Floribama Riders

I thought that by announcing to all my friends that I would run my first race this past weekend that it would motivate me to wrap up the bike maintenance and get on the track. Unfortunately, I neglected to account for an important fact--I have no shame. Since I had not paid any fees, I was content to show up at a race with a half-prepped race bike, working on the bike between races and handling ridicule from my friends. It turned out to be a good dry run where I learned a lot about my vehicles and my character.

Thursday - I found the washer!

You'll recall from my earlier blog post that I lost a washer in the lower bowels of my SV650 motor. I asked for advice on three e-mail lists and received three different recommendations:

• Lay the bike on its left side
• Lay the bike on its right side
• Create an electromagnet using two lengths of wire and a 12-volt battery (John H. on the FBR list wins the prize for most creativity)

Thankfully, I only had to try the first recommendation. When I leaned the SV650 on its left side, the washer slowly drifted into view on a film of oil! I was able to reach it with my handy-dandy magnetic wand.

Friday - More struggles

I had taken the day off work, so I hit the garage early and wrapped up the shift kit installation, only to find that it was not working as expected. I decided to re-focus my energies on drilling bolts and anything other than the shift kit. Then I disassembled and re-assembled the shift kit yet again, and it still wasn't working. I decided it wasn't likely I would be racing, but I may as well get the SV mounted in the bed of my El Camino and use the weekend as a dry run.

After dinner, I picked up the FBR Atlanta chapter's EZ-Up canopy from Tony W. He has a great garage setup, so we opened a beer and checked out his race-ready SV650. Tony generously offered for me to ride his bike on Sunday, but I wanted to focus on getting my own ready since there was another race at Road Atlanta in two weeks. I think I sufficiently planted a seed that could result in Tony racing that same weekend.

Saturday - Mounting the bike in the El Camino

My only two tasks for the day were:

1. Mount the Pit Pull trailer restraint system in the bed of my El Camino; and
    
2. Drive to the track at Talladega.

If you've been following this saga, you can guess that #1 took some time. The El Camino's gas tank sat right below where I was supposed to place the mounting holes. I could possibly have drilled the holes right above the tank, but I didn't feel lucky enough. I didn't like odds when the second-worst case was holes in the top of my gas tank and the worst-worst case was an explosion.

So I dropped the gas tank. I've never done this before in a car, but the mounting system looked simple. The tank hung in two mounting straps with four bolts total. Here was the process:

• Jack up the tank, using a board to avoid putting a lot of pressure on any one place.
• Unscrew the bolts for the tank's steel "luggage straps"
• Lower the jack
• Drill four holes
• Attach the Pit Bull mounting plate, working underneath a precariously-perched and full 20-gallon tank of gas
• Raise the jack, see gas seeping out the left side of the tank and freak out that you've split the tank
• Lower the jack again, releasing the pressure so you're no longer crushing the tank
• Raise the tank most of the way
• Bench press the rest of the tank's weight while simultaneously bolting in the luggage straps

That took the entire morning. The SV650 mount worked really well, although it took about 30 minutes to get the bike mounted the first time. But the great thing is, once it's in there, it's not going anywhere. I didn't even use any front tie-down straps.

Then I loaded up the El Camino with the EZ-Up canopy and most of my tools. I noticed the rear rode a little low, and I could force the wheels to touch the wheel wells by pushing on the bumper--not good.

Overheating in 'da hood

So I left Atlanta feeling a little frazzled, got lost and hit the most horrific traffic jam. I watched the El Camino's temperature gauge creep up with increasing trepidation. I don't even want to say how high it went, but I finally got close enough to an exit in western ATL. I found myself at the most raggedy-ass gas station with plexiglass to protect the cashier behind the counter. I had roughly $2,000 of tools and equipment sitting in the bed of the El Camino, but I was more worried about the cooling system.

Thankfully, nothing major broke, and it was only a split in the lower radiator hose. So I bought some water and overpriced coolant and filled the near-empty radiator. (I know I could have filled it with straight water, but the coolant gives off a useful smell when the system starts leaking.) Around this time, a motorcycle police officer pulled up to the station. He didn't say anything, but I got the feeling he was just hanging out to make sure I got out of there ok.

With the car ready to go, I hit the road in a relatively calm frame of mind. My only worries were:

• Engine temperature. It seemed to be holding steady around 190-210 degrees.
   
• The low-riding suspension. Every time I hit a major wallow on I-20, the rear tires would hit the fender wells.
   
• Oh, and that's not to mention the brake master cylinder that requires three pedal pumps to do anything useful. I've got another one on order, but, hey, I had to get to the race.

The drive went relatively smoothly. I stopped a couple of times, and someone at each stop helpfully pointed out that my car was peeing. I thought to myself, "Yes, that's why I'm *stopping* to top off the radiator."

Arrived at TGPR at 7 PM, long after most of the racers had left. Ate dinner at a local Mexican restaurant, and I was thinking to myself, "Boy, I'm glad I went for the local fare"--until I tasted the food. Returned to the track and slept under a blanket in the bed of the truck, listening to the drone of generators that motored on, keeping other people comfortable.