I had the distinct privilege of meeting Peter Starr nearly a year ago when he contacted me through my friend and mentor Mark Blackwell. I’m almost embarrassed to say that up until that day, I had never heard of him. What? How could someone who grew up riding motorcycles in the sixty’s and seventies as a kid have never heard of Peter Starr?
Never the less, Peter came to Bend to pitch his fundraising campaign to benefit the Prostate Cancer Foundation by selling in a personal visit followed by his iconic movie, “Take it to the Limit” which would be played at dealerships all over the Country.
It has been a tough sell. I get it, dealers today are sprinting from one fire to the next, short-staffed and short on cash. I can tell you from my own experience of owning a Powersports dealership that discretionary income was in short supply.
I think that part of the problem with Peter’s business plan it that, like me, not many of the next generation of dealers and riders actually understand who he really is! Let me try and educate you as quickly as I can. Watch the video or read the bio below and we will circle back.
Ok, now that you know who Peter is, what do you think? If you are like me, you’re thinking, how in the hell did a guy like that slip through my moto-radar? All that matters now is that we have become friends and I intend to help him deliver his personal message to motorcycle themed entities across the country. If you or someone you know is interested in having Peter bring his film and private message of survival to your place of business, please contact me in person, and I will be happy to put you in touch with Peter.
It’s been 42 years since I rode this bike, but today, I race the CR-125 Elsinore for the first time. You would think I would have taken the bike somewhere to practice a little bit first, but because this was supposed to be just a check-the-box item that I had been looking forward to, I didn’t want to put any more time on the bike than necessary.
When I was 13 years old, my Dad called me on the phone to tell me someone was coming to the house to pick up a few hay bales. I was supposed to stand by the road and flag him down so he knew where we lived. Obviously, this was way before Google.
I stood out by that road for what felt like an eternity when a blue and white Chevy pickup rolled up, pulled into the driveway carrying a brand new 1975 CR-125 Elsinore. I knew instantly that bike was for me. I was so excited I nearly peed my pants waiting for him to get it out of the truck.
The guy who brought it to me was Scott Pung, his family owned the local Chevrolet dealership in Alma, and they also sold Honda. I probably walked into that store 100 times to look at this bike. I think I wore a path in the carpet from the front door to the upstairs area where they kept the bikes.
When Scott unloaded the bike, he said: “Have you ever ridden one of these before? They’re really fast, not at all like your old motorcycle” (I had a Honda SL-125 4-stroke). He kicked the bike over one-time, and it fired right up. It was so loud that it gave me goosebumps. I’ve been waiting for years to get a real racing dirtbike!
The first time I rode the bike, I remember going up the path to the airstrip out behind our house and getting into the powerband for the first time. It hit so hard that the front tire came off the ground! It happened so quick that it scared me a little. My other bike could barely do a wheelie. You had to rev it up and pop the clutch to get the front wheel off the ground, not this thing. Twist the throttle and hang on!
To make a long story short, I was never allowed to race the bike, I could ride with my friends at their tracks in the area, but I couldn’t attend a race. 42-years later, I am finally going to realize a lifelong dream of racing the Elsinore in a real competition. I’m sure my parents had their reasons for not allowing me to race the bike when I was young, and I respect their decision, but I had to get my way eventually.
It’s 5;30 AM Sunday morning, May-7th, 2017, and Jeff Cole just pulled into the alley behind our house in Bend, Oregon. The race is being held at Crooked River Ranch, just an hour from the house. Tech inspection is at 7:30 AM, practice is at 8:30, and racing will begin promptly at 9:30. According to the race schedule, I was the in the 6th race, 125 intermediate. Only six riders were in my class, so they also put the 125 experts in our class.
Back at the trailer, we’re setting up the pit and looking the bike over one final time. This bike was completely restored by Vintage Factory out of California a few years ago, and it was still absolutely spotless. So much so that people were walking by the bike, shaking their heads in disbelief that I would race it. I just said it would take me too long to explain.
Here we go! The announcer called for 125 practice, so I quickly pulled my helmet on, fired up the bike, and headed up to the starting line. Usually, I go through a period of nervousness until I get to the gate, but today was all about realizing a 42-year dream and having fun.
At the gate were many other Honda Elsinores, some with a green stripe on the tank and some with a red stripe like mine. The 73-74 models had a green stripe, and the 75 had a red stripe. There were also Suzuki TM’s and a few other Japanese brands. The flagger had us fire up our engines and pointed for us to enter the track.
This was my first time at this track, so I took the first lap really easy for two reasons; 1) to make sure I learned all the obstacles on the track and 2) to ensure the bike was working correctly. On the 3rd lap, I whacked the throttle wide open, and there it was, right where I left it, that crazy hit the little CR had just past half throttle. Ye-ha! After all of these years, it still feels the same, if not more of a surprise.
The little Elsinore is just screaming its guts out underneath me, and I’m just laughing under my helmet at how fast she can go! This little bike really rips! She’s got zero power until just past half throttle, and then all hell breaks loose. I know it’s just a 125, but because it only weighs 170 LBS, it feels like a much more powerful bike. I head into a tight corner downshifting to first and hit the throttle hard. The engine responds with a scream that sounds like a swarm of angry bees. Two more hot laps and practice is over.
Back in the pits, I see my Father-in-law has shown up to watch the race and offer his support which is greatly appreciated. We put the bike up on the stand, fill it up with some 110 octane VP race gas mixed with old-school caster and get ready for the first moto.
Moto #1
Race #5 is winding down, so we lift Els off the stand, fire it up, and head to the line. Most of the other riders are already up there fidgeting with the dirt behind the start gate and other race prep rituals. I roll up on the far outside and shut the bike off. The guy next to me is the #1 rider in the class and has been all over the country riding other AHRMA events. He’s done this many times and knows what to do.
The class before ours is getting the checkered flag, so the starting official gives us the universal “start your engines” sign by holding one finger over his head and waving in a circle. The 8 motorcycles on the line simultaneously fire their engines, and I can instantly feel my heart rate rise in anticipation of the gate dropping. Since I have never practiced a start on this bike, I am trying to decide whether to start in first or second gear? If this were a modern-day 2 or 4-stroke motocross bike, it would be a no-brainer-click it up to second gear, hold the throttle wide open until you see the gate fall, and dump the clutch.
The start official points at each rider on the line to ensure we are ready. I put the little Elsinore in first gear and held the throttle wide open, waiting for the gate to drop. The gate drops, I dump the clutch, and Els hooks up so hard that I almost loop out! The rest of the field is quickly in front of me, but I pass three other riders before the first straight is behind us.
We head into the first corner, and the expert 125 riders are already one corner away from the rest of the field. I’m in third place out of six riders and right on the heels of the second-place rider. We come down through the first series of switchbacks heading across the start straight, and I move into second place on a super fast straight-away.
Halfway through the race, I can see the first-place rider and catch him fast. Els is struggling to stay on the pipe, and the lead rider is pulling me out of every corner. With two laps to go, I pull through the single-file finish chicane, pull in the clutch and immediately go to the ground, breaking my clutch lever. Els is still running, but the third-place rider quickly passes me. I pick the bike up, but it will hardly go? WTF…I rev the bike for all it’s worth for the next two laps and pass the second-place rider just before the finish of the race.
Pulling off the track, I know that there is something really wrong with the bike. It will bearly pull itself and wants to stall. I end up pushing the bike the final 100 yards with the rear wheel completely locked up, even while the transmission is in neutral.
Jeff puts the bike on the stand and quickly notices that the rear brake is stuck full-on! The last two laps of the race were run with the rear brake on. Well, that makes sense! Turns out, the bolt that holds the brake lever in place had loosened up and held it in the full-on position. The rear hub was so hot it was smoking. We fixed the bolt, filled up the bike with fuel, and got ready for moto-2.
Moto#2
Back at the line, we fire up the bikes and get ready for the gate to drop. This time I stick the transmission in second gear and hold her wide open. The gate drops, I dump the clutch, and Els bogs miserably. The engine falls flat on its face. The gearing is just too much for the engine to handle. I quickly slip the clutch to get the revs back and pass the same three riders before the first corner.
I’m running in third again but quickly displace the second-place guy and lay a bead on the first-place guy on the Suzuki. I’m reeling him in fast, and by the end of the third lap, I’m right on his ass! He’s a seasoned rider and knows I’m back there. We dice back and forth for the lead, but he cuts me off at every corner. I go outside, and he runs me wide. I tuck inside, and he cuts me off. He’s got eyes in the back of his head!
We do this for two more laps. I’m all over him but can’t seem to find a way around him. We come into the second to last corner, he brake checks me, and I plow right into the rear-end of his bike so hard it lifts off the ground about 3 feet. I can’t believe we are both still up! It’s a race to the last corner. He goes inside, and I take the outside. Els is wide open, and we have a gap but not the line. I have to let off before the single file finish between the hay bales, and he just gets me. We’re second place, and that is that.
I haven’t felt that invigorated in a long time! The CR-125 is not for sale. See you next year, Mr.Suzuki rider. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to practice my holeshots!
Many people you speak with mention the word “control,” whether it be mental or physical control. People assume they are “in control” of their thoughts, actions, or inanimate objects. I find this interesting as a motorcyclist. I have learned that “control” is an illusion created by the mind, an idea or tool we use to help us shape the immediate future and exhibit our will over something or even someone.
To that end, when I am riding my motorcycle, I position myself upright on the seat, take hold of the handlebars, pull in the clutch lever, shift the drive system into gear, and move away in the direction I’m looking. The handlebars, engine, frame, seat, chassis, transmission, final drive, and wheels are all parts of the motorcycle I use to “control” the speed and direction of the machine.
I see the motorcycle not as individual parts but as a single solid object—a motorcycle. The reality is that it’s made up of hundreds of individual pieces. This sum of parts makes up a complete motorcycle. I could go on for hours about the importance of each part in relation to the overall function of the motorcycle, but we’ll leave that for another time.
Why do we assume that if we have the controls of a machine at our fingertips, we have complete control over the machine? Is it the solid feeling of the bars in our hand, the fact that we can use the throttle, clutch, shift lever, and other controls to steer, accelerate, and decelerate the machine?
We always plan to get on the motorcycle and have it take us to our destination without incident. We check things like the gas, oil, chain, brakes, lights, and controls to be as prepared as possible for our ride.
The fact is, many things are out of our control and can interfere with our plans. If just one of the many parts that make up the sum of our motorcycle fails, it can interfere with our plans and even stop us in our tracks. Obstacles in our environment can appear suddenly. A rock, rut, or animal in our path can upset the balance of the motorcycle and toss the rider over the bars in a fraction of a second. Was the rider in control of that situation?
I would argue that we can’t even control our own thoughts! How can this be, you ask? Easy. We have hundreds of thoughts every day, but not all of them belong to us. They are planted there by many outside influencers, like the media, friends, parents, and our significant other, for example. Our subconscious picks up information everywhere, recalls these opinions at relevant times, and adds them as thoughts.
Have you ever been driving your car and had a vision of someone hitting you head-on? Or had a vision of a loved one being injured or killed? Where do these thoughts come from, and why do they creep into our heads in the first place? It might be hidden fears, but it might just be something else.
I can’t believe what a disposable society we live in today! It seems that the only thing we care about are the words “NEXT”. I have been in business for over 40-years, starting with my fathers convenience store when I was just 13-years old. Dad always said, the most important thing to remember is “the customer is always right”. Now some of you may not agree with this statement but if it weren’t for customers, where would your next paycheck come from?
Today it seems that BIG business cares about one thing and one thing only, selling more stuff. This is fine, but, it seems to come at a cost which is no longer taking the time to make sure customers get service after the sale! I’ll give you a couple examples; I purchased a Garmin GPS watch from REI (a large outdoor retailer in the West) that was rather expensive but has the ability to track your route along with speed, elevation change and a whole host of other features you would want while exploring the backcountry on a motorcycle. After a few months the watch battery would die about 15-minutes into a ride while running in GPS mode. It should last a minimum of 2-3 hrs when fully charged. I brought it back to REI, explained the issue and all they could tell me was to send it back to the manufacturer. Next, my wife purchased an iPhone case from Simply MAC and it malfunctioned (twice) so she brought it back and was told the same thing, “you can send it back to the company and see if they will send you a new one” exclaimed the cashier!
In the grand scheme of things, these are small problems to have but where did customer service go? Retail is now a team of two, a quarterback (the seller) and a receiver (you, the buyer). Where did the front line go?? If you try to argue these points with a sales clerk at a big box store, they just don’t care, they can burn a bridge and someone will be standing right behind you as they holler “NEXT”. Yes, I’m a redneck and we “holler”
As a dirtbiker, you learn the value of friendships and keeping relationships intact at all costs. Why? ever been riding your motorcycle and break down out in the middle of nowhere without the means to fix the problem? I have and sometimes the guy that comes along might just be “THAT GUY” you know, the one you told to go fly a kite when they needed help. These are hard lessons to learn but after so many failures growing up you learn fast what matters in the world and it always comes back to people!
I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember and although our relationship is combustable you’ve always been there for me. You helped build my confidence, taught me respect, fear and love. You speak not of words but I listen to you closely, I feel your vibration as you move underneath me. You take me to places no one else can, we are one for a moment that will last forever…
After 62 years on this planet, 58 of them riding a motorcycle, I have had my share of success and failure. Most people would say that they owe most of their success to their parents. While I acknowledge that I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for my parents, there is no question in my mind that I wouldn’t be who I am today if it weren’t for motorcycles.
My explanation of how everything in my life was shaped by learning to ride a motorcycle follows. (I’m still learning, by the way). I was raised in the sixties and seventies, a period when mechanical engineering and assembly line technology made it cost-effective to build recreational products at prices middle-class America could afford. These machines were everywhere, and most of our friends had a motorcycle, snowmobile, boat, or some other form of mechanical toy.
My dad owned a gas station in Saint Louis, Michigan, where he also sold minibikes, snowmobiles, gas, oil, brakes, and tires. I was 4 years old when he brought the first minibike home for me to ride. I hadn’t even ridden a pedal bike yet. I don’t remember much about riding that first bike, but my dad tells the story with some tears involved, and they weren’t his.
My first minibike
Motorcycles have been in my life for as long as I can remember. When you’re 4 years old, committing to riding a machine with two wheels, propelled by a gas engine, and equipped with brakes that stop just one of the two wheels, there’s going to be some figuring out to do. Motorcycle technology has undergone significant changes over the past 50 years, but the principles of riding remain essentially unchanged.
When you ride a motorcycle in the dirt for the first time, you learn right away that some things are not completely in your control. The tires move around a lot depending on the terrain you are riding over. The front tire floats on sand differently than it does on hard ground, such as black dirt or clay. Riding in the sand for the first time gives the rider a tense, uneasy feeling in the bars. The front end can push and swerve depending on speed and technique. As you learn to ride in this condition, you learn to move your weight back over the rear wheel and keep the throttle on. This keeps the front end light, which helps the motorcycle go where it’s pointed.
You start out riding in your yard one day, and the next day it rains, you come flying around the same corner, and the next thing you know, you’re sliding across the lawn on your ass.
Lesson #1: You can’t go as fast on wet grass as on dry grass…
Lesson #101: You can’t stand on the seat of your motorcycle and let go of the handlebars under 30 mph.
You get the picture.
Growing up on two wheels teaches you things you could never learn from anyone else, and some of it hurts like hell! You know how your father would tell you you’re getting a spanking for doing something you were told not to do?
On a motorcycle, you don’t see the ass-kicking coming.
It just shows up!
Failure is equally important as success. Ask anyone successful, and they will have dozens of stories about failure. What you choose to do with failure makes or breaks you. If you don’t fall, pick yourself up and try again; all that’s left is failure.
Two years ago, I resigned from the best job I ever had as Zone Sales Manager for Victory Motorcycles (a division of Polaris Industries). I had full medical benefits, a 401 (k), stock options, a company truck, demo units, a great salary, and commission to boot. I left it all at the curb to take a chance on my own start-up business.
Why?
Let’s just say I flew off a motorcycle one too many times—and somewhere in the air, between takeoff and crash landing, I figured out I could handle whatever came next.
This month (July) I traveled back to my hometown of Michigan to spend some quality time with my family and friends. My wife (Jennifer) is busy with Microsoft shows this time of year so it’s a perfect time for me to travel.
This year we flew my Nephew (Cody Chesney) out to our home in Bend, Oregon so he could spend a few days riding trails and having fun in the West. I don’t think he had a clue of how boring the ride back was going to be but the beauty of being a 10-year old is that you can entertain yourself for hours with an iPad.
Cody is a cute little guy who always has a big bright smile on his face every time you see him. He couldn’t wait to get home because he knows how much I like to ride a dirt bike (even though I’m currently without a ride) and he’s been planning on riding with me at a track for months. Last year I took him on his first trail ride and he had a blast.
This year I told Cody that I was going to race a hare scramble with Ryan “Ryno” Weatherby. Cody’s eyes lit up as he said ‘Uncle Mike can I go too?”, “sure you can Cody but a hare scramble is probably not a great place to learn how to ride a track” I exclaimed. He was insistent that he wanted to go anyway.
The weather report was not looking good for the weekend so Ryno and I decided that it would be way more fun to just do a track day. Ryno was going to race Big-Air Motocross park on Saturday so we decided to ride the track for practice on Sunday. I spoke to my brother a few days before about our plans so we could work out the details of getting his bike and gear to the track for Sunday.
What Cody wasn’t privy too was that we had all schemed to pull a fast on him. Friday night Ryno met my Brother here at my folks house to pick-up the KTM-65 Cody was supposed ride on Sunday at Big-Air. We loaded the bike, gas and gear into Ryno’s trailer and they took off to camp at the track for the weekend.
The next day (Saturday) my Dad and I made a mad dash over to Grand Rapids to pick up a brand new (hold-over) 2012 KTM-85 SX motocross bike. Cody sat on this very bike just a week before while he and his family were shopping in Grand Rapids. O.B. and I picked up the bike, hoofed it over to the track in Newaygo, dropped off the bike and gave Ryno instructions for Sunday morning when Cody, his family and I would arrive.
My brother Don had a company picnic to go to Sunday afternoon so he was in a hurry to get to the track Sunday morning. We all left about the same time but Cody and his family got there a few minutes before I had arrived. Ryno had the new bike hidden in the back of the toy-hauler and his KTM-65 was in the back of the pick-up where Cody could clearly see it. We unloaded the 65 and proceeded to distract Cody by going over the maintenance pre-ride procedure before going out on the racetrack for the first time. Cody was already to go when I said “now, do you want to ride this bike or that one?” pointing behind him, his Dad was rolling the brand new KTM 85 out of the back of the hauler to where we all were standing!
I was immediately transformed back to my 13th birthday when my father called me on the phone and told me that Scott Pung was on his way to our house to pick up a bale of straw and I was to flag him down because he didn’t know where we lived. When he got there he had a brand new 1975 Honda CR-125 Elsinore motocross bike in the back of the truck. I will never forget that day and I’m pretty sure last Sunday had the same profound effect on Cody by the look on his face. Even though I’ve been buying my own bikes for years, the excitement of getting a new motorcycle makes me feel like that 13-year old kid all over again.
Motorbike Mike 