Brooks Motor Works

Northwest Fastest (Vintage) Bavarian

We’re headed out for Bonneville, and I am excited. I have learned that it takes a passionate group of people to get a race venture off the ground. The last few weeks have been busy. We would not even be on our way without our generous sponsors who have all pulled together to support this adventure. Just last week, Charlie McManus and Jacqueline Plattner at the Primo Grill in Tacoma hosted us for a talk and slide show, and added to our funds as well. Our donated camper van (from my parents) is filled with water from Tammi’s Water company Crystal Springs. Tenzing Momo, the herbal apothecary at Pike’s Market, has sponsored us this year, as they did for the last several trips. Our loyal backers from our first attempt, Carpenters’ Local 1144 and 1797, contributed. South Sound BMW is not only helping financially, but Marty is getting photos and articles posted that talk of our racing. Our friends and the Vintage motorcycle Enthusiasts have most generously donated money, time and effort. They have been coming by the house, helping on projects in whatever way they can.

Dean heads out early from Olympia to Spokane to get his brother Lyle and then go stake out a pit on the salt.

He is schlepping a lot of gear and the Honda to use as a pit bike. Rob and Ron have the R25 “Freedle Flyer” in Rob’s truck, and they will start racing as soon as they have made it through tech inspection. We are following slowly in the camper-- Kevin, Uncle Fred, Barb and Bogie and Sammi (dogs), towing Jeff’s trailer with the R50 ‘Bonita Rapida’ and the replica Rennsport.

The first thing we need to do is to drain the bad luck out of the trip, which we do by getting a flat rear tire, fixing it a Les Schwab, and getting a second one right after that. By this time it is 4 am, so we camp out at the next Les Schwab and catch a few zzz’s until they open. $600 later we are on our way riding on 4 new tires. Finally we see Wendover Will in the distance- the cowboy who smiles over east and west Wendover. Our excitement starts to bubble as we pass ‘Welcome to Bonneville Salt Flats’ and head onto the salt. We drive across a huge expanse of bright white salt and scour the pits looking for Dean.

There is a huge amount to get done all at once. Unload, check in, get wrist bands for the racers and crew and neon participant stickers for the van, start paperwork, get bikes and riding gear through tech inspection, unload trailer and get trucks set up as push vehicles. Everyone leaps into action- Dean has set up camp, Rob and Ron have already gotten a run in. With everyone’s help, we even get Kevin and Bonita out onto the special course for a test run. I am glad he is testing the salt. It looks soft and a bit fuzzy in the turn off area, and this makes me nervous. The run is a warm up, unexceptional, and everything seems in order.

We head back to the bend in the road, walk the dogs, chat and then Kevin and I head to the truckstop/gas-station/shower/convenience store/restaurant marvel that sits back up the road a mile away. The walk is a nice way to unwind. We walk back under bright stars, and fall into bed. Racing starts up at 7am, so we will be up early.

At dawn, we join up with the caravan headed out onto the salt. We get into the pits, and the Bonneville Salt Flat Fever hits me hard. The sand is hot, white, sun reflecting everywhere. People are busy and intense, working in teams to launch their vehicles. It feels a bit like a huge country fair, but instead of animals, everywhere you look are weird and wonderful colorful vehicles of all shapes and sizes. There are 50cc bikes here, and things that look like spaceships. Rat rods swarm up and down the pits, and custom rods with fantastic paint jobs gleam and shine as they parade around like peacocks.

There are stories behind each race car or bike. The French team, all decked out in baby blue matching T-shirts, couldn’t afford shipping, so they completely dismantled their 50cc Motobecane and put the parts into their luggage.

I guess they did a good job putting it back together, because I see them in impound. A Texan hauled his Indian Chief out from his barn, dusted off 40 years of grime, got custom grey leathers and rode it 122 mph. Rob and Ron turn up with their own story- their 250cc BMW motorcycle the Freedle Flyer, named after Rob’s best friend, running in the Production Pushrod Vintage (P-PV) class just broke last year’s record. They are in impound, and need Kevin to come over and chat with the inspector.

Adding to the fun, more friends are cruising in. Dave Legg and Ron Verano have come, and Ron has his camera out to capture all the eye candy.

Scott strides in, having ridden all the way from Missouri on his V-Strom. Kathy and Bruce arrive in their camper. We christen it the Café de Bonneville, as Kathy promptly cooks up a spaghetti dinner and doles out snacks. Brent and Sue appear, trailer in tow. They have Brent’s new green and silver Blitz Schnell partially streamlined 500cc bike and are eager to run it. They hook the bike shoe onto the truck and head out to race. Meanwhile, everywhere I look Steve Skeels and his son David are photographing and videotaping all the goings on. They stand up high on his cab bed or roof and take in the racing and unique vehicles. Steve interviews Kevin and me, Rob and Ron, under the canopy with the sun blazing all around and our neighbors trying to start up their race car over and over. Steve takes out his generator and hooks it up to our campervan to try to cool it for everyone while David jumps on a bike and tours the pits.

Kevin, Dean, Lyle and I head out with Bonita Rapida and the Rennsport.

The sun is beating down and we hold umbrellas against the glare. We droop against the truck door, waiting our turn on the special course. Our pick up man is Lyle now- he is handsome and patient and puts the truck where it needs to be. We are all hot, sticky and sweaty as we load and unload the bikes, and change in and out of black leathers and helmets. We stink and our eyes are gritty. We see Rob headed back and holler at him. He tells us they are headed back to impound again! Broke this year’s record with the Freedle Flyer!

I am on deck to get my rookie run out of the way. I am nervous and feeling definite butterflies. I gear up, swing over the bike and settle into a crouch. Kevin checks my chin strap and reminds me to enjoy the ride. He starts Bonita, and I sit very still, waiting on the starters, Dean and Wes. They are incredible- on the salt from dawn till dusk, turning a burnt caramel color, sweating in the sun as they launch hundreds of vehicles. They keep their humor and sense of perspective, and are supportive and professional. I try to get Wes to run off with me. He tells me about his burro. He prefers her- he feels she is less complicated. I say, at least get out of my way then and let me get on down the track. He motions 1-2-3 and right- this means, after the third mile, get off immediately, don’t hog the track and slow the racing, and go right to meet your pick up vehicle. I revv it up and clean it out at 6,000 rpm, then drop it down and into gear. Suddenly I am launching down the track filled with joy at being on the salt. I flatten down and pull my elbows in tight. It seems long till mile one, I am already well into 3rd gear. Suddenly we fly past mile 3 and I am faced with the turn off onto the ungroomed surface. I slow the bike way down because I fear most dumping it right at the track edge. I make the turn, and see the race track officials coming toward me. We are great friends. I entertain them, and they tell me things like “too long getting off the course, too tight a turn, where were you going? You scared us…”… “Nice ride” is not in their vocabulary. I am bouncing up and down. They cannot dampen my enthusiasm at being on the salt. Lyle roars up, Kevin jumps out, we load the bike and head to the timing booth. I have turned in a smoking rookie run, 99.78 mph, faster than Kevin’s record of last year.

The next day I am eager to ride. I have discovered the salt is hard, fast and clean to ride on, and there are no distractions. It is a magical privilege to just be able to focus completely on the ride, with no deer, rabbits or coyotes to worry about. Just go fast, get into your crouch and handle your shifts well. I do get lost once in the gear box, flopping between third and fourth and somewhere in between. But I am having too much fun to dwell on it. I chat with gals from New Zealand, racing bright red Hondas over 200 mph. I meet lovely women from Australia, who also want to be in the ‘Red Hat’ club. They are friendly and supportive, and I am electrified with energy. Here we are, international women, racing on the flats. On the line again, I visualize my run and work the lanyard kill switch onto my right wrist. I am smiling at the Australian gal, and wave my arms enthusiastically, jerking the lanyard out and shutting off the bike. Kevin rolls his eyes. He is not fond of kick starting the bike in 100 degrees. I reward him with a speedy run that places us in impound. The next morning we turn in 100.4, and secure the 2009 P-PV vintage 500cc record.

It is the end of a busy, hot week, and most of our team and friends have left. I am again struck with how generous everyone is- all pulling together to make racing happen. Our team of Uncle Phred, Dean, Lyle, Rob, Ron, Dave and Ron has worked really hard. We decide to stay longer to continue diagnostic runs. I tell Kevin how romantic this has been. He looks back at me. Working hard all day long in the grit and sun, taking motors and clutches apart and putting them back together, loading and unloading bikes, talking riders through runs, analyzing results all seems less like romance to him and a bit more like hard work. But it’s all romance to me. I bounce up and down as he loads Bonita up for another run.

I am ready to ride. I have perfected my crouch, and roar up hard through the gears.

She is spinning well, we are flying. I am welded to the tank, leaving the dents requested by Ron. I cannot see the tachometer because my helmet is tucked down behind the bars. I watch sideways as the black line flies along beside me.

We blast past mile 3 and I sit up, roll off the throttle and make my way off the course. I am hopping with excitement. Waiting for Kevin on the salt, the sun is so bright I cannot lift my visor. I know we went fast and sure enough, I just secured the run on Bonita at 100.2, for a record in the books at 100.33 mph. I am elated to be here, too hot and sweaty, surrounded by people trying to go fast. This is it, I think. This is the ultimate E-ticket ride.