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Ads appear first in Vintage Views. Swap Meet ads (up to two each month, each 50 words in length) are free to AHRMA members, and do not include photos. ' 96 KTM MX roadrace converted, 17s, bodywork, fast $;. The "Swapmeet" was originally created by Jeff Spencer back in After six years in operation, Jeff decided to shut his site down in July of. Our Yamaha YZ and a Harley Davidson MX finished first on separate years of the York swap meet & bike show. In we were honored to.
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These individuals are bound by confidentiality obligations and may be subject to discipline, including termination and criminal prosecution, if they fail to meet these obligations. Bonnier only collects personal information that is relevant to the purposes for which it will be used. We were scoring with Lady Luck. Another windfall was in the chain department. Fortunately, Regina Chain had sent series Professional Cross Supermoto chains—purposely over-length at links—and after we cut about four links off with the handy Regina chain breaker, they fit perfectly.
With a loaner generator humming behind a nearby tree, floodlights lit up the Hagerty tent well into the night. They took on the exacting job of trimming our Fastlane MX racing graphics to fit the unusually sized vintage Rickman fiberglass side panels.
No small task, the custom-fitting took a couple of hours and looked great. Behind our work area, a poor guy in his pup tent had enough of us by In contrast to the sunny and amicable Thursday and Friday weather, Saturday dawned gray and ominous, as the outer bands of Hurricane Nate crept north into Birmingham.
And the word was now official: This created many new potential problems.
Best Vintage MX swap meets?
The course was deep in the Alabama woods, and as it differed every year, no one knew exactly where it went. And from our bike-building standpoint, the entire Saturday planned as a test and tune day would now be compressed into a single one-hour race instead. Talk about flying blind. Despite over car races, including two GT class wins in the Daytona 24 Hours, Randy had never raced a bike. Arriving at the track at 7: With temps in the high eighties and humidity to match, it was fixing to be a tough day in the woods.
Preparations came down to the wire, with Deborah using a hacksaw to shorten an exhaust baffle for me while I was pulling on my helmet.
It was then installed moments before I wheeled the bike off its stand. Randy hopped aboard his Rickman, and we rode out of the tent and across the Barber complex to the riders meeting, arriving just after race director David Lamberth started speaking.
The course was three miles, give or take a bit, he said, and was marked by orange arrows: From the starting area, a landing in a clearing of trees, the course dropped suddenly downhill to the right and then picked up a winding trail.
The woods were so thick here, that it was impossible to ride straight. Instead, you had to constantly weave around trees in a style reminiscent of speed-skiing moguls, with unyielding wood instead of snow to punish any mistake. The pre-hurricane weather proved almost insufferable, and Randy and I both finished the sighting lap with the same thought: How are we going to race this course for an hour? Half the riders wore water-filled backpacks, and while we had hydrated as much as possible before the event, neither of us had one.
We had come to do a pair of sprint motos, after all. Further, we had no idea how far the Rickmans would go on a tankful of gas. My only clues here were that the engines were only cc, and that a few years before, I had ridden my modern cc four-stroke MX bike for three hours at a near race pace before it ran out. Into the deep The event used a dead-engine start with four to six riders per row, beginning with Experts, ranging through our Intermediate class and then extending back to Novices.
Rows were flagged off 30 seconds apart to keep the or so riders from bunching up too much in the narrow woods. It felt like diving into dark water, not knowing how deep or how cold it might be.
I could see Randy getting away at various points and did not think I could keep up. It amazed me how inept I felt in the first minutes aboard this strange bike and in this strange new environment. But as other riders made errors, I worked my way into the pack and finally caught Randy on a rare uphill that was wide enough for two bikes.
Due to a last-minute carb adjustment made on the line, the engine performed well and I was able to zap by, then put my head down and fly. Most of the course was a relentless, narrow single-track that only gave relief in the form of some merciful shade.
Still, the woods were so thick we couldn't see far ahead, and it was plenty easy to miss a turn, clip a tree, or stall on a root or rock while scrambling uphill. I blew a few turns, even stalled the bike once after doing that, but the few positions that cost I eventually made back. Happily, the Dunlop Geomax tires were like dirt scalpels; they gripped everything from mud and sand to hard-pack and loam, and never slipped. I only lost the back end once and never the front.
After the flurry of the initial lap, my Rickman and I settled into third position and Randy settled into a steady fifth. Lap after lap unwound, and we were beginning to memorize the course, to learn our bikes, and to manage our physical condition. There were a few problems. Neither bike was jetted well, with mine stumbling rich on the bottom end, which required high revs and clutch slipping to circumvent.
He was getting beat up. Though I held out hope it was just a plug fouling it soon happened again on a dusty straightaway, and this time the engine stopped for good. I had been running third in class and on track for a podium.
As soon as the bike stopped, without the cooling airflow from moving, I felt the physical toll from riding in the heat. Clearly dehydrated, my heart rate and temperature climbed, I felt dizzy and my cognitive function began to erode.
Eventually though, I tried to flag down two-stroke riders but only one stopped. He said he didn't have enough gas and sped off.
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Potentially stranded, I got the idea that gas from the right side of the tank could be sloshed over to the left side, where the petcock lived. This worked and the Zundapp engine started. Relieved, I slowly continued on the course. I leaned the Rickman against a tree and, after waiting over an hour for the promised sweep vehicle to come it never didbegan hiking out. In doing so, I noticed plenty more things in the woods.
The rich duff, spider webs, tangled roots, ivy, rotting branches and logs, broad white mushroom crowns, and ants and beetles. It really was the deep woods, and I had only the vaguest idea where I was. I was hot and thirsty and my boots felt like lead weights. After reaching a clearing, I stared at the dirt and saw in script the name "Stein.
Although I had no water, to cool down I took off my top clothes and body armor, all but my old marathon undershirt.