About a handful of months ago, Mosquito Fleet unfurled 3 talents into the race world. Naz, Travis and Philllp.
Try not to spend too much time looking at Brodeo or the other fella, as they are not of Mosquito blood.
This season, the universe held its first Pacific Northwest Moped Race Series.
Many exciting moments were had, with many
things exploding (a piston and a ring or 3), many mysterious flat tires, pulleys, clutches, ninners and nannerdings,
I can hardly recall a more exciting time.
Actually, I can. But thats besides the point.
The point today is, is that moped racing is alive and exciting and I am anxious and frightened for next year.
I will race next year.
But really, let us enjoy a more photographic story of this weekend's magically freezing extravaganza.
FIRSTLY, I nearly sat on one of these. All that is left is a suffocating kind of curiosity.
We arrived in Pertland quite late but not really all that late anyway, nay it was close to midnight. We arrived to a house of fun buffoons, mainly DUDES. Many were already intoxicated to a point of retardom, and many just could not stand still or up really.
Here you will find Orlando, a baby faced grown man, on his 6th fall onto the ground. He had just broken a table and remained still on the floor, while we scoured the living room for
things.
A large garbage bag filled with "buttery" popcyorn fell from the heavens, and was ripped apart and thrown about the porch, making it a very exciting evening, watching people fall to their knees and Kurt eating only the whole kernals, and those not touched by spidaars.
I had grown tired of the night, as there were only
dudes around and I had no one else to put things on or annoy, and/or I was drunk and stoned and sleepy.
We damned the freezing cold and slept on the bus. My nose was clogged thus not smelling the air, thick with mouth breathers. I walked around the bus only to find Kansas John's insides spewed onto the ground, and an eager seagull watching o'er yonder. The second we left, the seagull made its way to breakfast. Crackers, cheese, liquor and maybe a little bile.
AND WE LEFT FOR THE COUNTRY.
Kurt appointed himself as the leader. As you can see here, his condo has been decorated with the ceremonial Condo Association Leader of the Island door decor.
Also seen here would be our island condo association.
When spending the weekend at the tracks, you get to know a lot about people.
Here you will see Kansas John interviewing Travis (#37) while trying to squeeze in lunch.
With this being the very last race of the season, many were teary eyed and very very emotional, often seen in the arms of other men for support.
Actually, they were not showing emotions in the "Reach Around" variety, but rather this blurry photo is of Travis (#37), unexpectedly gaining the help of a scooter fella with his bottle of champagne for his victorious 1st place win in the mopeds class.
Actually, there were many people wanting to touch Travis and join in on the emotional win.
Travis also won a trophy for being a "Good Idea Travis" (re: UB Rally/scheme to get people to come to the race)
Phil also won a trophy for most matching in the best way.
Kurt did not win anything but a pail filled with spidaars.
I too was emotional, but just because no one fell for my trick.
The dirt bikes were also very emotional that the season was over, so emotional that they dangerously rode around sobbing.
Im sure Travis (#37) was also very emotional. Without a friend and lead mechanic like Naz, where would he be? Where would any of us be?
It was a tearful and like I said over and over again, a
very emotional weekend. I offered to drive the bus since everyone was choking on tears, but alas, my heels do not touch the ground.
And we left.
I replayed the weekend in my mind but settled for feeling so proud of our 3 charming racers and so happy that Travis (#37) did not break any bones.
Keep it clean.
