Not long after, I loaded the bike and took it out to see Johnny Cheese for some dyno testing and tuning.  We ended up making 32 pulls on the dyno and by the end, we had maxed out the dyno at over 500 horsepower.  That was my goal and I can’t explain how happy I was to reach it and not have a catastrophic engine failure.  WOOT!

The Texas Mile rolled around again in October, 2009.  I loaded my baby up and headed for the track.  Things didn’t go straight to hell, but things didn’t go well either.  My first pass, I decided to make a nice easy shakedown run since the bike had any number of changes that I made and they had not been tested as a system on the track.  I didn’t add any additional boost with the boost controller and just ran with 14 psi of spring pressure on the wastegate.  I rolled out very slow and easy and went through 1st and 2nd gear without getting under boost, and then nailed it in 3rd.  The turbo spooled and the bike pulled hard and gently lifted the front wheel for about a second and a half and then there was a loud pop.  I thought the bike had backfired, but it quite pulling hard from there on through the pass.  I rolled back to the pits and let it cool.  I lined up and made another pass and it never got on boost at all.  I took it to the pits and looked it over.  The loud pop had been the rubber hose between my intercooler and the intake plenum popping.  It had a 5 inch tear in it.  I can only assume that it was just about to go after our last dyno pull.  I put my spare on and went out for another pass.  It came on boost again in 3rd and then laid over again.  When I coasted down at the end of the track, the bike was barely running on 1 or 2 cylinders.  I killed the motor and got towed back to my pit.  I found several things.  The throttle bodies had popped out of their boots under pressure, which is why I had no boost.  We checked the compression and it was very low on the first 3 cylinders and normal on the 4th.  I put a new set of plugs in and it fired right up and idled smoothly.  It was decision time.  I decided to put the bike back in the trailer and wait until I could pull the motor and take a look at the top end.  The compression was low for a reason and I need to find out what it is.

I stripped the bike down completely and got it ready to pull the motor out.  I saw some milky stuff in the oil when I drained it, so I know that I likely blew the head gasked.  The oil was black and smelled like fuel.  That tells me that I was getting a lot of blowby for the fuel to get into the oil.  The rings may not have seated and that may explain the low compression and the excessive blow by.  I’ll know something tomorrow afternoon when I get the motor out.  I’m praying for minor problems if any, but I’ll just have to see.  Stay tuned for the post-mortem.

Well, to tell the truth, even I can’t remember all of the details of that weekend.  I’ll just hit the highlights and then take it from there.  Having run over 233 mph the last time out, I was actually disappointed to have finished the weekend with a best speed of 214.546 mph.  I only made two passes for the entire weekend, starting with 211.909 mph (yeah, that’s a shakedown run), and then my ill-fated second pass at 214.546 mph.  I was gunning for some serious improvement this time out, so I decided to turn up the boost to 30 psi for the second pass.  It turns out the my secondary injectors just would not flow enough fuel to support it, and I burned the top end of my motor and coasted through the traps at 214.  As long as I’ve been at this, I should have known better.  It was a very expensive lesson.  I followed that pass with 3 beers in a row and the first of too many chugs on a bottle of Crown.  I won’t be drinking any more whiskey…ever.

There were a lot of up sides to the weekend, regardless of my motor being post toasty.  My fellow racer and undisputed badass, Tom Gates and I were both interviewed by Streetfire.net and that video has seen well over 55,000 hits as of the last time I checked.  Take a look at it here: Rustman and Tom at the Texas Mile. That’s what I looked and talked like after the first 3 brews practically chugged one after the other.

I had a truly great time with my friends, including the amazing Johnny Cheese and the good people of Team Fat Ass.  I also discovered that alcohol can make a mediocre Chinese buffet into a lavish feast fit for a king (or so it seemed).  The next day, even the wind caused me pain.  I grieved over my indiscretion with the beverages the night before for the entire day.  I don’t drink often or excessively, but I guess I made up for it that night.

To sow this post up:  I decided to rebuild the entire bike in addition to the melted engine.  It’s been a year and a half and I’m just now on the cusp of having it back on the road.  I’ll save that for next time.

I decided that a shakedown run was certainly in order.  I’d just take it out, get it under boost, and run it up to 170 mph or so.  A nice easy run just to see if the bike felt stable and get an idea of what this kind of horsepower felt like.  As always, when it came down to my turn, I took a deep breath and nailed it.  I ran over 206 mph on my comeback run!  Not too bad for a shakedown, I thought to myself.  As the day progressed, I turned up the boost controller a little more and a little more.  I ended up with a best run for the day of over 216 mph.  Now that’s what I was after, some improvement.  Even so, I was very frustrated and dissappointed that the bike did not knock my socks off and run much faster.  That night at the hotel room, I consulted with the bikes previous owner.  We concluded that the $900 boost controller that I had installed was not allowing the bike to make the boost that I wanted.  Then, my phone died mid-conversation, and I did not have my charger with me.  Obscenities were volleyed randomly into the air, and I did not sleep well at all.

The next morning, I returned to the track and found that the bikes prior owner, Chris,  had called another friend, Nate, and had him pick up a few parts that I would need to eliminate the boost controller.  There you go right there:  a perfect example of how close-knit the LSR community is.  Two guys went out of their way to help me, even when I was incommunicado.  I paid for the parts graciously, and let Nate know that I had his back, from now on.  He and Chris are friends for life if they’re up to it.  Nate and I took our time and installed and set up the bike, sans boost controller and I suited up.

This time out, I knew the bike was going to be a true monster.  Those butterflies were back, but then, that’s part of what makes this sport so appealing for adrenaline junkies.  I got in line.

I took off easy, and gently got the bike under boost.  When I realized that I was doing fine, I nailed it.  I had no idea what speed I was running at the time, but I was ecstatic to learn that I had just run 233.059 mph!  I had to get off the bike in the pits and just smile for a few minutes.  It’s a really good feeling when you tame the beast, overcome your fears, and just take your own life in your own hands.  I made another pass at over 226 mph a little later and then packed it in for this time.  I had some issues with oil blowing out of my sump pump breather into my face during those two runs.  I checked the bike and it was half a quart low and I did not expect to need oil, so I had none.  I had done what I’d set out to do, and then some:  I looked fear in the eye, twisted the throttle, and just went for it.  I had improved substantially over my old 209.595 mph personal best.  I was and am now still hooked.  I’m going back in March of ’08 to see if I can improve some more.  The bike has a lot more in it.  I just need to improve my technique, and I should be running in the 240′s.  We shall see.

 
  Spending that kind of money turned my stress levels up a notch without question.  By the time the bike arrived, I felt like I had been waiting 2 consecutive lifetimes for it.  I rolled it into the garage and looked it over.  Turnkey it was not.  Lesson learned:  Never trust anyone where money is concerned.  In the end, it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.  I second-guessed myself countless times, wondering if my expectations were out of line.  I read the description on the for sale ad over and over.  I talked to the seller.  In the end, I just sucked it up and ate it to a degree.  I didn’t have to spend more than $3-400 dollars to make the bike run properly.  It did take me a couple of months to find out what was wrong with it, and that did not ease my anxiety.  It took over six months to get it to run reliably with me turning the wrenches.  Others could probably done it in a weekend, but I just don’t work that way.  I’m going to move past the details, but it’s safe to say that I went through an enormous amount of time and labor to make the bike run and make it street legal.

  Fast forward to last week…I had paid my registration fee for the Texas Mile and was working feverishly to convert my daily driver into race form.  I changed the gearing, put on a new chain, swapped out the wheels, dialed in my boost controller (or so I thought), and bought 5 gallons of race fuel.  I had my hotel reservations, I bought all new safety gear, everything that I thought I might possibly need was loaded into the bed of my pickup and I was off.  I arrived at the track at 7pm the day before the event and passed tech inspection and got myself registered.  Tomorrow was going to be a day to remember…and it was.  I’ll tell you all about my first time back in my next post.  Please stay tuned, so to speak.

 I tried every way I knew to let it go.  I wanted to see if I could find a new rush.  The down time let me stop the constant wrenching and tuning and riding that filled the blanks in between working my day job and sleep.  I had no choice.  I had to face the possibility that I might actually decide to move on.   I can’t tell you exactly when, but somewhere, sometime, I just knew that I’d regret not finishing what I’d started.  At some point it came to me that I had to finish on my terms and not let fate dictate the terms of my life.  It’s all about control.

I concluded that in the world today, people, more and more, are subconsciously starting to feel like they have less and less control in their lives.  People.  I’m talking about me.  The world is over-crowded and the freeways aren’t up to the volume of souls fighting their way to and from work, the soccer field, the psychiatrist, wherever.  Traffic controls us and all we can do is pull up one car length and wait.  Unless you’re fortunate enough to live outside of the cities, then your neighbors’ barking dog controls what you have to listen to when you sit on your back porch.  Barking, and you can’t do a thing about it.  We stand in line to buy virtually anything that we have to buy.  We see the same boring suburban sprawl everywhere we go.  There’s a Walgreens and a Home Depot on every corner.  One reality TV show is a hit and we’re force fed clone after clone after clone after that.  Each trying to get in on the action.  America has been so dumbed-down that the thinking man is the odd man out.  Political correctness dictates that my having just used the word ”man” makes me a male cheauvenist.  I’m coming to the point here:  The world is driving us into the ground.  People are snapping all over the place.  Kids are shooting each other in high school for gods sake…and I’ve had almost all that I can take.

How does anyone feel content in this circus?  For me, diving into what I perceive as a dangerous situation with absolute reckless abandon helps to purge the rage that alot of us out here have to internalize every day.  Looking at fear and giving it the finger can be a powerful way to feel alive and in charge of your own destiny.  I’m not stupid.  I’m not crazy.  I’m human, and I’ve found an outlet that seems to help for now.

I’m back.  I’m bigger, better, faster, stronger.  I have a new race bike and I’m going to wring it out.  I’m going to go faster than the Concorde used to go at takeoff.  I’m going to take it to the edge and I’m going to feel alive.  The trick here is to do it and make sure that I “stay” alive.  These things all came together last weekend.  October 6th and 7th, 2007.  I’ll tell you my comeback story in my next post.

  I know that just the littlest bit of support or a few kind words can go on an on in the mind of an accident victim.  I won’t call myself a victim so much as having been one who suffered the consequences of living dangerously.  I’m alright with that.  If I had to do everything that led up to my accident again, I would do it all over again, maybe better and faster this time.  I would have found it hard to imagine myself saying that just a few months back, but that’s the way it is with me.  I don’t have any regrets other than not being able to reach 220 mph before I crashed.

Amber Ciappi who is an up and coming land speed racer and another aquaintance loaded the remains of my beloved bike up and went hundreds of miles out of their way to deliver it to more friends here in Austin, TX while I was lounging in the trauma center.  I’ll remember this, no matter what the future holds. 

  As for words of encouragement, I got lots of them from all of my friends at  www.suzukihayabusa.org. I got a call when I got out of the trauma center and into my room from Dave Owen.  Dave is one of the friendliest, most helpful people that I know. He always seems to share his knowledge and offer tips to motorcyclists all over the internet. He does it for free!  For those of you who don’t know, Dave is a celebrity in the land speed racing arena. He recently ran 220 mph at Maxton on a naturally aspirated hayabusa. That is a very difficult thing to do. Needless, I was very flattered to get his call, and was quick to tell all of my friends about it after I got healed up enough to do it. That meant alot. It’s like getting a visit from a rock star or the like. I don’t want to just single out Dave though. There is a whole community out on that forum that came together to wish me well, listen to me whine, and make me laugh. There were many folks who offered to get together and offer up parts of all kinds to get me and my bike back on the road. It brought tears to my fearless eyes. I guess Mr. Daredevil is just a softy.

  Just the other day, the members of the forum nominated members to receive gifts from the board sponsors.  These were people who had gone out of their way to be helpful to others or those who had bad things happen to them over the past year.  The thing got started (I believe) by Guy Caputo who owns Tiger Racing.  Every year, Guy does this givaway as “Santa Tiger”.  Last year I nominated some folks who I thought were more than deserving.  Wait for it…this time I was selected to receive full parts sponsorship from Guy at Tiger Racing AND a free rev limit extension for my (next) ECM by none other than Dave Owen.  I was knocked back when (once again) Dave called me and told me the good news.  These good feelings will stay with me for my lifetime.  All I need to do is pay it forward, and I will.

To conclude this mini-epic drama, I’m still not sure (after nearly 9 months) exactly how I should proceed.  I have been putting every penny I have into paying off the loans that I had out to build the late “Velvet Hammer”.  I’ll be free to move forward in 2 months with whatever expensive, dangerous obsession that I choose.  I’m pretty much certain that I will buy another Hayabusa.  I’m considering buying a used one that has already been turboed and modded.  I can save a mint doing that, but the tradeoff is that I don’t get to do every little detail myself.  On the other hand, there is always something that “needs” to be done to a motorcycle.  Turbo bikes just take more time and care to keep them tip top.  I just miss the feel of my arms getting yanked out of socket every time I twist the throttle.  There is no feeling that I have access to so far that can even compare to the feeling of pinning the throttle on a turbo Hayabusa.  It truly warps time and space.  You look in your rearview mirror after 4-5 seconds and the cars that were going 65 mph are at least half a mile back.  The cars that were a mile ahead are getting closer at a startling rate.  You go from 65 mph to 165 mph in seconds.  Aaaaah.  There’s no way I can miss out on more of that.  If I learned anything else, I’ll keep it to myself.  Hopefully, I’ve talked this thing out by now.  I will ride again and I’ll do it because I love it.

  So I asked myself if I was crazy.  I pondered as to what it was that made me feel fearless.  Why was I not wary of all the things that could go wrong?  Do I have a repressed death wish?  I really didn’t have to think about it that long.  I know I want to live and continue doing what excites me.  My life is pretty darn good. 

  Why was/am I fearless?  Well that one I can’t explain, but I have come to terms with it.  In my down time, in the overwhelming quiet, I realized (finally) that I am just another adrenaline junky.  It never occurred to me before, but I have always gravitated to things that have an element of danger.  It started with jumping big ramps on my bicycle when I was a kid.  Then skateboarding on ramps and in parks.   Then came overcoming my shyness and fronting a rock and roll band.  That one was wierd.  I never could have imagined singing my own songs in front of crowds.  Heck, I don’t even sing in front of my mother.  After that came the skydiving which was an excercise in bad luck.  My chute failed on my first jump which was a static line jump so I was on my own.  I did everything right and pulled my reserve.  Later, I got into an accellerated freefall program.  All I had to do was make seven jumps from 14,000 feet with two instructors and perform the maneuvers that they specified.  First jump, all was well until I pulled the ripcord.  I pinched a nerve in my neck and my right arm went numb.  I went back to the hotel for the night and went back for jump two the next day.  My arm was a little better, but when I pulled the chute, the same nerve got pinched.  I had to take a break and decide if I should continue.  I’ve put it aside for now.  Somewhere in there came the biplane and the aerobatics.  That led to flying lessons for a while.  Career changes put that on hold.  All of these things were inherently dangerous and I was loving it.  Classic adrenaline junky stuff.   Then came the Hayabusa.  It was faster than anything I had ever dreamed of riding or driving.  I rode it for a year and a half before I wanted, no “needed” more.  The turbo snuck into my mind and took hold.  Many thousands of dollars and and hundreds of hours of work pretty well made that bike the definition of obsession for me.  It left the hole I’ve been talking about when I lost it and  I’m still trying to fill it.   I will fill it, I just need to either think of something else exciting or start all over and build a bigger, better, faster bike to get my kicks.

  Do any of you foks out there have any ideas for my next hobby?  I’d appreciate your comments. 

  When my father arrived, I felt better just having him there to talk to.  Again, I can’t imagine a better father.  He made my time as easy as it could be given the circumstances.

  The long hours I spent without being able to sleep gave me ample time for soul searching, whether I wanted to or not.  I had the TV on nearly constantly and I was still bored beyond measure.  I was in a place in my head where I had been dragged out of the world outside and brought down to the very core of my existence.  I thought about the healing process that I would have to endure with my shoulder.  I thought about the importance of family and friends.  I got visitors and telephone calls.  People that I only knew online were supporting me in forums and emails.  I can’t express how important that was to have people wishing me the best.  I exchanged stories and experiences with another crash victim online and came to the realization that my experience was not unique.  All of the others that had been in accidents before me had been through what I was going through.  I had a new respect for those unfortunate folks.

  Then came the one thing that permeated my thoughts:  the bike.  Could I salvage it?  Would it be totalled?  I got online typing with one hand and searched prices for the parts that would need to be replaced.  No matter how I added it up, the repair cost always came out way over the blue book value of the bike.  It was going to be a total loss.  I was heartbroken, and I still am 8 months later.  I did and do know that it was only a material possession, and that “things” can be replaced.  It was the heart and soul that I put into building the bike up and keeping it spotless that was getting washed down the drain.  Countless hours of modifying, tuning, polishing, cleaning, and studying were spent and now I had nothing to show for it.   Should I do it all over again?  That question still remains.

  To continue my story, I left the doctor’s office and headed for the hospital.  If you’ve never experienced a panic attack, you are fortunate, as they can be terrifying.  I believe that mine was a result of tremendous unresolved anxiety due to my circumstances.  Let’s review:  I lost the most important thing in my life, my bike; I was injured for the first time in my life; I was in the process of applying for extra sick leave to cover the days off work that I could not cover after my vacation and sick time was used up, and I had no resolution yet; I was in a lot of pain; I had been on pain pills for two weeks; I had a huge hole in my life where the bike used to be.  I had to stop on the way to the hospital and get a soft drink because I thought I was having a heart attack.  I knew better, but the panic attack had a hold on me.  When I arrived at the hospital, I went to register with radiology.  Again, I lost it in the waiting room and cried, again.  Yes, it is embarrassing, but that was the way it was.  When it was time, the nurse began to put in an IV to inject the dye for the arteriogram.  He tried about five times to get the needle into the top of my hand, but kept missing the vein.  He said that he had to use a large needle for this type of procedure.  At that point, I believed him.  It felt like a pencil more than a needle.  I was still having the anxiety attack at full throttle.  I got on the table for the CAT scan and closed my eyes.  When they moved me into the machine, they shot the dye in and started the machine.   This is where it sounds crazy, and maybe I was crazy for the moment.  I closed my eyes and saw a landscape that reminded me of the works of H. R. Geiger.  Very dark, gray, evil, and frightening.  When the dye went in, I could feel it.  I saw this brown mist ahead of me in this dark scene and as the dye went through me, the brown mist rushed up and went into my body.  I could taste the dye as it came out of my lungs when I breathed.  And then it was over.  They moved me back out of the machine and I stood up.  I can’t explain the vision of the brown mist, but to me it represented the devil at that moment.  The devil came at me and went through me, and it scared the daylights out of me.

  I sat outside the hospital and called a trusted friend at my office and asked her to bring some xanax from my office drawer.  She came right away and within 15 minutes, I was over the panic attack.  It’s worth taking a minute to appreciate your friends.  These times are the ones where they truly shine. 

  I called my parents and my father packed up and began the five-hour drive back to stay with me again.

  I got in my truck and headed back to my house.  I’ll pick up there the next time.