Point A., Wichita, to point B., Wendover, was finally out of the way. The weather cooperated, as it seemed mother nature was taking a nap, and that was good. While driving onto the flats the morning of the 2nd I was thinking, "This is some of the best salt I've seen in years." Denis Manning, the person who put on the Bub International All Motorcycle Meet, had done an excellent job preparing an 11 mile dry-hard-smooth-superb course for the time trials. Always thinking ahead, I quickly snatched up a spot in the designated pit area next to three porta-potties. :o)

The majority of the Vincent attack team I would say, is not the "broad at the shoulder, narrow at the hip types", they're rather more like escapees from a back lot Universal Studios character audition. Someone once told me, "Experience comes with age". If that's true, we got this puppy in the bag.

After about an hour's wait, familiar faces began to show up, and as soon as half dozen or so arrived, the orchestration of the off-loading and setting up of the tents and pit area began. More and more of the crew and spectators eventually straggled in, some of whom I was meeting for the first time. I was eager to show off my work of the past 12 months, as those back slapping kudos are so all important to the man who has "walked the walk".

The new liner was under the shade of the main tent with her clothes on--black, sleek and slim, with her jewelry of gold leaf Vincent scroll marquee. A sight that activates adrenalin in any true racer beyond a doubt. It's worth repeating that I had just finished building the new streamliner, and that none of the crew members were familiar with it's make up (except Lenny).

After a quick schooling of three or four of the crew as to where the fasteners were to remove the cowling which covered the engines, it was time for the unveiling, and not unlike a traveling carni where the locals are seeing for the first time the enchantress walking down the runway spreading those feathered fans. As expected, the Ooos and Ahhhs abounded and continued throughout the meet.

I felt pretty good about that.

Not waiting for the usual, "Let's hear her run.", as I had it already next on the agenda to see if anything had fallen off or gone awry from the time it had left it's meager home in my back yard garage to it's secondary home, under the grandeur of the Bonneville Salt sky. The 24 volt diesel starter motor was plugged in; the switch hit; the motors fired right up; the switch was released on the starter. The week had started. The starter kept spinning, causing a bit of panic as we tried to get a battery lead off to break the circuit.

'Not a good situation,' I thought, 'I don't have any spares.' I had built the starter with a Triumph kill button switch. This was removed from the circuit and a toggle switch was jury-rigged. It was again tested and found that the starter solenoid was the one that was sticking.

This was the third time that the starter motor and it's components had undergone the corrosive atmosphere of the Bonneville Salt Flats. The starter solenoid had succumbed to the corrosion and was sticking. Selecting the proper size remedy tool, i.e. a ball peen hammer, precision wrapping of the solenoid housing ensued and we soon freed the bugger up. This precision operation was only required on one other occasion during the week.

The starter again was plugged in, and 3000cc worth of blown fuel Vincent power came to life. It was nothing to write home about--lots of vibration and slow throttle response. It had been running much better in Wichita. It had only been started 4 times after the rebuild of 2006, so not much time had been spent on the tune. The primary reason for this can be found in the word "time".

This had to be corrected if there was any hope of fast runs. One of the thoughts running through my head was knowing that I had liposuctioned approximately 400 pounds from the mass of the machine. I wondered, 'Could this be causing or contributing to the excess vibration?' Another thought was the changes that I had made in the intake track porting of the heads--the changes in the plenum and the modification to the intake horn of the Ron's Racing toilet bowl injector horn. I felt that this was minor and should not have affected the fuel curve to any appreciable degree from that used in last year's attempt.

A few wick-ups on the throttle produced a gush of oil coming from the inboard portion of the primary covers between the coupled engines. This was definitely not good. After the removal of the belly pan, it was discovered that one of the retaining dowels which aligned the three idler gear cluster housing, had wallored it's bores and fallen out. The entire idler housing had to have come loose and all of the bolts and dowels must have received damage, I knew that the entire outer primary housing had to be removed to find out how much damage there was, and whether it could be fixed.

John McDougall and our new crew member, Jesse, were given the task of taking it apart for my inspection. As I expected, all of the dowels had wallored; the threaded portions into the engine cases had wallored and were loose; two grade 8 allen screws had snapped. All in all a pretty ugly sight. The fix was a couple of helicoils installed, the retaining dowels removed, and a generous coat of bearing/sleeve locktite applied, and the dowels reinstalled. The broken bolts were removed and replaced, and everything was buttoned back up. Not the best fix in the world, but without the access of a proper machine shop, as is so often the case with not only Black Lightning, but other Bonneville machines, the ingenuity and skill of the crew can determine the outcome of the day.

The next day after the troops had arrived the liner underwent it's usual tech inspection, which went off without a glitch. Both Don and Hartmut performed their Houdini excape act for the scrutineers, and after the riders meeting the sounds of powerful engines and not-so-powerful engines began to fill the air with varying degrees of decibles. The 160 array of two and three wheeled motorcycles covered the gambut from long, low and sleek, to big fat and ugly. To each his own. After all, it wouldn't be much fun and it wouldn't be Bonneville if the bikes were a bunch of clones.