Winter 97/98 Volume III Issue 1

the Worlds Fastest Cigar?
by Big Sid

"Yeah," he answered, shaking his head. Then he added, "But you gotta give it a try, hadn't you?" Those words, spoken in Stu's English accent, echoed again in my head as I waited for Patty to tell me about the rider.

"A roll-over at approximately 150 mph. Stu is fine. Shell is banged up, but damage is minor." Patty continued her report, and I was relieved by its monotony. Money is tight, everyone is exhausted, the crew is dispersing, and Max is on the road returning the rental trailer and mobile home. These runs were over. I hung up, and Patty made another call.

Because Land Speed Record (LSR) attempts are not covered in the mainstream press, and even the motorcycle magazines take little interest anymore, the tradition of passing on results in teletype fashion persists. The "big picture" message behind Patty's brief report was clear: there was more learning curve ahead for the Lambky streamliner. These runs had ended in failure, but most record attempts end in failure.

Record racers know: you run until something goes wrong. Then you put your device back on the truck with the intention of coming back - next month or next year - when you will run until, once again, something breaks, only this time (with luck) at a higher speed. Even on those occasions when a racer breaks a record, his elation is still tempered with frustration. Sure, success excites him, but he can't help thinking about the fact that since his vehicle didn't break, he has yet to attain it's full potential. He could have gone faster. And that's the bottom line. To achieve the feat of conquering time and space, a racer must risk damn near everything. Why do these men do it? Stu's comment is typical of racers: "Well, you gotta try, hadn't you?"

Generally speaking, racers - even racers who are talkative about other things - are men of few words and significant pauses when the subject turns to racing. Oh, you can talk forever about the trappings. You can put everyone to sleep explaining the history and rules, but once you wish to stab into the mystery and remove racing's heart, you find yourself rapidly running out of words.

Why do you do it?
Why does a man fish?
How did it feel to set the record?
Pretty good.

The racer's silence - we'll bump up against it again, but for now let's forget about it. Stu and I did that night out in the garage. I wished him luck and said maybe I'd make it out to the Flats this year. I'd hop a plane, and see him on the salt. Laughing, he said, "It's a dream, isn't it? If you come you won't be the first guy who decided to drop everything and go."

There are a lot of dreams; this one involves going faster than anyone else who has attempted to do the same thing. Record racing is a sport, so there are rules, many of them governing classification, in order to create fair competition. Perhaps the most basic distinction is between motorcycles and cars. For LSR purposes, a motorcycle is any device that runs on two wheels, making a single track. If an LSR vehicle makes more than one track (or has an engine capacity greater than 3000 cc) it is a car. Max's team is attempting to set a new world's record for motorcycles. The current mark of 322 m.p.h. was set by a streamliner with two engines, made by a manufacturer that is still in business. You may have heard of 'em - Harley Davidson. That team also had sponsorship from Easyriders magazine, along with other businesses, as well as the support of many Harley riders. The Easyriders Harley seized the title from Don Vesco's Kawasaki-sponsored streamliner.