The Last Hours:

Like we mentioned earlier, nothing ever happens until the last corner of the race. There we were, track day minus 24 hours and things weren't looking too good. The Mad Max bike finally got a motor stuffed into it. We scooped up a set of Storz-Ceriani forks that are black anodized and look awesome on the nose of our rocket. We stuck a 100 series 19-inch Metzeler on spokes in front and a 180 series Metzeler wrapped around a new spoke rim from Wheel Works in Garden Grove, Calif., in back. The gang over at Lyndall Racing Brakes, donated a set of their fantastic rotors and pads so Gaites could stop the beast at the end of the quarter-mile. All of this was tied into an aluminum swingarm, to add rigidity and lighten the load—much thanks to everyone that helped us find the parts online!

All of the sheetmetal was sitting over at Rock n Roll Custom Paint, in Orange, Calif., and quite frankly, we're nervous. Randy was the coolest of cool to donate his time and resources to add paint to our project...what it's going to look like is a surprise, you'll have to wait. Suffice it to say it fit the bike. What really put the kink in all of it was that we didn't get the sheetmetal over to him until the last minute.

Did I tell you we bought a nitrous kit? We did. So, while we were waiting for the bodywork to come back, Dr. Gaites integrated the system and we threw an old tank and the stock seat on it and went and tested it—on the freeway, where else? We could hear Geoffrey light off the nitrous four blocks away. It sounded like a C-130 taking off with jet assist. Not too much later, Gaites came back with this stupid grin on his face. He got off the bike and staggered over to the nitrous and reloaded the bike all the while mumbling that the bike was SICK, NASTY, and TERRIFYING. So, we filled her up again and Gaites went back out to terrify the local cagers on the 55 freeway once again.

We were calm, all was good; power was made, and we were tickled pink as we ruminated about beating the GSXR. And then Geoffrey came back and our dreams came crashing down. We could hear it a mile away—the sound of two drag pipes spitting exhaust sickly and without harmony; we'd blown a head gasket. Now, we won't blame anyone, but there was some debate about pushing the red button with the RPMs too low. So, now we add four hours to change the gasket on top of installing the sheetmetal. It's late. We're out of TUMS, and my Del Taco isn't sitting too well...we'll be tossing aside the keyboard for a wrench now, and we'll get back to you.