Our pits. Ryan's Greeves, Dan's Greeves, Dirk's Husky, Bart's Husky.

Wednesday morning it was still dark as I rolled out of Seattle, land of the best coffee in the World. Of course I had a cup of Taster’s Choice® to start my trip. The trip to anywhere for the Vintage Motocrosser usually involves a side trip, or at least a stop or two to chase parts. 90 minutes into the six day trip I stopped to drop off the Montesa V75 Forks at Hot Dog Roger Landberg’s Bultaco. They were filled with Turkish Coffee (ok... some kind of sludge) and didn’t have to time to deal with them in my very important racing schedule between Arizona and VDR which was the following weekend. Two more hours of streaking down the long early morning tunnel of Interstate 5, and I was at Superior Sleeve in Portland Oregon. Recent acquisition of an RD400... pistons... Charlie was there making billet parts.

Anyway the morning wore into afternoon and across 58 to central Oregon. Snow visible here and there, and creeping toward the roadside as I climbed. Halfway to from I-5 to 97 I stopped the car at Odell Lake. I turned key off and marveled at the total silence. I climbed down a short bank to the lake surface. Weirdly it was like the experience of being a child where your whole world what is right in front of you right now. I stood as still as I could. The only sound- the ONLY sound at all, was the distant approaching Semis. Maybe packed with GP Maicos headed for Mecca. Hmmm. I took a deep breath or two and the moment was over.

By five I was in Klamath Falls, at the home of my pal Dirk Williams. Food. Bed.

Dan Wilson, Ryan Wheeler

Eric Carter & his 76 KTM 250 just touching down.

Dawn Thursday Dirk & I head out. Partway to Susanville the truck starts to sound peculiar. Why now? We quit doing wheelies and drove at a reduced pace to Susanville. Luckily there was a GM dealer. And a UHaul place. We unloaded the Huskies, loaded them into a UHaul Van. Now a couple hours behind, we pushed on to Reno. I sat gazing out the window like a kid in a commercial for Insurance. The cold lonesome road passed the Honey Lake track, deserted and snowy. In Reno we met Bart Carrigan. We unloaded the Huskies again, loaded them into a Bart’s trailer. Still pushing. Now I’m in the back seat of Bart’s big kickass modern pickup.

In Tonopah Nevada we stopped at the first motel we saw: the Clown Motel with a large painted clown. There are two beds, so the lady brings out a ³roll-away² - the kind that folds in the middle. It is too short for me by a foot, and Bart says ³lady, thatıs not a bed, thatıs a catcherıs Mitt!" Anyway another day Friday, with hours of miles rolling away. Area 51, Vegas, Hoover Dam, finaal stretch to Wittman.

By the time we got to Woodstock we were half a million miles away from home, and it was nice to see familiar faces as we rolled in.

Eric Carter allowed me to get some quick track time on his KTM- first time I'd riddden one. Now (of course) I want one....


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©2005 SIEGE