Yes it was Calkins.
Having proven we were capable of actually getting the thing running right, there was only one thing left to do. Try and get it down the track.
So, Herbie suited up, strapped on his helmet and we rolled it up to staging. We got the nod from the lineman and fired her up again. Perfect, no problems. Let Herbie down off the lift device and he rolled it into the water. Mike stepped in front of the bike to help hold her down. Herbie grabbed the front brake and cracked the throttle. The bike jumped about a foot and damn near knocked Mike down. We pushed it back into the water, Mike grabbed it again up front, and I grabbed the wheelie bar. Herbie rolled her on this time and the rear wheel started spinning. I then stepped off to the side, I wasn't in the mood for eating water and rubber. He let off the front brake and rolled her out of the water. Mike cut the fuel off and we let her die. You can't believe how excited we were. The little bit of a burnout we did was almost as exciting as getting it running.
We pushed it back off of the track, dumped the oil and took a look at it, no metal. By all indications we were ready to try and make a pass. We topped off the fuel, added another quart of GT70 and waited for the linemans cue. It was agreed by everyone that just taking the green light with a 60' hit on the throttle is all we should try. This bike hadn't been down the track in years. Repeat the above, only this time, rather than just whacking the throttle, Herbie grabbed the brake, rolled the throttle on gently till it broke the back wheel loose and did a bitchin smokie burnout, then rolled her through the staging area. Mike pushed him back, I lifted the bike by the bars to get him aimed straight and we were ready. Again the consensus was that since we had no idea what was going to happen, Herbie better take it easy and just roll her on rather than whacking it. This would prove later to be a bad idea when it came to be my turn to ride this thing, but more on that later.
Herbie pre-stages, then stages. CFR always gives us a pro-tree because we ain't no damned bracket racers and there isn't a class we can compete in out there anyway. The 3 yellows flash, the green lights up and Herbie does exactly as we told him, just rolls it on. Nothing but perfection, he clicks it off at about 100 feet and coasts her to the end. 18 second 1/4 mile the first time the bike had seen the track in years, a whopping 60 mph. Again we are all as giddy as little girls.
We send the tow bike down, a ratty ol shovel in keeping with our no budget race team mandate. This is when we found out that none of us had any experience towing a square tire bike. The return road comes about half way up the track then takes a sharp left into the pits. This is where Herbie had his second fall of the day. The tow bike slowed a bit and Herbie tried like hell to make the corner. Square tire bikes don't steer like your average street bike. He almost made the corner. Unfortunately, the tow strap went slack and ended up going under the front tire. The tow bike rider then tried to pull it tight and snatched the front tire right out from under Herbie and down he went, again. A couple of us ran down there, helped gather him up and decided fuck it, we'll push it the rest of the way.
Now we have the bike back in the pits, again no damage done and the celebration commences. Mike asked Herbie how everything felt and he could only stammer the word great. More celebration. We changed oil again, blew it out and topped everything off. Mike asked Herbie how he felt about a full pull. Herbie said he couldn't see why not. He was about to eat those words.
Back to the staging lanes, the nod from the lineman, fired it up and into the water we go. Great burnout, pre-stage, stage, yellows, green and away he goes. He is hauling the mail for sure. At about 600 feet we saw a very odd shimmer coming from the bike, at about 800 feet we watched Herbie careen out of control and then go down and then go skidding in a ball of arms legs and motorcycle for the next couple of hundred feet.
We were terrified, was Herbie OK, fuck Herbie, was the bike OK??? We jumped on a couple of bikes and hauled ass down there. The bike was a bit dinged up, carb knocked off, rear brake handle broke off, but other than that, not too bad. Herbies leather were a bit scuffed but other than that, he was ok too. He was not a very happy camper though. This was the third time he had eaten asphalt at the hands of this bike.
We get back to the pits, look at the ticket and either Herbie or the bike had skidded and tumbled their way to an 11 second 1/4 mile. Again with the elation. Thats fuckin fast, especially sliding on your ass with 400 pounds of bike sliding next to you. After Herbie had calmed down a bit, he told us what had happened. At about 600 feet the bike shook violently, a good ol fashioned tank slapper. Herbie thought he could power through it. He couldn't have been more wrong.
He then told Mike he had had enough of this suicide machine and that he needed to find a new pilot.
I have a long history in my ol mans circle of friends for riding anything better than just about anybody. I cut my teeth on 150HP jap bike hill climbers at the tender young age of 13 yrs old. Took rookie of the year in District 16 AMA hill climbing competition my first year out, '78 I think, riding a stretched out kz650. I was affectionately known as the zipper due to my propensity for WFO throttle position. I had beaten every single ol timer in the ol mans circle at our yearly grass drags. I was also desperate to get on track and the ol man wouldn't yield the seat on the M/XL. Mike looks at me and says whattya think? My wife and my mother both flipped. NO FUCKING way, that thing nearly killed Herbie and he's a pro!!
I told Mike that with some serious maintenance on the bike, I would consider it. We spent the next year working on the bike, new neck bearings, wheel bearings etc. We debuted in Humboldt '92. But thats a whole 'nother story right ther.