The day after the day after Christmas
By Shawn McDonaldThe morning after the second race of the New Zealand National Roadrace Championships at Wanganui (Juan-gan-uue) Cemetery Street circuit race was awash with glaring sunshine, fortunately most of us were wearing sunglasses to protect our party weary eyes. The first task to be completed before breakfast was to start picking up all the empty beer cans. Remember that this was the land of the Kiwi
where the inhabitants pride themselves on being the largest consumption of beer per capita in the world. It took 5 of us about an hour to pickup all the Kiwi Lager cans. The second task on the agenda was a makeup promotional appearance for the five Team America members with our racebikes in downtown Wanganui at the local hardware store. Four days before there was a scheduled Team America appearance on Christmas Eve that we missed by a few hours because of a unavoidable delay in the town of Rotorua (Roat-O-ruua). On our way up to the first race at Pukekohe (Pook-a-kohi), we stopped by the steaming geysers and
mud pits of Rotorua. Besides the steam, the town is a cultural center for the native Maori (Mowri) people with museums, art centers, and a present day Maori village located directly on the boiling water pools. It also had the most radical downhill cement Luge ride in the world. Some of the Kiwi's in their ever-present humor had dubbed us with a nickname, because we shipped a full sized American van by sea freight to carry up to 13 people and haul 5 bikes with extras, "Team A-Maori-Car". Funny people those Kiwi's. After taking a chairlift to the top of the peak, you could see giant Lake Rotorua and the distant horizon miles away. You could also look down and see how far the luge dropped down from the horizon. It went way, way down. The Luge run was made out of banked and curved concrete slabs that twisted down the hill and over dropoffs at close to 40 mph. In New Zealand there is a no-fault coverage for everything. Which means if you get hurt doing something at the Luge run you cannot sue the company. What I am trying to say is that you were not required to wear helmets, kneepads, elbowpads, seatbelts, goggles, nor did they have rollcages, safety netting, or padding for the trees. It was something you will never see in America, land of the free and home of the lawyers. I guess that is why they started bungee jumping down there. No worries mates, if you die you die. The Luges were made of a flat plastic board with four wheels underneath and a handle that I guess controlled the braking. A big plastic skateboard you might say. Steve Dahlstrom, Rick Salmon, Troy Burstyk, Bruce Lind and myself lined up five abreast waiting for the start. You weren’t supposed to race on this track and were supposed to ride single file with 4-second gaps between each other. We are racers and were going to race anything where you could be a winner. Because of my extra weight I could speed pass the lightweights of Lind and Burstyk on this gravitational course. To get bye the equal poundage riders of Dahlstrom and Salmon I just had to out drive them by leaning through the comers and listening to the plastic wheels skid and slide, and then grab some courage by not hitting the brakes when you went off the dropoff. The dropoff put you in the air for about 10- 15 feet at 40 mph on a little plastic Luge. I won all ten races by elbowing, bumping, diving underneath and cheating wherever I could. I was the King of the Luge. On the way back to Wanganui from the first race of the championships, Mike Sullivan insisted that we all do the Luge once again, because he wasn’t there for the first time. Bruce looked at his watch and said "I think we can make the promotional event in Wanganui if we just spend a little time Luging." Everybody was excited about tackling the course again and beating me, the King. This time there were some new rules though. First, I would have to start on the back row, and secondly we were not allowed to push off for the start. They wanted to win this time. I still won about half of the races, but I had been knocked off my pedestal. The last race of the day saw Lind and Sullivan ahead of me after the dropoff and coming into a tunnel. They were both side by side and covering the entire track. Just then a small gap appeared to open up between them and I went for it. I was halfway through the hole and onto victory when the hole collapsed and I hit Sullivan at speed in the back. Sully went for an off-road excursion until the front end buried itself in the dirt and flipped him end over end. His head hit a nice size rock that gave Sully a fairly big knot on his skull. I single-handedly had almost killed the star rider of Team America. I felt terrible, but I'm not certain if it was because I hit Sully or because I didn't win the last race. We had spent way too much time Luging of course and made a mad dash for Wanganui. We were only a few hours late and saw nobody at the hardware store. Don Cosford the promoter of the race was not a happy camper and rescheduled the big promotional bash for today. We didn't tell Cosford the real reason we were late. The town center was less than two miles into town from Cosford’s house where we were staying, so we decided to ride the Yamaha FZR 600's into town and literally throw the TZ into the back of the van. In this town next to the ocean everything, like New Zealand, is extremely laid back so we thought "No worries". It was kind of neat riding into town with your race bikes, knowing you could talk your way out of anything. In the second of our many promotional stops in Kiwi country, nobody showed up. I mean nobody for a few hours. One kid did come and talk to us, but he was the hardware owner’s son. Then we decided to go back to Cosford's house. We were all in different modes of rider attire due to the hot weather and the availability of clean clothes. I was wearing jeans and a coat, while Bruce was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Bruce and I headed the pack home first, followed by the van with Edie Lind driving and then Dahlstrom and Burstyk playing chasers. As you exited the town center you headed towards the country and faster speeds. The boys passed Bruce and 1, and headed on home. One of those transitional speed-changing sections was right in front of Cosford's house. Being in a commonwealth country we were blessed with driving on the left hand side of the road, like all good former British subjects. As Bruce started to turn right across the road into Cosford's driveway a white Honda seeing the higher speed limit in the distance sped up and tried passing us in one swoop. I could see the Honda coming by me but had no way of beeping or honking on a race bike at Bruce to tell him to stop. It all happened too fast. The van had a vista view of the action and was also helpless in warning Bruce. The car struck the motorcycle just behind the steering column and sent Bruce tumbling down the road. Everything came to a sudden stop. The car had caught the handlebar and ripped a big gash like a can opener in the left front panel. The senior citizens got out of their car. I stopped and laid my bike down. Bruce was already up and walking towards the elderly couple to discuss matters in an extremely calm manner. Bruce missed having his right leg severed around the kneecap by an inch. Most of us were in a state of shock. Bruce as always maintained an even strain and took care of business. Bruce did have the skin on his kneecaps nicely yanked off. We called our close friend constable Tony, who came over and got Bruce off the hook for not having a registered vehicle or a driver’s license. The elderly couple was guilty of passing and speeding in the wrong area, but constable Tony made the peace and everybody went home paying for their own vehicles. Tony later brought the FZR up to his machine shop and straightened out and fixed the bike with Bruce. Some cops are very nice. Edie was still in a small amount of shock when we started getting ready for the annual Peter Clifford barbecue on the outskirts of Wanganui. Constable Tony, his wife and two daughters joined us for the trip to the barby. After a quick trip to the supermarket for food we all piled into the van. As the side door was slamming shut, Edie thought that it was going to smash into Tony's daughter and stuck her hand out to stop the door. The door didn't stop and sandwiched Edie's hand against the frame. Ouch!! We were late to the barby and had no time to go back, so we did the first aid thing by sticking Edie's hand into the frozen hamburger and sausages we had just bought. Edie's finger sort of resembled a sausage at this point. For the rest of the evening she kept on holding it up in the air over her head. We were glad it wasn't the center finger. It was not a good day for the Lind's.
Peter Clifford’s house was situated at the top of a valley in the rolling green hills outside of town. We arrived towards the late middle part of the barby and the end of the dirt bike ride. There were still lots people milling around eating and drinking beer. The walking wounded of Bruce, Edie, Sullivan and the rest of the gang sat down to talk, eat and drink while Burstyk, Dahlstrom and I went to find dirt bikes to borrow or steal. We had been talking about this dirt ride for the past 6 months and we were going to ride no matter what. The ultimate scrounger Burstyk found the first bike, which was a 1989 KDX 200. Then Dahlstrom got hold of a Suzuki DR 350. I was left with Clifford’s bike, which two years previously had been stuck in a mud bog for the entire winter. The bike was a 1980 Honda XR185. This was not fair. I was out-horsepowered, torqued, suspensioned, handled. Dahlstrom and Troy Boy started going after each other immediately while I remarkably kept up a short distance behind. They came flying off an uphill crest in the air and crashed upon landing. Not a hard crash mind you, just one that would get dirt down your underwear. It actually got dirt in their underwear. A few Kiwi's had left the party to watch the crazy yanks on the MX course and gave us an audience. Rick Salmon was videotaping when the boys decided to relieve themselves of any extra fluids (away from the camera). Then at my urging they dropped their pants and gave the camera and audience a couple of nice smiles. Dahlstrom was done for the day, so I joined the Troy "Boy" in a race of old vs. young in bikes and age. I took that old Honda and revved it to the limit as it bumped and swapped ends though most of the course and kept Burstyk behind for 7 laps until my hands started to bleed and my strength disappeared. The younger and newer won, but not without a fight. Troy was also pooped, so we went to another area and set up a flat track course where I held him up for a while again. The rest of the night was spent eating food, bullshitting, drinking beer, chatting with Clifford, and trying to wash off as much dust as we could from our bodies. We had all survived the past two days with no serious injuries and a lot of stories to tell the rest of the world.
By Shawn McDonaldThe morning after the second race of the New Zealand National Roadrace Championships at Wanganui (Juan-gan-uue) Cemetery Street circuit race was awash with glaring sunshine, fortunately most of us were wearing sunglasses to protect our party weary eyes. The first task to be completed before breakfast was to start picking up all the empty beer cans. Remember that this was the land of the Kiwi
where the inhabitants pride themselves on being the largest consumption of beer per capita in the world. It took 5 of us about an hour to pickup all the Kiwi Lager cans. The second task on the agenda was a makeup promotional appearance for the five Team America members with our racebikes in downtown Wanganui at the local hardware store. Four days before there was a scheduled Team America appearance on Christmas Eve that we missed by a few hours because of a unavoidable delay in the town of Rotorua (Roat-O-ruua). On our way up to the first race at Pukekohe (Pook-a-kohi), we stopped by the steaming geysers and
mud pits of Rotorua. Besides the steam, the town is a cultural center for the native Maori (Mowri) people with museums, art centers, and a present day Maori village located directly on the boiling water pools. It also had the most radical downhill cement Luge ride in the world. Some of the Kiwi's in their ever-present humor had dubbed us with a nickname, because we shipped a full sized American van by sea freight to carry up to 13 people and haul 5 bikes with extras, "Team A-Maori-Car". Funny people those Kiwi's. After taking a chairlift to the top of the peak, you could see giant Lake Rotorua and the distant horizon miles away. You could also look down and see how far the luge dropped down from the horizon. It went way, way down. The Luge run was made out of banked and curved concrete slabs that twisted down the hill and over dropoffs at close to 40 mph. In New Zealand there is a no-fault coverage for everything. Which means if you get hurt doing something at the Luge run you cannot sue the company. What I am trying to say is that you were not required to wear helmets, kneepads, elbowpads, seatbelts, goggles, nor did they have rollcages, safety netting, or padding for the trees. It was something you will never see in America, land of the free and home of the lawyers. I guess that is why they started bungee jumping down there. No worries mates, if you die you die. The Luges were made of a flat plastic board with four wheels underneath and a handle that I guess controlled the braking. A big plastic skateboard you might say. Steve Dahlstrom, Rick Salmon, Troy Burstyk, Bruce Lind and myself lined up five abreast waiting for the start. You weren’t supposed to race on this track and were supposed to ride single file with 4-second gaps between each other. We are racers and were going to race anything where you could be a winner. Because of my extra weight I could speed pass the lightweights of Lind and Burstyk on this gravitational course. To get bye the equal poundage riders of Dahlstrom and Salmon I just had to out drive them by leaning through the comers and listening to the plastic wheels skid and slide, and then grab some courage by not hitting the brakes when you went off the dropoff. The dropoff put you in the air for about 10- 15 feet at 40 mph on a little plastic Luge. I won all ten races by elbowing, bumping, diving underneath and cheating wherever I could. I was the King of the Luge. On the way back to Wanganui from the first race of the championships, Mike Sullivan insisted that we all do the Luge once again, because he wasn’t there for the first time. Bruce looked at his watch and said "I think we can make the promotional event in Wanganui if we just spend a little time Luging." Everybody was excited about tackling the course again and beating me, the King. This time there were some new rules though. First, I would have to start on the back row, and secondly we were not allowed to push off for the start. They wanted to win this time. I still won about half of the races, but I had been knocked off my pedestal. The last race of the day saw Lind and Sullivan ahead of me after the dropoff and coming into a tunnel. They were both side by side and covering the entire track. Just then a small gap appeared to open up between them and I went for it. I was halfway through the hole and onto victory when the hole collapsed and I hit Sullivan at speed in the back. Sully went for an off-road excursion until the front end buried itself in the dirt and flipped him end over end. His head hit a nice size rock that gave Sully a fairly big knot on his skull. I single-handedly had almost killed the star rider of Team America. I felt terrible, but I'm not certain if it was because I hit Sully or because I didn't win the last race. We had spent way too much time Luging of course and made a mad dash for Wanganui. We were only a few hours late and saw nobody at the hardware store. Don Cosford the promoter of the race was not a happy camper and rescheduled the big promotional bash for today. We didn't tell Cosford the real reason we were late. The town center was less than two miles into town from Cosford’s house where we were staying, so we decided to ride the Yamaha FZR 600's into town and literally throw the TZ into the back of the van. In this town next to the ocean everything, like New Zealand, is extremely laid back so we thought "No worries". It was kind of neat riding into town with your race bikes, knowing you could talk your way out of anything. In the second of our many promotional stops in Kiwi country, nobody showed up. I mean nobody for a few hours. One kid did come and talk to us, but he was the hardware owner’s son. Then we decided to go back to Cosford's house. We were all in different modes of rider attire due to the hot weather and the availability of clean clothes. I was wearing jeans and a coat, while Bruce was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Bruce and I headed the pack home first, followed by the van with Edie Lind driving and then Dahlstrom and Burstyk playing chasers. As you exited the town center you headed towards the country and faster speeds. The boys passed Bruce and 1, and headed on home. One of those transitional speed-changing sections was right in front of Cosford's house. Being in a commonwealth country we were blessed with driving on the left hand side of the road, like all good former British subjects. As Bruce started to turn right across the road into Cosford's driveway a white Honda seeing the higher speed limit in the distance sped up and tried passing us in one swoop. I could see the Honda coming by me but had no way of beeping or honking on a race bike at Bruce to tell him to stop. It all happened too fast. The van had a vista view of the action and was also helpless in warning Bruce. The car struck the motorcycle just behind the steering column and sent Bruce tumbling down the road. Everything came to a sudden stop. The car had caught the handlebar and ripped a big gash like a can opener in the left front panel. The senior citizens got out of their car. I stopped and laid my bike down. Bruce was already up and walking towards the elderly couple to discuss matters in an extremely calm manner. Bruce missed having his right leg severed around the kneecap by an inch. Most of us were in a state of shock. Bruce as always maintained an even strain and took care of business. Bruce did have the skin on his kneecaps nicely yanked off. We called our close friend constable Tony, who came over and got Bruce off the hook for not having a registered vehicle or a driver’s license. The elderly couple was guilty of passing and speeding in the wrong area, but constable Tony made the peace and everybody went home paying for their own vehicles. Tony later brought the FZR up to his machine shop and straightened out and fixed the bike with Bruce. Some cops are very nice. Edie was still in a small amount of shock when we started getting ready for the annual Peter Clifford barbecue on the outskirts of Wanganui. Constable Tony, his wife and two daughters joined us for the trip to the barby. After a quick trip to the supermarket for food we all piled into the van. As the side door was slamming shut, Edie thought that it was going to smash into Tony's daughter and stuck her hand out to stop the door. The door didn't stop and sandwiched Edie's hand against the frame. Ouch!! We were late to the barby and had no time to go back, so we did the first aid thing by sticking Edie's hand into the frozen hamburger and sausages we had just bought. Edie's finger sort of resembled a sausage at this point. For the rest of the evening she kept on holding it up in the air over her head. We were glad it wasn't the center finger. It was not a good day for the Lind's.
Peter Clifford’s house was situated at the top of a valley in the rolling green hills outside of town. We arrived towards the late middle part of the barby and the end of the dirt bike ride. There were still lots people milling around eating and drinking beer. The walking wounded of Bruce, Edie, Sullivan and the rest of the gang sat down to talk, eat and drink while Burstyk, Dahlstrom and I went to find dirt bikes to borrow or steal. We had been talking about this dirt ride for the past 6 months and we were going to ride no matter what. The ultimate scrounger Burstyk found the first bike, which was a 1989 KDX 200. Then Dahlstrom got hold of a Suzuki DR 350. I was left with Clifford’s bike, which two years previously had been stuck in a mud bog for the entire winter. The bike was a 1980 Honda XR185. This was not fair. I was out-horsepowered, torqued, suspensioned, handled. Dahlstrom and Troy Boy started going after each other immediately while I remarkably kept up a short distance behind. They came flying off an uphill crest in the air and crashed upon landing. Not a hard crash mind you, just one that would get dirt down your underwear. It actually got dirt in their underwear. A few Kiwi's had left the party to watch the crazy yanks on the MX course and gave us an audience. Rick Salmon was videotaping when the boys decided to relieve themselves of any extra fluids (away from the camera). Then at my urging they dropped their pants and gave the camera and audience a couple of nice smiles. Dahlstrom was done for the day, so I joined the Troy "Boy" in a race of old vs. young in bikes and age. I took that old Honda and revved it to the limit as it bumped and swapped ends though most of the course and kept Burstyk behind for 7 laps until my hands started to bleed and my strength disappeared. The younger and newer won, but not without a fight. Troy was also pooped, so we went to another area and set up a flat track course where I held him up for a while again. The rest of the night was spent eating food, bullshitting, drinking beer, chatting with Clifford, and trying to wash off as much dust as we could from our bodies. We had all survived the past two days with no serious injuries and a lot of stories to tell the rest of the world.
