A Day at the Races

I had my best year ever at the races at Laguna Seca, despite the heartbreak of our American hero Nicky Hayden's early crash, totally not his fault. Hayden is the reigning world champion in a sport that is second only to soccer in popularity worldwide: motorcycle roadracing. In his own country, he's virtually unknown, except to a hardcore cadre of race fans like myself and the 54,000 other fans at the race last Sunday.

After winning at Laguna the last two years, this year doesn't count on my scorecard, and I'm hoping he can win it next year and I'll call it a triple.

I spent two weeks on the road, camping every night or staying with friends. I travelled 2,500 miles and spent less than $1,500 total, including race tickets and a couple of souvenirs. I don't think it's possible to have such a fun vacation for much less money.

The VFR was a great ride, even with about a ton of gear strapped on. I've never been known to travel light. The Honda sport-tourer is consistently rated one of the best bikes in the world and has won many award as Bike of the Year from cycle magazines. After seven years in the saddle, I still love it like it's new out of the box.

The Laguna Seca facility continues to learn and improve after some serious crowd management problems in recent years, compounded by 100-degree temperatures last year. There were lots more shade areas, plenty to be able to find shade between races if I needed a time out. Also, they had giant "fog" machines for cooling off, which proved unnecessary this year as temps only made it to the upper 70s. Perfect! It's important to be able to cool off when I get overheated.

Crowd traffic was also much improved as they opened the track for fan crossovers after races, eliminating the bottlenecks. It was also very cool to stand in turn one, look down at the starting grid and up at the blind hill they hit at close to 200 mph. It barely looks like a turn from off the track, but many riders say it's the most intimidating point in the race, despite the famed corkscrew. And you could see the tracks of the bikes, about a foot wide, every rider hitting the perfect line on every lap. Amazing.

As always, the cheap seats, which is your own folding chair and a pair of binoculars, make for the best seating. Coming prepared is the difference between a spectacular day or a long ordeal. I try to come prepared and learn a little more about track survival each year.

Again this year, squid traffic was bad off track. I was turning into a freeway offramp in light traffic and was bumped from the rear by a guy riding two up. I gave plenty of signal and was to the right in my lane, so have no idea how he made that mistake other than just following too closely. He may have been trying to pass me on the inside, a common riding offense down there. But no harm.
Also, on the way back to my campground at Big Sur, a squid passed a line of bikes plus me and the truck in front of me going into a turn during triple digits and then some. An oncoming car appeared and he had to ride the double yellow between them. One of the dumbest moves I've ever seen on a bike, but not too different from other stunts I've observed. These people are putting MY life at risk. There were other lesser incidents, but again, no harm.

In contrast, everybody I talked to at cafes and gas stations was terrific. The excitement of the races brings out the most knowledgable and dedicated race fans on the coolest bikes. I just love it! My friend Keith, who I meet up with and camp with, brought his 41 year old sister, who is a NASCAR fan but has a crush on Italian Superstar Valentino Rossi. She said she couldn't believe how friendly everybody is compared to NASCAR events. She liked the diversity of the crowd. She tried hard to get a Rossi autograph but couldn't quite hook up. She did get one from some guy named Mick Doohan! Mick was world champion when I was living in Tokyo, and I'd watch the races with Japanese announcers on TV and it would sound something like "haji mashita goojie MICK DOOHAN des kamoto sanoma MICK DOOHAN!!!!"

I'd leave again tomorrow to do it all again, but have to wait another year. Hell, I'm sixty years old and the last time I had so much fun was when I was a kid and the Dodgers moved to L.A., where I grew up, and beat the Yankees in the World Series in four straight games. I had thought life was pretty much down hill from that point on, but Laguna is a close second, and my guy didn't even win.

Quite simply, Laguna Seca is the premier motorcycle event in North America, and the track finally has worked out all the kinks that have existed in the past.

It's like the pilgrammage to Mecca. If you love motorcycles and racing, God wants you to go there at least once.

What, Are We Stupid?

Today’s Oregonian features an editorial endorsing a really bad idea: humanitarian visas for tens of thousands of Iraqis. Oregon’s scrappy Democrat Peter DeFazio has sponsored a bill in the house calling for a free pass for 50 thousand Iraqis. Oregon Republican Senator Gordon Smith called and raised him 20 thousand.

The reasoning is humane. We created a mess over there and some Iraqis came to our assistance. They were the good guys who now face certain reprisals as our war strategy melts down. We owe them safe transit and haven, just as we did the tens of thousands of Vietnamese who served us as we retreated out of Vietnam in the 70s.

Mary and I sponsored two of those Vietnamese refugees in 1979, so it’s not as though I’m immune to these arguments. But how much damage from the Bush war can we reasonably be expected to mitigate? The Oregonian was in editorial support of “preemptive war” when I thought anyone with half a brain could see what a disaster it was going to be. Perhaps the editors feel guilty.

I feel a lot of things, but guilt isn’t one of them.

We’ve already paid with over 3,500 American deaths, the squander of hundreds of billions of dollars, and the crushing of America’s standing as part of the community of nations. Iraqis have paid much more, and they’ll continue to pay much more. But the mostly foiled bomb plot in Britain last week makes a good case to me that we should be admitting fewer Middle East immigrants, not more, regardless of their skills, education, or level of risk at home.

I’ve never believed the absurd argument that we must defeat the terrorists over there or they will follow us home. On the other hand, I don’t think it’s a particularly good idea to invite them to dinner, and there is simply no way in the world we could adequately vet tens of thousands of displaced Iraqis. Al-Qaeda, get in line! Doctors move to the front of the line! Await further orders when you arrive.

I’m tired of paying for Bush’s mistakes and being told we have a moral responsibility to pay more. If we want to bring 70 thousand Iraqis to the U.S., send them all to Crawford, Texas and let George make barbeque.

More realistically, we should be taking steps to help at-risk Iraqis resettle in parts of the Middle East where at-risk Iraqis are already settling, primarily Lebanon, Syria, and Iran. And we could pressure our good friends the Kuwaitis to open their doors. And Egypt. Saudi Arabia. Whatever.

So, call me racist. I’m happy to have twelve million illegal immigrants who are already here. I wish them well. I’m inclined to agree with those who say next step is to seal the border. It might not be perfect, but when the ship is sinking, you plug the leak, then you start to bail.

But at this time, I believe it makes every reasonable sense in the world to severely restrict immigration from any part of the world where polls show that the majority of popular opinion supports Al-Qaeda and direct terrorist attacks against America.

What, are we stupid?

The Devil in My Backyard

The Washington Post ran a series of articles on Dick Cheney last week. I’ve been reasonably sure for the last few years that Dick Cheney is The Devil, so I was interested in what the Post had to say.

No surprise that Cheney is the most powerful Vice President in history. No surprise, either, that he’s also the most secretive. The lead author of the Post series said on the McNeal-Lehrer report the other night that what was surprising was the scope of Cheney’s activities.

I’ll say! The final article focuses right here where I live in the Klamath Basin and ties into a story I’ve followed closely for seven years. Dick Cheney’s been in the thick of it all along, though this is the first time he’s been tied by name to events here. I’m afraid to look under my bed for fear of what I might find. So far, it seems that’s the only place he hasn’t left any footprints, at least none documented in the Post articles.

Over the next few days, I’ll write up a few of my own posts and see if I can explain my understanding of the local story. It’s complicated.

It begins and ends with water.

Klamath Lake is Oregon’s largest lake, running about thirty-five miles long by ten to fifteen miles wide. In addition to the lake, we’re surrounded by wetlands and wildlife refuges, a mere fraction of what existed a hundred years ago, but still impressive. The basin is a main stop-over for migrating birds on the Pacific flyway. We host the largest winter population of bald eagles in the lower forty-eight, which come here to feast on the waterfowl. In summer, I’m always delighted to see the return of the white pelicans, our city mascot, from their winter stay in Mexico. Smart birds! And beautiful and majestic in flight. This is a magnificent place to live.

The view from my front porch, with the Klamath River and Mount Shasta in the distance

But water in the basin is a scarce commodity, and everyone who has an interest in it is always fighting everyone else for their fair share and maybe a little bit more. The lake itself, despite its size, is shallow and warm, and its health depends on adequate water levels even in the dry summer months. Despite its marginal environmental conditions, it’s home to record-size trout, often running over twenty pounds. It’s also home to two endangered species of sucker fish. The Klamath Indian Tribes, which hold treaty rights for fishing and hunting, depended on the sucker fish for food until recent years. They voluntarily stopped fishing when the sucker was declared endangered, but they’ve been willing to go to court to fight for lake levels that will contribute to its survival.

There are Indians downriver, too, at the mouth of the Klamath River. For countless generations the Hoopa Indians of Northern California depended on salmon runs to sustain their culture, and salmon runs depend on adequate water flows so they can swim upriver to spawn. Both commercial and recreational fishermen also depend on the salmon. At one time, the Klamath River salmon fishery was second on the West Coast only to the mighty Columbia itself. Today, native Klamath River salmon are also endangered.

Add basin agriculture into this already delicate balance. The Klamath Project, a Bureau of Reclamation project, diverts lake water to The A Canal, from which water is drawn to irrigate the fields of over a thousand family farms. And they really are family farms, too. So far, the Basin has been able to resist the spread of corporate farming, for whatever reasons. Many of the local farms go back for three or more generations.

In my next post, I’ll talk about what happened in 1991, when federal agencies cut off water to the Klamath Project to protect the endangered suckers.

Meanwhile, for homework, read Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert. If you have a little more time, you can read John McPhee’s Basin and Range for extra credit.