Ah Carnel raceway, 2.5-3.5 hrs (depending on roadworks) from Brisbane inland lays the town of Stanthorpe. A charming country town at the beginning of the edge to the great 'Outback only to be beaten to the category of the last of an Australian representation of civilisation by Goondiwindi. It sits on the western side of the great dividing range, and has altitude to be known to have snow on the odd year. As such it has been regularly beaten by ludicrous heat, freezing arse cold, bush fires, and of coarse torrential rain for the last 4 billion years ( literally). The general area is known as the Granite belt. No Fucking around with cute names there. They have granite as 'deco (decomposed granite), granite small rocks, granite big rocks, and granite mountainous outcrops. If you love granite, get yourself to Stanthorpe. They grow apple and wine crops, so you can get pissed and chow down on a red crispy and be in awe of granite and gumtrees.
Basically the locals years ago got bored with granite and shooting pigs and Roos and built a 1.1km race track and drag strip on the old rifle range. Any one seen Mad Max the movie. The entrance is a corrugated iron sheet 12' fence. Yes even on the edge of nowhere, sound restrictions. What has the world come to.
So last Friday at 4pm after finishing fitting the last minute request of getting the 250 single narrowcase on the track with this springer head I (owner rider) just have found which needs a race came I have also found, I left for glorious Stanthorpe. I have failed to mention I have since Dec 26 last year stripped bores and rebuilt the CBR 250 RR mc21 motor, repaired the crash damage the resulted in the required engine rebuild. Created a Motobi 125 from 1961 out of a frame, wheels, Raw Fiberglass fairing-tank-seat base. I had to build a steering head spindle, and all the brake control dorgons lever to lever, get and back. Fairing stay's, including on of the steering nut swivel one. (Lathe time is just such a pleasurable time.) I digress, I arrived at Carnel in the dark, starving, and in a state of who what where due to the 4am start that morning. Daughter is a gymnast, sick twisted things gymnasts, I have a son also, level 10 Qld team for nationals in 4 weeks. They both train, eat sleep and go to school. That's about it.
We unloaded ate, then crashed out.
Race day, sorry, test and tune. The pilot and I were in flux of what this actually meant. From my side, I made it pretty clear. CBR ready to rock and roll, a couple of laps run in, then it like you stole it. The motobi running but not tuned with a limited number of jets and sod all else. The single not started with a VBH30 pulled out of box that appeared to have jets and only slight tinge of green death. A range of jets, no needles, and as it turned out no spring on the mixture screw. Bike has a nice paint job but.
We arrive at 6:30am, set up, then wait until engine start at 9:45 after rider brief, first up Motobi at 10:00. It starts, appears to have gear selection. Pete takes over and trundles off in the belief he's going to be racing the classic motobi 125, even after many discussions about the fact a lawn mower has a bigger engine. I move on to warm up the CBR. Oh good girl, starts clean, zero smoke and smooth. As I let it come up to temp, the single. Start yes, throttle response, not really. Pete return. How was that Pete? Underwhelming. Now there's a surprise. How did it run? It sort of had throttle response. Right, we'll there's a job. Pete asks how the other 2 are. Well
. CBR all cool. Single, not really a track option currently. Pete gets a sad face. His faith in humanity crushed. The single is up in 2 qualifying rounds.
There, there mate, the CBR is a goer, don't crash.
The Motobi was first, change main jet from 90 to 72, the only one I had that fitted the $50 eBay Mikuni 26 fitted. I jacked the needle all the way up, lost the worlds smallest eclip in the grass next to mat. It was here I learnt of the presence of the 1 red bull ants. Aggressive suckers, that bite and sting. Actually something to be avoided and definitely not upset. We don't tell tourists about them as they won't actually kill you. But I've seen one trying to get into an unopened can of tuna. Brings a grin to your face thinking about poor Norwegian back packers trying to deal with them first time while touring. The big Ahhhh what the fuck is that, followed by I think I'm going pass out in pain. In Norwegian of coarse. I digress yet again.
Anyway eclip gone, 20 thou lock wire to the rescue. Bike runs, hangs a bit, but develops power and throttle response, jagged it. Motobi up, ready to track. Pete has simile face, but still disappointment in his eyes. The beloved single is still down. He goes and gets me a steak sandwich realising no fuel no go for griffy.
The single put up a fight. I started jetting down from 135 chasing throttle response. At 128 it went pear shaped. The mixture screw vibrated out. Stink. Only option is to close it off and get close with pilot, main and needle. Continue jetting down, got as far a 122 still rich, 110 to lean. Bugger. Time to ask if anyone has 116-118 main and a spring. Lucky I score the jets. No spring.
Now the historic crowd are a wonderful bunch. They could all hear the hassle I was having. They just appeared, around the single like magical forest elves. I explain the situation, heat strings have been plucked. John disappeared and reappeared, spring in hand. He fitted it, 1 and a half out, yes please. Roller start, the screw driver slides in behind my leg. Give it some. With in seconds the mighty 1961 250 Ducati snarls into life. Followed by nasty flames and banging from the megaphone, WTF now. One of the elves in race leathers points out the exh bung for the CO meter on the header is missing. I tell Pete to put one of the abundance of sticks in the hole. Magic. The 250 is now a snarling beast. I shut down. The elves come forth with suggestions of an array of hole plugging methods. A bolt, a bolt, my kingdom for a 10mm x1mm pitch bolt. An elf appears with a fishing tackle box of many and varied bolts, M10x1.25, but no M10x1. Sad faces abound. Then the elf in leathers disappears and returns with a dead champion apart plug. M10x1. Great joy from the now 10-12 elves gathered. It fits, it fits. Let us all rejoice. The singles last race for the day is called to the grid. Pete suits up. The elves return to their respective campsite in the Forrest.
I fire up the might springer head single. The surrounding campers smile, I can feel the far off elves eyes shining with glee. Pete takes the bike and trundles off to the grit. Not even on to the lead in bitumen and it starts. Bang, bang run bang run bang bang. Shit, ignition. Pete attempts to start from the dummy grid, but way to much banging and no power.
He returns dejected. Cheer up Pete, it's only the battery. Constant loss and we used up the volts getting it running. Tomorrow it will be fine. All three bike will be up and you can exhaust yourself doing laps racing. Time to pack it in for the day.
We left, showered, and went out an enjoyed Stanthorpes finest Chicken parmigiana and Boubon. (I don't normally drink, but it had been a big jobs day and WTF why not)
Day 2. Battery charged up. Rider briefing. Engine warm up. Motobi, still hanging up but good to go. CBR, oh you good thing. Single, fires up, the bang and flames from the exh. Stink! Battery shot itself. Sure enough from 14.3 to 12.9. 14v min for clean ignition. Quick change battery. Stink, no ignition. Sad face on pilot. No wait, dickhead me connected battery wrong. ( see thread Griff blows up 888spgriffy regulator.) In luck, electronic ignition builder new of my existence, the little light goes on. On to the rollers and it roars into life. Alas not for long. Bang bang bang. WTF now. Voltage drp to 11.9. Blast, I got an earth. 2min later. Found it. Let's do it. Single fires up, warms up. Throttle go, gear selection go. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real, as the mod state was in 1961-62, race bike.
Awe from the surrounding historic owners club ( actually a bunch of unshaven slightly hung over middle aged to actually barely able to walk old blokes and occasional wife and maybe some grand kids. Sitting in chairs by their bikes, waiting to go out and have fun and not kill each other.
Let the racing begin.
Results. Pete pulled consistent 2nds in production 250 period 6, with a first in last race on the CBR250RR. 25 on the grid. 6 races
The Single, 2nd day period 2 &3 all powers. 2nd every race. Entries 3. Beaten by an Indian Scout 750 1941. There is no excuse for cubes obviously. The third entry, another 250 single.
Motobi 1961. Race class Buckets. 200cc and below up to 1990. Pete scored a couple of seconds, unfortunately at the wrong end of the field. Scored a last as well due to a DNF of the previous last place bike. Not bad for the oldest and smallest bike on the grid. Most were 175's 1980' to 1990.
The weekend. A Stirling success. All the elements were there. I watched Pete go through the complete range of male emotions. Italy's finest roared into life. Japans Road samurai went into battle, Pictures were taken, visitors were educated when confronted with the result of 2 brothers had 2 different ideas on which direction a company should go.
And most importantly a bunch from of people from up to 400km away came together in the middle of nowhere on a 4 billion year old chunk of granite, on a campsite next to a racetrack and made new friends and helped each other go fast and have fun.
