AHRMA SEASON OPENER AT WITTMANN ARIZONA • Editor's Report
"it'll be a hell run" said Charlie on the phone. I didn't like the sound of that. But we did it. 38 hours.

Translation: you leave Thursday NIGHT- and drive all night without stopping, and then all day without stopping, and then all night again without stopping, and arrive at the track 45 minutes before practice Saturday. You've had two hours of sleep in an RV swaying down the freeway at 50mph.

Arizona sounds too far away to actually make, but after getting to Hollister successfully, I keep casting farther afield. So now the new frontier: the Ahrma Season Opener: the National in Wittmann Arizona. ...... final prep for trip- out of town at 2pm- RV loaded and on road with Charlie Branstetter and his wife and son at 530pm - drive all night, stopping at Cottage Grove for Terry Dale’s bike. The rain was hammering down in a storm that was passing through, and there were little branches littering the highway as we drove off. I slept a while, and then drove again from 4am to about 10 I can't even remember...

Keaton, Charlie’s son is a very sharp young man of 11 years, and we took to counting birds of Prey (mostly hawks) on the side of the road. We scoured the telephone lines and fences for hours as we drive through the boring stretch of I-5 North part of California. We drive all day, no faster than 50 mph, finally turning East at Bakersfield.

By the time it began to get dark we were on the LONG stretch across the Mojave Desert towards Needles. Darkness had descended upon the open desolate part of Eastern California. I drive the long distance darkness across to Needles. As I drive the others are eventually sacked out. The miles are streaming by bit by bit, and the gas situation is also descending. I began to wonder how far it is to any kind of gas... Keaton gets up, and then Charlie and we began to examine the map. We start to do the desperate sidetrip scenarios in our heads. The map has a name on it- with a small circle- will there actually be a town?

We then start to talk about what fuel we actually have with us. We could empty the remaining gas in our fuel cans- I'd emptied mine into various race bikes to save weight. We could use Terry Dale's fuel- his container was full. I said to Charlie it would be that he is running some extra cool expensive fuel, and then we'd arrive like idiots and say cretinously "oh we used that for the RV...!"

but we thought we would do that as a very last resort. Eventually fearing the worst we pulled over and dump all our remaining Race Gas into the RV. Semis are roaring by, and I use the million candlepower flashlight- the big yellow one that you get at Home Despot to let trucks know to give us room as Charlie, trapped between the road and the traffic, poured tiny gas cans into the side of the RV. But as soon as we got going again there was a gas station out in the middle of nowhere, and we were OK. After getting Gas into truck, I get back to sleep. A while later I felt us pulling over. Charlie says he’s just got to sleep a little bit. So to sleep briefly.

Then I awake with a start and "realize" that we’ve slept way too long. The RV is parked helplessly on the side of the highway, all crew dead to the world. I jump up heroically, to take charge. Charlie, who is sleeping in the front seat wakes up and we start talking as I pull away.

As we start to talk I see that it’s still only 330am, and that we’re OK, and that I’d only slept for an hour and a half. We drive and talk and talk and drive through the darkness. The road is a ribbon, not even of moonlight, just headlights. We pull over for gas again at a pool of light at Wickiup.

We get coffee and gas, and set off again. The subject as it was the year before was the old days when Charlie was racing for Moto-Beta. The Hodaka Team was the enemy- but Harry Taylor, king of the "enemy" camp according the Charlie was always very kind to everyone. Still true! Finally I’m tired again, and I lie down. I awake as we are approaching the track. It is early, and there are dark shapes of trucks here and there as we pull in. Soon we were unloading bikes, signing up- saying hello to friendly faces.

Somewhere between the time we pulled over to top up he empty gas tank with our tiny fuel gas and arriving at the track I lose my Russian Hat. I can’t think when I had it on, but I imagine it’s sitting on the side of the highway somewhere in Arizona. On the off chance that it actually got to the track If anyone found a fake fur hate with a Russian Style star on it, please save it for me!