Woodstock Thor Honda and Thomasrdotorg are pleased (some might say "fully stoked") to announce a one year deal for Melbourne motoring journalist Tom Reynolds to race in the factory Woodstock Thor Honda team aboard a special one off Japanese prepared CRF450X.
Team owner Yarrive Konsky: "After Tom's startling performances in last year's Dirt Bike Master's we were ready to look at a full year deal. His performances showed us we had found a rider for the over 50's. Of course he's 'only' 37, so that did make things a little difficult- but we'll sort that out in due course. All jokes aside, we were pleased with the races he competed in where he didn't crash- and that was a special one. The race where he crashed and broke two ribs showed us that he was a special rider. Very special. Of course at the time, we didn't know the full extent of the damage and we were very, very worried. It was only later we discovered that it was a triple clamp setup, a set of handle bars, a full set of plastics, an exhaust and two marshals."
Yarrive continues: "After looking at the team members for 2009, it was clear we were going for a youth policy, so bringing Tom into the team will help to raise not only our spirits, but also the average age. We've gone from an average of 18 to 29 by adding just one rider."
Tom Reynolds: "There will naturally be some people who see this as a decision that is not based around talent, but more around whether I can get Yarrive a drive in an Aston Martin for the weekend. The answer is yes; anytime Yarrive wants a drive in an Aston I can organise it for an hour or two."
While the deal has only just been finalised, Reynolds rejects any suggestions that he will not be fit enough for this weekend's opening round at Albury Wodonga. "I won't lie, at 37 it's a struggle to get to a racing weight and Honda have been very supportive by providing a rear suspension setup straight off a Gold Wing. Meanwhile I've been hard at it for months. I'm on a semi strict diet of hops, barley and wheat delivered by liquid infusion. In time I've been on said diet I've gone from 72kgs to a race ready 97kgs."
At time of writing, the final hurdle is an ASDA supervised drug test, due to be completed this afternoon 1 April 2009...
------------------ENDS----------------
11:59am STOP PRESS UPDATE: Woodstock Thor Honda regret to announce that Tom Reynolds has been released from his racing contract for 2009 effective immediately after failing a drugs test. Details at this time are sketchy, but it is understood that an excessive amount of oestrogen was found in his system, rendering him not only unable to compete in the men's division, but a threat to other team members safety.
Adrian and I had a run through the hills just a couple of weeks before the horrible fires that have destroyed so many houses and lives. It's perfect country for motorcycle riding- well made, curvy roads, beautiful scenery and people who welcome us everytime . We respond by respecting the speed limits and spending money in the towns (Especially the Kinglake bakery!)
We'll be back just as soon as the people in these towns can shake the ash off the welcome mat. Looking forward to it...
This is from a post on a website elsewhere and I thought it's worth a republish here:
I went to the Bourne Ultimatum with Wife and former (female) housemate. Before the cinematic event we enjoyed a lovely dinner where my wife and ex housie decided that a heroic dose of wine was called for.
Once drunk, they decided it was time for me to outline what happened in the two preceding films. The glazed eyes and repeated questions such as ''but WHY did he lose his memory?'' indicates this is not going to go well.
Arrival at the cinema finds me in the queue behind Nadine Garner. I attempt to flirt with her, only ruined by the wife and ex housie ''mumble mumble HENDERSON KIDS!''.
One in the movie, the oversize handbag carried by ex housie turns out to be full of plastic glasses and a bottle of red. They open this (oh we're late BTW) in the dark, pour some on the floor and sit back.
They eat snacks in manner that I'm pretty sure sounds not unlike the Germans shelling Stalingrad. Ex housie has to go to the toilet three times (the last one to throw up due to hand held camera angles and wine). Both ask me questions throughout the movie in that faux ''I AM WHISPERING'' yelling voice.
At one stage they put their hands up to ask me a question. This is , according to them, the funniest thing they have ever done.
I reach for a killing implement.
Wife crosses and uncrosses her legs- desperate to go to the toilet. Finally she goes, and the movie ends a minute later. Housie is still throwing up in the ladies. I ponder going home with Nadine Garner.
They want to kick on to a bar. I walk home through the golf course. At midnight, the sprinklers come on for no apparent reason and I get wet.
The rise and rise of the GPS data logger has brought back speed windsurfing in a huge way in recent years.
Going back 15-20 years, speed sailing was an incredible pain. You had to lay out a 500 metre course, with timing gates set for a certain tide and then hope it all panned out. Having a GPS means you can hit the water when you want.
And it's ratified:
The following applies when using GPS survey equipment: a. Receiver logging rates shall be set at 10 Hertz, which results in a GPS position every 1/10th of a second. The GPS system shall provide time stamp with each position that are accurate to within .001 second.
The Navi BT-11 brought an SD equipped GPS data logger to everyone. For about US$80 you had a device that was incredibly accurate, water resisitant (a waterproof camera style bag sorted that out) and made analysis, top speed and even integration with Google maps incredibly easy. Here's an example.
So we come to Macquarie Innovation. The first time I saw it's predecessor Yellow Pages Endeavor I did not know what to make of it. I sailed behind it on my windsurfer in 1993 when it was doing its test runs and at the time I thought it was not super fast, but had weirdly blistering acceleration.
I recall reading about designer Lindsay Cunningham and thinking he was actually full of crap; of course that opinion turned out to be full of crap. He designed the "boat" to be an assymetrical speed machine, designed only to beat the record with efficiency, not be the blunt instrument we windsurfers were and still are. In that year they took the outright and boat class record, pushing the record to 46 knots (52mp/h or 85km/h) over the 500 metre course. Several things about this record blew me away. First Cunningham predicted it- the speed they would achieve and the wind they would need to do it in- just 20 knots. This record stood for 11 years until the blunt instrument of windsurfing inched its way past.
After that, I thought a smaller craft for one crew might be e better option and it could be made stronger and therefore go out in more wind. Once again; blinded by the theory that you need lots of wind (30-40knots) to go fast. The new craft had a different wing/sail but was still about the same on-water dimensions.
This latest record of 48.14 is up by 2 knots, around 4%. Thats huge in my view. If the world record for 100m dropped by 4%, that would represent a drop of .4 seconds- about 4 metres! The peak speeds were over 51 knots. Really all the team needed was a steady 22 knots (instead of the 18 they got) and we would be looking at a 50+ knot world record- and probably another 11 years of holding it.
This performance represents not only the fastest speed ever recorded by a sailing boat, but also the most efficient use of wind energy by any craft competing for the World Sailing Speed Record. Capable of sustaining speeds in excess of three times that of the wind powering it, Macquarie Innovation showcases an Australian project that is leading the world in sail powered performance, efficiency and design technology.
Dr Tom Chalko- sustainability early adopter and speed sailing fan was there:
MI speed sailing craft on course in Sandy Point on 8 March 2007. It reached 48 knots in 16-18 knots of wind. I must have been the only spectator - there is not a single footprint on the beach..
Well done to the Macquarie Innovation team. Long may your record reign.
It's been a few weeks, and I am a bad blogger of late due to a new job, new baby and other things being more important (apologies!)
The 2008 Dirt Bike Masters- I competed in two of three rounds- was fantastic.
I swore to Mum (and to a lesser extent Rachel) that this would be my last gasp, my lap of honour on a dirt bike. But as I considered the fitness I gained in the lead up and the pure hard core physicality of racing a dirt bike for just 10 minutes three times in a day- I'm well and truly hooked and I am very keen (Honda willing) to go round again next season.
The first round was appalling. I was left a physical wreck. Terribly unfit and totally unsuited to the requirements of even low level competative dirt bike racing.
I skipped over round 2 due to both Bathurst and... this is going to sound insane... I had not recovered from the first round some 6 weeks earlier. Yes people. It's that difficult.
In the lead up to round three I actually managed to get some worthy fitness sessions under my belt. Rachel oh-so-conveniently found a gym with personal trainer and then I aided and abeted this conspiragcy by telling David the personal trainer that I was going to be racing the damn thin in a matter of weeks. He selected a program that I thought was ok, but it turned out to be brilliant come race day.
Race Day Round Three at Lardner Park looked on paper to be a likely disaster for me. It was a grass track cut onto the side of a hill and then rotary hoed. Then a water truck.
I watched the first warm up session (women) with a mixture of admiration and horror. Some sections looked like potential youtube worthy disasters.
This was proved a worthy thought when I was out - determined to just circulate and get to know the track. The top turn was so wet that my idiotic decision to "experiment"with a few racing lines resulted in a slow front end tuck, slide and embarassing clean up back in the pits.
Race one was not great. I arrived late to the start (being cool n all) and was left on the far left side of the track. About 10 feet from the start I would have to cross the last turn berm and then realy try to get going. I got a terrible start, found a rythmn and even passed a few guys- as shown below.
Race two I was offered That Bike- the bosses factory fiddled CRF450X. I felt great insofar as my health and fitness was concerned (despite a slight fade out at the end of race one) so I was very keen to give the beast a go. On the start line- again on the non favoured side, I decided that 60 odd horsepower would be enough to drag me down the straight in second gear. It was more than enough. She sat up like an as yet unbroken horse and I headed to turn one on the rear wheel, desperately clawing my 100 kilos of glory towards the handlebars to settle the stallion. Futile.
After about half a lap I realised this bike needed a different style. Where on the softer 250cc I needed to keep corner speed, keep the engine reasonably revved up, the 450 just wanted me to turn hard, stand it up, and shoot it to the next corner. It worked like fury. I passed many riders this way. I can act all "Jeez I was good" but it was a simple combination of more horsepower + fat guy + reasonable technique= fast.
This came unstuck twice- once when I tried a block pass in too high a gear with too much back brake. I got in front alright, but I stalled it and sat there for a lap trying to get her restarted. I was just about buggered when she came to life. I gave up a crowd pleasing wheelie of anger and rejoined my the same guys I had passed.
Fitness meant nothing. I was blowing like a steamtrain. The much loved horsepower was now straining my arms. I could barely stand for the whoop sections. I wanted the chequered flag.
Passing the last lap board, I decided to have crack anyway and was lining up a guy to pass in the exact manner you see in the video above and a perfect storm/bad planet alignment occured.
Yarrive Konsky- Woodstock Honda team boss and the owner of the bike I was racing- has small hands. He has the front brake lever very close to the bars. Me? I have huge hands. Everytime I pulled the front brake on with two fingers it hit my knuckles and meant the brakes weren't on hard enough. So I used all my fingers.
This meant I had lots of front brake, but bugger all control. The bike is bucking and weaving and I need to be stable to brake "just so".
...and so I am brought undone. I go in late, grab a man sized fist of brakes, hit a few bumps and lock the front wheel. This time I have a fast and violent front end tuck but I try to ride it out. I do not succeed in gathering it up and when it finally all goes to hell I hit my chest on the right handle bar hard and go up and over the bike like a rag doll. This breaks two ribs. I land on my back and feel ok. I go back to the bike and try to lift it and I feel significantly less ok. I cannot lift it. A track marshall lifts it for me. I remount, decide not to finish and roll down the grassy hill, bump start the bike and ride slowly to the pits. The bike is not happy. Check the handlebars in this shot (ignore Harry in his sling!):
I'm sore, but not in trouble. The talented and likeable Peter Boyle offers me his enduro championship winning CRF250 for race 3 and I reluctantly agree. (well, part of me is "oh I will crash ANOTHER factory bike" but part of me says "hell yeah")
So, I mount up, get to the start line early. I ace the start, I pass guys, I ride hard, I feel great. I'm in the top half and I feel ten feet tall and as stoked with my performance as legally allowed.
So thanks must go to: Yarrive Konsky and Sean Wisneske from Woodstock Honda. Super special thanks also to event organiser Adam Bailey and PR guru Marscelle Tully for getting me a ride and treating me so well across the various rounds.
God, wife and mother willing I'd love to go round again in 2008. Racing is back in my blood, and I'm better physically and mentally for it.
I will be competing in the Dirt Bike Masters series over the next few months. Scared? You bet!
I'll be racing under the Woodstock Honda umbrella, and with the assistance of Ford (for the ute!) I will seek to a/ not fall off b/ not come last c/ not vomit into my helmet at the end of each race.
I will be racing in the rally class, but it's still going to be competetive, full -on and very, very hard work.
Come and see me fail!
**UPDATE** No need to turn up at 10am! I have three races on the Sunday the 7th September, so go and say hi to your Dad, then bring him along and treat him to some serious laughs.
Sitting on the couch, watching Brad and Sandra flirting on the late news and I get a news flash of my own; a blood curdling scream with follow up screams and no ad break.
Like a salmon I rise from the couch and head down the hallway with all engines full ahead. Rachel goes past the end of the hall, on her way to the bathroom where she gets into the shower fully clothed and turns the cold up full.
While trying to do up the lid on a hot water bottle she half dropped the bottle, pressing it against her pregnant belly, and emptying some of the boiling contents all over her belly and chest.
At once I see this is bad. There's skin hanging loose and its red and angry. Rachel can take pain like I can take beers, but appears to be in serious pain. I do what any sensible person does faced with such a situation, I call an Ambulance and talk faster than a horse racer caller on crystal meth.
I finally get it all across to them, the MICA arrives ten minutes later, I pack a bag of entirely inappropriate and "mere male" fodder clothes* and Rachel goes of to Cabrini, with me in the car 10 minutes behind.
Of course it turns out ok. Pain reduces, a smile returns, no long term scars, baby is fine, I am wrecked. We get home, cuddle each other and our baby and sleep comes like many drugs.
I go into 3AW this morning and foolishly chose a controversial topic and get fired up and call a listener an idiot for the first time ever.
* the clothes I packed were as follows: One non maternity bra that does not fit, a sports bra, one g-string, one pair of useful undies, one pair of trakkie daks, one pair of slippers two of my t-shirts as "she'll want something loose fitting"
I am loving the Failblog. Tales of failure always warm the evil heart.
Now for my own submission.
Last year, I hosted - at Atomic Media- a Halo 3 fight night. It went very well UNTIL an evil Brazilian drink known as Cachaça came out to kill all assembled.
Loving the new Speed Triple 1050, a real goer and a definite improvement over my sad, old 955 version . This is not a review as I have to get some things done, however you can view the data track here 3-feb-08.zip
Oh lordy that was good. Steady southerly, The Don, The Tone, Benny D, Rocket Roddie and a few others.
After the triumph that was Sandy Point, I had my dander up somewhat and was starting to believe that 37.5 knots on flat water might translate to 30+ on the bay.
WRONG!
Though we did not get the wind strength like Sandy Point- 25k tops today vs. 35k at the Point, it was still strong enough. Heading off the wind beyond 120 degrees and the sail died in your arms like a war buddy (yes that was an appalling metaphor). Another 5-10 knots would have helped to boost speeds above 30, but would have made going upwind, messing about, jumping and whatnot a right nightmare. That's speed sailing for you though- tread softly and carry a big stick.
I don't call it cheating to go upwind and then bare away onto 120 degrees just to get a bigger top speed. In this case 27.9 knots or 51.67 km/h or if you like 32.1mph
Also I got 37.5 knots on my 9 year old Torquay freeride 272. With a wavesail. That's gotta be a some kinda record...?
See the GPS data track in Google earth here. I think with a speey fin, a wet n' dry and maybe a race sail I could actually get 40 knots out of the old girl.
This blog post was started back in the earliest days of Rachel's pregnancy, but as we needed to make it to at least 12 weeks before we made any announcement, I decided to keep this as a a draft until it was time.
Monday 19th November.
Rachel had some interesting news this morning. She has a faint, but likely positive pregnancy test. She read the instructions and thinks she may not have done it right.
As I know nothing of these tests, I assume it's false. Their accuracy is unknown to me. (99.9%)
Tuesday 20th November Well little one, seems you really are there and I really am to become a father. WOW!
Two tests, done properly and two strong positives. Holy crap. I'm not freaking out, I am just excited. Your mother is going to be pissed- she wanted to have a few drinks all over Xmas and her 30th birthday promises to be a quiet affair. I think she's cool with it on balance.
...of course she's not really cross- she's all a glow. I get her to come in and meet me and I took this picture. Now might be a good time to mention that I am a sentimental softie at heart and I cried a little with happiness. Your mother laughed at me. You'll discover that she does that a lot. See how happy we are? Your mother is but 5 weeks pregnant at this time. You are the size of a pea, about the same size as your father's brain.
Regarding the photo, don't freak out about the mo'. It was NOT the fashion at the time, it's just I was raising funds for Movember- a charity aimed at (amongst other things) eradicating the cancer that took your grand dad. Don't sweat about not meeting him BTW- he's just like your dad, only older.
Friday 13 November Today your mum went to the doctor's for the first time. He took some blood, lectured your mother about her drinking (I made that part up) and told her that the results won't be back 'til next Wednesday, but three positive pregnancy tests from two different brands is good enough for him. He tells your mum congratulations and she calls me straight away. I suppress the urge to have a another cry as I have eight months of occasional cries ahead of me and I think I might try pacing myself. For once.
She sent me the following text:
no fish more than once a fortnight!!!!, no soft cheese, no sushi, no cold cut meats...no drinking...my baby is going to starve!!!
You won't starve, I promise. By that I mean I won't personally find food for her, but rather I know your mother well enough to know she will find food- and lots of it.
So after leaving to doctors your mum freaked out and went straight to the shops for some retail therapy..she did manage to buy a book "What to expect when you are expecting"
But mostly she bought clothes for herself... while she could still fit into them.
We have decided to tell the family at Christmas, and announce to the world in January sometime. You will only be 11 weeks at Christmas, but your Aunt and Uncle will be here and this will raise the roof!
As is the family tradition, we have given you a pregnancy name. We have a budgie called Wudge and you are called Budge. Don't panic, it won't stick. You will get your own name in good time, and I will find a stupid variation on that name to call you. It's what I do.
Oh and for the first time your mother used you as an excuse today. She wanted a new toothpaste tube as the old one was almost empty. She said "The baby wants me to have a new tube"
7.5 loooong months to go.
Monday 26 November We had a very relaxed weekend and talked about our plans for the future. Your mother will stop work in June and take 6 months maternity leave, so guess who has to work like mad?
Yo, Daddy does.
Your mother is ready from the pregnancy book, usually just highlighting bits like "your partner should do half the work" and "If the father gives up alcohol as well, it will make the journey easier". Well that's crap, how will I cope with Mrs Crazy Hormones huh? So now, as soon as I hear another quote coming from that damnable book, I switch off and play Xbox. I might also add your mother has latched onto a quote that says "even when inactive, just being pregnant is the equivalent of mountain climbing every day" She has taken this as as fact and now has a nap. When I ask her about this nap she is using you as an excuse "the baby wants me to have a nap". Hell, *I* want her to have a nap, it stops the quotes from the baby book coming thick n fast. All this aside, we are very happy and very much looking forward to your arrival. I was waaay cluckier than your mother, but the flood of hormones has sent her past me in a big way. It should be quite wonderful, but weird.
Friday 13th December Yes little one, it has been a few weeks since an update so let's do that quickly:
You have given your mother morning sickness. Not vomit-y bad, but "I iz siiick" bad. Cure: Vegemite toast made by Dad at 7am. This must be buttered and "vegemited" while it is still hot or all hell breaks out.
You had your first photoshoot this morning. It was entertaining as your mother had to be up at 6 am for wee, followed by the consuming of a litre of water. She was hell busting when we got to the ultrasound place. I enjoyed it no end, nearly another cry, but I saved it as I wanted to enjoy the moment. The moment I wanted to enjoy was the look on your mother's face as she tried not to wee while the ultrasound was being run over her stomach. Yes, we have a strange relationship.
We saw your heart beating. Mine jumped. It was sublime.
We told your maternal Grandmother. 5 minutes of squealing noises ensued.
We're telling my family tonight. They will act excited I am sure.
Right so there's that done. We've locked in all other details: you have an obstetrician, hospital (frankly I am looking forward to the double bed and pay TV more than I ought) and we even looked at baby capsules and related. I want a Formula 1 style baby car seat, but apparently you have to be able to hold your head up and stuff before you can go in one. Your mum is looking out for you on this score junior.
I'm very excited still. Let's see how long that lasts...
One Christmas, Santa brought me the Evel doll and motorbike, complete with jump ramps.
The bike had a rip cord AND gyroscopes inside it so it could wheelie like a real bike.
I loved that thing so much. Years later, Mum told me Dad and a friend of his were playing in the hallway (probably half cut) with Evel on Christmas eve. It was that cool a toy.
With Adrian Rowe in tow, we went up to the Toolangi state forest for a visit to the testing site for the Rally Of Melbourne where Neil Bates took me for a wild ride in his Toyota Corolla S2000 class rally car. I have been in cars with several race drivers and I have never, ever seen a driver as busy as a rally driver. Sawing the wheel back and forth like Mr Miyagi's "wax on wax off" scene and more toe tapping than a blues gig, it's a busy office for the rally folk.
I would hasten to add, that until you experience travelling through the bush at warp factor ludicrous... well maybe you haven't lived.
Craig Spottiswood has really given speed sailing a shake- he's always been fast; now we have the numbers 43 knots + (81 km/h) See him smoking at Sandy:
