Wide eyes rotating slowly in opposite directions, Mad Dog lay on his thin back, an extended, thin line of clear drool dribbling from the side of his fetid mouth

His head was sunk deep into the ruby coloured deep pile velour of the triple seat, inside the darkened interior of the shiny black Mercedes team bus

Like a high powered computer with no monitor, printer or printout, no one could tell what was going on inside the Mad Dog's inert head

No one knew what was happening inside his skull because there were no outward means of intelligent communication beyond just a nominal series of marginally intelligible canine grunts and groans

The only thing everyone on the racing scene knew was that a piece of crude machinery on a race track, in his hands was ridden with the delicacy of a piece of Waterford cut crystal to consistently delectably brilliant race results

It mattered not what the machinery was - Baja buggy, world series go kart, Le Mans racer, Dakar enduro or one of Micaldo Combriani's crude and agricultural race bikes. In the hands of the Mad Dog the vehicle would transcend it's grinding failings and always arrive at the finish line higher in the placings than anyone ever believed possible

An incredible and total contrast to the 'style' of Ricardo Crapele Bottomo. A crazed and rabid terrier thrashing the machinery with absolutely no respect for the engine's internals. Chassis rails bent or snapped under his tormenting hands and twisted mind, motors exploded spraying oil and broken internals, tyres shredded like a demented rottwieler had spent a leisurely month chewing at them in a suburban backyard.

And all this damage in the matter of a few race laps and even fewer minutes

And yet, with both riders, the race results and laurels flowed like a river.

Give Crapelle Bottomo a strong bike and a win was inevitable.

Give the Mad Dog any running bike in any race and a podium placing was almost inevitable - even if the machine was running on bald, flat tyres and a motor that was within a few revolutions of expiration.

Such was the individual brilliance of each rider

What no one knew was that behind the rolling eyes and the drooling mouth,

Mad Dog had only to alight, in his mind, on any subject and an array of incredible thoughts would spool off into his cerebral ether.

He would hear the words 'sine wave' and Mad Dog would translate a simple sine wave into a series of rolling six figure numbers that in his mind plotted the roll of the imagined wave

A simple abstract word would cerebrally translate like a grass hopper across150 languages or dialects just at the mention of the adjective

Mention the name of a minor renaissance artist and a thousand images would morph from one to another in exquisite detail in the mind of the Mad Dog

But no one knew - Mad Dog said nothing, just occasionally gesticulated and always dribbled

Except, some times The Bear would be wrestling with a mechanical problem or internal explosion - usually created by Crapele Bottomo, and the Mad Dog would stride from the black Mercedes stratocruiser and grab a pen, pencil or any handy implement.

Scratching a few simple and crude lines on the nearest surface a mechanical problem would evaporate in a few nanoseconds - usually with a massive improvement in race performance.

The only problem was interpreting the information, a complex equasion, Egyption hieroglyphics, Russian cyrillic script or a line of digital code orientated, not surprisingly in zero' and ones

But most of the time, he spent his days hiding in darkness of the black Mercedes stratocruiser or propped against the back wall of the pit garage, a faint humming emanating from the tousled head, resting on the bony knees

"Come on darlink", one of the blonde Russian sisters would say, bending down beside him, endangering his very existence as the proximity of a crevasse of cleavage created a very life threatening fall from grace

"You must eat, a man like you must keep up his strength"

A watery smile would crack the strange and disturbed visage and a dirty hand would snatch the proffered raw vegetable and cram it in between his yellowing teeth

RACE REPORT

NSW Bucket Racing Season Opener

Wakefield Park, Sunday 24 March, 2002

Team owner and Manager Micaldo Combriani reclined in the deep velour treble seat behind the dark tinted windows of the coolly air-conditioned Mercedes bus that was turbocharging up the freeway towards Sydney at 160 kph like an silent express train riding on ice

Swigging at a bucket sized brandy glass he snatched up the intercom and yelled in a nicotine stained voice

"Stop buggering about and get your Effing foot down, I didn't spend five grand on radar scanning gear to ponce along the road in second gear "

Team Mad Dog had invested time and energy in chassis development, underlying their quest for improvements via the development of riding skill rather than speed and Micaldo was not happy, not happy because at the season opener there were only 65 points on the score sheet instead of 75

He reached into the waist line of his leopard skin leotard and scratched, removed his hand and sniffed his finger

There was a dull thumping from the back of the bus.

"Tell him to shut up, throw him another six pack and lock the door, he knows the rules - full points is good for front of bus, less than that and it's steerage for him"

Ricardo Crapele-Bottomo was locked in the back of the bus, The Mad Dog had fallen sick and the number 2 rider had borne the brunt of the riding and only come away with a win and two second places.

"I don't know who is funding the Bear and that grubby under the fingernails new boy of his but when I find out they'll be in the car crusher"

Micaldo's ace tuner, the mysterious Bear, the gaunt and shambling figure had disappeared for several long weeks during the off season, something not entirely unexpected but had returned and not renewed his contract with Team Mad Dog.

Somehow, new funding had arrived and The Bear Pit was running in direct opposition to Team Mad Dog.

AND The Bear Pit now had 70 points from the season opener at Wakefield Park,

"Bloody mudplugger comes round here and gets on that good looking and wealthy international bloody play nancy boy, Carlyle Benneton's bike and robs me of my bloody points, he'll want to crawl back into the swamp he came from unless he's got a rotten contract"

One of the 6' blonde Russian sisters glides from the stainless steel galley in a black satin negligee, slashed to the waist, carrying a tray of giant sushi and caviar canapés and another bucket size brandy glass

"Never mind darlink, maybe we can relax you, anythink you like baybee"

Micaldo, cracking a rare and tepid smile grabbed a handful of firm female haunch and a fistful of sushi

"Aye lass, you can make an old man happy, get your sister and the large coarse pumice and do my poor feet. All day on the buggers in that manky Mosh Pit is killing me"

The Mosh Pit at Wakefield Park was a hive of activity all weekend, and in fairness the bikes ran well, the Team Owners' predictions were realised and the season opener panned out pretty much as expected

All of the opposition faded on the day except The Bear Pit and Mucky Chris, the enduro rider turned racer and Team Mad Dog ran second overall

A Win in the first race and two seconds could not be called a bad result by any standards, except those of Micaldo, where anything but a clean sweep was cause for major recriminations

The bus glided into the outskirts of Sydney, just over an hour after leaving the circuit, intimidated drivers blasted into the near side lane of the expressway as the Mercedes' halogen driving lights burnt into their core of their retinas

"Right, get the bike and bring it up to the penthouse, I need to stare at it for a few days to work out what to do next. Put the cuffs onto Ricardo and I'll stare at him too - but sedate the little monkey, I don't want a mess on the carpet, and you two, get into the bondage gear, I could do with a bit of punishment too"

The doors of the bus hissed open and Combriani staggered towards the doors of the marbled lift

Already Micaldo was thinking weight loss for the next round of racing and not off the bike, his vivid imagination was conjuring up images of plastic piping, rubber gloves and funnels

If there was no weight to come off the bike then it would have to come off the rider.

Next Race Report - Oran Park, April 15th 2002

The Preston MC Race Skool Can Change Your Life

Committed readers of this newsletter may remember a Preston Race School report that I wrote in June 2001 which detailed my experiences at Broadford at the school (and the unfortunate state of my underpants both during and after the event).

This missive is intended to update that report.

For years I avoided road racing in preference to moto cross. My reasoning was this: dirt is softer to fall onto and terminal velocities are lower - but this is Australia, the ground is baked real hard - it hurts. And moto crossers go really fast these days

Since the Broadford race school I have had a major shift in my thinking.

The answer is: Bucket Racing

Since the adrenal rush experienced at the Preston race school I have become the proud owner of an Honda H100 bucket racer

As some of you may know, I am a total tight wad, never purchasing modern bikes because they are much too expensive. Never going road racing because it is high speed and dangerous and very costly

BUT THIS IS WRONG

Bucket racing is cheap (well cheapish!), the highest speeds are the same as moto cross, the ground is smoother when you fall off and even better, you fall off less often

After the Preston Race School I bought a bucket racer for the pocket damaging, ground zero sum of $950. It already had a 6 speed gearbox, RGG carby, an expansion chamber and clip ons. With rear sets and a little race seat it looked like a proper race bike.

It was sort of cool in an unfinished and crude way. I did the paperwork, got official and entered the first Post Classic Race Association event in NSW that came my way.

At the go kart track at Oran Park we claimed second place in the 'Am' event - even though there was a minor jet missing in the carby.

The scene was friendly - people laughed at me as I tried to bump start it with the kill switch off, collapsing from angina after a 50 meter push. And of course, with a crappy 2nd place plastic dust collector in the shed I was pretty well hooked.

Next time out we got another second place and we found that we were ranking fourth in the state championships - so enthusiasm was maintained

Not only that, but I found that you get to go and race places that are on the TV too.

The Bucket 1 Hour was the next event on the calendar

Ricardo Crapele-Bottomo was exported from Victoria for the Bucket 1 Hour at Oran Park as the second rider.

We did have to seek permission in triplicate from the Victorian authorities, who needed extensive written and financial assurances that this national treasure would be returned in no less socially damaging or artistically reduced state.

We also had to get the necessary physical and mental constraints organised for the flight up to Sydney. But after significant investment in appropriate over and under the counter pharmaceuticals, we managed to get him across the state line and out to the circuit in a more or less consistently insane condition.

I suppose naming the team Mad Dog Racing helps a bit.

In retrospect, letting a person with the mental condition of a high voltage, water soaked pinball machine loose on a small capacity two stroke race machine was a very bad move.

Ricardo Crapele-Bottomo only operates at one setting (I think that it is somewhere above 15 - on a scale of 1 to 10).

The rather frail commuter internals of my bucket racer held out for about a day but soon enough we had a major mechanical set back in the form of a very large hole in the piston in the final practice prior to the main event.

But we did have a lot of fun during the practice sessions:

There was checking out lots of the grassy infield and outfield runoff areas.

There was passing the ever sluggish four strokers on the main straight.

Best of all there was going faster and verbally abusing and physically baiting the profoundly overweight and underpowered Harley Club bucket riders - just to add spice to the rather dull practice sessions around the Oran Park GP circuit.

Sadly, due to this unfortunate bucket racing addiction that I was now suffering from I found that I needed therapy of a serious, expensive and extensive basis.

I went to The Bear for help.

The Bear is to Bucket Racing what Dr Eugene Landy is to The Beach Boy Brian Wilson.

In most therapy sessions you get to spend a load of money and talk a lot. Not with The Bear.

The Bear is wonderful therapy, you don't have to say much or reveal highly personal inner secrets. But The Bear is there to help.

He takes your money and in return gives you back additional power and RPM.

I'm not actually sure if this therapy is appropriate in the long term but in the short term you get to feel really good by going a whole lot faster.

Anyway, I got the bucket's wheels relaced and put sticky tyres on, had a humungous amount of porting done, much tighter squish in the head, new reeds, a better expansion chamber, new shockies and a new chain and sprockets. I got the forks pre loaded and The Bear also fitted new rear sets and got a box section swing arm made.

The Bear's course of therapy is not complete yet but I'm feeling a lot better than I did, although a tacho will help me measure the improvement in my condition more accurately (Hello KILN).

Now I am preparing for the next round at Eastern Creek, just a few hundred dollars more in sprockets and other bits and I will be fine.

They tell me that to do OK at Eastern Creek you have to tip into the first turn flat chat at 170kph. Let me tell you that if this is the case you won't be able to get a slim credit card between the cheeks of my bum going down the main straight.

So what is the upshot of all this?

Firstly, bucket racing really is very cheap bike racing - especially when you compare it to very expensive bike racing

And Secondly,

A day at the Preston MC race school can really change your life for the better (I think!!!!).

"A View Through The Blue Haze"

(The 'Am' Two Stroke Race Report - Oran Park Round 2)

A strange combination of autumnal weather patterns greeted the PCRA riders at the Big Park on Sunday 14th April. Up and down the coast the weather was fine, but at Oran Park sunshine and showery weather persisted throughout the day.

Another big field of two and four stroke ams showed that bucket racing is still growing in popularity, once again there were an encouraging number of orange bibs at the back of the grid

Terry Dwyer sat on the sidelines for this round nursing a sore rib, cracked at Wakefield after only half a lap on his new Honda H100. Clearly some unpleasant and spiteful Gremlins are still to be flushed out of that bike

The four stroke riders are getting the beginnings of a hurry up in 2002 as the strokers begin to circulate with greater confidence

As practice began the track was damp, but dried for the first race, after lunch the track was wet in parts after a midday downpour, and the final race of the day was dry. A day of very mixed conditions

Practice itself was uneventful except perhaps for Michael Combley nearly expiring in the humid conditions. An 'over prepared' front brake bound on in the second lap of practice and a big push up the final turn to the start line nearly caused a heart attack prior to any wet weather racing

Once again, Chris Nacard (#99) headed the grid on what is generally regarded as the fastest bucket racing motorcycle on the Eastern seaboard and he hit the front with apparent ease. But let's not forget, he'd never been to the circuit before.

Michael Combley (#72) was in hot pursuit and Stephano Montresor (#17) and John Lalor (#66) had the front pair well in their sights. The evergreen Col Ford (#56), foregoing his experiments with forced air induction at this event and newcomer Sean Jolly (#79) completed the pack.

In the first heat 'Young Chris' on the Skulley prepared Honda H100 was a clear winner, with Team Mad Dog Combley second place.

John Lalor must win the 'Chris Skulley Shattered Piston Prize' for the worst luck of the day after the big end of his Suzuki vapourised just a couple of laps into the race

The Bears celebrated a win amongst the bird shit of the Bear Pit after race 1 (Read that one out loud!!!!)

A damp race 2 proved perhaps to be the most exciting am race of the day. On a rapidly drying track Chris Nacard (Mudplugger) belied his extensive enduro riding background and off road experience after a trip onto the rather soggy inner field on turn 2.

Mad Dog Combley grabbed the lead in the confusion and then had a 'moment' in exactly the same place on the very next lap, wisely relegating the lead to "Chris Junior" again a very short time later

Stefano Montresor appeared to blow the cobwebs out of his very pretty, fire engine red H100, relegating Combley to 3rd position a lap later. But The Dog began to froth a little and Combley struck back, Stephano had to pour on the main straight gas to pass and regain the second position yet again.

The longer races at Oran offered an opportunity for tactics and The Mad Dog regained second place just before the final turn on the last lap.

After the race Michael Combley said

"I could see that I was just a bit quicker over the flip flop, so I gunned it past him there, chucked it into the final turn and just hung on to the finish"

In race 3 the order was repeated. Apart from mechanical failure, there appeared to be no major track excursions in the Am league and Sean Jolly had learnt from his Wakefield experiences and managed to 'stay upright' all day

The future looks good and set for close racing at the GP circuit next time out on June 23rd

PS. There's a Kawasaki KH100 for sale on the PCRA website for just $1,000. If anyone knows of someone that wants a ride (or perhaps one of Terry's daughters) put them on to it, there's points going begging in the Am class

After braving the Artic cold of a near freezing foggy Goulburn night and a near fatal drag show at the Old Brewery, Team Mad Dog set up the Mosh Pit at Wakefield Park

Race prep had been completed the prior day and the bike was looking agricultural - rough but ready

The Italians were setting up the pizza shop just down the road, mamma and dadda, bambino girlfriends and all the cousins were all there ready to wait hand and foot on the star rider

Apart from the committed media (and Ruby, the media mascot), Team Mad Dog were alone in the Mosh Pit.

The Bike

The Rider

The Milk Crate, ready to take on the track, the elements and The Mafioso

The Wakefield Park raceway looked clean and tidy, a neat Australian Goodwood, rich with new heritage and well managed tradition. But the weather cast a dour complexion over the day's proceedings; a cold wind swept in from the northwest and showery clouds could be seen on every horizon.

Riders briefing and practice completed the racers looked forward to the first of the four race programme.

The Bear had issued strict race instructions to Team Mad Dog:

"Hang back and stalk the pizza eaters, slipstream on the final straight and swoop on the line"

Following instructions Team Mad Dog broke cleanly from the grid and tucked in behind the beautifully prepared Italian red machine.

Poppa looked like he had done a wonderful job prior to the meet. The bike was clean and neat, polished paint, aluminum and chrome

But tracking up the hill it was clear that all was not well in the pizza parlour, there was clearly something wrong with the anchovy mix. The Italians were holding up the proceedings big time.

Abandoning strict team orders and risking the wrath of The Bear, Team Mad Dog swept past the stuttering Quattro Stagioni and bolted off into the distance. A couple of glances over the shoulder confirmed that the Italians were clearly running the gearbox of a Mussolini troop truck (mainly reverse) and were nowhere on the race map.

Caution and a cool head after making the break delivered the very first race win ever to Team Mad Dog.

Back at the Mosh Pit, the win was described as a 'workshop win' by Team Mad Dog's rider. The pizza shop had mechanical problems and Team Mad Dog was ahead on points. It was clear that the cat was among the proverbial pigeons for the very first time since the foaming canines arrived on the race scene.

A blast of cold rain swept the track at the start of the second race turning the race surface into a greasy mirrored glaze. The Italian's got away to a good start and began to pull away from Team Mad Dog. At the end of lap two it began to look like a runaway win in the wet but by mid race the margin began to narrow and at race distance the Italian's break had been narrowed to a very respectable couple of hundred metres.

It was clear that the Italians had got the major problem under control and we had a clash of cultures of gargantuan proportions on our hands.

Would it be flash, dash and elan of the feet up family backed spaghetti eater or the solo grind of rough and ready machinery that would win out at the end of the day?

Lunch in the pits and a calm descended over the Mosh Pit. Then came the shock announcement: The race programme had been cut to three races. Full honours for the day would be decided alone by the outcome of the next race!

The weather had closed in; the track was wet, tyres and riders cold.

The warm up lap was obscured by water spray and it was clear that the race outcome would be decided by the largest pair of spheres at the back of the fuel tank.

From the second row of the grid the Italians and Team Mad Dog faced off. Mad dog on the inside line to the first turn, The Italians with the wider line on the outside.

The Start Marshall Okayed the grid, racing revs raised, all eyes to the start lights

Red lights on, and off

Mad Dog bolted to the inner apex of the first turn, scratching through a posse of riders and out and up the hill. A rider disappeared in a spray of sparks at the top of the hill but Mad Dogs were in front and running with the pack. A glance over the shoulder showed the Italians some 50 metres behind on the main straight. Howling into the first turn, head down and elbows on knees Team Mad Dog rode into the second lap, let the Italians stalk, Team Mad Dog was racing with the pack, hackles raised, rabid mouth foaming and the saliva streaked tongue hanging back in the terminal velocity breeze.

Team Mad Dog bolted to the end of the second lap and onto the main straight, a glance behind for the Italian Mafioso and a big space. The fires were clearly out in the wood fired oven. Poppas' beautiful red fairing was nowhere to be seen.

Team Mad Dog sucked back the foam and reeled in the tongue. Time to pace the race back to the Mosh Pit.

No sense in hurling the agricultural machine down the road and giving the Mafioso one for free.

Back to the paddock, another deciding race win and a class win for the day. Team Mad Dog, using a combination of canine cunning and rabid commitment had prevailed.

Which just goes to show, gold flashes on leathers DO NOT a champion make!!!!

NSW Bucket Racing Season Opener

Wakefield Park, Sunday 24 March, 2002

Important Announcement:

The first round of the NSW State Bucket Racing Titles opens in 2 short weeks time. After burning a tanker full of midnight oil in the team workshops the Team Mad Dog Honda is (nearly) ready to roll.

The AM competition for the 2002 season appears to be tough with 4 new teams joining the fray.

Several teams are reputed to have spent a four figure $$$ sums on a hot new motors. But Team Mad Dog is less than impressed by big money. Team owner and Manager Micaldo Coraldo recently said:

"Bugger them, they're pissing money in the wind, when they learn to turn corners they might be in with a shout, more horsepower will just put them in the grass faster, flat on their arses".

Team Mad Dog has invested time and energy in chassis development, underlying their quest for improvements via the development of riding skill rather than speed.

"Last season the poxy bike changed every time we raced as we weeded out the crap bits. This year it will be rock solid and this must contribute to more consistent results" Micaldo said.

There are also newcomers on the block that pose a much greater threat to the 2002 campaign. The Bear Pit is sponsoring a new young hotshot rider with a background in enduro riding.

There is also a very fast bike built by Bill Bell entering the fray this year and Terry Dwyers' son in law joins the AM class in NSW.

Team Mad Dog is much more concerned from a threat from these quarters. But are looking towards consistent machine and rider performance enabling a high order end of year result.

Micaldo said that a fall by his rider in racing would result in

"Me flogging his scrawny little butt until his ears bled"

Practise for the event is on both Saturday and Sunday mornings.

Micaldo Coraldo will be holding court with the stunning, statuesque, blonde Russian sisters in the Mosh Pit.

You are all cordially invited to visit Team Mad Dog in The Mosh Pit on Sunday March 24, 2002.

Fruit cake will be served to all fruit cakes.