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.

   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.

   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.

   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.

    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.  

   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.

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

Tags: Bub enterprises, Speedweek, The Bonneville salt flats