700 mile round trip, including lake and mountain excursions in central Oregon. Going over Mt Hood was slow going.
Happy Easter! So to back up a little, after seeing the movie "On Any Sunday" as a Junior in high school, I really wanted to race, but my dad said absolutely not. We had a small farm and shop where we did paint jobs, valve grinds and engine swaps. All we really did was go to school, tend cows n crops and then either cleaned parts for engine work or sanded cars for painting. I also had a knack for body work and would do some of that as well. My brother and I both had side jobs as our dad didn't pay for any of our clothes or school costs. I paid my own way on everything from the 7th grade on. Our shop; Me cleaning parts in a pan of gas; My brother n I worked at Jake n Larry's Shell in Scappoose; So as much as I wanted to race, it was a no go with dad. My brother left for the Army and my dad pressured me to drop most of my classes as a senior and run a small gas station and car lot for a friend of his. I resisted but he finally got his way, but I was pissed. In March of 72, after a physical altercation, I left and began a period of couch surfing and bumming around that would last almost two years, occasionally returning home for brief but fiery reunions with my parents. Alcohol and violence were featured attractions. My grandpa had forced a truce of sorts for my high school graduation and I went home. A month later (July 1, 1972) I turned 18 and could now sign myself in at the local dirt track. One of my dads Harley biker buddies (Oley Wilson) who painted and did lettering and striping, told me he'd help me get ready to race and not to worry about my dad. Oley was a tough old bird and I trusted him. The SL350 K0 before its racing days, here giving a nephew a ride, my brother in the background; Oley asked me what number did I want? Our local hero was the legendary #69, Sonny Burres, so I said 69. Oley made me a number plate with little faces and feet, and grinned like a wolf when he gave it to me. I was an 18 year old virgin with absolutely zero idea what this all signified. One of my very first races, as I only briefly carried this number; My racing transport was a 1950 Ford with a small OHV V8 and automatic, no actual pictures, but it looked just like this; Occasionally slept in this pickup and any other rigs I owned, depending on my situation. I lived like a stray dog. Learning to race was like most things in my life, I learned everything the hard way. Lots of crashing, but with determination slowly got better. I went thru a lot of handlebars! At a two day race in August at BZ Corner (near White Salmon, Washington), I was camped out in the woods when the youngish mom of a fellow racer approached. She remarked on my number plate and how much she liked it. I was pleasant but puzzled, what did this woman want? She was very friendly and suggested I come to the motel they were staying at and go swimming. Still unsure of what she was after, the conversation lagged and she finally wandered off, shaking her head I'm sure. When I went back to see Oley, I told him what happened and he explained, in detail, what the number meant and what the woman wanted. Oh my God! I immediately changed my number to 7 and gave Oley that number plate. It probably hung in his shop and made for a good story! Part of the deal with Oley helping me and occasionally staying at their house, was taking his son David with me so he could also race. David had a Kawasaki 238 Greenstreak, here he is in action, on the right; A few years ago I reconnected with David and his wife Laurie and was gifted with one of the original signs Oley had painted for our local track; Oley on his Harley with baby David; As that first short season wound down, I was becoming competitive and won a couple small races. As winter set in, the famed Woodland Winter Track opened and I began racing there regularly. That's when the real learning began. Thanks for reading!
I remember Sonny quite well.... He dated and was engaged to a neighbor girl, until she unfortunately died in a car crash. I used to go watch "Ol' Yeller" at local tracks but lost track of him after her passing. He did have a pretty good career. Oh... he had a killer yellow (of course) '59 El Camino hauler.
Sonny was a heck of a rider. One of his sponsors was Woodland Winter Track owned by Bob Couvo. They kept a 250 Elsinore there for him just in case he showed up. As I got better and a little more known, I'd show up and ask Bob if I could ride it instead of my beater 350 twin. If Sonny showed up I rode the 350, if he didn't, I rode the Elsinore.
Sonny at the riders reunion at Castle Rock about ten years ago, he's posing with Jan Hoglan, widow of TL Hoglan another top NW rider that rode Norton;
At Woodland I began to make the 500 A main and rode with some very good pros (didn't beat them, just made the same race) and to be honest I'd be awestruck. I usually made the A main by winning the lower mains and transferring up. This would put me on the outside of the starting line and I'd look to my left and see Kapus, Dodge, Eddie Herman and other NW stars. If there were 12 riders in the A main and 6 were of this caliber, I'd finish 7th. Still it was great experience and I'd follow my heroes and try to emulate their moves. I was still riding the old 350 twin. Toward the end of the winter season, people started telling me I should turn pro. What? Less than a year of experience and not a lot of backing, how was that going to work? Never to be deterred by reality, I went to the local bank and asked for a loan to buy a new 350 Astro and a set of Langlitz leathers. At first the bank manager laughed at me ( I was still only 18) but as I persisted he began to take me more seriously. I always worked and had a steady job at an independent tire store so he decided to take a chance and give me a break. I went to Yamaha East and bought a brand new 350 Astro and ordered leathers from Langlitz. I practiced as often a possible, and going from the heavy and under-powered twin to the two stroke rocket-ship was an experience I'll never forget. My first race was the amateur season opener at Sidewinders, most of the local Novices were there and to be honest there was a lot of snickering at the new guy in his stiff leathers. I was pretty nervous as we lined up for the first heat race. The flag dropped and I killed the engine! Quickly restarted it, caught the back of the pack and the race was over. Then it was into the semi and I thought "just don't kill the engine" and sure enough I killed it again, but got it going quickly, and riding like a madman, caught the pack and worked up to about 3rd. This somehow put me in the A main. I was only focused on one thing, don't kill the damn engine! Starting to get the idea of starting the two stroke vs my old torquey four stroke, got off the line about 3rd, quickly got to the front and never looked back. I sure loved that bike! Here's the only action pic I've got of the Astro, this is at Sidewinders with Brian Mosley and Tim Wilkins (going down); I rode the Astro for about two months and was doing pretty well at the amateur races and just holding my own as a Novice. Then had a pretty hard crash that shook my confidence for awhile. More on that later.
The Jalopy Journal
