My accidental attempt at a Z-Rim world speed record

My story: My accidental attempt at a Z-rim world speed record

By the spring of 1985, I was a year out of high school, working nights at a big Mexican restaurant called Chi-Chi's (Spanish for "tits"), and riding as much as possible.  I was riding with Jay Bickel a lot, and we were doing occasional shows and local parades as the Critical Condition Stunt Team, sharing BMX freestyle with the people of the Boise area.  

For some reason, my dad got laid off that Spring.  It probably wasn't because I had a party at his boss' house over Christmas, while I was house sitting.  But my mom blamed me for my dad losing his job at times.  The company was downsizing, so that's probably the real reason.  Whatever the reason, my dad found a new job in San Jose, California.  My family moved there in late Spring 1985.  I rented a room at my best friend Darrin's family's house for the summer, and went back to work as manager of the Boise Fun Spot, a tiny amusement park in Julia Davis park, by the Boise River, in downtown. 

In August of 1985, the Fun Spot closed, and we packed up the carnival rides for the winter, and my job ended.  I stayed another week or so, at Darrin's house.  I packed my car, a 1971, shit brown, Pontiac Bonneville, for the trip to San Jose.  That car was about the size of an aircraft carrier.  I had so much crap, that I completely packed the huge car, with my Skyway T/A lying on a bunch of other stuff in the trunk.  I only had to take the pedals off and turn the bars to fit it in, the trunk was so huge.

I got up early that morning, said goodbye to my longtime friends, and headed west out of Boise.  Less than an hour into my trip, on a small four lane section of highway, my Pontiac, powered by its gigantic Oldsmobile 455 engine, headed up a long, steep grade.  I remember seeing a sign that it was a 6% grade, about 5 miles long.  That's steep, if the grade was much longer, they would have built a runaway truck ramps on the downhill side.  No problem for my big V-8 car.  Or so I thought.  About a quarter mile from the top of that big grade, my car lost power, much to my surprise.  

There were no cars around, the road was empty, as I coasted to a stop, already freaking out.  I tried for a while to get my car started again, but it wouldn't start.  I got out and popped the huge hood, wondering if the car was overheating, but that wasn't the case.  A couple of cars passed by, in the 15 minutes or so I sat there.  I was all alone, in the middle of fucking nowhere, with a dead car.  I'm a horrible mechanic, but there was no outward sign of something wrong.  So I decided to get my bike out, and ride back to a tiny little village I passed a few miles earlier, and find a tow truck. There were no cell phones in those days, so riding to get help, or hitchhiking were the only options.  

I popped the trunk, got my bike out, and screwed on my pedals.  It was a cool, sunny morning that was beginning to warm up.  I was wearing my Levi's 501's and a T-shirt, I didn't bother with a helmet or any safety gear, which was packed somewhere in the car.  It was a steep hill I'd just come up, but I just planned to ride the brakes down the long grade, then ride the 2-3 miles of flat ground to the tiny town after that.  I checked to make sure that my car was locked, and straddled my Skyway T/A, with red ACS Z-Rims.  For any of you not familiar, Z-Rims were spoked wheels, with made from a plastic composite.  They were designed to bend, and then snap back into shape.  In reality, they bent a little, they were never true, and always wobbled a bit.  If you were building a bike to go fast down a hill back then, Z-Rims are the last type of wheels you would want to use, because they were wobbly to begin with.

The grade was so steep that I just put my feet on the pedals, and started coasting.  I didn't pedal once... for about 5 miles.  Seriously, five miles.  Within a couple hundred yards, I was going fast.  Within a quarter mile, I was going faster than I'd ever gone in my life on a bicycle, easily over 40 miles per hour.  I just kept gaining speed.  Not too far down the hill, I grabbed both brakes to slow down, and I couldn't even come close to stopping.  So I just hung on and hauled ass down the hill.  I honestly had no idea how fast I was going, I just knew it was really fast.  But I did pass a few cars that were heading up the hill, and every time the driver did a double take as they saw me race by going the other direction.  Again, this was the end of August, 1985.  There weren't many road bike riders in rural Idaho back then.  A guy on a BMX bike bombing down a hill in the middle of nowhere probably seemed as crazy as seeing an alien. 

If you were riding in 1986, you may remember a magazine cover with a couple of riders bombing down a hill on weird little bikes.  That was the July 1986 cover of BMX Action, which means that photo of the GPV racers was shot about 8 or 9 months after my downhill run from my broken car.  That article was the first time most of us heard of GPV's, or Gravity Powered Vehicles.  The GPV idea was started by CW freestyle team manager Harold "McGoo" McGruther and freestyler Ceppie Maes.  They were trying one idea, and got sidetracked, wound up making a bike out of spare parts, with no chain, built to coast down big hills, and go fast through gnarly corners.  McGoo was the best known industry guy in BMX, having talked on camera in some BMX Plus videos, and been talked about in magazines.  McGoo was the official BMX industry comedian, a former B pro racer, and a hilarious guy to hang out with, in those days.  He probably still is, I just haven't seen him in years.  He's a guy with a good, sacastic wisecrack for any occasion, and always kept us laughing.

Word got around the BMX industry in Southern California of the weekend and evening hill bombing sessions on GPV's, and a few informal races were held.  Word of GPV's soon made it to NorCal, where Dave Vanderspek and some of the Curb Dogs started bombing down hills up there.  By 1987 and 1988, a few semi-official races were also held, and GPV's even made it on TV a few times.  

I happened to go the Palm Springs Tramway Road GPV race, and ramp jam, in the summer of 1987.  I didn't have a GPV, I just went to shoot photos and hang out.  The desolate road up into the mountains road, just outside of Palm Springs, served up a steep section of pavement, two lanes wide, and the race was 2 1/2 or 3 miles long, with very few turns.  It was also the first GPV race where a lot of the riders had fairings on their bikes.  You can see highlights of that race on YouTube in the Vision Street Wear video Mondo Vision (search "Mondo Vision 1989 Vision Street Wear").  

While aeronautical engineer, and the guy who made most of the fairings, Dan Hannebrink won the race, the craziest thing that day was done pro BMX racer Tommy Brackens.  Near the end of the course, Tommy passed the camera motorcycle... in a turn.  The camera bike was doing 85 mph at the time, so Tommy was doing at least 90... on a 20 inch bike made from spare parts.  I know this, because I later worked with Pat Wallace, the cameraman facing backwards on that motorcycle.  He told that story for years, it blew his mind.  My point is that GPV's with fairings, on a really big, long hill could reach 85-90 miles per hour, no problem.  Maybe more.  

I don't know how fast I went down that steep grade, on that August morning, with no helmet or safety gear, in September of 1985.  Years later, I've ridden down hills at 45 mph, on a mountain bike with an accurate speedometer, and that's pretty fast.  In 1985, on my Skyway T/A, I was going a lot faster than 45 mph.  

With Google Maps, today, I found the site of where that steep grade was.  On Route 55, 30 or 35 miles west of Boise, I crossed the Snake River, and passed through the tiny town of Marsing.  About a mile later, I turned left onto Route 95, and about another mile up 95, the steep grade began.  I remember it as a 6% grade that was about five miles long.  What blew my mind today, is that I compared that to the crazy Palm Springs Tramway Road, site of the 90+ mph hour run by Tommy Brackens and others.  The hill I rode down was probably twice as long, and nearly as steep, as the Tramway Road.  

What I remember of that downhill ride was that I couldn't stop, I couldn't even come close to slowing my bike down to a stop, once I got going.  I also remember that my wheel bearings just made this loud, scratchy, almost grinding sound, all the way down the hill.  I had loose ball, retainered bearings, and I did not change the lube out very often.  I also remember that I hit the bottom of the long grade, and rode across a long flat area, maybe 1/4 mile or more long, then went up a small hill, maybe 50 to 100 feet high.  Even at the top of that little hill, while grabbing both brakes, after coasting across the flat area, I was still going to fast to pedal.  I'm serious.  I then coasted down the other side of the small hill, hit the mile long flat area, and finally slowed down to where I had to pedal.  

I literally coasted about five miles, without pedaling a single time.  I'm not kidding.  I think I honestly was going around 60 miles per hour, maybe 70... on Z-Rims.  Wearing Levi's and a T-shirt, all alone, in the middle of nowhere.  It was the single scariest thing I've ever done on a bike.  OK, I never did anything very crazy by pro BMX standards, I couldn't air, and didn't jump big jumps.  But that was one scary fucking ride down that hill.  And now that I figured out exactly where it is, I want to go back there some time, and see just how gnarly that hill is.  I don't want to ride down it again though.  Maybe I'll see if one of my old Idaho BMX friends can check it out, Shannon Gillette, Dave Sandidge, or Clint Davies, and see just how crazy that hill looks today.

I wound up getting my car towed into Marsing, by a couple of the redneckiest guys I've ever met, in the single sketchiest tow truck I've ever seen.  I was riding with them in the tow truck, and the driver tried to downshift, while pulling my huge, packed Pontiac, while going 60 down the hill.  He popped it out of gear, but couldn't get it into another gear.  We were coasting about 75, (I could see the speedometer), when the second guy freaked, "Good lord Earl, get it in gear."  About then, the driver finally ground it into gear, and got control of the tow truck again.  They towed me to their shop, and popped the hood to find the problem.

  I spent most of the day wandering around, while the mechanics worked on my car.  I crossed the Snake River bridge, and climbed a hill called Lizard Butte.  Then I wandered back to the garage.  One of the mechanics was standing under my hood, where the front of my engine had been.  I knew that was a bad sign.  It turned out my timing chain had broken.  About $250 and 6 or 7 hours later, I was back on my way to San Jose.  I spent that night in Nevada, and made it to my parents' apartment the next evening.  That began the NorCal phase of my BMX freestyle life.

This is the best photo I ever took in the 80's.  It's Dave Vanderspek, at the Palm Springs Tramway GPV race in 1987.  It was only the second time I ever tried taking panning photos, and I just got really lucky on this one.  As fast as it looks like he's going, I have to confess, I shot this photo about 200 yards below the starting line, and Dave was going maybe 25 or 30 mph in this photo.  I just matched his speed well, and had the aperture set right, to give the photo this high speed look.  Another minute into this run, and Dave really was going as fast as this photo makes it seem he's going.  This photo just summed up that day so well, and it was Dave Vanderspek, a favorite of my former co-workers at Wizard Publications.  So this photo ran in BMX Action, FREESTYLIN', and Homeboy magazines.  Sometimes you just get lucky, and this photo was pure luck.  And Vander, just being himself.