) And to my wonderful, patient, wife Ellen as she held down the fort, and spent many late nights posting the blogs.

  These people and their companies listed above are a class act and we want them to know how much it is appreciated.

        Thank you from Gail, John, Morgan, Tristan, & Liam and thanks again from Mick & Ellen

So what did it all mean? And most importantly, what have I learned?

   When I decided to make this trip, I did it because I had always wanted to.  I also felt for a long time that I NEEDED to.  Over the years there have been a few situations that just shook me to the core and really made me wonder why I, or we for that matter do what we do.  I assume this is typical and most people feel the same way at times.   When the situation arose with The Marsh family,  I thought more about doing the trip while I can.  Todd & Michelle were approximately at the same point in life as Ellen & I.  Now, in an instant they are gone.  Things change fast.  Unfortunately,  this is the past and can’t be changed.

We had better “live in the now”.

   This all sounds a little “mid-life crisis’ish” I know.   But I don’t believe in the mid-life crisis.  What I do believe in is a society and economic system born out of our own human nature to accumulate things, tie ourselves down, and busy ourselves with tasks that don’t really matter.  If in it long enough, we reach the point that we can’t get our head out of the trenches after awhile to see anything else, our purpose, our religion, and in the end our fate..

   I also believe in awakenings and epiphanies that occur at different points through out our lives.  I believe that the term “Mid-life crisis”, like many others, is a term derived out of fear to make you feel silly or stupid for attempting to think beyond what we have surrounded ourselves with.  Who wants to admit that they have wasted their time right?  I guess I would have been a hippie if I was born a little earlier.

   Reviewing the trip itself :

     It was hard to leave and I did not know what to expect.  I knew that I wanted to do it but,  riding a motorcycle 10,000 miles alone can be a little intimidating.  I am not some movie star with a chase vehicle full of parts and a film crew filming how “on my own” I am.  I am a 5′-6″ middle aged guy that no one knows from a hole in the wall.  That is o.k, I like it better this way.  When I left, I was front page news in the local newspaper.  It was a bit embarrassing as it was a sappy kind of write up.  It was very dramatic and sounded as if I was going off to war or something.  It brought more attention to the Marsh children, so it was appreciated none the less. 

    Once on the road I really got into it and was totally enjoying myself, tough weather or not.  I found myself reveling in the challenges.  When was the last time you did something that you really did not know the outcome and had some real risks built into it?  The further I got from home, the better I liked it.  After all, the only way back was to ride back. 

Like hiking.  If you hike in, you had better be prepared to hike out.  

   It was completely up to me for a change.  And I mean that in more ways than one.  If I wanted a change, I had to make it.  I had planned the trip for months.  Stops, roads to get there, blah blah blah!  I threw all of that out three days in and just picked up state maps at truck stops or gas stations.  It was way more interesting making it up as I went along.  I always found a place to stop for the night and something to eat.  Some gas.  What else did I need?  I had entered what I like to refer to as “the spirit world”.  I was traveling lighter and faster than anything else around me.  As everyone around me went about their busy lives, none of them, if they even noticed me pass, had any clue who I was or where I was going.  This to me was a great feeling. 

     At one point I drove 400 miles out of my way to see a waterfall that I had seen on t.v.. Just because it reminded me of a pleasant time from my past….and because I could.  I thought I was doing something unique but met many people riding through these beautiful places, doing the exact same thing.  Alone on a bike crossing the country.  Two weeks out, I kind of hit the wall.  I was tired and missed everybody.  It was wet, cold, traffic etc. and I had a bad day.  All in all that was it though.  I had a blast the rest of the time.  As I said, if I could do this for a living, I would.  I got to stop in Sacramento and spend some time with my in-laws and their beautiful children.  I never have this opportunity because in the few times that they have been home for reunions or what not, there are 40 other nieces and nephews there too.  Time and space limit you.  By this time in the trip I was able to adjust to what I was doing and it became easy.  Yosemite tomorrow, Death Valley, Vegas, deserts, canyons, whats next? It is all good!!!!!

So here is what I have learned, and much of it may sound simple but it is what we tend to forget or ignore so I will say it any way.

1. If you can break away from your routine for an extended amount of time, If not with your family, then alone. Do it!!!  Drop out for a while. I did not see the news for 4 1/2 weeks. Ignorance really is bliss. I did not hear any political speeches or about the latest corruption charges and get disgusted. I did not hear about the latest economic numbers and get worried. I didn’t hear about the latest sensational violence, kidnapping or rape and get depressed. I was relaxed. I was slowly able to unwind and realized how this stuff bombards us all every day. if you do this, a few weeks in you will say “wow, he was right.”

2. Your job and all that comes with it is a means to live your life. it is not your life! I know., sounds simple but admit it, It governs your life and you let it.

3. I was becoming jaded in my view of what I refer to as “the general public”. I have found that if you take most people out of their habitrails that they have built, pull them away from the stress of their jobs, and put them in an atmosphere where they are enjoying themselves….. well, they are different people. Friendly, willing to help their neighbor, Imagine that! The salt flats was an example of this. Also, it is true that people away from New England are much more friendly and relaxed than we are. They are living at a slower pace and enjoying it instead of missing it.(except for the two drunk Indians.) In Nebraska, for instance, everybody waves to you on the road. I was wondering, why was everybody waving at me? It took me a little while to realize that they just do that here.

 My father passed away two weeks before I left on this trip. He was a great guy and battled several illnesses for years.  He saw his share of pain and suffering, worked hard all his life and gave to everyone. He never did much of anything for himself. Recently I have seen friends with cancer. some won some lost. Marriages struggle-some dissolve,  accidents and people left in terrible situations. Sadly everyone experiences these things. It tends to make you doubt…….well, everything!

4. You can’t drive through the places I have been and see some of the places I have seen without coming to two conclusions:

 That we are infinitely small and insignificant. The Grand Canyon, for instance, will be there another 20 million years from now and we won’t.  Period. The earth will continue without us.

 And that anyone who believes that all of this happened by accident with no design of our surroundings and no plan for us is living in denial.  Afraid to acknowledge a higher being, a higher purpose,  and an accountability for our actions.

 Take a little time and instead of planning or worrying about your next task, let it flow and just see where you may find yourself.

In conclusion (finally right?):

I stated that Todd and Michelle’s accident is the past and that can’t be changed.

Morgan, Tristan, & Liam Marsh, and Gail and John Downing have been left with a lot to deal with in the future. Unfortunately,  they are victims of the old cliche’ “out of sight , out of mind”. People hear the story and say “that’s terrible”. Then it’s back to their busy lives and soon forgotten.  This is not a criticism, it is the way things are and we are all guilty of it at times.                                           

When the Idea came to make the trip a human interest story and draw attention to their cause,  that sealed the deal in my head.  It was the opportunity to do something that I have always wanted to do and make it a useful tool as well. We had 200 to 300 people a day visiting the web site during the ride. This is more than I had hoped for and is greatly appreciated but if even thirty percent of those people made a donation it would make a big difference.

Out of sight, out of mind. If these kids were your neighbors you would most likely help them every day.  So I am going to ask this once, as the trip is over and the blog is done. The limited “lime light” has come to an end.

Pretend these kids are your neighbors and donate something today.  This is the time to do it.  Every dime goes directly to them.  This is not a “non-profit” organization where 85% of the income goes to management costs. It is the most open and direct charity you will give to this year.  Please do it while it is fresh on your mind.

God Bless You and Thank you for sharing this experience with me.

Mick

A cross country trip by the numbers:

31 days

10,404 miles

2 sets of tires

1 pair of shoes - the left has a hole in the top from maybelines shifter

1 broken windscreen, scratched mirror, and scratched fairing.

2,000,000 million bugs killed with my head.

260 gallons of gas, 10 qts. of synthetic oil

25 different sleeze bag motels

1 speeding ticket

1  written warning

1 run through the toll booth, many looks over my shoulder

1 Mad Bison

40 Weeeeeeeing Prairie dogs

Hundreds of Cool Machines

0 Regrets

Dozens of new friends

Hundreds of good memories

And 348 days to try and prepare a bike for a record run at the Salt Flats

     Friday morning. the race event is over.   The ride is 2600 miles from over.  After 7500+ miles, this did not seem like a long distance some how.  It is however when you have it in your head that, you just want to get HOME.   Ellen packed up the rental car to return to the airport.  I packed just enough to make it home.  Rain gear, a change of clothes,  and some tools.  The rest was put in boxes and shipped home.  This made Maybeline 40 lbs. lighter.

     We had such a good time this past week and the whole trip has been a great adventure for me personally, but now it was time to go back to the world.  Bittersweet really.   I miss everyone and New England, but if I could make a living being a nomad and riding around the country seeing different places and meeting different people every day………..I could do that.  Ellen and I headed East on Rte 80 to Salt Lake City, Ellen in her car, me on Maybeline.   It was hard to wave goodbye as Ellen took the exit to the airport.  I had to remind myself that I would see her in 5 days.  

Rocky Maybeline

     Alone again and on the road. (There’s a country song in there somewhere) 2480 miles to go.  Then it clicked, I remember how to do this and do it while you can!  East of Salt Lake City the road climbed out of the desert plains and over the Unita Mountains.  Then back into the plains again.  Flat and then rolling farmlands that got greener as I headed East.  I road Rte. 40 into northern Colorado and stopped in Steam Boat Springs for the night.  The next day I ate some “continental breakfast” in the motel lobby and was on the road early.  The weather channel said 47 degrees and a nice day on the way.  It sure did not feel like 47 degrees as I headed out.  The road leaving Steamboat springs seemed to climb immediately into the Rocky Mountains. 

     One more place to see on the way home……Rocky Mountain National Park and the Continental Divide.   We climbed over Rabbit Ear Pass at 10,426′.  The top of the mountain leveled off into a fantastic sweeping meadow for a few miles.  It was getting pretty chilly up here, I thought. Then I noticed that there was Ice on the small ponds in the meadow. “O.K. it’s not just me”.  On the Western side of the mountains I was in the shadows.  As I crested the mountain I drove into the rising sun and down from the pass.  The temperature rose.  Riding through places like this or anywhere for that matter, is so much better than traveling by car.  Granted it is not always comfortable and is not as safe, but you feel the temperature changes immediately.  The smells, the texture of the wind.   I think people who don’t ride will not realize that the feel of the wind changes with it’s temperature.  The air is a different weight and thickness.  There are also cold and warm spots like the water when you are swimming in a pond.  Drastic changes between one pocket of air and the next.  The smell of the pines in Rabbit Ear Pass was so intense it was almost too much.  It reminded me of my living room an hour after we stood up the new Christmas tree every year.  I think traveling in a car either blocks these things out or at least dumbs them down a bit. 

     I descended from the pass and into a valley before I headed North into Rocky Mountain National park.  I passed a lone Prairie dog on the shoulder of the road, standing up as they do.  I’d swear he just waved at me.  I must be getting punchy.  Suddenly,  I was starting to feel really sick.  My head was pounding and I was going to lose breakfast.  This went on for a couple of hours.  I kept going because the fresh air usually helps but not this time.  It really stinks riding when your sick.  You feel out of it and even dizzy at times.  This effects your perception, your reaction times and therefore your confidence.  After a couple hours, about the time I reached Rocky Mountain National Park, it seemed to pass.  I concluded that the “continental breakfast” must have been a little aged or contained something sub-continental.

Higher and Higher

   I felt better just in Time!  Rocky Mountain National Park was the only place along the trip that I would compare to Glacier National Park in Montana.  So incredibly beautiful. The mountain peaks, the green valleys and streams were just untouched by man.  Timeless.  The wildlife, and the views as you rolled in and out of the clouds along the Continental Divide are indescribable.  The pictures do not come close to the experience of being there.  The sound of the wind breaking the silence intermittently or light reflecting from the crystal clear waters in the streams tumbling down the mountain sides out of the snow packs that hang in the upper slopes.  The park services do an amazing job of keeping these places unspoiled by the cities that surround them.  This place has probably been the same for thousands of years and it really is a privilege to be able to witness it.  Another place that I wish the whole family was here to see.  These parks, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Glacier and the Rockies are really meant to be visited with time to spend and hiking gear to spend it with.  There is just so much more to see beyond the roads that cross them.  I crossed the Continental Divide at Trail Ridge at 12,186 feet above sea level,  just beyond Milner Pass.  It was all down hill from here, literally.  I descended the mountains and into the farmlands again.

And Higher still

     Over the next few days I crossed Nebraska, Missouri, Central Illinois, Indiana,  and Ohio. As I drove east the landscape grew greener and the elevations got lower. As I did previously, I stayed on the 2 lane routes that crossed through the farm lands.  Thousands of miles of wheat fields giving way to corn fields.  All of these places were very similar, If you took a picture in northern Nebraska and another in Missouri, It was basically the same scene.  Beautiful but monotonous after a while.  If that makes any sense.  That is a compliment actually, our farmland in the central United States is just thousands of miles of segmented, maintained and manicured beautiful green.

   I had gotten so used to cruising through these isolated parts of the country at 85- 90 m.ph. that it was a habit to go that fast for hours on end.   As I approached the East Coast this would finally bite me.  In Indiana I came to a route that was a huge 4 lane highway but with crossing roads every few miles and traffic lights.  Due to the intersections, the speed limit was 60.  A state trooper was coming the other way when he picked me up at about 80.  I had seen him first and was slowing down. (not “first” enough though) He cut across the grass median and got right on my tail, lights and all.  “O.K.” I thought, my own fault and it was bound to happen”.  The officer explained that it was Labor day, the patrols were doubled and the speed limits were strictly enforced on this type of road, with the intersections and all.  He wrote me a ticket for 70 in a 60 and I was back on my way.

Back into the valleys

    A couple hours later it happened again! Lights, Trooper,…..Damn! I was on the same type of road with the intersections, and the reduced, strictly enforced speed limit. (I don’t learn so good)  The trooper looked at my plate and said “you’re a long way from home, What are you doing?” I explained the Ride and the Marsh family foundation and handed him a business card for the foundation that Ellen had made up.  He said “O.K. This will only take a minute.”  He called in my plate for priors or warrants.  I stood on this concrete bridge looking off at the scenery, thanking my lucky stars that I was now in Ohio and that he would not get the “we just got that guy 2 hours ago!” answer from dispatch.  He came back with a written warning and an explanation that this road has crosses at every intersection and is known in Ohio as “the Highway of Death”. “Gotcha” and “Thank you Sir.” and I was back on my way. 

    The ”lead wrist” routine is now officially coming to an end.  I am back East.  Do not get me wrong, I am not a proponent of speeding.  I only do it when there is no traffic or side streets to contend with, and I have a clear view of the road and its surroundings for a long way ahead.  In The farmlands this is the case and it is relatively safe to make some time.  It also becomes habit forming and feels like I could jump off and run next to Maybeline when I slow to 55 m.p.h.  Time to carefully get out of Ohio and cross into Pennsylvania.  The rest of the ride was basically uneventful other than 400 miles of rain the next day but you don’t want to hear about that.  I stopped in Central Pennsylvania for one more night.   440 miles to go.  The next morning was cool and foggy but it burned off and warmed up quickly.  I took the back roads through northern Pennsylvania as I did out West but the further East I got, translated into the more towns and traffic lights I had to contend with.  I was averaging 30 m.p.h. so I was forced back onto Rte. 80 and then picked up Rte. 90 near Albany NY. I hopped off at Troy N.Y. to get on Rte. 2 across Western Massachusetts.  

    I wanted to come back through the Berkshires the way I left 31 days ago. I gassed up in North Adams for the last time at the same station that I had gassed up in for the first time. It was a little strange coming back as I got close to home.  Nothing seemed any different. The leaves were starting to turn but that’s about it.  People going about the same business that they were a month ago.  I got home and it was anti-climactic.  Sean my youngest was home and came running out.  My daughters were at college and Ellen was at a soccer game with Ian.  Every body busy doing what they do.  We had a great reunion that night when every one was home but my actual arrival drove home the fact that we are all busy in the worlds that we have created for ourselves.  I just had the opportunity to step out of it for a while.

Solitude in the corn fields

On that note I will ask you to read on one more time so I can try to explain what I really found on this trip.

Yamamotto praising the sunrise

The next morning we wandered around the small town of Wendover which consisted of 3 casino’s, gas stations, motels, a supermarket,  and a few stores.   Not much here but enough to survive.  Ellen was, shall we say…..unimpressed with the accommodations but I was told that Motel 6 was the place to be.  Besides,  I didn’t need much and had planned on being alone.  We soon found out that it was the place to be.  The cheap pricing attracted the grass roots race teams and the bikes showed up by the trailer load.   A team from France parked themselves in the room next to us with their hand made creation built around a turbocharged sportster engine and a press contingency in tow to record the results.   This bike was absolutely beautiful and original.   No fat, everything functional and every detail finished, right down to the gold plated bolts.   The Australian group upstairs consisted of Greg, a crop farmer/world record holder, his wife Marg, Kimmie - ”Austrailia’s fastest woman”, Mick, Bones, and several others with brilliant accents that I sometimes could not get past to understand what they were saying.   I knew they couldn’t understand me either at times.   That’s O.K., They also had Jim, their Californian connection and quite possibly the worlds loudest retired Fireman.   I was unclear on everybody’s exact role in the group but, it was definitely a team effort.   Greg, Kimmie, Mick, and Jim all drove for records.  Greg broke his own.  He told me that the first year that they came over he did well and this year a major sponsor picked him and the crew up and paid his freight over to try again.  He did not tell me this in a boastful way.  These people were the most unassuming regular people you want to meet.  Kimmie blushed when Greg told us that she was the “fastest woman in Austrailia” as she held the continental speed record for a woman on a motorcycle.  The teams would come back at night and over a few beers discuss the days events in the parking lot outside of our room.  The French crew was struggling.  They had come close to the record for their class but not quite.  The second evening, I watched Greg discussing options and tips to make the bike faster for tomorrow.  By the end of the week, the French had shattered their class record by 20+ m.p.h.

The Woz

   There were others who showed up with bikes to run just because they always wanted to do it.  No real chance or intention to break a record.  They just wanted to see how fast they could go. Tony the Englishman from California had his 600c.c. single cylinder Yamaha, built out of parts for a few hundred bucks in the back of his van.  Stripped of all non-essential weight to run on the salt. “It’s just good fun, isn’t it?” says Tony.   There was Ray and Will, late 50 somethings who were  there to prove something to themselves.  Ray had a golf ball sized tumor removed from his brain last year and had this on his agenda upon recovery.  These guys along with hundreds of other prove that you don’t wait on your ambitions and don’t ever think you can’t accomplish something if it means something to you.

    This was the atmosphere.   It was like a big family reunion except much of this family were strangers days before.  Some were old friends or only saw each other at these events.   But it didn’t matter if you were new to it, everyone was here for the same purpose. To enjoy watching motorcycles go fast. “No worries.” The competition was for the records not really against each other it seemed.   Everyone shared tips and parts to help each other out.  The other factor here was that it was not about taking a fast motorcycle for a rip down the salt and a record.  It was about making machines that were not originally intended to go very fast and through creative engineering, making them run speeds that their original designers never dreamed of.  That to me is the beauty of it all.  There were of course a lot of bikes that were very fast straight from the manufacturer.  Most of these again, were heavily modified to make them into fire breathing animals that pushed the limit of time and speed further. Turbo chargers, blowers, Methanol, stretched, lowered, lightened for speed, weighted for traction, streamlined body work, riders position, there were so many variables depending on the platform bike you were using and the class you were entered in. This is what I came to see.

Mr. Yamamotto does salt angels

   I reported for duty on the track as I was a volunteer worker for the event.   I had read an article last year saying that if you wanted to see what really goes on here, this is how to do it.   So I did and man was he right.   Ellen tagged along as it was a pretty casual atmosphere and every helping hand was welcome.   I told the organizers when I signed up that I wanted to work on the track, not behind the scenes.  I asked for Mile 4 on the International Course as it was the mile before the “timed mile” where the vehicles were to be at top speed on the down runs and exiting the timing lights on a return run. The International Course was 11 miles long with the recorded speed section between mile makers 5 and 6.   You had to run 175 m.p.h. or better on a shorter course to qualify to run here.   In order to break a record you had to run a record breaking speed from mile 5 to 6 and then do it again or better within 2 hours in the opposite direction (from 6 to 5).  This negated any advantage due to wind speed or direction. The average of the two runs would be the speed counted against the original record.

   I was so glad Ellen came to see this. You can’t really explain the salt flats.   You have to experience the place.   We took pictures and I will try to explain, but you won’t really understand it until you are there.   The texture of the salt is firm but like mashed potatoes at the same time.   It is extremely dry but if you mash up the salt back and forth beneath your feet it sticks together like wet cement.   The Salt Flats are immense, beautiful, peaceful, lonely, harsh, dangerous, awesome and inviting at the same time.   The place is so foreign that human nature will make you have to see it, but so featureless that just a couple miles in you could lose your way and die from the elements within hours.  The sun is blinding and reflecting off the salt and will burn your eyes and skin quickly.   There is no existing out here without man made shade and bottled water.   All that said, you feel blessed to be able to see it.   Watching the sun rise and set on the salt are amazing events.   The colors and shadows as they cross the white plain is just beyond description.  Ellen saw all this and was as amazed as I was.   Again, I would have never been able to really explain it to her.

Mile 4

   I got assigned to Jack Tate’s team on mile 4.   Jack is a veteran of the salt and just a great, generous, patient guy.   Although our assigned post as “spotters” is not complicated or difficult, it is important.   You have to have some common sense, stay calm,  and be vigilant about what you are doing.   It is not a place to be screwing around or not paying attention. A spotter’s job is to notify the  timing tower as a rider passed your position.   Letting them know of any difficulties, for example: parts leaving the machines (this happens fairly often) breakdowns, or crashes.   Call for an ambulance in the event of a crash or some other emergency, or notify the tower that the course is clear as a rider exits the course.   You also have to direct riders as to how to return to the pit area when leaving the course.   There were several incidents of confused riders leaving the International Course and crossing the shorter AMA course to get back to the pits.  This presents an obvious problem if another rider is cruising by at 150 m.p.h. on the AMA course. The adrenaline confuses riders who are new to the process.

Cone cruncher

    We had Jack, Maurice, David, Eric, Jim, myself, and Ellen all out on mile 4.   For the first day all of us at once manned Mile 4 and the rest of the week in teams of 2 or 3 at a time.   Jack showed us the ropes and impressed upon us the importance of the position.  The sport is not without hazards and occasionally takes lives.  As Ellen had previously posted, Cliff Gullet was killed last year when his streamliner crashed at mile 4.  His family came to visit the place where he passed.  It was a very difficult reminder of the risks people take here.  When Cliff’s mother heard about the Marsh Family foundation, she emptied her pockets into Ellen’s hands.  Everything she had, saying “give this to the kids.”  These are the people you meet out here.

   Our mentor Jack was first on the scene of the accident last year.  He was shaking talking about it a year later.  Still, Jack was running his Ducati 999 later in the week for a record attempt on the same course.  

360mph record holder

   Ellen came to this with an open mind.   This is what I love about her.  After the first day of racing she said to me “this is so cool!” I said, “so stay the week.”  We made arrangements with the kids and the airline and it was done.  Ellen stayed the week and signed on to work on the now renowned “TEAM FO’!!!!”  We called the tower as riders passed at 237 m.p.h. on Turbo charged Hayabusas, the team vision line bike with its roll caged, sit in style bike (see pictures-Good thing they had a solid welder for this cage.   There driver Scott was a blessed man when the bike flipped into a rolling crash.  he walked away unscathed.) and Chis Carr driving the BuB racing streamliner by us at 355 m.p.h..   This did not break the record of 360 set by Ack Attack racing last year but it was a good run.  Unfortunately the BuB caught fire at the end of the run.  No injuries but the week was over for them due to the damage.   When a streamliner runs, the course gets quiet with only the starter, the spotters, and the tower on the radios giving short reports to keep the radio clear.   As a streamliner approaches you have to watch with binoculars as soon as you can see it.  Usually from a mile or two. The spotters station is about 300 ft. off the side of the track so if something goes wrong, if it leaves the course, it will take some distance to stop and can be on top of you pretty quick at over 300 m.p.h.. “be alert and ready to run” was our instruction in this case. F  or the most part everything went pretty smooth all week except for the Broken Spoke Bar race team’s bike drifted and crashed into a cone at the end of the timed mile.   He kept it upright and we waved him off the course as he slowed down.   The rider pulled up to our station and stated that he thought he broke his foot.   We called the ambulance.   His front rim was bent from the impact at 178 m.p.h..   His front tire was flat, the fairing of the bike crushed along the bottom.   The shifter blew a hole through the side of the engine case and the foot peg was bent back 45 degrees.  His foot did not turn out to be broken.   Blue and pretty swollen but,  not broken.   I have to hand it to him at 178 he did not panic or lose control, he kept the bike up and slowed it to a stop.  There was a funny part of the whole incident.  They had to shut down the course temporarily because the timing light that was on the struck cone was now hanging out of the bottom of his bike.   Ellen was manning the radio at the time yelling at the tower “we have a broken foot on mile four, a broken foot on mile four!!!” It was a good laugh afterwards.

   Ellen is a trip.  I love her obsessive/compulsive tendencies.   She loved the salt flats.   She loved the event.  i was warned by others that I would be “bitten by the bug” and would come back and race.   After a couple of days I was considering this and was trying to think of how I would convince Ellen.   She came to me and said “This is so cool, You should do this. I get it.” I said “Really?” She said “yeah, I get this now.”   Problem solved itself.   By the end of the week she was talking about learning to ride better and running her own bike.   She also started reading my magazines front to back. “How does a turbo Charger work?  What’s a blower? If we put one on my Ninja 250, what class would I be in?” One step at a time baby. We’ll see.

    The people who run this event are amazing also.  The event was professional, serious, and in no way unorganized.  Yet it was fun, friendly, and welcoming to new people who wanted to be a part of it.  There were meetings of the staff to get together and listen to comments from all positions in the hopes of improving the event.  The open forum insures that the event will improve every year.  I have to thank Delvene, Linnea, Rex, Ramseze (spelling?),  and Mike Wozniak,(the Woz) for putting on a great event and letting us be a part of it.

Sunset on the Salt Flats

Thanks guys!

   I could write about this week for a long, long time but, I  won’t for your sake. You are just going to have to come help us next year on the Team Fo’s  race team.   Next Blog will be the last “I am Home blog” and the 2,600 miles to get there. 

Mick

Rainbow at Vermillion Cliffs

   Ellen had made plans to fly to Salt Lake City and meet me in Wendover, UT,  just outside the Bonneville Salt Flats.   Ellen would be there late tonight.   I couldn’t wait to see her.   The past 3 weeks riding have been surreal.   I love doing it and seeing all these fantastic places, but it has been 3 weeks since I left.  I also had it in my head that reaching Wendover was a milestone.  75% of the ride would be done.  I was stopping at the destination that started me thinking about this trip in the first place.  The Bonneville Salt Flats. This is where extraordinary people come to lay there cards on the table.  The planets proving ground to test the physical limitations of man, machine, engineering, and guts. The “put up or shut up”, “no excuses only results” place.  I could not wait to witness this event.

Boat, but why?

   The ride was pretty un-eventful as I now knew to gas up wherever possible.   Just because a town existed on the map did not mean it physically existed in our space/time continuum.   I just needed to cover 400 something miles to get to Wendover and see my wife.  I was confident that Wendover existed because I had seen pictures of it and had reservations at the Motel 6 there.  I did drive through some beautiful winding roads on the way.  More canyons and sweeping corners, but today was about getting there.  Southern Utah must have a population of a few hundred people or something.  I barely saw anyone along the way.  Just tiny towns with a gas pump and a store once in a while.  It also had thousands of acres of military test sites(deserts).   The air was dry and extremely hot.  I stayed on the 2 lane roads that meandered North West as long as possible until I had to jump on Rte. 80 West.  This was the only road to Wendover. Really! 120 miles of flat, straight highway with salt flats and desert as far as you could see on either side.  I had to wonder, even when reaching Wendover, what settler stopped his wagon here and said to his wife and kids, “This is it. We’re building here.”   Even now to be honest, who wants to live in this heat surrounded by desert and rock?.   I am glad they did however, because now I can watch people break land speed records and go back to my hotel and have a beer with my wife.   Thanks man!

    I got there late in the afternoon, called J.T. at Zero Gravity, who promptly mailed Maybeline a replacement windscreen and I gave her a bath at the car wash at the end of town.  Wendover is 2600 miles from Phillipston Ma.  It took me 7552 miles to get here because as stated earlier, the ride was not about getting to my destination, it was about seeing everything I could along the way.  Mr. Yamamoto was excited to be here.   Maybeline was relieved and I was just stoked!  Ellen arrived at about midnight.  I was so thankful that she came out here.  Most wives would not have taken the time and effort to come to this desolate place where an event takes place that she really did not know much about and therefore had little interest in.

All this would change.  

Hanging with the guys

Ellen and I “caught up” and had a wonderful reunion. (Say no More!)

Rain crashing onto Vermillion cliffs

Alright, I escaped the Injun’s at Mick’s last stand in Kayenta,  Arizona and headed for Monument Valley. Monument Valley was an awesome spectacle.  Out of the flat red sand desert looms these monstrous stone pillars looking very out of place.  Sort of like the hand of God forgot to clean his toys off the floor.   As you pass through the valley your view of each monolith changes and it gives the illusion that these stone beasts are slowly drifting across the desert.

    North into Utah past Mexican Hat.   Another rock formation where erosion has left a huge horizontal stone precariously balanced on a pillar below it.

Mexican Hat

    Utah was a real adventure.  I took Rte 316 North across the valley.   About 30 miles in there were signs saying “Tight hairpin curves, loose gravel, narrow steep road ahead”.   They weren’t kidding. Bad combinations for Maybeline but,  this is the only way North so we will make do.   The canyons in this area are surrounded by sheer drop off cliffs. There are no slopes leading to higher ground.   Just cliffs.   The road snaked across the desert towards the 1000 ft. wall ahead.   I am thinking “so where does the road go?” because as far as I see it leads to the base of that cliff.   It reached the base of the cliff and turned into one of the hairiest places I have ever driven anything, bicycle, dirt bike, anything.   The road turned to gravel, took a sharp right and climbed a ledge on the side of the cliff.   As it climbed on further and further,  it would reverse direction in a hairpin turn on a steep grade and climb up another ledge.   To one side was the wall of the cliff and 12 feet away was the drop into the valley.  If two cars met here, I have no idea what they would do.  I got the impression that only unsuspecting tourists traveled this road.  If this was pavement or if I was on a different bike, it would not have bothered me much but it was gravel and Maybeline is no adventure tourer.  There was one corner that I could see where a dual rear wheel truck had driven down with the outside wheel track drifting off the edge for a few feet and the inside wheel track continuing down the road.  I thought ”this was that guys lucky day”.  A t that point I must have been 500 feet above the valley floor. Any motorcycle course will teach you not to look at an obstruction or hazard coming up.  Look at your way around it.  This is called target fixation.  It is human nature to look at the obstruction and it is also human nature to drive exactly into where your eyes are focused.  It sounds simple but it is not.  You have to train yourself to break concentration on the hazard and concentrate on your path around it.  If you would not lose a lot of people to the cliffs, this would be the ideal place to teach this lesson.  Thankfully, the gravel road continued for 3 miles and crested onto the plateau to a paved road again.  Another winding road for 30+ miles without a soul in site.

Grand Canyon

On to the town of Fry Canyon for gas(according to my map).   Fry Canyon turned out to be a beaten down motel with a gas pump out front and a broken gate across the entrance with a sign reading “closed”.   I was in trouble. the next town on the map was 96 miles away and I did not have even close to enough gas to cover that distance.   There was a truck in front of one of the rooms and the air conditioner was running so I knocked on the door.   I figured I could get some gas if someone was here.  No one answered.  I was desperate so I rode over to the ancient looking gas pump with the broken glass over the rolling indicators to see if it was on.  Yeah, I was going to steal some gas and leave a few bucks. I had to! ……. The pumps were shut off.

The road in this area wound through narrow canyons with rock walls three feet on either side.  There was no place to stop if I had to.   It climbed up and down hills, sometimes for as much as 8 miles at a time so on the down slopes I would kick it into neutral and coast to conserve gas.  There was still no way I was going to make it to the next town on the map (if that really was a town).   I knew things would not always work out and that something would happen sooner or later but spending the night in this desert, miles from the nearest town was looking like a bad situation.   If any of you have seen the movie “The Hills Have Eyes”, this was the place.  Another 30 miles and suddenly a sign!!!! “Gas!!!!” “Food!!!” one mile down the road to the left.  It led to the Hite Marina.  A boat ramp on the Colorado river.  It was closed too but,  they had left the power on to the pumps for credit card customers passing by. Yeah Baby!  

I continued on another 50 miles to Hankesville,  Utah which consisted of a restaurant, a motel,  and a couple of gas stations (one closed).   It was dark out and the motel had a vacancy (big surprise) so that was it for today.  Besides it was thirty miles to the next town and that’s if it wasn’t closed.  I talked to a guy the next morning in the resaurant who informed me that due to the recent drought, the Colorado river was low, Fry Canyon and the marina serviced boaters who passed by.  Business was down so they closed.  He also informed me that a couple of miners worked the local mine and lived at the Fry Canyon Motel. He said “Your glad they didn’t answer the door”! I didn’t ask why or what they mined. (human flesh? The hills do have eyes)

Maybeline does gravel!

Southern Utah is a different place.

Hairpin turns

Roof surfing

 

Mick on the road again

    This is Ellen now home, Saturday,  September 5th.  I took the above picture out the car window just before turning onto the exit toward the airport, yesterday.  Admittedly, my heart sunk at saying “goodbye” to my husband again, but this time for only five or six days until his return. 

   There is no way possible to explain this incredible adventure.  This place is like the epitome of an oxymoron on so many levels. 

Always sharing Flat Family stories

1-Here we are with motorcyclists from all over the world, the noise, the machines, the speed and yet there is a comaraderie that revels all institutions, associations, religions, or cults.  Some tend to think motorcycles with big bad burly guys and scantily clad women making a ruckus.  Not here….well, maybe a bit of a ruckus when the races are over.   There is a common goal and a passion beyond any I have experienced outside of a love for God.  All airs, pretense, and insecurities are erased here.  It truly is a Salt Flats Family embracing all who share this experience instantaneously.   Everyone fits in, everyone.

 

The Beauty

2-The Flats are such a peculiar thing.  Millions of years ago it was an ocean floor.  Now dried, tons and tons of salt make up the ground.  The Flats are surrounded by incredible mountain ranges.  All the cars, bikes, and machines are completely encrusted with a thick layer of moist salt.  It took an hour of power spraying to get the sometimes foot thick play dough like substance off the vehicle.  The temperature is 100 degrees or more every afternoon, but it is dry, so if you can get shade (tents and canopies) you can stay relatively comfortable as long as you constantly hydrate.  There have been some sad situations of people getting lost or their vehicle breaking down and dying from the elements out here.

3-The views are beyond belief.  We were volunteers throughout the event.  Some days we had to be on the Flats at 6am.  On these days, we were treated to the most “pinch me this can’t be real” sunrises.  Other days we would be there until 8pm, where the sunsets would fill the sky as the Flats allowed a ten mile or more viewing vantage with the mountain backdrops changing colors with the sky.  No picture could ever even allude to its beauty.  It is intense and only more proof of God’s design and the gifts He bestows upon us everyday.

The Frenchie and his cool bike

     4-The people open armed and warm.  I am not sure what brings this approachability out of the people here on the Flats, but it is a magnificent thing.  Mick and I had discussed upgrading our room since I would be there for the week.  I am so glad we didn’t do that.  The rooms were pretty pathetic, but the Motel 6 due to its affordability is where many of the out of country and state riders will stay.  Every night was a family reunion in the parking lot where the days events were shared, advice was given, and laughter could be found.  I am smiling just thinking about it.  There are people who come alone each year because they know how they will be instantly incorporated into the Flat family whether old friends are there or not.  The quite shy Tony from California is a perfect example.  We tossed him a beer and he lent Mick a straw hat.  All is good.  Though a strong language barrier, the French crew with their custom bike had a news reporter and camera man in tow to document their attempt to break the class record for their bike style.  Not only did they break the record but they topped their own speed each day there after.  This bike took hundreds and hundreds of hours to build.  It was a gorgeous work of art. 

Mick, Loud Jim, Ellen, Kimmie and Greg (Fastest man and woman in Aussie), and Mic

The Australians were such a hoot.  My goodness, I adore their sense of humor and relaxed way.   There is not a boastful bone in their bodies, but their wit and endurance is unmatched.  Greg, Marge, Kimmie, Mic, Bones, Evelyn, and the rest of the Aussies, as well as your California connection, Loud Jim, you all have a place to stay if you ever find yourselves in New England.  Of course, I fear what you would do on our land with Mick’s toys.  It would be an all out bonanza of racing I am sure.  I bet our golf carts would be able to do 80mph by the time you blokes left.  

Thank goodness Michael had only signed up for half days.  We did do one whole day.  It is so easy to get caught up in the event and want to see how this one or that one does, but the Flats will age you ten years in a week and that whole day was a tough one come 8pm.  God bless the all day workers, some in tougher positions than others.  We were stationed at Mile 4 of the Long Course.  This is an 11 mile race course for those machines that can do 175mph or more.  What a privilege it was to be on Jack Tate’s team at Mile 4 or now known as Mile Fo’.  Jack, known to us now as “The Jack of Hearts”, relishes life and shares his admiration for every moment with an open heart and a strong faith in God.  Speaking of God, He is ever present on the Flats.  Whether in the people, the views, the peacefulness, or the trust, God likes to hang out here and every single person feels it.  We all took our job very seriously, especially here at Mile 4.  Our basic duties with walkie talkie in hand was to watch for each rider as they push their machines to their top speeds just before the Mile 5 timing mile.  With binoculars, radio, and flag we would radio in when a rider passed our mile marker relaying how they were doing.  Sometimes the message would be “Flying by Four” others were “Puttering, spinning, or slowing by Mile 4″.  The Long Course is where the international FIM and National AMA records were recorded for the high speed bikes.  On return runs where record breaking riders had to run again for an average speed to be taken, we would often have to wave down the riders to get them off the course safely and quickly.  Safety and efficiency was our job.  The safety need is obvious.     

  On Sunday, a lovely woman,  mother of a larger than life man, was at Mile 4 for a Memorial Run on behalf of her son who was tragically killed at Mile 4 last year in a Streamliner.  Streamliners are the motorcyles that go 350mph and more.  The present record is 360mph.  She relayed how her other son’s first words to her upon hearing the news were “Mom, this is where everything you told us about our faith comes in.”    Really this woman and her son are a beautiful story of living life with passion and faith.  

Cliff Gullett's Mom

Team FO

 From Left to Right-Ohio Maurice, the pilot, was only with us a couple days but made his mark.  He cracked me up.  Maurice is trying to talk Mick into getting a plane.  If I am Mick’s good angel, Maurice is his bad one or vice versa depending on your point of view.   Jack, Jack of Hearts, must have had ringing ears the whole week as all of us mentioned several times what a truly fantastic fellow he is.  He must be an excellent contractor because his ability to lead is unbelievable.  A man who would never ask anyone to do something he hasn’t or won’t do himself.  Love you Jack.  Texas Eric, the Man, awaiting his first baby,  Eric is one of those happy go lucky, easy as a cold beer to take, and quick with a laugh chaps.  This experience wouldn’t have been the same without you, Eric. Dave, the Doer, has been riding around the country in an effort to raise funds for the Cancer Society.  He has turned his slow work months, Lemons into Lemonade, with great riding, great stories, and a great cause.  God Bless you, Dave.  Ohio Jim, the Life Loving Listener, has the ability to really connect with others.  Jim sees the blessings in his family and those around him and lets them know they are gifts.  Remember Jim, New England certainly is gorgeous in the fall..hint, hint. We are profoundly grateful to have met all of you and look forward to more shared times.

 Now let’s talk some fun in the super hot sun.  I was spoiled by all.   I learned so much about the machines and the way other people live life, this has been the most fruitful experience of my life.  Below are pictures of spoiled Ellen. 

How fast does this go?

 

So where are the keys?

Four years ago there were only four women racers.  This year there were nineteen.  This is a testimony of the times.  Leslie Porterfield has beaten both women and men in her motorcycle class to make a 240mph record this year. 

Women Racers

 As for Mick and I, we are humbled by the culmination of events.  We have learned big life lessons from it all.  Cliff Gullett’s moto was “Go Big or Go Home!”  Ours shall be “Go Big, whether following your passion, helping others, honoring God, or being at home. Go Big!”

Joy Ride

 

The Range encompassing the Flats

 

Day 19- August 26th- Left Lee’s Ferry in Vermillion Cliffs, Arizona in beautiful weather again to the North rim of the Grand Canyon.  An 80 mile ride up out of the canyon and onto the plateau at the North side of the canyon.  The road initially climbed back and forth through switchchbacks as it literally climbed out of the canyon on ledges up the cliffs.  It was cool out but, a nice day.  The roads were smooth with no traffic.  Once over the top of the canyon wall, I was on what was labled on the map as the “plateau”.  It was the opposite of the red stone canyon that I just left.   A rolling pine forest and meadows for 60 miles around to be added as  another excellent place to ride!

The North rim of the Grand Canyon is much less visited by tourists than the South as it only has one 40 mile access road to reach it, and nothing much else around for another 50 miles from the beginning of the access road.   It was well worth the ride.

I got to the North rim of the Grand Canyon at about 9:00 am.  There was a sign and a parking lot but,  you could not see the canyon.  You followed a path from the lot through some scrubby  pines and small cabins and suddenly, you walked into the sunlight and the canyon spread out before you.

HOLY #@$%!!!!! Sorry,  but I am being honest.  That is what I said to myself.  The canyon walls were 1000 ft high+/-. colored layers of rock and sandstone and the canyon spread almost as far as the eye could see.  I got nervous just looking off the edge.  There was a walkway that extended out about a 1/4 mile onto a section that jutted out into the canyon.  At times it was as wide as a sidewalk and if you fell to either side you were just Toast!  For a slip of the foot would leave you falling straight down with a few ledges to bounce off of. After 7000 miles on the road, now I was nervous.  I am not real keen on heights. At the end of this walk you could look into the canyon in almost every direction. This was one of those places again, you did not want to leave. After soaking it in for a couple of hours, I had to.

I back tracked across northern Arizona down from the plateau to the now familiar deserts again and into southern Utah. I wanted to visit Monument canyon. I have been in the Navajo reservation for 600 miles now. just South of the Utah border I had an experience that showed me the negative stereotype of the American indian.  Poor and drunk. Let me say that I have found it not to be true as everyone I have met was working a job, friendly and genuine. My whole trip aside from an overcafenated Oregon gas station attendant has let me completely relax my defenses. I stopped at a gas station, filled up, grabbed a drink and called Ellen because I had phone service. (wow). I was off to the side of a busy truckstop talking on the phone and not looking around when the next thing I know I have an old drunk in my face telling me that he needs me to help him out and give him gas money. He was begging but with a younger 6 foot 300 lb drunk indian behind him looking at me as if to say “give the old one your money”. I told Ellen I had to go and told the guy I could give him a couple of bucks. The Big guy moved a little closer. I had prepared for this mentally before I left home but got too relaxed over the trip. I kept loose money in my front pockets. I Hid my wallet and had a gas card from my father that was inactive. I read that if you are in a situatuan like this and the people were not determined to fight you for something, that creating the illusion that they got all you have is the best way out.

I emptied my front pockets and said “look brother, I’ve got 8 bucks. It’’s all yours.” the big guy said “yeah, so how do you get gas?” I said “a gas card but I need that.” I gave the old guy the eight bucks and walked to the side of the bike and grabbed my helmet by the chin piece. (a very good weapon if necessary) The big guy got the hint and the old guy was happy with the 8 bucks. I was glad the big guy decided there probably wasn’t enough more to gain to make it worth a major disturbance just out of site of the busy gas pumps. They left. So did I!

I have to say for someone traveling alone I just got too relaxed because of the rest of my experience to date. I was stupid to pull off out of sight. And even though I have seen how depressed much of this area is, I did not register how desperate some of these people are. Stupid. Lucky. Blessed.

I have a lot more to tell you about this day alone but am getting the librarian’s boot again. I will continue the next time.

Mick

Hello Friends of the Marsh Family Foundation,

     This is Ellen Bonner, Mic’s wife.  Mick had a very difficult time getting cell range,  forget about internet for the last week.  Hence the lack of daily blogs and pictures.  I have been fortunate enough to fly out and join my husband for a short portion of his trip where he will be relatively stationary attending and volunteering at the Bub Bonneville Land Speed Trials at the Salt Flats.   I got here Friday and before I knew it, I was completely immersed in the Salt Flat Family experience.  Mick has spent much of my visiting time relaying story after story of this last week.  He can not wait to share.  In the meantime, between work at the Salt Flats and lack of a personal computer, it is impossible to update regularly.  Dave Swift, from California,  was so trusting and generous, he has let me steal his laptop for an hour to bring to our humble room to give a quick update.

     West Wendover-Salt Flat Country-This is like taking a space shuttle to a different planet.  The topography, weather, and people so foreign to me I am enveloped by this experience of a lifetime.   The people, oh the people…  From all walks of life, Australia, France, Sweden, Switzerland, Canada, and of course most of the United States represented you name it they have come from it.  All with one common denominator, a pure passion for motorcycles and ingenuity.  With much arm twisting (four kids in school, three of which in college, and sixty hour work week) I was coerced to change my Monday am flight to Friday. My Salt Family would not take “No” as an answer.  I pray my office manager does not quit with the extra work load and my children don’t use the “You abandoned us for a whole week” guilt trip to get all their future desires met.

   I must say this has been such an opportunity for me.  I always get the whole motorcyle thing as it is my husband’s love, but until now, I never really got it.  In just the couple days I have been here  I have sobbed with a beautiful mom who had lost her son last year to an accident to the deepest laughter my insides could produce.    The people who share Michael’s (Mic)passion are from all walks of life.  Doctors, farmers, software people, teachers, contractors, CEO’s, moms, dads, 85 year olds, 14 year olds, millionaires to mechanics (some fo the mechanics are millionaires themselves) these people let it all show in what they consider the safest place on earth, those that share their passion here on the Flats.  We presently have standing offers to visit half the states in Amercia.  As Mick had said to me the other night.  “This is where all your insecurities are left behind and you can be raw, sincere, and open.”  Exactly! (people who understand….priceless)

     Well, we are pretty disappointed that we are still unable to find a spot to upload the pictures. The WiFi isn’t letting us do “unauthorized” things such as that and the closest Walmart or such store is a good 100 miles away.  I will be home by Saturday 2am and by Saturday night I should be able to post the pictures from the storage card Mick will give to me before boarding my plane. 

   This is a beautiful thing, seeing my husband in his element.  No one here is a background guy or perhaps I should say many are, just not here.  By the way, we have befriended many of the Speed Record Holders such as the fastest woman in Australia, Kimmie.  She ran 220+ mph. on a Turbocharged, alchohol burning gsxr750 (ask Mick).  Her friend,  Greg is also a World Record Holder and set the fastest run for the day yesterday at 205mph+.  You would never know it though.   Like most of the people out here Greg is a shy fellow sharing all his secrets to help his competition get better numbers.  That’s how it is here.  If someone just broke a record and is done racing they will give a part right off their very expensive modified bike to another racer (known or unknown to them) if he or she needs it.  It’s about testing your skills, your mechanic modifications, and your spirit.  The team from France has spent thousands of hours on their bike and are within 8 mph of the record.  Greg, referenced above, was sharing with them tips for a good half hour last night as we watched in awe.  Greg is an Australian crop farmer.  A regular Charles Ingalls.

  Mick could write a book on this week alone.  The characters are the big draw.

   The Libraian Nazi is peeking above her reading glasses and glancing back at the clock so I will wrap things up.  God Bless and God speed here on the Flats.