Point of Interest: Yellow Lion

Yellow Lion, alias of Wyatt L. Dandelion, is the only member of Team Hot Wheels to recruit HIMSELF. Yep, the others did not get a say. He's very hard to get rid of.

Wyatt is a rowdy country boy with a whole lotta gall and a whole lotta guts. What he lacks, often times, is common sense, which is probably why he drives a sizable stunt truck with no real windows, a need to be fixed every other day, and forever lousy seat belts. Lovingly dubbed "the Jump Truck" by it's owner, Yellow's vehicle has been driven in places and ways no one should ever drive.

...ever.

Lion plays the role of the wild card of Team Hot Wheels. He is usually brash, and not very good at listening, especially when Lightning is the one giving the orders. He'll brag and boast about how good he is, to the annoyance of his companions, but at least when the time comes to show his stuff, he comes through (most of the time, anyway). Being raised by his Gammy Gram, the boy has an infallible sense of integrity, as well as showmanship. He may be secretly insecure, but he's not afraid to speak up and do something crazy for the people he cares about.

Anime in America Podcast: Full Episode 2 Transcript

  Hello, and welcome to another fine transcript of Crunchyroll's new Anime in America podcast! Those in need of a different way to access and enjoy the podcast, as well as those looking to research further or simply take note of some interesting facts that were mentioned, we've got you covered on an episode by episode basis. Following up on the episode 1 transcript, we've got one for the second, so enjoy it in full below!

  The Anime in America podcast, hosted by Yedoye Travis, is available on crunchyroll.com, animeinamerica.com, and wherever you listen to podcasts.

  Episode 1 Transcript: In the Beginning There Was Fansubs

    Disclaimer: The following program contains language not suitable for all ages. Discretion advised.

  [Lofi Music]

  As I made very clear in the last episode, it was once a massive undertaking just physically getting anime from Japan to the US. Just imagine if I told you in 2019 that you had to go anywhere but your own couch just to watch anime. You would call the police. 

  Once anime was here physically, it still involved an insane time commitment from fans just to make it intelligible to American viewers. Whether it was painstaking hours encoding text onto video, or being tricked into live translating for your friends; in short, it was impossible, and yet people did it, so we have them to thank, at least partially, for the huge presence of anime in the modern zeitgeist.

  But there’s a lot more to localizing than just taking Japanese words and turning them into English words. In practice, localization means making whatever changes are necessary to make a show marketable to the local audience. Using the language of that audience is a good start, but it doesn’t encapsulate the full scope of the practice from a marketing standpoint.

  Of course, over the years, people have severely misunderstood the extent to which changes actually need to be made, and so there are good examples of localization and then there are times when the producers decided Americans can’t grasp the concept of a rice ball and Pokemon ends up full of unnecessary jelly donuts.

  This is Anime in America, brought to you by Crunchyroll and hosted by me, Yedoye Travis. 

  [Lofi Music]

  If you're still not sure what I'm talking about, there are plenty of things in the American lexicon that you would have never guessed were from Japan. In fact, the 60s gave us a lot of anime that wasn’t recognizably Japanese, and this was because both Japanese creators and American distributors thought that maybe Japanese IP wouldn’t be the easiest sell immediately after World War II. So they just made it not Japanese. Osamu Tezuka’s Astro Boy began a lasting trend in anime of heavily anglicized characters that minimally reflected the culture they came from, and were therefore believed to be more marketable to western audiences. 

  [Music from Astro Boy plays]

  By the 80s though, as we inched further away from wartime tensions, anime became more acceptable in its unedited state, attracting American distributors who wanted to capitalize on the space opera craze following the release of Star Wars. In fact, by this time, the cultural exchange between Japan and the US was already starting to blossom, with an agreement between Marvel and Toei that brought a successful tokusatsu adaptation of an American series to Japan in 1978. That series was Spiderman. 

  [Japanese Spider-Man opening plays]

  And for reference, tokusatsu is a Japanese word that literally means “special effects,” so tokusatsu in its simplest form is just that--a live action show where some of the stuff is not real. For specific examples, think Ultraman, Kamen Rider, the Super Sentai series, which I’ll get to in a second, or something we’re all familiar with--the classic foam rubber Godzilla that came long before the tiny headed Bryan Cranston version.

  [Godzilla roar from GODZILLA VS MECHAGODZILLA]

  Marvel and Toei’s deal was made before Dragonball Z became Toei’s crowning achievement, and long before Marvel joined the Disney family and fell into constant conflict with Sony over the very same property. The deal gave each party rights to use the other’s characters in any way they saw fit, and in fact, Toei originally planned to make Spiderman a secondary character to mythological Japanese prince Yamato Takeru. They eventually backtracked and left Spiderman in his primary role, but then they did all this other weird shit with it. They threw out Peter Parker entirely, and so Spiderman’s alter ego became Takuya Yamashiro, a motorcycle racer who gets injected willingly with blood from the spider alien Garia, giving him spider powers and allowing him to carry on Garia’s fight against the evil Professor Monster.

  [Japanese Spider-Man opening continues]

  I’m sorry, what? They also gave him an arguably unnecessary giant robot named Leopardon, a concept Toei would later incorporate into their Super Sentai series, which you may not know by name, but is actually one of the most popular American series of all time, with literally billions of dollars in toy sales in its first 8 years.

  [Opening theme of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers begins to play]

  And if you’re thinking “Hey what if I’m too dumb to Google that?” Well that is what podcasts are for. Even though I guess you had to Google… this podcast to find it.

  Not knowing Super Sentai doesn’t make you dumb, it just makes you American, and THAT makes you dumb.

  [Power Rangers theme continues]

  But only for systemic reasons that can be broken down in one of many other podcasts. But In this one, I’ll just accept your manufactured ignorance and move on.

  [Power Rangers theme continues to “Go go, Power Rangers!”]

  You might know Super Sentai by its American name, Power Rangers, who you might know by the aforementioned giant robots--known as Zords--or by the first iteration’s problematic color coding of its main characters: blue for boy, pink for girl, yellow for Asian girl, black for black boy, and red for lead boy. Later colors would include white for Native American played by white guy, and green for all the money they made in spite of this. 

  Power Rangers is an American localization of Super Sentai originally adapted by Saban Entertainment in 1993 using entirely new footage and storylines interwoven with battle scenes from the original series, and I don’t know if it’s better or worse that the American cast was decided after the costumes were made, but I do know that it’s not surprising. 

  The Power Rangers are undoubtedly the most popular Saban property, having sold over $6 billion in toys for Bandai in its first decade on the air, and Saban have continued to adapt Super Sentai series beginning with Kyoryu Sentai Zyuranger in 1993, all the way up to Tokumei Sentai Go-Busters in 2019.

  The rights have changed hands a couple times, with a brief stint at Disney, before returning to Saban in 2010, and ultimately to Hasbro in 2018, in case you thought the series was created to do anything other than sell toys. Power Rangers has since been distributed internationally and chaotically redistributed in Japan using the original voice cast, and I can’t begin to explain to you how that works legally, but as an actor, all I can say is take the two checks and run before they figure it out. 

  I bring all this up as an example of what can happen when international properties are used to their full potential. It gets confusing at times, when you get into the weeds regarding licenses and producers or the fact that Mighty Morphin Power Rangers was banned in Malaysia for supposedly promoting mighty morphine to kids--real fact, look it up--but ultimately, in the grand scheme of things, all parties involved, at least on the corporate level, made money and built up pretty rock solid brand recognition.  

In contrast, let’s talk about Harmony Gold. 

  [Lofi Music]

  Harmony Gold is an American television production company and real estate developer lol whose founder, Frank Agrama, narrowly escaped prison just a few years ago, and whose Wikipedia page contains an alarming number of references to famously corrupt Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi. And I don’t mean in passing. I mean in 1976 Frank Agrama sold broadcasting rights from Paramount pictures to Berlusconi’s Mediaset company, which at the time was just starting, but years later was found in a study by the American Economic Association to have made young Italians more vulnerable to populist rhetoric and therefore more likely to vote for Berlusconi who, for reference, would later be convicted of soliciting sex with minors, for which he would later be acquitted because why wouldn’t you be able to do that? And I’m not saying Frank Agrama is responsible for, or in any way directly involved in any of the +20 legal battles Berlusconi has been through, I’m just that he definitely was and in fact his home was raided in 2006 in connection with an Italian investigation claiming that he had inflated prices of the rights he originally sold to Mediaset so that, through means I do not understand, Mediaset could pay huge dividends to its top executives. And Frank only avoided jail time due to a technicality based on his age. 

  Of course, all this info is better suited for a way more in depth political conspiracy, and maybe famous pedophile podcast? But the fact that Harmony Gold is so deeply rooted in the dealings of a massive propaganda empire run by an egomaniac really sets the stage for why everyone seems to hate them so much. 

  So what is Harmony Gold as it pertains to this story? Well, as I said, it began in 1983, four years after Frank took a trip to France, where he met and agreed to partner in distributing international film rights with Paddy Chan Mei-Yiu and Katherine Hsu May-Chun, two businesswomen from Hong Kong, the former of whom is the owner of the Wiltshire Group of Companies. And I’d like to think the two of them held some significance before the events in this episode, but if they did, they’re SEO game is trash, cause all searches yield results after the year 1979 when Chan founded the Hong Kong-based Harmony Gold and Frank founded Agrama Film Enterprises in LA, only establishing Harmony Gold USA a few years later. 

  Harmony Gold USA’s first project was a miniseries depicting the life of Shaka Zulu--chief of the Zulu people from 1816 to 1828--which a 1986 piece in the LA Times said reduced Shaka and the Zulu people to violent barbarians, noting that the story was mostly told through the perspective of an Irish doctor and not Shaka Zulu himself and basically challenged its audience to ask what would have come of South Africa if it weren’t for the intervention of white settlers.

  So if the series can be summed up in a word, I guess that word would be “controversial,” only because Frank himself staunchly denied that the film was racist at the time, despite claims from South African literature professor Mazisi Kunene that it was “like Hitler doing the history of the Jews.” 

  And long story short, these are the people that made Robotech. 

  As is the case with Power Rangers and most other series brought to the US, the main hurdle in localizing for an American audience is the content itself, whether that means it violates some perceived standard of acceptability, or more simply that Americans misinterpret the intended audience and end up repackaging a show with very adult themes to be marketed to kids, which may explain why I’ve seen Endless Waltz about a dozen times and couldn’t tell you a single detail of the story. 

  [Mobile Suit Gundam Wing - Endless Waltz theme plays]

  In the case of Robotech, however, the biggest hurdle was American syndication laws. When Carl Macek was hired to adapt anime for Harmony Gold in the mid-80s, he immediately settled on Super Dimension Fortress Macross, as I mentioned in the previous episode--and had they followed their original plan, it would have been the first legal anime home video release in the US. But they abandoned that plan and decided to air it on TV, and American rules required that a syndicated show be able to run at a minimum of five episodes a week for 13 weeks, because as we all know artists are at their most creative when they have strict production minimums, like an 8 episode anime podcast, to give a non-specific example.

  So, in similar fashion to Japanese Spiderman and Power Rangers, Carl Macek took the rights he had and did whatever the fuck he wanted. Macross had aired weekly in Japan for only 36 episodes, so Carl took two unrelated giant robot series--Genesis Climber MOSPEADA and Southern Dimension Cavalry Southern Cross, the longest title I’ve ever heard--and he just tossed them in with Macross like an undergrad student using 15-point periods in a 12-point essay. And he made a hit. Robotech was hugely popular at the time and plenty of people will tell you it was their first window into the world of anime as a whole. But beyond that, Harmony Gold didn’t really have a lot of success. 

  There were spinoffs, including the aforementioned Robotech: The Movie, which was shown in 1987 at the Animation Celebration Festival, where Jerry Beck worked with a man named Terry Thoren, who refused Jerry’s requests to pick it up for further distribution, yet another person who viewed it as a “Saturday morning cartoon,” and first of all, I have to stress that you can watch cartoons on any other day. Yu-Gi-Oh! played on Sundays, I don’t know what this Saturday morning shit is. I don’t know where it comes from. But I digress.

  In probably one of the most significant events in early anime history, Jerry Beck and Carl Macek met during the screening of Robotech when they both snuck off to watch the crowd’s reaction, and realizing how excited the audience was, they immediately decided to team up and establish Streamline Pictures, where they were committed to producing anime dubs that were true to their source material, preserving all the original music and sound effects, and producing more faithful translations, and I can’t stress enough how insane it is that that was revolutionary, but it was at the time and they, along with contemporaries like RightStuf, set a precedent that anime was most valuable when it got to just be anime. I can’t say with 100% certainty that Jerry’s boss would have been more receptive to anime if he had seen Macross in its original form, but I am also dumb, so take everything I say with a big grain of salt.

  Regardless, looking back at Harmony Gold’s reputation in comparison to Carl Macek the man, all signs suggest he left at about the right time. Carl only lasted long enough to produce 85 episodes of the original Robotech, along with the way way way lesser known Captain Harlock and the Queen of a Thousand Years, also adapted from unrelated series Captain Harlock and Queen Millennia, both by Leiji Matsumoto, both of which were comprised of 42 episodes, which I probably would have confirmed in advance if I had already gone through the trouble of combining three whole series into one, but that’s just me, a person whose experience informs his actions. Of course, given the success of Robotech, I’m sure Carl was very optimistic about his ability to crank out another successful chopped and screwed anime, so I can’t really blame him for overlooking that, but Harlock ultimately didn’t perform nearly as well as its predecessor.

  Carl also attempted a Robotech sequel, Robotech II: The Sentinels, of which only three episodes were produced before it was canceled. And that’s kinda where Harmony Gold as a legitimate institution went out the window. Carl left to start Streamline, and you can so clearly picture the alternate timelines branching out from that point in history. Streamline was the antithesis to Harmony Gold in just about every way. Its first projects were theater screenings of Laputa: Castle in the Sky and Twilight of the Cockroaches, and it’s unclear whether they were officially a company at that time, but that’s kinda where Streamline’s illegitimacy ends. They opened the first Streamline Pictures office in 1989 and took off from there, while Harmony Gold was offloading employees to none other than Saban Entertainment, which may explain that company’s almost identical production strategies in Power Rangers. 

  I think taking a quick look at Harmony Gold’s website can give you a lot of perspective on the direction they’ve gone in since Carl left. And I encourage you to pull it up and follow along as I break this down, cause it’s hilarious. First of all, it looks like it was designed by Frank Agrama himself. From the soft 90s fonts to the basic flash animation, if you asked someone who had never heard of Harmony Gold to describe this website, I’m confident they would peg this as the work of an African immigrant trying to convince his parents he’s doing well in Hollywood. From left to right, the home menu lists “Theater,” a good enough start, considering they do own and operate the Harmony Gold Preview House in Hollywood. It then moves on to “Entertainment,” a category under which the word “theater” might fall under some circumstances, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt on this one, considering it is a specific space after all.

  Dead center, directly under their logo where you’d never expect it, is “Robotech” which, again falls under “entertainment,” the most entertaining thing about it being that if you click on it, it just redirects you to a better website, Robotech.com, where you can find all the merchandise and modern web design that frankly just wouldn’t make sense on Harmony Gold’s main page. Just to the right of that is, quite ironically, a hard left turn to “Real Estate,” which redirects to HarmonyGoldProperties.com, and I’ll admit perspective is key here because the phrase “Harmony Gold kinda fell off and started doing real estate” sounds way worse than “Yo my landlord produced the Shaka Zulu mini-series, that’s crazy!” But that’s neither here nor there. Finally, one more space to the right, you’ll see “About Us,” and your impulse might be to say “No I think I’ve seen enough,” but there’s so much useful information in there like the fact that Tobey Macguire is attached as a producer on the live action Robotech, which I’m only adding in hopes that you’ll respect the deep commitment required to bookend this long setup with Spiderman-related content. 

  [Japanese Spider-Man theme returns]

  So all that might seem very unfair to Harmony Gold and Robotech, especially considering they served such a key role in introducing so many American fans to anime. Why should you care what their website looks like if they’re responsible for one of the greatest anime adaptations of all time? Well it’s not really about what they did at the time that fans are uptight about. It’s all about how they’ve conducted themselves since. The key difference between Streamline Pictures and Harmony Gold really comes down to their emphasis on money.

  [Lofi Music]

  Jerry Beck told us repeatedly that he and Carl’s work was something they did because they wanted to see anime in American movie theaters. They did that and they were defunct by 2002 which, if you look at a rough timeline of how anime got to where it is today, is the perfect amount of time to help set the industry in motion and then just let inertia take over. Streamline produced dubs to get them out and then relinquished the rights to those properties, most notably handing the rights to Studio Ghibli distribution over to Disney in 1996. 

  Harmony Gold on the other hand have notoriously kept a vise grip on the rights to Robotech and its underlying IP and clearly have no plans of letting go any time soon. If you Google “Harmony Gold,” the search results are not kind. A lot of them come from Reddit, which should give you all the information you need, but the SparkNotes version is that Harmony Gold has used their rights to Macross and adjacent titles to box out any lookalikes, copy cats, or most notably, the original Macross itself, from setting up shop comfortably in the US, and knowing their relationship with Berlusconi’s Mediaset in Italy, it’s not really surprising that their actions would mirror those of a European propaganda machine, the only difference being that Robotech was popular, but certainly not the only thing you could watch in the 80s. So they really only managed to corner the market on what they *sort of* owned. 

  For context: Harmony Gold were given rights to SDF Macross, Southern Dimension Cavalry Cross, and Genesis Climber Mospeada from Tatsunoko Production in 1984 and, as we now know, Carl Macek was charged with editing and scripting these series into the 85 episode arc of Robotech. Simple enough so far, but of course it gets worse. Robotech was first released in 1985 and it’s since been declared that Harmony Gold maintains the rights to the Robotech brand in perpetuity, to do with whatever they so choose, and yet they’ve also held onto the rights for all its constituent properties for the past 34 years, renewing them once in 1998 and again in 2002, which pushed the expiration date to March 2021, and in all my research, I haven’t seen a single viable reason for why they need to last that long. In short, they ain’t doing shit with them, and yet, at Anime Expo 2019, they announced once again, that their rights would be extended indefinitely. 

  As I said before, Harmony Gold started production on Robotech II: The Sentinels, which was canceled, ending Carl Macek’s tenure, and they did later produce Robotech: The Shadow Chronicles in 2006, which according to their own website, is incredible. But other than that, what do they really need those rights for? At first glance, it looks like they’re whole MO is just to litigate competitors out of existence, which thankfully they haven’t always had the power to do. But if you take a closer look, that doesn’t have any affect on their approach. It really seems like they’re just holding onto their one successful property for the sake of brand recognition and money. I mean if you Google the words “Harmony Gold lawsuit,” the number of results are very telling. 

  Really, outside of almost certainly tossing out my rental application when I lived in LA, it seems like Harmony Gold does nothing but litigate. And to be honest, I can’t say that I really understand all the details of their legal troubles, of which there are so so many, but let’s see if I can sum it up without staring at my notes for an hour. 

  Basically, I want to say around 2003, it was determined by a Japanese court that Tatsunoko Production may have never had the power to hand the rights to Macross over to Harmony Gold in the first place, because they apparently didn’t have the approval of their co-producers Studio Nue and Big West in Japan, and technically the rights to 41 of the original character designs still belong to Big West. But because we are America and our word is law, and because we renew our anger about Pearl Harbor only when it is convenient, a different judge said “fuck everything Japan stands for” and I guess that ruling was ignored in the US and a judge determined that Harmony Gold has the rights to use Macross for some period of time just short of forever. A 2016 case between HG and Tatsunoko, in which the latter claimed Harmony Gold was sublicensing Macross without paying royalties, was ruled in favor of Harmony Gold but also dialed back the whole perpetuity thing and upheld the 2021 expiration date on their Macross license, and that date held until July of this year, when Harmony Gold’s deal with Tatsunoko was extended for another, as of yet undisclosed amount of time, that is presumed to be another 35 fucking years.

  To sum up all the implications of this very confusing, three-headed dog of a case, basically Harmony Gold’s rights to Macross have a very shaky foundation, but they objectively own Robotech at least and can do with that whatever they want, as long as any sequels they produce use original designs outside of the original 41 that were dubiously given to them without Big West’s permission. Also Harmony Gold was somehow given all distribution rights for original Macross footage outside of Japan, but they still need permission from Tatsunoko to actually exercise those rights, which Tatsunoko seem unwilling to do for a company that sued them as recently as three years ago. I wonder what that’s all about. Also, because the grounds by which Big West actually owns those characters is so confusing internationally, Tatsunoko will probably just keep renewing Harmony Gold’s license just to say “fuck you” to Big West, while still never letting Macross see the light of day aside from Blu-Rays shipped directly from Japan, which conveniently have English subtitles because they know exactly what they’re doing. 

  This whole mess, paired with the fact that fighting an American ruling from overseas is prohibitively expensive and not in your favor, means that Studio Nue and Big West are heavily discouraged from pursuing their rights to a show they don’t really believe has an audience in the US anyway, so even if they could win, the likelihood of them trying is very slim. But because Harmony Gold has nothing to coast on aside from their production from 1985, they’ve been reduced to filing suits against anyone who even looks at an original Robotech design, which so far includes Hasbro, who incorporated an also shakily acquired Macross design into their Transformers line because they had no Robotech licenses and Macross didn’t exist here at the time, and also Piranha Games, a Canadian video game designer who believed they had legally acquired the designs from Big West for their Battletech game series. Unfortunately, Harmony Gold disagreed and another confusing lawsuit began. 

  The weirdest thing about all this is that, as important as Robotech is, a lot has happened in the anime world since then, and Harmony Gold don’t seem interested in branching out into any of those other ventures. They’ve been acquiring IP throughout the years but haven’t produced anything of note since around 2006, although a live action Robotech has been licensed to Warner Brothers, but even that feels weird since Pacific Rim already happened, but I guess another lawsuit can settle that. I don’t know.

  Watching the steps Harmony Gold have made since canceling The Sentinels really adds a lot of perspective to just how big a bullet Carl Macek dodged by leaving, and granted he had since gone back and was working with them again when he passed away, but the potential damage to his reputation had come and gone by that time. Of course, he is still a controversial figure considering his creation is still at the root of this whole conflict. But he is also responsible for introducing a whole generation of viewers to anime for the first time, and his work at Streamline Pictures, where he helped bring so much untouched anime into the mainstream, more than makes up for keeping one, albeit very important, series out of the public eye. 

  The legacy of Akira and its Studio Ghibli dubs, in my opinion, makes Streamline a much stronger contender for valued contributors to anime history, and the fact that they only made money by putting out a quality product makes it that much better, not to mention the fact that they were so content to pass on licenses when their time was up. In fact, according to most fans, knowing when to pack it up is really the one thing Harmony Gold could have done to save their reputation. That said, Streamline has thrown a lot of fuel on one very divisive fire over the years, whether intentionally or not. 

  That fire, of course, is the sub vs. dub debate, which has driven a wedge in anime fandom for years. There are the people who believe there is never a reason to watch dubbed anime and there are the people who work from home, writing anime podcasts, and don’t have time to learn Japanese just to feel superior to casual fans.

  For anyone unfamiliar, there’s been a debate raging for as long as anime fandom has existed over whether real fans should watch anime with subtitles or with English voice actors. I would personally like to plant my flag in the ground and say that if you don’t speak Japanese, it doesn’t matter. The argument I hear most often is that the Japanese voice acting is just better, and to that I say: how the fuck do you know? If you don’t speak the language, there’s no way you can discern good Japanese voice acting from bad English. If you can, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you speak Japanese. So good luck with your new job at the UN, I guess. Congratulations.

  Also, just consider a point Roland Kelts made to me: that the Japanese artists themselves, in many cases, prefer fans to watch the show in their own language so they're not focused on reading while the art they worked so hard on is just passing by. Also, consider a point made by me: that subtitling eliminates the need for voice acting and editing jobs and, and as we learned in the previous episode, subtitles can be done with a very quick turnaround and a small team. So what I'm saying, is that dubs create jobs and stimulate the economy in the countries where they're produced, so regardless of how you feel, they are a necessary evil. 

  Also, back to a legitimate point by Jerry Beck: people who don't already watch anime aren't really interested in reading subtitles. To return to the argument on what goes into localizing anime, the whole point of the process is to sell it to a new audience, and part of that process is presenting it to them in their own language, which is exactly why Streamline Pictures only produced dubbed anime--to attract new fans to something that doesn’t feel threatening or antagonistic, which anime fandom often does. So sure, you can individually decide that you prefer to watch anime with subtitles. Maybe you have a lot of free time, I don’t know. But maybe take into consideration that when you have an elitist attitude about who’s a “real” anime fan, you’re not only being a weirdo edgelord, but you’re also keeping anime away from fans who are just as deserving as you are which, I would argue, makes you the Harmony Gold of people. 

  Harmony Gold itself has maintained its loose grip on the anime industry by exploiting people’s interest in a single franchise, knowing that a lack of access to the original Macross and related merchandise will inevitably drive people to their Frankenstein version of the original product. Meanwhile, Big West and Studio Nue have effectively given up fighting for it because the legal fees would be prohibitively expensive to reclaim a franchise that has technically never had an audience outside of Japan anyway. And the fact that companies like this survive because of legal confusion, while the Streamlines of the world come and go, is a travesty and ultimately only hurts the anime industry. And my point is that if you force subtitles on new fans, you are as bad as that. 

  This has been another episode of Anime in America. Come back next week, when we’ll be diving into the first anime conventions to hit the United States. 

  [Lofi Music]

  Thank you for listening to Anime In America, presented by Crunchyroll. If you enjoyed this, please check out Crunchyroll.com/animeinamerica for free anime, with ads, or get a 14-day free trial of Premium. 

  You’ve heard it before, but please leave us a review and rate us so more people can discover the show, or just share it with a friend.

  This episode is written and hosted by me, Yedoye Travis, and you can find me on Instagram at ProfessorDoye or Twitter @YedoyeOT. This episode is edited by Chris Lightbody and produced by me, Braith Miller, Peter Fobian, and Jesse Gouldsbury.

  By: [email protected]

Marvelous Europe Limited have today announced that HONEY PARADE GAME’s fast-paced Jet Ski racing adventure Kandagawa Jet Girls will launch digitally onto the PlayStation Store for the PlayStation 4 within Europe and Australia on the 25th August 2020. Kandagawa Jet Girls will also be released globally on STEAM for Windows PC on the 25th August 2020 by XSEED Games / Marvelous USA, Inc.

Combining fast-paced Jet Ski racing with third-person-shooter mechanics, Kandagawa Jet Girls will see players enter the world of Jet racing, the sport of the future, comprising two contenders on a single Jet Ski that are known as the JETTER and SHOOTER. The JETTER is responsible for driving the Jet Ski through narrow courses while the SHOOTER can shoot at opponents to disable their Jet Skis. It’s a fast and vicious sport that sees rival academies compete against one another to see which has the best team.

In Kandagawa Jet Girls’ Story Mode, players will experience the journey of Rin Namiki, who dreams of becoming a professional JETTER like her mother, and upon arriving in Tokyo she befriends Misa Aoi into forming a Jet Race team at their academy. The unlikely friendship draws attention from the other academies and soon the heated competition to be the best Jet Racing team begins.

Alongside the story-driven-campaign players will find traditional offline racing in Free Mode, such as Time Attack and Quick Race, there are also four fun-filled mini-games and competitive online multiplayer modes for up to four players that would challenge even the most skilful of Jet Racers.

Kandagawa Jet Girls will arrive with tons of customisation options allowing players to choose their own look for their team and machine, including dazzling special effects. The customization is more than skin-deep, allowing players to go under the hood and fine-tune their jet machine’s performance to match their racing style and squeeze out every ounce of power. Players can play through the game solo or take their custom teams and machines online for multiplayer mayhem against up to three opponents in casual or ranked matches.

The fast-paced adrenaline-fueled adventures do not end there as Marvelous Europe Limited have also confirmed that this European release of Kandagawa Jet Girls will also include Ryōbi and Ryōna, the infamous sisters from the SENRAN KAGURA franchise, as playable characters within the base game. The remaining cast of SENRAN KAGURA characters, which include Asukua and Yumi, Ikaruga and Yomi, Homura and Hikage, and Murasaki and Mirai, will be released as premium downloadable content from the PlayStation Store post-launch.

Finally; in addition to the release announcement of Kandagawa Jet Girls for the PlayStation 4 Marvelous Europe Limited has also revealed plans for a Digital Deluxe Edition via the PlayStation Store. Known as Kandagawa Jet Girls – Digital Limited Edition this edition will contain a selection of collectable digital content.

Kandagawa Jet Girls – Digital Limited Edition Contents: ● Kandagawa Jet Girls PlayStation 4 Game ● Kandagawa Jet Girls Digital Soundtrack App ● Kandagawa Jet Girls Avatar and Theme Pack

Both digital editions of Kandagawa Jet Girls will be available to purchase and download from the PlayStation Store on the games release date of 25th August 2020. The standard digital edition is expected to be listed at £39.99 / €49.99 with the Digital Limited Edition listed at £49.99 / €59.99. Exact pricing for each region will be finalised once listed on the PlayStation Store at launch.

The Windows PC version of Kandagawa Jet Girls, published by XSEED Games / Marvelous USA, Inc, will be available to purchase as a Standard Digital Edition and a Digital Deluxe Edition on STEAM from the 25th August 2020. The Digital Deluxe Edition on Steam includes the base game, the full soundtrack, and the Maid Bikini (Lemon Yellow) and Bunny Costume (Carrot Orange) character outfits. The Maid Bikini and Bunny Costume will also be available to purchase separately at launch. The Standard Digital Edition will be priced at £39.99 / €49.99 and the Digital Deluxe Edition will be priced at £49.99 / €59.99 on STEAM.

About Kandagawa Jet Girls:

Kandagawa Jet Girls follows the journey of Rin Namiki and Misa Aoi as they partake in the popular sporting activity known as Jet Racing. Enjoy the thrill of competitive Jet Racing combined with third-person shooter mechanics that will see you race the waterways of Tokyo in an attempt to be the best at the sport. Feeling competitive? Then test your skill offline and online with a wide-variety of modes including four fun-filled mini-games.

Key Features: ● Experience the journey of Jet Racers: Enjoy the story of Rin Namiki and her new-found team-mate Misa Aoi as they learn the thrills of what it means to be a Jet Racer in this harshly competitive world. Encounter new friends, make new rivals but most of all compete to be the best Jet Racer within Japan.

● Multiple Playable Characters: Seven teams, seven Jet Skis and fourteen different characters will be playable; with each Character and Jet Ski being interchangeable and selectable in offline and online gameplay modes. Choose your favourite characters and race to victory.

● The Fun of Water Guns: SHOOTERS on each team can use one of many different water-based weapons including Dual Handguns, Gatling Gun, Sniper Rifle and Missile Launcher. Each weapon also has their own unique firing style and cool-down; so choose wisely.

● In-Depth Customisation: Dress up your character in more than 60 outfits, and customise the Jet Ski with over 50 machine parts, to express your passion for the sport and to gain the attention of your rivals.

● Mini-Games Galore: Trying to be the best at Jet Racing can be tiresome; so relax with four fun-filled mini-games that will help train the body and soul.

● Ryōbi and Ryōna from SENRAN KAGAURA are here: The infamous sisters Ryōbi and Ryōna will be included as playable characters in Kandagawa Jet Girls on the PlayStation 4.

Kandagawa Jet Girls ‘races’ digitally to PlayStation 4 this August Marvelous Europe Limited have today announced that HONEY PARADE GAME’s fast-paced Jet Ski racing adventure Kandagawa Jet Girls…

Meet the dads who can’t quit pinewood derby racing—even after their kids are over it

After his first race in an adult league, Dan Inman says, “I decided to roll up my sleeves and figure out how to be competitive.” (Heami Lee/)

Popular Science’s Play issue is now available to everyone. Read it now, no app or credit card required.

Dan Inman had anticipated this moment for months. It was the first Saturday of December 2018—tournament day—and he thought the cars he’d built could outperform anyone’s. They were compact. Sleek. Speedy. He watched anxiously as his pinewood derby racers took their spots at the top of a long, sloping aluminum track. When each heat began, they whizzed down the gleaming course. In the other lanes, the competition hopelessly gave chase. Inman’s entries finished at the front of the pack in two key rounds, and a thought slunk into his mind: He might just be the champion.

Then officials brought out the scales. Pinewood derby competitions are organized by class, like in boxing, and each has different rules. The categories Inman had won require that each wheel weigh a certain number of grams—because the lighter the disk, the faster the car. Break the rules, and you’re disqualified.

A referee carefully plucked one from each winner. Both registered two-hundredths of a gram too light. Inman was out.

“I was sick to my stomach,” he says. “The experience wasn’t just heartbreaking—it was embarrassing.” He’d have to wait 12 months for another shot at becoming a national pinewood champion.

Anyone who was a Boy Scout probably knows what a derby car is. Most likely your parents helped you fashion blocks of pine or balsa into a light, four-wheeled racer, usually about the width and length of an iPhone. You made them to win merit badges. For many, the experience is merely a cherished childhood memory.

But some adults never outgrow their derby days. These fathers are über-obsessed, similar to the guys who gush over model trains or miniature rockets. Inman, a 62-year-old U.S. Navy vet, is one of about 40 competitors in the National Pinewood Derby Racing League. Founded in 2008, it’s one of the longest-running such circuits in America, where about 10 pro leagues operate today. Having assembled the racers as kids and guided their own children through the sport, these grown men now want to earn their own bragging rights.

We’re talking middle-aged dudes with serious big dad energy who go to great lengths to craft the perfect car—forget prefab kits. Bandsaws shave the frame components down to a quarter of an inch wide; precision lathes trim acrylic wheels; syringes grease nail axles with synthetic oil. All to cross a tiny checkered line just one ten-thousandth of a second quicker. “We’re all geeks, you know,” Inman says.

Every year, it all comes down to the Man of the Mountain race in December—basically the league’s Super Bowl. Besides the title, almost $2,000 in cash is up for grabs. As Inman learned, though, it’s not just about who finishes first.

Inman’s dedication presents itself as soon as you near his home in southern Maryland. His pickup and his wife’s sedan jockey for space on a sliver of driveway, the garage long ago ceded as a private workshop. Inman calls it his man cave. Instead of a big-screen TV, he has a long workbench loaded with wheels, screwdrivers, scales, and a magnifying lamp. Instead of pleather recliners, drill presses and a miter saw.

Clean-shaven and with closely cropped hair, Inman is nothing if not deliberate—a holdover from his 28 years in the navy. A stack of more than a dozen yellow legal pads, filled with handwritten performance notes on 50 cars, sits on one shelf. He even insulated the garage door to keep the cold winter air from chilling him during the hours he spends tucked into the workbench.

In 1963 Inman’s dad took him to his first pinewood derby event. “I couldn’t wait for my own kids to get of age,” he says. In 1999 he got his chance: His three sons participated in a local league run by Awana, an organization of evangelical Christians that, like the Boy Scouts, hosts races.

Starting that year, Inman became a local legend. After a meet, he went up to a mom whose son’s car didn’t even make it across the finish line and offered to help out. Word of his acumen spread, and soon kids filled his garage for several months every year. He once hosted 17 boys from a local Scout troop; their cars wound up placing first through 17th in a field of 67.

“It got to a point where it was expected,” Inman says: “You go to Dan’s workshop, you’ll have a winning car.” He also competed in occasional adult races staged during the kids’ competitions. Soon he found himself dominating those events too.

By 2016, he was burned out on the amateur scene, and another dad urged him to try going pro. An online search led him to the National Pinewood Derby Racing League.

Inman’s hot pink star car Humble Pie is shown above, at center, surrounded by other models he crafted in his workshop. (Heami Lee/)

The move came naturally. He already knew from the lessons he taught in his workshop that maximizing potential energy (power stored in a car that carries it forward) and minimizing friction were the keys to victory. To boost potential energy, he affixed tiny blocks of dense tungsten around the center of his cars’ rear axles: More weight in the back equals more forward oomph pushing the car down the hill. To cut friction, he polished the axles—special derby-grade stainless steel nails—by wet-sanding with paper up to 12,000 grit, which might as well be cheesecloth, and oiling them to ensure they spun quickly inside the wheel hubs.

Inman’s major breakthrough, though, was how he constructed the bodies. Instead of starting with a solid block of wood, he built the frames from quarter-inch-wide sticks, making the insides hollow. This allowed him to add more tungsten blocks near his back axles while keeping the vehicles under the league’s maximum weight of 143 grams. By January 2017 he had assembled a fleet for four of the six different race classes.

Still, at the outset of that first season he finished consistently near the bottom. Besting dads who were building cars for maybe the first time in their lives had been easy. But league racers employed the same techniques that Inman had used in amateur matches—and more advanced ones, like slightly bending their axles to make their cars zippier. “I was humbled,” he recalls. “So after my first race, I decided to roll up my sleeves, get busy, and figure out how to be competitive.”

Inman had only to look as far as his day job. He’s a contractor at Naval Air Station Patuxent River on the Chesapeake Bay. While not strictly an engineer—his college degree is in aeronautics—he works on testing manned aircraft. If a plan requires that a cargo jet detect radar signals at a certain altitude and speed, for example, it’s Inman’s job to juggle the mission, maintenance, and testing schedules to make sure the right model of aircraft is available to engineers at the right time. “I knew how to isolate and set up a test, so I just applied that knowledge toward my approach in pinewood derby,” he says.

To pick an oil to use on his axles, Inman purchased a bunch from multiple online derby shops, set up his own league-regulation aluminum track, and created an elaborate two-car test. For his control, he applied Krytox lubricating oil, a standard in many Scout competitions, to the axles. He then ran each vehicle down the track 18 times. The first six runs settled the fluid and stabilized the racers’ speed; the next 12 runs determined the Krytox’s effectiveness. Then he’d rinse and repeat by cleaning off the old lubricant, applying a new one, and going through the whole 18-run process all over again. He threw out the slowest and fastest times for each oil and averaged the remaining 10, repeating the process with 10 different products. After a couple weeks, he found the one that gave both cars their best lap times.

“Through a ridiculous amount of testing, I started to figure things out and improve,” Inman says. By the last race of the season, in November 2017, his cars were winning. He earned rookie of the year. The next month, at Man of the Mountain, he was runner-up.

Racers compete for pinewood glory at Joel Redfearn’s modest rambler house in St. George, in southwestern Utah. Redfearn owns and operates the league and was once just like Inman: a dad whose three sons participated but who didn’t want to stop once they did. When the outfit’s first owner moved east five years ago, Redfearn stepped in.

“I was one of those obsessed racers who didn’t want to see it go anywhere,” he says. In December 2019, Redfearn, 43, quit his job as a Toyota mechanic to manage the operation as well as two derby-parts businesses full-time.

He stages monthly competitions in his basement. The wooden tracks of a bygone era have been replaced: Redfearn’s races happen on a slick 42-foot aluminum runway with a computerized lane timer. As many as 40 people enter, and Redfearn says usually 100 to 140 cars will glide down his four-lane course. Since all the events happen here, most contenders race by proxy, shipping their carefully packaged fleets to Utah.

Matches themselves are fairly straightforward. There are now 10 different championship-series classes, each with its own construction guidelines. Four categories, for instance, have strict rules about how much wheels must weigh; another one limits vehicle length to 4 inches. People can send in as many cars and enter as many classes as they like. (Racers pay a fee for every vehicle they enter, starting at $10 and gradually dropping the larger the fleet.) Some guys attempt just a handful of classes. Others, like Inman, try all 10. And it is, for the most part, guys.

Racers earn points at each competition, a structure borrowed from motor-sports racing leagues like Nascar. The higher you place, the more you win. Get enough by year’s end, and you’ll find yourself battling the best of the best at Man of the Mountain.

Meticulous only begins to describe participants’ fanaticism. “Just prepping one set of wheels for one car can take several hours,” Redfearn says, “and that’s not even the axles. We’re fighting for every ten-thousandth of a second, and lots of times we have races decided on that fourth digit.”

In his rookie year, Inman regularly lost to Brian Crane, a veteran who had risen through the ranks to become one of the league’s most formidable competitors. But over time, Inman discovered how to build faster models. He started using lighter one-eighth-inch sticks for the body so he could add more metal and potential energy. He also began slightly bending his axles to create what racers call steer. Center-lane rails on the track keep cars from flying off, but bumping on and off them can also make vehicles wobble and slow. Inman instead makes his cars ride on the rail the whole way down, which generates less friction than the alternative. “It’s those little details that started making all the difference,” he says.

As he learned in 2018, even a slight tweak can turn what would otherwise be a sweet victory into an agonizing defeat. When he raced his way back to Man of the Mountain that year, Inman was confident he’d win. But he’d blown his chances by shaving too much plastic from his wheels, making them just a hair too light. “I immediately went out and got a high-end scale that measures one one-thousandths of a gram,” he says. “Yeah, it gets that anal at times.”

Despite a disqualification costing him the top spot, Inman still earned enough points that year to repeat as runner-up. He lost, as he had in 2017, to Crane.

“Just prepping one set of wheels for one car can take several hours,” says league owner Joel Redfearn. “And that’s not even the axles.” (Heami Lee/)

Almost two weeks. That’s how much time Inman took off work to get ready for Man of the Mountain 2019. By late November, he’d selected the 18 cars he would enter in 10 classes. These were the ones that had run the fastest throughout the season, and the ones he thought gave him the surest shot.

Prepping his chosen fleet for race day entails a process the derby world calls tuning: oiling the axles to enhance speed and bending them to create steer. After a thorough polishing, Inman coats his nails with Jig-A-Loo, a silicone-based lubricant. They dry overnight underneath plastic containers to keep out dust. Afterward he applies two types of oil. When the axles finally make it onto the car, Inman achieves steer with a screwdriver, twisting the nails until they position the nose of each car two inches to the left so it rides the center-lane rail the length of the track.

He’s just as careful with his wheels. A friend in Virginia who competes in a different league custom-cuts each set of four. Inman’s touch is a quadruple layer of Icon car wax ($300 a bottle) anywhere the disk touches the track or the axle. Each coat dries for up to eight hours in a small oven—the kind nail salons use to cure polish. Afterward he weighs the wheels to ensure he won’t be disqualified again.

Still, there are variables he can’t control. Competing by proxy is risky, because he doesn’t know until race day how his fleet fared in transit. If the shipping box gets turned on its side for too long, axle oil will drip. If the package loiters on a hot tarmac, the fluid might evaporate. And once the contest begins, even a perfectly engineered vehicle can’t avoid “dirty air,” the breeze generated by the competition passing on the left and right. Enough of it can wiggle a winner right out of first place—though each class runs multiple heats, giving every contender a chance to race in all four lanes and mitigating the overall effect. “There’s all these little aspects that can help or hurt you in speed, and that’s the frustrating part,” Redfearn says.

On the first Saturday of December 2019, Inman’s 18 cars join another 124 from 26 competitors across America to vie for the title of Man of the Mountain.

First-place finishers in the different classes win $100 each. At the end of the day, Redfearn will calculate annual points totals, and the racer at the top becomes champion and wins an additional $500. Redfearn mans the track while his wife, Ronda, runs the camera down at the finish line. They livestream every race, which enables Inman to watch from his workshop.

Just after 1 p.m., he finds out if his preparation paid off. It’s time for the semifinals of BASX Pro. Not only is it the most competitive class—more people race in it than in any other—but it’s also one of the two in which Inman was disqualified last year.

A slim little racer—shorter than a deck of cards, painted pink, and called Humble Pie—idles behind one of four starting pins. When the pins fall, Humble Pie goes sailing down the silver-white track, the only audible noise a gentle whirring of plastic wheels. As it accelerates, it flies past the entries in the other three lanes, finishing in 2.9512 seconds.

Humble Pie advances to the BASX Pro finals, where it wins the day’s opening round. This time, when Redfearn measures a wheel, it makes weight. By the end of the afternoon, three of Inman’s other entries have taken first in three other classes, which is how he finally earns $900 and the ultimate prize, the title.

Yet as he savors his victory, Inman can’t help but recall last year’s lesson: It’s never entirely about who crosses the finish line in front, especially when some cars don’t even have the chance to get there. The fleet from Crane, the racer who bested him the previous two years, fell to the worst of all things that can go wrong in pinewood derby racing—a shipping delay. “I love having the victory,” Inman says. “But it was somewhat hollow without actually beating the best, head-to-head.”

So for another year he’ll toil away in his workshop. Bending axles. Waxing wheels. Waiting in hushed anticipation for a chance to defend his title. Eagerly chasing every ten-thousandth of a second.

This story appeared in the Summer 2020, Play issue of Popular Science.

Meet the dads who can’t quit pinewood derby racing—even after their kids are over it

After his first race in an adult league, Dan Inman says, “I decided to roll up my sleeves and figure out how to be competitive.” (Heami Lee/)

Popular Science’s Play issue is now available to everyone. Read it now, no app or credit card required.

Dan Inman had anticipated this moment for months. It was the first Saturday of December 2018—tournament day—and he thought the cars he’d built could outperform anyone’s. They were compact. Sleek. Speedy. He watched anxiously as his pinewood derby racers took their spots at the top of a long, sloping aluminum track. When each heat began, they whizzed down the gleaming course. In the other lanes, the competition hopelessly gave chase. Inman’s entries finished at the front of the pack in two key rounds, and a thought slunk into his mind: He might just be the champion.

Then officials brought out the scales. Pinewood derby competitions are organized by class, like in boxing, and each has different rules. The categories Inman had won require that each wheel weigh a certain number of grams—because the lighter the disk, the faster the car. Break the rules, and you’re disqualified.

A referee carefully plucked one from each winner. Both registered two-hundredths of a gram too light. Inman was out.

“I was sick to my stomach,” he says. “The experience wasn’t just heartbreaking—it was embarrassing.” He’d have to wait 12 months for another shot at becoming a national pinewood champion.

Anyone who was a Boy Scout probably knows what a derby car is. Most likely your parents helped you fashion blocks of pine or balsa into a light, four-wheeled racer, usually about the width and length of an iPhone. You made them to win merit badges. For many, the experience is merely a cherished childhood memory.

But some adults never outgrow their derby days. These fathers are über-obsessed, similar to the guys who gush over model trains or miniature rockets. Inman, a 62-year-old U.S. Navy vet, is one of about 40 competitors in the National Pinewood Derby Racing League. Founded in 2008, it’s one of the longest-running such circuits in America, where about 10 pro leagues operate today. Having assembled the racers as kids and guided their own children through the sport, these grown men now want to earn their own bragging rights.

We’re talking middle-aged dudes with serious big dad energy who go to great lengths to craft the perfect car—forget prefab kits. Bandsaws shave the frame components down to a quarter of an inch wide; precision lathes trim acrylic wheels; syringes grease nail axles with synthetic oil. All to cross a tiny checkered line just one ten-thousandth of a second quicker. “We’re all geeks, you know,” Inman says.

Every year, it all comes down to the Man of the Mountain race in December—basically the league’s Super Bowl. Besides the title, almost $2,000 in cash is up for grabs. As Inman learned, though, it’s not just about who finishes first.

Inman’s dedication presents itself as soon as you near his home in southern Maryland. His pickup and his wife’s sedan jockey for space on a sliver of driveway, the garage long ago ceded as a private workshop. Inman calls it his man cave. Instead of a big-screen TV, he has a long workbench loaded with wheels, screwdrivers, scales, and a magnifying lamp. Instead of pleather recliners, drill presses and a miter saw.

Clean-shaven and with closely cropped hair, Inman is nothing if not deliberate—a holdover from his 28 years in the navy. A stack of more than a dozen yellow legal pads, filled with handwritten performance notes on 50 cars, sits on one shelf. He even insulated the garage door to keep the cold winter air from chilling him during the hours he spends tucked into the workbench.

In 1963 Inman’s dad took him to his first pinewood derby event. “I couldn’t wait for my own kids to get of age,” he says. In 1999 he got his chance: His three sons participated in a local league run by Awana, an organization of evangelical Christians that, like the Boy Scouts, hosts races.

Starting that year, Inman became a local legend. After a meet, he went up to a mom whose son’s car didn’t even make it across the finish line and offered to help out. Word of his acumen spread, and soon kids filled his garage for several months every year. He once hosted 17 boys from a local Scout troop; their cars wound up placing first through 17th in a field of 67.

“It got to a point where it was expected,” Inman says: “You go to Dan’s workshop, you’ll have a winning car.” He also competed in occasional adult races staged during the kids’ competitions. Soon he found himself dominating those events too.

By 2016, he was burned out on the amateur scene, and another dad urged him to try going pro. An online search led him to the National Pinewood Derby Racing League.

Inman’s hot pink star car Humble Pie is shown above, at center, surrounded by other models he crafted in his workshop. (Heami Lee/)

The move came naturally. He already knew from the lessons he taught in his workshop that maximizing potential energy (power stored in a car that carries it forward) and minimizing friction were the keys to victory. To boost potential energy, he affixed tiny blocks of dense tungsten around the center of his cars’ rear axles: More weight in the back equals more forward oomph pushing the car down the hill. To cut friction, he polished the axles—special derby-grade stainless steel nails—by wet-sanding with paper up to 12,000 grit, which might as well be cheesecloth, and oiling them to ensure they spun quickly inside the wheel hubs.

Inman’s major breakthrough, though, was how he constructed the bodies. Instead of starting with a solid block of wood, he built the frames from quarter-inch-wide sticks, making the insides hollow. This allowed him to add more tungsten blocks near his back axles while keeping the vehicles under the league’s maximum weight of 143 grams. By January 2017 he had assembled a fleet for four of the six different race classes.

Still, at the outset of that first season he finished consistently near the bottom. Besting dads who were building cars for maybe the first time in their lives had been easy. But league racers employed the same techniques that Inman had used in amateur matches—and more advanced ones, like slightly bending their axles to make their cars zippier. “I was humbled,” he recalls. “So after my first race, I decided to roll up my sleeves, get busy, and figure out how to be competitive.”

Inman had only to look as far as his day job. He’s a contractor at Naval Air Station Patuxent River on the Chesapeake Bay. While not strictly an engineer—his college degree is in aeronautics—he works on testing manned aircraft. If a plan requires that a cargo jet detect radar signals at a certain altitude and speed, for example, it’s Inman’s job to juggle the mission, maintenance, and testing schedules to make sure the right model of aircraft is available to engineers at the right time. “I knew how to isolate and set up a test, so I just applied that knowledge toward my approach in pinewood derby,” he says.

To pick an oil to use on his axles, Inman purchased a bunch from multiple online derby shops, set up his own league-regulation aluminum track, and created an elaborate two-car test. For his control, he applied Krytox lubricating oil, a standard in many Scout competitions, to the axles. He then ran each vehicle down the track 18 times. The first six runs settled the fluid and stabilized the racers’ speed; the next 12 runs determined the Krytox’s effectiveness. Then he’d rinse and repeat by cleaning off the old lubricant, applying a new one, and going through the whole 18-run process all over again. He threw out the slowest and fastest times for each oil and averaged the remaining 10, repeating the process with 10 different products. After a couple weeks, he found the one that gave both cars their best lap times.

“Through a ridiculous amount of testing, I started to figure things out and improve,” Inman says. By the last race of the season, in November 2017, his cars were winning. He earned rookie of the year. The next month, at Man of the Mountain, he was runner-up.

Racers compete for pinewood glory at Joel Redfearn’s modest rambler house in St. George, in southwestern Utah. Redfearn owns and operates the league and was once just like Inman: a dad whose three sons participated but who didn’t want to stop once they did. When the outfit’s first owner moved east five years ago, Redfearn stepped in.

“I was one of those obsessed racers who didn’t want to see it go anywhere,” he says. In December 2019, Redfearn, 43, quit his job as a Toyota mechanic to manage the operation as well as two derby-parts businesses full-time.

He stages monthly competitions in his basement. The wooden tracks of a bygone era have been replaced: Redfearn’s races happen on a slick 42-foot aluminum runway with a computerized lane timer. As many as 40 people enter, and Redfearn says usually 100 to 140 cars will glide down his four-lane course. Since all the events happen here, most contenders race by proxy, shipping their carefully packaged fleets to Utah.

Matches themselves are fairly straightforward. There are now 10 different championship-series classes, each with its own construction guidelines. Four categories, for instance, have strict rules about how much wheels must weigh; another one limits vehicle length to 4 inches. People can send in as many cars and enter as many classes as they like. (Racers pay a fee for every vehicle they enter, starting at $10 and gradually dropping the larger the fleet.) Some guys attempt just a handful of classes. Others, like Inman, try all 10. And it is, for the most part, guys.

Racers earn points at each competition, a structure borrowed from motor-sports racing leagues like Nascar. The higher you place, the more you win. Get enough by year’s end, and you’ll find yourself battling the best of the best at Man of the Mountain.

Meticulous only begins to describe participants’ fanaticism. “Just prepping one set of wheels for one car can take several hours,” Redfearn says, “and that’s not even the axles. We’re fighting for every ten-thousandth of a second, and lots of times we have races decided on that fourth digit.”

In his rookie year, Inman regularly lost to Brian Crane, a veteran who had risen through the ranks to become one of the league’s most formidable competitors. But over time, Inman discovered how to build faster models. He started using lighter one-eighth-inch sticks for the body so he could add more metal and potential energy. He also began slightly bending his axles to create what racers call steer. Center-lane rails on the track keep cars from flying off, but bumping on and off them can also make vehicles wobble and slow. Inman instead makes his cars ride on the rail the whole way down, which generates less friction than the alternative. “It’s those little details that started making all the difference,” he says.

As he learned in 2018, even a slight tweak can turn what would otherwise be a sweet victory into an agonizing defeat. When he raced his way back to Man of the Mountain that year, Inman was confident he’d win. But he’d blown his chances by shaving too much plastic from his wheels, making them just a hair too light. “I immediately went out and got a high-end scale that measures one one-thousandths of a gram,” he says. “Yeah, it gets that anal at times.”

Despite a disqualification costing him the top spot, Inman still earned enough points that year to repeat as runner-up. He lost, as he had in 2017, to Crane.

“Just prepping one set of wheels for one car can take several hours,” says league owner Joel Redfearn. “And that’s not even the axles.” (Heami Lee/)

Almost two weeks. That’s how much time Inman took off work to get ready for Man of the Mountain 2019. By late November, he’d selected the 18 cars he would enter in 10 classes. These were the ones that had run the fastest throughout the season, and the ones he thought gave him the surest shot.

Prepping his chosen fleet for race day entails a process the derby world calls tuning: oiling the axles to enhance speed and bending them to create steer. After a thorough polishing, Inman coats his nails with Jig-A-Loo, a silicone-based lubricant. They dry overnight underneath plastic containers to keep out dust. Afterward he applies two types of oil. When the axles finally make it onto the car, Inman achieves steer with a screwdriver, twisting the nails until they position the nose of each car two inches to the left so it rides the center-lane rail the length of the track.

He’s just as careful with his wheels. A friend in Virginia who competes in a different league custom-cuts each set of four. Inman’s touch is a quadruple layer of Icon car wax ($300 a bottle) anywhere the disk touches the track or the axle. Each coat dries for up to eight hours in a small oven—the kind nail salons use to cure polish. Afterward he weighs the wheels to ensure he won’t be disqualified again.

Still, there are variables he can’t control. Competing by proxy is risky, because he doesn’t know until race day how his fleet fared in transit. If the shipping box gets turned on its side for too long, axle oil will drip. If the package loiters on a hot tarmac, the fluid might evaporate. And once the contest begins, even a perfectly engineered vehicle can’t avoid “dirty air,” the breeze generated by the competition passing on the left and right. Enough of it can wiggle a winner right out of first place—though each class runs multiple heats, giving every contender a chance to race in all four lanes and mitigating the overall effect. “There’s all these little aspects that can help or hurt you in speed, and that’s the frustrating part,” Redfearn says.

On the first Saturday of December 2019, Inman’s 18 cars join another 124 from 26 competitors across America to vie for the title of Man of the Mountain.

First-place finishers in the different classes win $100 each. At the end of the day, Redfearn will calculate annual points totals, and the racer at the top becomes champion and wins an additional $500. Redfearn mans the track while his wife, Ronda, runs the camera down at the finish line. They livestream every race, which enables Inman to watch from his workshop.

Just after 1 p.m., he finds out if his preparation paid off. It’s time for the semifinals of BASX Pro. Not only is it the most competitive class—more people race in it than in any other—but it’s also one of the two in which Inman was disqualified last year.

A slim little racer—shorter than a deck of cards, painted pink, and called Humble Pie—idles behind one of four starting pins. When the pins fall, Humble Pie goes sailing down the silver-white track, the only audible noise a gentle whirring of plastic wheels. As it accelerates, it flies past the entries in the other three lanes, finishing in 2.9512 seconds.

Humble Pie advances to the BASX Pro finals, where it wins the day’s opening round. This time, when Redfearn measures a wheel, it makes weight. By the end of the afternoon, three of Inman’s other entries have taken first in three other classes, which is how he finally earns $900 and the ultimate prize, the title.

Yet as he savors his victory, Inman can’t help but recall last year’s lesson: It’s never entirely about who crosses the finish line in front, especially when some cars don’t even have the chance to get there. The fleet from Crane, the racer who bested him the previous two years, fell to the worst of all things that can go wrong in pinewood derby racing—a shipping delay. “I love having the victory,” Inman says. “But it was somewhat hollow without actually beating the best, head-to-head.”

So for another year he’ll toil away in his workshop. Bending axles. Waxing wheels. Waiting in hushed anticipation for a chance to defend his title. Eagerly chasing every ten-thousandth of a second.

This story appeared in the Summer 2020, Play issue of Popular Science.

2018 MCACN Barn Finds & Hidden Gems

“Nope, she ain’t for sale. Gonna restore ’er someday.”

Well, pal, 50 years is a long time. This calendar year puts muscle cars from back in 1969 into that window; and just as cars from 1929 were slim pickings back at that time, today there is not a lot of stuff to be found from a half-century ago. We did not say “any,” just not a lot. Ironically, some of what has remained previously “unfound” is pretty amazing; and once again, a well-rounded selection of examples from the performance era came to the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center in Rosemont, Illinois, for the Muscle Car & Corvette Nationals in 2018.

The Barn Finds & Hidden Gems area remains an extremely popular display within a very popular event. Its manager, author and “Automotive Archeologist” Ryan Brutt, seems to ferret out things ever more remarkable each year. He noted that he is now turning away more cars than can be shown in a given year. If one man’s trash is another’s treasure, these diamonds in the rough remain the stuff that dreams are made of.

Overall MCACN managers Bob, Vicki, and Ian Ashton have a myriad of details that make up this successful once-a-year show, and Brutt is a key player. He works tirelessly during the event, often on hand late into the evening. With a new book out, he also made time to sign autographs and answer lots of questions.

Let’s take a look at 12 examples of the “heavy metal” that emerged from both dusty mechanical catacombs and out where the field mice play to make an appearance here in 2018. Despite less-than-stellar condition in most cases, these objects always get accolades from onlookers at MCACN. Mr. Brutt should be proud.

As we were given special VIP access, we came in during the off-hours to get an exclusive look at the cars in this year’s Barn Finds & Hidden Gems Display. This area was full of spectators constantly during show hours.

Hidden in Plain Sight

Of all the cars in the Barn Finds display, this was one of the most interesting. Many people are well aware of the limited-production 1965 SS396 Z-16 Chevelle. Later research has revealed that the company deliberately released just 201 cars under RPO Z-16 for the sake of building consumer interest for the 1966 SS396 rollout. The idea was to make the first big-block Chevelle a legend you could not buy but heard and read about. This was the reason Chevrolet earmarked a large portion of the cars for magazine test articles, celebrities, and owners who would drag race the cars. Of course, the idea worked, and the 1966 redesign was a hot package.

As to this particular car, the elimination of most of the unique badging and trim that quickly identify a true Z-16 was the reason the car remained off the radar in a Southern California driveway for decades, even though it was easily visible from the street. Early in its existence, all of the special Malibu SS396 emblems were removed and the holes filled in. The special decklid with its cast rear trim panel had been damaged and replaced by one from a standard 1965 model. Even a Chrysler Max-Wedge-type scoop was crudely grafted onto the hood. The only Z-16 items still visible were the exclusive trim pieces under the taillamps and the 160-mph speedometer in the dash (though examination under the car would reveal all the Z-16-only chassis components still in place).

Jeff Helms was contacted about the car by a potential buyer to verify its authenticity. After that buyer acquired it he got cold feet, so Helms bought it. He and restorer Terry Davis of Virginia have a goal to bring this one-of-12 yellow/black-top examples back to MCACN in 2019 completely restored.

Twisted Twister

The Ford Twister performance promotion was created in 1969 as a small fleet of vehicles for a show at the dragstrip near Kansas City. As researching these cars continued, it became clear that not only were they rarer than believed, but also that two 429 Super Cobra Jet Rancheros had been part of the mix. While certainly showing its years, this only known example of the duo was recently purchased from the original owner, who had parked it in the late 1970s and sold its big engine to a young neighborhood street racer. Found by chance on Craigslist by Dustin Harriman, a Twister fan in the Kansas City region, it was tucked in towards the back of the exhibit area, last but certainly not least. Diego Rosenberg noted the significance of this car’s existence in “A Ranchero’s Twisted Tale” (The Bottom End, Jan. 2019).

The Last Ram Air Judge

A car that could have fit into any other related display at the show due to its amazing preservation was displayed here as a “family hidden gem.” The Orbit Orange 1971 GTO was purchased new by Mary and Wayne Hagen and displayed by their daughter Holly and her husband, Scott Specken. The GTO spent decades tucked away behind a substantial amount of “camouflage” in their garage and saw the light of day for the first time in years last June. What the Hagens did not know when they bought this car on May 18, 1971, was that it would be the final Ram Air Judge ever built by Pontiac. With amazing paperwork, it features the 455 LS5 engine, TH400 transmission, and Safe-T-Track differential. Of everything that has shown up at the Barn Finds & Hidden Gems section over the years, this machine may be in the best condition of any car ever featured in the display.

1 of 24 1968 Hemi GTX Convertibles

You needed some serious coin to buy a Hemi convertible back in the glory days, and perhaps a bit of mental instability. So not a lot of them were ever built. While the ones that are refinished bring big dollars these days, it has been very rare to find one that was heretofore unknown to the hobby.

This Plymouth GTX was one of 24 automatics built in 1968 and is unique in that it was ordered with a column shift and buddy-seat layout (she must have been quite the girlfriend). The fact that this car retained a substantial amount of its original upholstery, including the top, was a big surprise. Yes, it still has a Hemi engine under that hood as well. Displayed by Frank Quarantello of Florida, the GTX will likely be restored to a significant level and, once completed, take its place as another part of the convertible Hemi legacy.

Long Live the King

Guys who bleed blue love the name Shelby on anything Ford. This genuine original GT 500KR from 1968 came in with Steve Zelle of Bettendorf, Iowa. The blue beast, with its 428ci engine and four-speed transmission, was in very solid condition. Much of the Shelby identification was still intact, the sheetmetal was good, and the luxury interior appointments looked like they only needed a good cleaning. Restore it? That’s a tough call, but they are only original once, and this one certainly appeared to be original.

Make Mine an X, Please

The 1960s Super Stock era saw some pretty unique vehicles built, but some of the most purpose-built examples were the 1969 AMC Super Stock AMXs. What many people do not know is that Robert Tarozzi, the young engineer who was largely responsible for Chrysler’s 1968 Hemi A-body Darts and Barracudas, had gone to work for Hurst and had a good deal to do with making these AMXs very competitive.

This example, named Billy Cool, showed typical race usage. A big thrill for its original owner had to have been racing it at the NHRA Indy Nationals in 1969 and 1970, as evidenced by the quarter-window contestant decals. The vast majority of these racers are now retired from the track, so this machine, still in as-raced-then-parked shape, was a special treat for AMC and factory race car fans alike.

“The AMX guy, Jeff Barstow, had a funny story,” says Brutt. “He told his friends something different about what he was bringing to the show so they would be surprised when the AMX was unveiled.” So were we. Billy Cool, indeed.

Outta-Sight Satellite

Mr. Brutt’s penchant for the obscure brings some crazy stuff out of the woodwork, but this former factory show car was a chart-topper. The name Satellite would not appear on a production Plymouth model until 1965, but this show car was built a year before around a 1963 Sport Fury. It had a lot of cool tricks, including the customized removable top, special upholstery, mocked-up nonfunctional details, and original auto show signage. It survived in an obscure Michigan garage for many years, and was on hand thanks to the efforts of Brutt and owner Dan Myers of Wayland, Michigan. Its heritage known, our advice is to make it like new again.

True Z-Leaver

Evidence is always important, especially when the car in question is one of the first-year Z-28 Camaros built. This car was ordered new as a Dragway special by Brooks Chevrolet in Millens, Georgia, in the spring of 1967, together with an L78 396. The Butternut Yellow Z-28 came with the 302ci engine and four-speed, but also received factory 4.88 gearing. It was sold to a racer who immediately put it on the track; noted Southern racer Huston Platt drove the big-block for the dealership. Raced later with a 427 and serious modifications, the rare car was eventually parked for 20 years inside its final competition owner’s transmission shop. With an NCRS report and build sheet data, the car is documented, but owner Cliff Richards will have a bit of work to do to bring it back to as-built condition.

HO = High Output, Hidden Off, Hurst/Olds

This car was front and center for the 2018 display. The 1969 Hurst/Olds was a real barnstormer back in the day, and it turned heads here with its excellent preservation, nice display, and well-documented history. In the politics of racing, we would guess the Smothers Brothers relationship with Oldsmobile helped make sure NHRA played nice on this combination.

Sold new in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, to a gentleman named Carson Meyers, its winning ways were on display thanks to a plethora of trophies and a document-laden set of story boards. We were especially digging the vintage racing decals in the quarter-windows, showcasing several cool East Coast tracks. The large sticker is for Olds expert Dick Miller Racing, whose shop was probably not too far from owner Tim Holliday’s place in Michigan.

Ah, Just a ’72. Who Cares?

We do. After all, the high-compression iron of earlier years is getting scarcer all the time, and sometimes these later cars are even more special. Insurance rates had stifled sales, and by 1972 the option lists had shrunk considerably. So whoever ordered this one new was taking a big plunge into the final embers of the Mopar power era.

The Charger Rallye (WL21) came with the 440 Magnum, four-speed transmission, and 3.54 Dana 60. Just a small percentage of Charger Rallyes were painted new in HT6 Mohave Tan Metallic, and only 17 WL21 examples were ordered that year with the N96 Ramcharger air-grabber hood. Recent research discovered that just six of the cars that year were built with the 440/four-speed combo, making this former salvage yard denizen likely a one-of-one package. The hood is off of a 1971 Charger, as the original was gone, but Ryan Degenhardt’s Dodge is the real deal. And yes, we care.

The Rodney Dangerfield of On-Fire Buicks

Do the 1969 Stage 1 Buicks get no respect, or what? When displacement punched up to 455 for 1970, everyone seemed to have forgotten the 400-inch engine could “light your fire” with high performance Stage 1 driveline components as well. This Skylark came up from Charlotte with Paul Haddock and obviously is in need of some TLC. The damaged grille made it look like Rocky Balboa after 10 rounds with Apollo Creed, but that GS pedigree had people looking and nodding. Yep, the one that somebody’s gonna fix up one of these days is right here, and we look forward to seeing the results.

Solid E-body Mopar

We don’t know what happened to this car to cause it to be parked for 35 years, but it is the one instance when we might have asked Brutt to allow it to be cleaned up. To make sure the cars seem “as found,” he understandably requests that owners leave dust and dirt intact. This real 1971 383 Plymouth ’Cuda was missing its engine, but appeared to be incredibly solid. TX9 Black, faded white 383 billboards, a four-speed, and—get this—a crazy red interior will make this car stand out. If owner Rick Monson would be willing, we would like to see what this E-bomber looks like once it had simply been washed and detailed a little. In fact, we’d recommend he put that 383 back in there and have fun driving it!

The post 2018 MCACN Barn Finds & Hidden Gems appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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We Sample Three Generations of the Nissan Z

Quietly, the Nissan 370Z turned 10 years old earlier this spring. No cake, no fanfare—just a reserved press release announcing the perennial sports car will soldier on through the 2019 model year. A decade of continuous production, whether achieved through maintained popularity or gradual neglect, is a milestone worth commemorating. As it turns out, 2018 is also a perfect year for some Z reminiscing, with Nissan taking pole position at two of the most prestigious vintage motorsports events in the U.S.

Before headlining the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion later this summer at WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca, the Japanese automaker returned to Road Atlanta—the site of some of its greatest road racing triumphs on U.S. soil—as the featured marque of the Classic Motorsports Mitty. Just a few hours’ drive from the brand’s U.S. headquarters in Nashville, Tennessee, it was a perfect spot to throw a Z party—calls were made, routes were drafted, hotels were booked.

Unlike the Porsche 911, Nissan’s Z has made a number of discontinuous leaps over its history, often changing drastically—but always keeping the same sporting spirit.

We met our Nissan contacts at the automaker’s Heritage Collection, housed at the wonderful Lane Motor Museum not far from Nissan HQ. In a far corner of the museum’s sprawling basement, Nissan’s rolling archives reside behind a nondescript garage door guarded by dusty Citroëns and Matras.

You won’t find any JDM specials here—only Datsun and Nissan products sold on our shores are allowed. Among a fairly comprehensive lineup of vintage compact trucks, former show cars, and a handful of itty-bitty Datsun sedans, a cluster of wrapper-fresh Zs rest on the spotless garage floor. Even the most zealous Z-head surveying the almost of 50 years’ worth of the Z’s history gathered in one place would have to admit to its sinusoidal time line—when it was good, it was a world-beater, and when it was bad, it was the malaise era at its worst.

But there are far more high points of the lineage on display. Mr. K’s (Yutaka Katayama, aka the Father of the Z) yellow 260Z sits next to an incredibly low-mileage 10th Anniversary 280ZX, further downwind from a similarly untouched black 300ZX Twin Turbo. Across the aisle, a ludicrously wide and flat 300ZX GTP race car replica glowers from a half-lifted car cover.

We draft two classic Zs from the collection for our trip down to The Mitty: a silver 1971 240Z for the origin story and the big, brutish 300ZX Twin Turbo SMZ Edition—a tuner special hailing from a time when the Z locked horns with some of Japan’s all-time greats.

Joining them in our caravan is a brand-new 2018 370Z Heritage Edition. Although a NISMO would have been more fun, the Heritage Edition, drenched in Chicane Yellow paint and plastered with black stripes, was too pitch-perfect to pass up. The car nods to the obscure 1977 280ZX “Zap” edition, which wore a similar livery.

Beneath its gussied-up exterior, the Heritage Edition is essentially the same 370Z we first saw at the 2008 L.A. Auto Show. If anything, the 370Z is a model of endurance, overlapping two generations of Ford Mustang, Chevy Camaro, and Porsche 911. While it’s impossible to hide from a decade of progress, in an era of hard-nosed, rakish coupes replete with creases and angles, the curvaceous 370Z is surprisingly understated.

Elemental shape and inimitable style place the Z32 300ZX among the front-runners for future-collectible ’90s cars—or, in the case of this SMZ Edition, currently collectible ’90s cars.

Inside, the years hang heavier. If you stick with the bargain-basement trim found on our tester, it’s Lotus-worthy in its asceticism. Aside from rudimentary Bluetooth connectivity, there isn’t much in the way of infotainment tech—instead of the traditional center display screen, there’s a leather-wrapped panel that opens to reveal a small storage cubby. A line of three gauge pods on the center-top of the dash display the time, oil temp, and battery power. A small display to the left of the tach offers up standard trip and fuel efficiency data.

In spite of this, there’s still a lot to like. Even chugging through the outskirts of Nashville, it wasn’t hard to see the raw appeal of the 370Z, 10 years on. You sit low, hunkered down in the two-seat cabin, confronted by no distractions. There’s no dead space behind you, either. Starting after the seat backs, the roof slopes backward into the glass decklid, broken only by a brace that crosses the rear cargo shelf. If Porsche or Ferrari decontented their sports cars this much, you’d be ecstatic.

Where the 370Z is back to basics, the 300ZX Twin Turbo was a contemporary technological powerhouse. The 3.0-liter VG30DETT twin-turbo V-6 spit out a then-impressive 300 hp, enough to match the pace of the Toyota Supra, Mitsubishi 3000GT, and Mazda RX-7. Outfit yours like this black SMZ Edition, and it leaves them for dead.

The Z that started it all remains the most elegant, its sleek, slender lines and minimalist interior all but impossible now due to today’s crash regulations and technology.

In 1995, Nissan commissioned racer and engineer Steve Millen (the SM in SMZ) to turn the wick up on a small number of 300ZXs, resulting in a $14,000 upgrade package available through select dealers. A new intake manifold, air filter, exhaust system, and 2 more pounds of boost resulted in 65 extra ponies and an additional 49 lb-ft of torque. Beefier brakes and a stiffer suspension managed the added motivation, while new wheels and a sizable hatch-mounted wing advertised the SMZ’s potency.

Even weighed down with the optional four-speed automatic, the SMZ was fast. This is speed from a different era, a product of delicious turbo lag and alarming highway thrust that blows the graphics off the Heritage Edition. Same family name, different purpose—in contrast to the 370Z’s sports car ethos, the SMZ played the role of high-speed cruiser very, very well. The roomy, well-appointed interior (complete with period-correct Def Leppard cassette) paired with a long wheelbase and rear-wheel steering was purpose-built for the arrow-straight farmland highways that cut through southern Tennessee. Free of the grassy expanse, the SMZ cut a path through some wooded hills just north of the state line. It’s a hefty car, weighing some 100 pounds more than the base 370Z, and you feel every ounce when you hustle it.

An accelerated timetable put us back in the 370Z for an extended portion of the trip. The trailered 240Z was already approaching Atlanta and The Mitty, so we blasted through northern Georgia, skipping the more scenic portions for the sake of seat time in the ’71.

It’s a good thing we made the sacrifice. This is a special car, one we’re unlikely to drive again. In 1997, one year after the 300ZX was pulled from our market, the automaker decided the best way to keep morale high among the Z faithful was a factory restoration program involving a number of old 240Zs. Donor 240s were sourced from dry desert regions and rebuilt from the ground up. Aside from a few mandatory modernizations to the suspension, brakes, and paint, these remanufactured cars were as close as you could get to a brand-new 240Z. Unfortunately, the appetite for classics wasn’t quite at the same fervor it is today, and the $25,000 price tag proved a hard sell. Nissan quietly binned the program after building around 40 cars, including this silver example.

Straight away, we were smitten. The 240Z was light, loud, and shockingly easy to operate despite packing a drivetrain designed a half century ago. The 2.4-liter inline-six snorts and sings, spitting out 151 hp and 146 lb-ft of torque on its way to a 7,000-rpm redline. Like all old-timers of this ilk, it never prompts abuse, instead operating best under a deliberate hand—don’t yank on the five-speed, let it warm up, and don’t smash the non-ABS brakes for best results.

Much like Porsche 911s from the same era, it feels confident and composed enough for a spontaneous cross-country tour. There’s a thick torque curve from the sixer, providing excellent acceleration through the rev range. The effortless, low-stress fun and great soundtrack made it the sweetheart of the bunch and had us smiling right up to the gates of Road Atlanta and The Mitty.

Started in 1977 as a way for regional racers and local Atlantans to blow off some steam and enjoy their cars, the vintage racing festival soon earned the “Mitty” title for the escapist attitude of its workaday participants, a reference to the title character of James Thurber’s short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Now in its 41st year, The Mitty attracts visitors and drivers from around the world, congregating on the legendary circuit for a weekend of sound, exhaust, and infield BBQs.

With a legacy like this on display, the Z35 can’t come quickly enough—provided, of course, that it comes at all. Rumors of a 400Z continue to circulate, with 2020 pegged as a possible debut date.

Long before playing host for the latest Mitty event, Road Atlanta was a hotly contested battleground for Nissan. Datsun 1600 Roadsters, 240Zs, and 510s dominated the SCCA in their days, racking up a staggering number of wins through the late 1960s and into the ’70s and ’80s. Between Datsun and Nissan, the combined marques captured victory at 100 individual SCCA Runoffs, the majority of which were won at Road Atlanta. For a moment in the 1970s, they might as well have planted the Japanese flag in Georgia’s red clay.

The following day was spent among some of Nissan’s greatest motorsports hits. Randy Jaffe was there with his nuts-and-bolts re-creation of the championship-winning BRE 240Z, piloted by renowned driver John Morton, the man who put Nissan on the podium when the 240Z was still brand-new. A few paces away was the championship-winning Nissan GTP ZX-Turbo, still in as-raced condition. Out on the track, Datsuns and Nissans of all shapes and sizes screamed over every inch of the 2.54-mile circuit.

As the sun set, we couldn’t resist rounding up three BRE-liveried counterparts to the road-trip Zs for a photo shoot between the bridge and Turn 12. Surveying the array of some of the greatest cars in Z history, it’s hard to not get lost in the nostalgia and the hope that Nissan will find a way to keep it from fading away. The raw, unapologetically anachronistic 370Z is still with us, at least through 2019. Beyond that, the future is foggy for the nameplate. Rumors of the Z’s next incarnation swirl, ranging from a sporty crossover to a 500-hp hybrid supercoupe to battle the forthcoming Toyota Supra.

No matter what happens, we’re grateful the Z has stuck around for as long as it has. We may never see anything like it again.

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Custom Bikes Of The Week: 23 February, 2020

A classic Triumph flat tracker from the race director of the Wheels & Waves festival, a Virago influenced by 90s Japanese import culture, and the latest oddity from Lazareth.

Ducati Monster S4 by Barn Built Bikes Whether you leave them stock, sprinkle them with aftermarket parts or really got to town on them, old Ducati Monsters are cool. This 2002 Monster S4 used to fall into the second category; loaded up with bolt-ons, but without any serious fabrication work done. So the crew at Barn Built Bikes in Belgium decided to take it up a level.

Most of the parts that the previous owner had added on came off again, and got sold to fund the rest of the build. The first major undertaking was reworking the fuel tank. Shop boss, Sven, didn’t like the way the OEM unit dipped low at the back—so he cut away the bits he didn’t like, then welded it shut again.

The tank now cuts a cleaner line into the custom-made saddle, and also exposes more of the Ducati’s L-twin motor. The seat sits on a hand-made subframe, that was deliberately designed with sharp angles, to mimic the Monster’s trellis front frame. There’s a new electronics tray under the seat too, packed with a Motogadget m.unit controller.

Up in the cockpit, Barn Built swapped the bars for a set of Gilles Tooling clip-ons, with Magura controls and Motogadget switches, bar-end turn signals and mirrors. The speedo’s a Motogadget part too, and the headlight’s a LED unit.

Finishing this Monster off are a set of Alpina spoked wheels, Rizoma belt covers and a ‘rich java’ brown hue borrowed from Volvo’s swatch book. [More]

Triumph TR6 by Christophe Canitrot M. Canitrot really has a thing for racing old bikes—so much so, that he’s the race director for the popular Wheels & Waves festival, held in Biarritz each year. After two years of racing his first flat track build, a Triumph 500 Daytona with a stock frame, he decided it was time for an upgrade. This Staracer-framed TR6 is the result.

But this project was a struggle from the get-go. Christophe had managed to find a Staracer frame in France, but it took almost two years of negotiating to wrangle it from its owner. Then he had to find a new motor, since the frame was designed for a 650, and not the 500 in his Daytona. Luckily, he found a 1967 TR6R in the US.

A set of Ceriani GP 38 reproduction forks formed the next piece of the puzzle, but they ended up sitting in Christophe’s living room for a year, while he sourced the rest of the parts he needed. Meanwhile, the motor went off to Philippe Fabre (a mechanic Christophe trusts), who returned it with an extra 100 cc and a bunch of race-spec internals.

It runs with a set of Mikuni carbs and K&N filters, and a custom exhaust.

Eventually everything started coming together, and spectacularly so. New rims, a perfectly-tuned cockpit and a classic seat and rear fender setup, and Christophe’s TR6 was starting to look like a pukka vintage racer. As for that stylish yellow paint job, that’s a nod to the BSA B50 MX that he sold a year earlier, and still misses. [More]

Yamaha Virago 750 by WKND Digital x de stijl moto We took a very brief glance at this fresh Virago custom in our One Moto Show report last week. But now more details of the build have surfaced, and we couldn’t resist taking a more comprehensive look at it.

The bike was built by Sean Hogan at Portland’s de stijl moto, for his long time friend Tommy Patterson at WKND Digital. The two grew up skateboarding in California together, and later street racing home-built Honda (cars). So the build drew heavy inspiration from 90s Japanese import culture—hence the Toyo logos on the tires, and the Recaro logo on the seat.

There’s a ton of handcrafted goodness tying the Virago together. The trellis swing arm is custom, designed to accommodate the wider rear wheel from the second-gen Virago. It’s hooked up to a Yamaha R6 shock, and there’s a set of R1 forks up front, with a Cognito Moto top yoke.

The rear subframe is naturally custom too, as are the rear-set mounts and battery box. The bike was rewired around a Motogadget controller, with a Lithium-ion battery, and a couple of components from Revival Cycles. Most of the wiring runs through the actual frame.

Sean also rebuilt the motor, and hooked up a single carb intake manifold from Virago Performance, with a Mikuni TM40 carb. The exhaust system consists of pie-cut headers, that exit via two under-seat carbon fiber mufflers. It’s undeniably one of the sharpest Virago customs out, and a reminder that there’s still life left in Yamaha’s venerable V-twin. [More]

The Lazareth LM 410 Leaning Quad We’ve come to expect borderline ridiculous designs from Ludovic Lazareth, and his new LM 410 doesn’t disappoint. Lazareth hasn’t released full technical details of this other-worldly machine yet, but here’s what we know so far…

The LM 410 has four wheels, it’s powered by a 998 cc Yamaha R1 motor, and it looks absolutely bonkers. It’s also going to be produced in very limited numbers (only ten), and will set you back €100,000 (that’s around $108,470).

The design is pretty close to a previous concept from Lazareth—the Maserati V8-powered LM 847, which debuted at the 2016 Geneva Motor Show. But that version proved to hard to make properly road legal, so Lazareth’s toned it down to build the LM 410. He says the new version is now lighter and more manageable, but it still looks like a handful to us.

Like the 847, the 410 uses a tilting mechanism that allows the wheels to maintain full contact with the road, even on an incline. It’s over-the-top for sure, but it’s also really fascinating, and something we’d love to experience at least once. [More]

Historics @ Brooklands Auction Preview - March 3

Three Minis and variants up for sale this weekend at Historics @ Brooklands. Lot 294 - 1960 Austin Mini Seven Super Deluxe Lot Number     294 Registration     285 JYB Chassis Number     AA25742246 Engine Number     8AM-U-H30416 Odometer reading     32,836 miles Estimate     No Reserve This delightful Austin Seven was registered in October 1960 and can be considered as one of the most original examples on the market today. A large amount of this cars history has been written about in the November 2006 edition of Mini World. This vehicle resided in a family garage for 14 years until Mini Club member, Ron Procter, purchased the car for a mere £1,400 with a view to restoring it having appreciated its remarkable time warp condition. The Mini had been scruffily sprayed yellow but he could see past that and upon purchase began a full nut and bolt restoration. The strip down to the bare shell confirmed that it was in near perfect condition with only a rear valance and front panel needing to be replaced. It also became apparent that the 848cc A-Series engine was the original unit. The Mini was returned to its original colour of Speedwell Blue and with the engine stripped and rebuilt to take unleaded petrol, the reassembly began. The vendor states that 95% of the components used were those fitted to the car when it left the factory. The 1959 and early 1960 Mini's had the smaller rear window and no recess around front and rear windows as does this example that also boasts the original glass. The seats and trim that are so often perishable were perfectly serviceable and thus original, with the exception of the door cards that were recently replaced with Newton examples. The carpet unfortunately did need to be replaced. This is considered to be a remarkable example of an original 1960 Mini. Presented with an MoT test certificate valid until January 2019 with no advisories and a history file including photographs of the restoration. Showing just 32,836 miles from new the question could simply be where else would you find one quite like this. Offered without reserve we are certain that this will be popular with collectors and enthusiast alike. Our hope is that its originality can be preserved for many years to come. https://www.historics.co.uk/buying/auctions/2018-03-03/cars/ref-103-1960-austin-mini-seven-super-deluxe/

Lot 260 - 1967 Mini Moke Lot Number     260 Registration     OLF 427E Chassis Number     A/AB1952419 Engine Number     8ACUH4601 Odometer reading     57,428 miles Estimate     £13,000 - £16,000 The Mini Moke is a vehicle based on the Mini and designed for the British Motor Corporation (BMC) by Sir Alec Issigonis. The name comes from ‘Mini’- the car with which the Moke shares many parts - and ‘Moke’, which is an archaic dialect term for donkey. The initial design was a prototype for a light military vehicle in the style of the American Jeep, but its small wheels and low ground clearance made it impractical as an off-road vehicle. It was subsequently offered in a civilian version as a low-cost, easily maintained utility vehicle. The Moke finally achieved success as a beach buggy, becoming a popular 'cult' vehicle in the Seychelles, Australia, the United States and many tropical resorts in the Caribbean. Now equally collectable as the Willys Jeep and Land Rover, a Moke offers fun in abundance whether popping to the shops or a trip along a coastal road in the sun. Originally registered on 25th April 1967, this Mini Moke has only had two previous keepers throughout its 50 years on the road. The current vendor had her restored approximately four years ago and as such this Mini presents in very good order. The 998cc engine runs well, the gearbox is smooth in operation and we are advised she drives with no known faults. Finished in yellow, this is a pretty looking Moke and comes fitted with spotlights, Minilite wheels, front and rear nudge bars and also a full set of wet weather equipment. Parts are in plentiful supply for these vehicles and maintenance should be within the capability of any mechanically minded owner. Supplied with a V5C registration document and a full year's MoT test certificate together with a collection of MoT’s and a history folder, this genuine, iconic and desirable Mini is offered for sale at a realistic estimate given the age, condition and low ownership. https://www.historics.co.uk/buying/auctions/2018-03-03/cars/ref-13-1967-mini-moke/

Lot 220 - 1995 Rover Mini SPi Cooper Supercharged Lot Number     220 Registration     M474 XBG Chassis Number     SAXXNNAYCBD098808 Engine Number     12A2EJ02304576 Odometer reading     72,833 miles Estimate     £12,000 - £17,000 This 1995 Rover Mini started life innocently enough as a standard Cooper, but well known Mini owner and enthusiast George Harris was on the lookout for a new project. He had recently created a well-known and widely publicised twin Hayabusa engine powered Mini in 2015. He purchased the car from a fellow Mini Club member and his initial plans were to simply back date the more modern Rover Mini, these plans soon went out the window when his friend purchased a Singer built Porsche and George fell in love with it. George did not have the funds for a Singer but he was inspired to construct his Mini with a similar philosophy, in his own words "a classic hot-rod, 911 inspired Mini". As a 60's period racer was the intended style, George fitted Mk. I rear lights and cut the lip off the bonnet of a Mk. I grille, however, much of the work was outsourced to OSC Bodyworks in Chessington, they fitted the Heritage panels. The Mini was finished in flame red with an Old English White roof. Once painted, the shell was sent to Wood and Pickett for sub-frames and a new running gear, which included Cooper S front disc assembly that allowed for the race style Rose Petal wheels with Hi-Los and Gaz dampers. The original 1275 SPi engine is far from standard; it was bored out to 1293cc and fully rebuilt, including a supercharger kit from VmaxScart and Webber carburettor, this culminated in an estimated power output in the region of 140bhp, which looks fantastic and sounds amazing. The interior is where the 911 had the clearest influence on George; Cobra GT bucket seats were installed with matching rear trim and the dash wrapped in the same material. The Race Tech harnesses were another nod to the Singer Porsche, as was the six point roll cage. There were numerous other enhancements and they are detailed in Mini Magazine, August 2017, a copy of this can be found in the cars history file. This is a fully bespoke and unique Mini. The engine is still being run in and as such the full potential is yet to be realised, but it will be a lot of fun finding out the limits of this little Cooper. Accompanying this Mini is a new MoT test certificate and a good history file, including invoices and receipts. You would be hard pushed to find something as well built, entertaining and at such an attractive estimate as this little Mini.  https://www.historics.co.uk/buying/auctions/2018-03-03/cars/ref-114-1995-rover-mini-spi-cooper-supercharged/ via Blogger http://ift.tt/2oKZYi2

Fairy Tale Challenge Part One: the Enchanted 10K

A new post has been published on https://twentysomethinginorlando.com/rundisney-princess-10k/

Fairy Tale Challenge Part One: the Enchanted 10K

Of all the RunDisney events offered at Walt Disney World, my absolute favorite is the Princess Half. It’s always the fastest to sell out, and if you’re not online when it goes live, you’re probably out of luck. Thankfully, though I was scheduled to work that morning, my mom offered to register for me. She got it taken care of, and thus 2018 would be my fourth year running the Princess Half. 

2018 marked the tenth anniversary of the Princess Half Marathon, and the fifth anniversary of the Glass Slipper Challenge, now renamed the Fairy Tale Challenge. I was okay with that, I was a little tired of the same medal in different colors. 

I started planning my costumes out about a month ahead of time. After changing my mind about ten times about who I was going to run as, I got my friend Donna to whip up two running skirts. I decided on picking basic colors that would work for multiple characters. I wound up with a light blue skirt with a silver band, and a pale pink with a white band. It took me until two days before the races to decide officially on Stella Lou, Duffy’s bunny friend from Tokyo, and Marie from the Aristocats. 

About a week before the race, I was cleaning out my closet and found a pair of dark blue shorts I’d forgotten I owned. I had a light bulb moment and grabbed a shirt I’d never worn to start putting together a Disneybound for the RunDisney Expo. Disneybounding is the art of dressing like a certain character without it being a costume, you essentially match colors. Donna had to loan me a bow to put it together but come Friday I had a Snow White Disneybound and headed for the Expo.  

I pulled up the map online as Jay was driving, and was surprised to see a building marked with “Character Meet & Greet”. I’d seen characters at RunDisney Expos before, but it was always seemed like I’d randomly run into them. I’d never seen a sign marking where they were, or even an announcement that there were characters. 

If I had to guess, Disney’s probably gotten complaints in the past because people missed characters and didn’t know they were there. I’m happy to see they took steps to fix this! 

Once we parked, we headed for the Arena where the characters were. Outside was Cinderella’s coach and a short line for pictures so we hopped in.  

Then we headed inside past ivory pillars and greenery decorations. To the right was a food stand and bar, past that were two different lines for characters. On the left was a display of the bright green Photopass tents to look for on the course, and straight ahead was the RunDisney Official Merchandise Store. 

Since I was Disneybounding Snow White, we jumped in her line first. The other line was for Princess Minnie, who I had only ever encountered at the Princess Half finish line. Snow White’s line moved fairly quickly, and she was not at all happy to see the poison apple purse Jay got me. 

Once we were done with Snow White, Jay jumped in Minnie’s rather long line while I went to check out the merchandise. It was the biggest RunDisney store I had ever seen, but that might just because they had more space than before. Normally the RunDisney store is crammed onto the Expo floor instead of being in a separate building. I really liked all the merchandise, but I kept telling myself I’d already spent enough money on this race. They had all of the usual items, but I finally found what I was looking for. I’d seen on a Disney Parks Blog post earlier that week about official Disney character running clothes and they did not disappoint.

They had tank tops, t-shirts, skirts, pants, and running sleeves themed to Mickey, Minnie, Goofy, Stitch, the Cheshire Cat, Cinderella, Ariel, Maleficent, and Tinker Bell. I immediately went to tell Jay and we had to go back so he could see once we were done with the characters. 

Meeting Princess Minnie was awesome. One of my favorite things in the world is meeting the Fab Five in special outfits.

Bib and t-shirt pick up went like clockwork. I got a little packet with my bib that included a luggage tag, pins that would attach the bib without poking a hole in the shirt, and a button. I was a little dismayed to be in the last starting corral for the 10K and second to last for the Half, but there was nothing I could do about it. We wandered around the Expo for a little while and then headed out. I had to get to bed nice and early for that 2:15 a.m. alarm for the Enchanted 10K! Our final stop was with the medal banners.

I had decided I was going to do Marie for the 10K but swapped for Stella Lou at the last second as I was getting ready in the middle of the night. I was worried about the Stella Lou headband giving me a headache, and if I was going to carry it for most of the race I decided I’d rather do it for the shorter one. 

I arrived at Epcot right around four, which is an ungodly early hour to be anywhere. The character lines were already ridiculously long, and I wound up just waiting until the start corrals opened at 4:15 a.m. so I could try to get to the front. The more people between me and the balloon ladies the better. I found a spot and sat down, reading on my phone as I waited for the clock to tick closer and closer to race time. 

John and Rudy, the announcers, arrived just before 5:30, wearing kilts which I thought was appropriate for the Brave 10K. There was a rush of cheering as the wheelchair racers went by. It was incredibly hard to hear – we were far from the stage and the speakers seemed oddly placed. You would think it being hard to hear anything would make everyone be quieter, but no, instead I just had to listen to rather loud complaints about how quiet it was rather than actually being able to hear. Then people proceeded to sing along with the National Anthem, so the whole morning was just a little strange all around. 

The Fairy Godmother herself arrived to send the first corral off, and with a wave of her magic wand and the whole crowd chanting the magic words, the fireworks appeared and Corral A was off to a flying start.

Despite the Enchanted 10K starting at 5:30 a.m., my corral did not go until 6:20 a.m. I took off as quick as I could, wanting to put space between me and the end of the runners. They were sending the corrals off in short bursts, and I quickly caught up to the tail end of the corral in front of me. Merida herself was up on top of the overpass cheering everyone on about a quarter of a mile in, all lit up in green and yellow. I felt bad for all the people who had dressed as Merida hoping to meet her. 

Just past the first mile marker was Mushu and Mulan in her Princess dress. I actually don’t like Mulan in her princess dress, I think we should meet her in the dress from the end of the movie instead of the beginning. You know, the one she saves China in? 

At the top of the next hill were Lilo and Stitch. I wanted to stop for them because you so rarely see them together, but I met them on the Wine and Dine Half in 2016, and saw them last summer at Typhoon Lagoon. 

I rounded the turn and kept going. Somewhere past the second mile marker I found Pocahontas and Meeko, and passed them too.

Are you seeing a theme here? I run these races for characters and then talk myself out of stopping because I’m worried about time. 

Coming into the backstage area of Epcot there were what I refer to as “Americana Stilt Walkers;” they kind of look like they escaped from “it’s a small world” except they’re on stilts. I’ve always assumed they’re from a show I’ve never seen, but I have no idea what it is. 

I entered the World Showcase just after hitting the 5K marker and didn’t encounter another character until Germany. Pinocchio was out, and his line was HUGE. I’ve never seen it so long. The Genie was out in Morocco, in his traditional outfit instead of the tourist one. I hate to say it, but his popularity has exploded since Robin Williams’ death. I’m glad I met him when I did on my first Princess Half, back when his line was super short. 

Then in France I found Marie, and I was so angry at myself. If I hadn’t switched outfits at the last second, I could have gotten a photo with Marie as Marie. I decided to keep going, what was the point if we didn’t match? I regretted it a few minutes later, but it was too late to turn back. 

I headed into the Boardwalk, where I actually hate to run. The wood is usually wet and it feels so slick, but it thankfully wasn’t as bad this time. RunDisney Goofy was hanging out outside of the ESPN café. I rounded the rest of the course without seeing any other characters, but there were a ton of people out cheering. 

Coming back into Epcot, you enter behind France and it dumps you out between the U.K. and Canada pavilions. Behind France right now is a mess because of the construction on the Ratatouille ride, which is understandable, but it led to one of the most brilliant entertainment ideas I think RunDisney has ever had. 

There were two big, burly, fairly attractive men with hardhats and microphones, posing as construction workers. Usually RunDisney has lost tourists out and cheering, but instead they found something that would blend in even better, and help the construction look intentional. I’m still kicking myself for not taking photos. 

Just past Canada, things got a little awkward. There were a set of Photopass photographers, and everyone always stops and throws their arms out to get a better picture, effectively ruining the photo of everyone behind them. I prefer to just run when I see them as I like the action photos. This girl dressed as Tinker Bell stopped dead in front of me to jump for a photo, but I had to cut around her to not run into her. I’m pretty sure she was mad, but at least I didn’t completely ruin the photo. 

IF YOU ARE GOING TO STOP, MAKE SURE THERE IS NOT SOMEONE RIGHT BEHIND YOU. 

I rounded out the rest of World Showcase and found Pluto up near Duffy’s old meet and greet. I figured he would be the last character, and I started to stop, but kept going. You can literally meet Pluto anytime, he wasn’t even in a fun outfit. 

Mostly I was just disappointed Duffy wasn’t out. They had him out for the Walt Disney World 10K and I was desperately hoping to see my Bear. 

I finished strong through Future World, stopping for a quick Spaceship Earth selfie. It was about time I took some sort of photo during this race. One more trip through backstage past a drum line, and the finish line was straight ahead. 

I heard another runner yelling to her group, “Let’s do this!” right as I kicked it into high gear, sprinting for the finish line.  

I kept moving forward past the slew of photographers to the volunteers, who were once again handing out the medals instead of presenting them to the runners. This is a major pet peeve of mine. I just ran 6.2 miles, and you are supposed to put the medal around my neck instead of handing it to me. WATCH ANY MOVIE WHERE THE HERO GETS A MEDAL! 

To my surprise, it was a spinner medal! It had Merida on one side and a Celtic drawing of three bears on the back. 

I was super excited to see them handing out cooling towels further on. I’ve probably got four or five of them at this point, but they’re super useful and feel wonderful. I wiped my face off and headed down to get my Powerade and snack box. I moved straight through the gear check, trying to get to the characters as quickly as possible. 

I jumped in line for Princess Minnie in her purple dress. When it was my turn, the character attendant took my phone and said, “Oh my goodness, you’re Stella Lou!” 

“Thank you! You are the first person to know who I am!” Or at least the first to say anything. 

Minnie nodded happily and put her hands over her head like a ballerina. I could have cried. They instantly fixed my disappointment about not being able to get a matching photo with Marie. 

“Who’s Stella Lou?” The Photopass photographer asked. The character attendant started to explain and I said, “Just show her the phone case!” The character attendant almost squeaked when she looked at it. I looked at Minnie. 

“I miss Duffy. You need to bring him back and bring Stella Lou to visit too!” She nodded eagerly and tapped me on the nose. I guess Minnie misses the bear she made too! 

I went to jump in line for Ariel, but quickly figured out I wouldn’t make it by the time they pulled the characters. With Minnie having saved the day, I didn’t mind. 

I headed for my car and vowed to make stopping more of a priority than time the next day on the half marathon. 

Check out Part Two, and find out exactly who I stop for, and another rather interesting first for me on a race! 

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Getting Utilized Mountain range Bikes

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The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

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Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

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Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

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Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

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There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

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The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

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For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

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With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

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While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

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The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

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In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

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Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

–

–

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

–

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

–

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

–

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

–

–

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

–

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

–

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

–

–

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

–

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

–

–

The Motor Company is banking on the XG750R to sell Street Rods, which is a little like Chevy using NASCAR to move Camaro ZL1s. There is, to put it bluntly, not a lot of commonality. The engines are somewhat related, they’re both rear-wheel drive, they both wear bow ties, and that’s about it. The Street Rod is not a bad bike, but the FZ-07 is a better one that costs hundreds less. To make another automotive comparison, if the Street Rod is a Mercedes-Benz CLA250, then the Yamaha is a Volkswagen GTI—a more competent all-around machine without the luxury-brand cachet. A toned-down XG750R, on the other hand, could be a bike worth saving the extra coin for, offering the same sort of lifestyle-accessory prestige as Ducati’s Scramblers. It’d be a bike to cast a showroom halo over the other Street models and bring some additional cachet to the Revolution X motor, a good powerplant that’s getting short shrift due to its low position in the line and its break with Milwaukee tradition.

–

–

–

Hog Calling: The Ford F-series’ Chief Designer on Motorcycles, Pickups, and the Importance of Function

–

Escape to Baja: Three Blissed-Out Days Touring Mexico on a Harley-Davidson

–

Sidecar Racing at the Isle of Man TT Is Insane (and Insanely Cool)

–

–

–

Perhaps I’m naïve about all this. Undoubtedly, both Polaris and Harley have run the numbers and feel that, while the race programs are worth sinking dollars into, the real money is in cruisers and tourers from the Scout/Sportster class on up. But it seems to me that an affordable, American-built street tracker with real racing heritage is not only a very usable everyday motorcycle, but the sort of thing younger motorcyclists could get very invested in.

–

After all, if you ask a Harley hater if they’ve got any exceptions to their generalized distaste for the brand, they’ll invariably allow one: the XR750. Why not make its heir a cornerstone of a Harley-Davidson retooled for the next generation?

–

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via WordPress https://robertvasquez123.wordpress.com/2017/09/23/the-son-and-the-heir-riding-harley-davidsons-latest-factory-flat-tracker-the-xg750r/

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

-

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

-

-

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

-

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

-

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

-

-

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

-

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

-

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

-

-

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

-

-

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

-

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

-

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

-

-

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

-

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

-

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

-

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

-

-

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

-

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

-

As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

-

-

Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

-

The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

-

IFTTT

The Son and the Heir: Riding Harley-Davidson’s Latest Factory Flat-Tracker, the XG750R

-

Much has been made recently of Harley-Davidson’s lack of youth-market penetration. Some millennials claim that the boomer-centric vibe of the company’s heavily accessorized and rather expensive motorcycles does not suit their lightweight, cash-strapped lifestyles. Pundits—as pundits are wont to do—are claiming that the Motor Company is in crisis. Some opine that perhaps it shouldn’t have killed off the Buell sport-bike marque. Others assert that maybe it shouldn’t have merged the Softail and Dyna lines, dispensing with the latter name in the process, just as a group of younger hipsters was beginning to embrace the Dyna.

-

-

Evel doing Evel on his XR750 in 1975, leaping vans in the Wembley Stadium parking lot.

-

Others might point out that its newish entry-level machines—the four-valve, overhead-cam, water-cooled 60-degree V-twin Street series motorcycles—are too much of a divergence from the brand’s core competency: large-displacement air-cooled pushrod 45-degree twins with that immediately identifiable potato-potato sound. What better way to build some cred into the relatively new motor than by taking it racing? And what better form of racing is there to showcase it than flat track, a wholly American sport that’s having a bit of a renaissance at the moment? Even better, it’s a sport that the bar and shield has basically owned for the past four decades, thanks to its venerable XR750, undoubtedly one of the great motorcycles of the 20th century.

-

There are two components of motorcycling that appeal to most riders. Foremost is the experience of actually being on the machine, moving through space and time. Words have been spilled on this subject, and so far nobody I’ve run across—including riders more thoughtful, introspective, and articulate than myself—has nailed it exactly. No matter how it’s described, there’s always a “Yeah, it’s that, but there’s something else, too.” The bit that’s easier to explain is the connection to myth. For guys like Mark Wahlberg, the impetus is some Hopper/Fonda thing. For a legion of bikers who threw legs over Dynas in the past decade, it’s Kurt Sutter’s Sons of Anarchy, although they probably wouldn’t admit it.

-

-

The KR was the XG750R’s great-granddaddy. Here, a pair of them rip down the straight at the 1966 Sacramento Mile.

-

For me, it’s the lingering cultural whispers of the late 1970s and early 1980s, when Kenny Roberts was ruling Europe, Terry Vance was burning up the quarter-mile, and the AMA’s Grand National series, which consisted largely of flat-track events, was still the biggest thing in American motorcycle racing. The blurry echoes of childhood; half-remembered ghosts of photos in Popular Hot Rodding in airport waiting areas; radio spots for the Sacramento Mile. Flipping through my friend Kevin’s dad’s issues of Cycle World on summer afternoons when we’d come in from skateboarding or bombing around on our BMX bikes. It was the end of the benighted AMF era of Harley-Davidson, when the only guys who rode those things were gnarly die-hards. Everybody with any sense had a Honda CB750. The work required to run a Harley in those days made them rare, and their rarity made them unfathomably cool.

-

With the American dominance of road racing in the 1980s, paired with the ascendence of motocross and supercross, flat track fell off a cliff. As Michael Lock, CEO of American Flat Track—a successor to the old AMA Grand National Series—says, “The people who were coming to the races were the same people who’d been coming to the races 30 years ago. They were just 30 years older.” And yet, in the past decade, a new generation of MotoGP and superbike riders have rediscovered the sport. GP phenom Marc Marquez’s Superprestigio, sort of an IROC for motorcycle racers, has become one of the must-see events on the two-wheel calendar. Valentino Rossi preaches the sideways gospel. American Flat Track just signed a TV deal with NBC Sports. And, perhaps most telling, Polaris went all in on the Indian Scout FTR750 program, building a flat-tracker from the ground up—including an all-new engine—to challenge Harley’s 40-odd-year dominance of the top class of the sport.

-

-

While Indian was developing the FTR from scratch, Milwaukee decided on the race-what-we-sell approach to competition. The Motor Company finally retired the XR750, a motorcycle introduced for the 1970 racing season and seared into American consciousness as Evel Knievel’s aircraft of choice. Its replacement, which bowed in prototype form during the 2016 season, is the XG750R, carrying a version of the XG750A Street Rod’s Revolution X engine developed by Vance & Hines, the Southern California aftermarket manufacturer and race shop best known for extracting maximum potato from Harley’s large pushrod twins.

-

-

The XG750A Street Rod lends a worked version of its engine to the XG750R.

-

In contrast to the roadgoing XG750A, which weighs in at 507 pounds dry, the R model weighs only about 300. Which, for the non-moto-savvy reader, is about 50 pounds heavier than a large-displacement single-cylinder enduro like the stalwart Honda XR650L, and it’s about 100 pounds lighter than a race-replica liter bike. MotoGP bikes, which make about 250 percent more power than trackers, weigh around 350, but GP machines aren’t going sideways on dirt. GP bikes also cost about 2 million bucks apiece. Indian sells its FTR750 to privateers for just $49,900. Trackers are elemental, sturdy, classically American things, a simple hammer and chisel in contrast to the multi-axis CNC machines that populate the MotoGP grid.

-

Fire it up, and the XG750R offers up the same heavy-equipment rattle from the top end as its roadgoing relative, a sound not far removed from that of a modern four-valve Moto Guzzi V-twin. In fact, the entire character of the engine is more big-block Goose than it is Harley big twin. But unlike a full-size Guzzi or a Street Rod, the R’s engine revs to 11 grand. I nursed it out onto the hard-packed clay of the little Lodi, California, bullring, unsure of what to expect. The bike was still geared tall for the previous day’s Sacramento Mile, which made throttle inputs a bit more forgiving, a welcome trait since my only previous flat-track experience was on a small Yamaha making around a tenth of the Harley’s power.

-

-

Your author aboard the XG750R in Lodi, California. CCR-related jokes related to his lack of speed are welcome.

-

A perfect corner in flat-track racing works something like this: Cane the bike hard down the straightaway, get on the brake as you back out of the throttle, push the motorcycle down into the corner, aiming for a late apex while keeping yourself upright over the contact patch, get the bike turned, pick up throttle as you ease off the brake, lather, rinse, repeat. Cut speed too early, and you’re left having to add gas midcorner, which throws you offline. Trim the velocity too late, and, well, there’s a wall there to catch you.

-

In preparation for my ride on the Harley, I’d taken a second stab at American Supercamp early this year. I’d fared better in my return to the flat-track school, finishing the weekend as a solid midpacker. I felt good about my progress, but there was plenty of room left to improve. In my head, I was thinking, “Man, if I don’t have things entirely wired on a one-lung Yammie 125, how damn hairball are things going to be on the big Harley?”

-

Turns out, the things you do wrong on a 125 are largely the same things you do wrong on a 750. My worst fear was bombing into a corner, forgetting I was on dirt, and hanging off the inside of the bike, road-race style. I’m a major proponent of using your body weight to corner a motorcycle whenever possible; in fast bends, I’ve invariably got one cheek off the inside of the seat on my 900-pound Harley tourer and my head out in the wind past the screen. Not because I want to look showy, but because the FL’s flexi-flyer frame takes a far more positive set in corners and is less prone to spooky oscillation at speed. In short, my hard-wired instinct is to get off the inside of the motorcycle in corners. Do that on dirt, and it’s a very short trip to the ground. Thankfully, I did not do that. I did, however, continue my yellow-bellied habit of not driving the motorcycle deep enough into the corner.

-

-

This would be a better story if I told you that I got on the thing and dug a rut in the concrete-like surface of Lodi’s short track, hanging the back end of the Harley out all the way around, engine screaming near redline, while singing “Born in the U.S.A.” in the voice of Jay Springsteen. It’d be a more entertaining yarn if I screwed up and launched myself headlong into neighboring Calaveras County. It’d even be an improvement if I got on, immediately scared the living hell out of myself, putzed around the track at 5 mph while feathering the clutch, and handed it off to the nearest person in a black-and-orange T-shirt, echoing Kenny Roberts’s famous statement after winning the Indy Mile on the flat-track version of Yamaha’s all-conquering TZ750 two-stroke four-cylinder: “They don’t pay me enough to ride that thing!”

-

The reality of it is that, despite its status as a full-race machine, the XG750R is shockingly friendly. Discretion being the better part of not destroying Harley-Davidson’s factory race bike, I did not push the XG at all. I didn’t, however, ride around terrified that the thing would spit me off at its earliest convenience. In fact, aside from the lack of a front brake and the offset pegs—the right positioned to most easily wedge one’s knee into the tank for leverage, and the left set so the foot makes an easy transition from the ground back to the controls—it felt shockingly like a motorcycle, the kind of thing you’d bomb down to the store on, commute to work on, or ride around a lake at sunset. I fell into the oddball tracker slouch, I got my outside elbow up, I wedged my right knee into the tank, I pushed the bike down, and it simply went around the track. Taken on its own, the XG750R is a wonderful machine, and I want one.

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As a competition motorbike, however, the XG has not fared well against the Indian. At the FTR’s debut race last year in Santa Rosa, California, the Polaris unit announced that they’d just happened to hire that race’s top three finishers: Bryan Smith, Jared Mees, and Brad Baker. As the Indian Wrecking Crew, the trio has been largely unstoppable in 2017. As of this writing, Mees is leading the championship with nine victories, second-place Smith has four, and the winless Baker is hanging in in third, thanks to a season packed with consistent finishes. The only non-Indian wins have come courtesy of Kawasaki riders. Briar Bauman has managed two victories, while fellow Kawi pilot Henry Wiles pulled off a win at Peoria last month. Harley has not won so far this year, and there are only two races left in the season. Think about that for a second. Harley-Davidson, the company that largely carried the sport from the 1970s into the 2010s, has not yet taken a top-rank flat-track race in 2017.

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Since Indian announced the Scout FTR750, moto geeks have been clamoring for a factory street tracker, and the disappointment in some circles was audible when, rather than an FTR-style bike, the brand announced the Scout Bobber, nothing more than a restyled version of its entry-level Scout cruiser. Regardless of the XG’s performance on the track during its inaugural full season, a street version of the XG750R seems like a fantastic way to bring younger folks into the Harley-Davidson fold.

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The hard work has already been done. Just use a production-optimized version of the one-off narrowed engine case covers that Vance & Hines ginned up for the racer, and add lights and a front brake. In the name of cost cutting, a roadgoing XG750R could gain an extra 100 pounds in the process, but it’d still be a 400-pound, 75-hp motorcycle, which can be a plenty entertaining thing. Ask anyone who owns a Yamaha FZ-07. And if you’d like more power, surely Harley’s Screamin’ Eagle performance-parts division would be happy to sell you some.

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Mopars, Monterey, and Mecum

Every August, the collector car world descends onto the Monterey Peninsula for the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance, arguably the world’s most prestigious car show. What started out decades ago as a car show on the 18th fairway of the Pebble Beach Golf Links is now a week-long series of car-focused events, spanning informal car shows held in several communities, a vintage car tour, track days for vintage racers at Laguna Seca, and the antithesis of the Pebble Beach Concours d’Elegance, the Concours d’LeMons, a celebration of the world’s worst automobiles.

For those looking to acquire a classic car, there are auctions held by RM Sotheby’s, Gooding and Company, Russo and Steele, and a name familiar to the readers of Mopar Muscle that follows the auction scene, Mecum.

While its Monterey event doesn’t attract the same number of cars as its Indy and Kissimmee events held earlier in the year, but with its emphasis on its strength, American muscle, it’s a growing event for the Wisconsin-based auction house. It stands in a bit of a contrast to the RM Sotheby’s, Gooding and Bonhams sales in Monterey with their emphasis on prewar classics and postwar European exotics, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Mercedes-Benzes, and other marques you’ve likely never heard of.

This 1-of-36, 426 Hemi/four-speed Super Track Pack 1969 Dodge Super Bee wasn’t the most expensive Mopar sold at Mecum’s Monterey auction. But it may have been the most impressive, selling at $121,000, almost right in the middle of its $115,000 to $130,000 pre-auction estimate.

We’re breaking down our coverage, focusing on the interesting Dodges, Plymouths, and Chryslers that crossed the block, those that sold, and others that caught our eye but didn’t meet the reserve. Some of those, with Mecum’s “The Bid Goes On” program, may have found new owners days, weeks, and even months after the August event.

Overall, the market remains strong for American muscle cars, but as you’ll see, there were several cars that in our estimation, based on condition and history, were well bought. Another trend we noticed is that there were several Vipers from all years on offer, starting at around $30,000. We think that this may be the performance car value of the decade.

So here’s our roundup on the noteworthy Mopars, what they sold for (if sold and we’re listing a few that didn’t) along with our comments. (Pre-auction estimate refers to what Mecum believed that the car would sell for, with the low figure being close to what the reserve price is likely to have been set.)

Dodges at Mecum Monterey

The highest price for a Mopar muscle car at Mecum Monterey was this 1970 Dodge Challenger T/A. One of 2,399 built to satisfy SCCA’s homologation requirements (one for every two Dodge dealerships), this car crossed the block at $132,000, far exceeding its pre-auction estimate of $80,000 to $100,000. An extremely well-documented car. With two broadcast sheets and three two-barrel Holly carbs, this represented the epitome of Mopar small-block performance when the E-Body Challenger was introduced for the 1970 model year.

If you like your Mopars big and powerful, you can’t do much better than this 1957 Dodge Custom Royal Lancer convertible, which found a new owner at $130,000, just under the low side of its $135,000 to $165,000 pre-auction estimate. This first-year Forward Look ragtop was equipped with the 325ci Hemi and was fully equipped with virtually every factory-installed option and was just the ticket if you couldn’t quite step up to the plate to order a Chrysler 300 Letter Series convertible.

The Gen III Hemi engine is now finding its way under the hood of many classic Mopar muscle cars, and for Monterey, Mecum offered this 1970 retro mod Dodge Challenger built by PDT Motorsports. A modern-day cruiser with a 425hp Hemi backed with a five-speed manual transmission, equipped with air conditioning, it’s certain to give its new owner a great driving experience? What we didn’t like were the gauges lifted from a 2010 Camaro. With so many options available, we ask, “why?”

This documented Hurst-built Super Stock 1968 Dodge Dart, dubbed the “Demented Dart,” has been on the auction block several times in recent years. It was a no-sale at Monterey, topping out at $95,000, far short of the low side of its $170,000 to $200,000. We’re at something of a loss to explain why this car has failed to move on to a new owner. It’s probably a combination of too high a reserve combined with there not being two motivated buyers at the same time looking to add a Hurst Hemi Dart to their Mopar muscle car collection.

This one ticked all our boxes, a 2005 Dodge Ram SRT-10 Yellow Fever Edition. A rare Ram, one of 500 built for 2005, number 138, and was one of just 200 of the 500 built with the standard cab. With 500 hp and sitting on 22-inch wheels, this truck could go from 0-60 in under five seconds, pulling .86g on the skidpad. This one seemed to sell at a market-correct price, for an example with less than 1,500 miles on the clock, selling for $56,100, at the high end of its $40,000 to $60,000 pre-auction estimate.

While one Viper sold for less (a Banshee replica built by West Coast Customs), this 18,575-mile 1998 Dodge Viper GTS coupe was our pick as an affordable snake that could double as a daily driver. The Cobra coupe-inspired bodywork looks as great today as when it was driven off the showroom floor. With subtle modifications, like the Venom-style front fascia, the Viper is a performance car bargain. Where else can you buy a car capable of 185 mph for just $35,200 (pre-auction estimate was $40,000 to $50,000)?

Plymouths at Mecum Monterey

Yes, we know what you’re saying, this isn’t a Mopar, but this 1967 Ghia 450SS is. Underneath the Giugiaro-designed Ghia bodywork, based on a previous Fiat design (how ironic is that?), beats the heart of a 1966 Plymouth Barracuda, a 273ci, 235hp Commando V-8. This Ghia 450SS was one of just 52 built, all delivered by a single dealer in Beverly Hills owned by TV producer Burt Sugarman (Midnight Special). The first 4500SS was sold to Sugarman’s friend, Johnny Carson. It carried a pre-auction estimate of $200,000 to $225,000 but stalled at $110,000.

The most expensive Plymouth to sell in Monterey was this 1 of 548 1970 Cuda convertible, with a 2018 no-expense-spared restoration. A 383, four-barrel car, its been treated to a number of sympathetic performance upgrades and the red exterior is set off by the beautiful white interior. When we look at something like this, selling for $96,250 (pre-auction estimate $80,000 – $100,000), we think we’d be hard-pressed to restore a car to this level, at this price. On the surface, this would appear to the case of a car well bought.

Another 1970 Plymouth Cuda convertible, this one that started life as a 383 car, but was rebuilt as a Hemi tribute car marked a notable no-sale at $75,000, falling far short of its pre-auction estimate of $125,000 to $150,000. This one, a former Mopar Muscle feature car, has a highly modified 426 Hemi, bored .030 over with high-performance internals. With only 14 1970 Hemi Cudas built, the tribute route remains popular, but might the seller have been better off financially, going for a more correct restoration?

If your tastes run to prewar Mopars, woodies, and barn finds, then you could have driven home in this 1941 Plymouth P12 Special Deluxe Woody station wagon, a no sale at $72,000, not reaching its reserve with a $90,000 to $110,000 pre-auction estimate. So much rarer than its Ford competitor, this beautiful Plymouth spent hidden in a barn for 47 years before undergoing a nut-and-bolt restoration that was able to retain all its original wood body. Three-row seating cars like this were the SUV and crossover vehicles of their era.

One of the Friday feature cars, this numbers-matching 1-of-410 Hemi GTX hardtops built for 1968, Plymouth’s attempt to build a gentleman’s muscle car. This car, with a pre-auction estimate of $80,000 to $100,000, sold for a very reasonable $68,200, making it a best buy among Mopar muscle cars at this year’s Monterey event. Its Burgundy Metallic exterior with matching Burgundy interior with Magnum 500 five-spoke wheels, looks every inch the upscale muscle car and represents a great value for its new owner.

You could’ve driven home from Monterey in this freshly restored 1970 Plymouth Road Runner, but it went unsold at $35,000 (no pre-auction reserve was given). The 1970 Mopars B-Bodies received a one-year-only restyling, which looks great on this Road Runner in Plum Crazy Metallic paint with flat black accents. The Cragar wheels give it the proper period-correct look. Restored just 500 miles ago, it features the standard-issue 383 V-8 backed up with an upgraded four-speed manual transmission with overdrive.

Chryslers at Mecum Monterey

The most expensive Mopar sold by Mecum at Monterey was a classic, prewar 1932 Chrysler CP8 convertible. This particular example, which carried a pre-auction estimate of $150,000 to $200,000, was hammered at $159,000. In 1992 it was an AACA National First Place winner and had only 150 miles since a body-off restoration. With its rumble seat, it represents elegance at a time during the Great Depression when most Americans wondered where their next meal was coming from.

This 1961 Chrysler 300G two-door hardtop was one of our favorite Mopars at this years’ Mecum Monterey auction. Its $88,000 selling price was just below its $95,000 to $115,000 pre-auction estimate. Why do we think the 1961 Chryslers are so cool? One word, AstroDome, referring to its revolutionary electro-luminescent, globe-style instrument cluster. With its four-place interior featuring four bucket seats, the Chrysler letter series represents a different era of glorious excess, loaded with chrome and in their last year, over-the-top fins.

Another pre-war Chrysler came in the third spot, this one a 1931 Chrysler Imperial CG roadster. At $82,500, this one moved to a new owner well below its pre-auction estimate $150,000 to $175,000 showing a continued softness in the pre-war marketplace for all but the most blue-chip, investment-grade classics. This one carries coachwork by LeBaron and is one of an estimated 100 produced in 1931, representing a time in Chrysler history when its Imperial luxury cars competed directly against Cadillac and Lincoln

The only no-sale among the five Chryslers offered by Mecum in Monterey was this 1953 Chrysler Town and Country station wagon, that stalled at $20,000, falling short of its reserve (there was no pre-auction estimate for this listing). While some characterize Chrysler styling from this era as dowdy, there is something stately about this two-tone longroof. Just one of 1.399 produced, you can be certain if you showed up at your local Cars and Coffee-type event, you will be unlikely to see another.

The final Chrysler listed by Mecum was a modern Mopar muscle car, this first-year 2005 Chrysler 300C. While some might see this as nothing more than a used car that sold for a stout $13,750, it represents the rebirth of V-8-powered, full-sized Chryslers, one of the few good things to come out of the failed DaimlerChrysler “merger of equals” that almost succeeded in destroying the marque. This one looks almost brand new with just 28,921 miles and was sold with the original window sticker and bill of sale.

Mopars at Mecum Monterey 2018, The Results

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In Alaska’s Far-Flung Villages, Happiness Is a Cake Mix

By Julia O’Malley, NY Times, Sept. 17, 2017

GAMBELL, Alaska--In a modest boardinghouse on an Alaskan island just 30 miles across the sea from Russia, a handwritten order form hangs on the refrigerator. There are photos of cakes a few women in this village can make for you: rectangles of yellow cake and devil’s food enrobed in buttercream, with local nicknames piped out in pink.

Traveling out here, where huge bones from bowhead whales litter the beach, takes a 90-minute jet ride north from Anchorage and another hour by small plane over the Bering Sea. In this vast, wild part of America, accessible only by water or air, there may not be plumbing or potable water, the local store may not carry perishables and people may have to rely on caribou or salmon or bearded seal meat to stay fed.

But no matter where you go, you will always find a cake-mix cake.

Elsewhere, the American appetite for packaged baking mixes is waning, according to the market research firm Mintel, as consumers move away from packaged foods with artificial ingredients and buy more from in-store bakeries and specialty pastry shops. Yet in the small, mostly indigenous communities that dot rural Alaska, box cake is a stalwart staple, the star of every community dessert table and a potent fund-raising tool.

“Cake mixes are the center of our little universe,” said Cynthia Erickson, who owns the only grocery store in Tanana, an Athabascan village of 300 along the Yukon River in central Alaska. “I have four damn shelves full.”

Eating in rural Alaska is all about managing the expense and scarcity of store-bought food while trying to take advantage of seasonally abundant wild foods. Cash economies are weak, utilities and fuel are expensive and many families live below the federal poverty line.

To offset the cost of living, Alaska Natives here rely on traditional practices of hunting, fishing and gathering, known as “subsistence.” In a good year, they fill freezers with moose, berries, caribou, salmon or marine mammals, depending on where they live. In a bad year, they have to buy more from the store.

The offerings in village stores often resemble those in the mini-marts or bodegas of America’s urban food deserts, at two and three times the price. Food journeys in via jet, small plane and barge. Milk and eggs spoil fast. Produce gets roughed up. Among the Hostess doughnuts, Spam and soda, cake mix is one of the few items on shelves everywhere that require actual cooking.

As a result, tricking out mixes has become a cottage industry, and many villages have a “cake lady” with her signature twist. Some bake as a hobby, while others do a brisk business selling cakes in places where getting to a bakery requires a plane ticket.

In the far north, bakers make cake with fondant photo prints of Inupiat whaling crews and serve it with mikigaq, fermented whale meat. On the western coast, mixes may be prepared with sea gull eggs. In the interior, pineapple upside-down cake is eaten with a salad made of lard, sugar, berries and whitefish. Fund-raisers known as cake walks--a variation on musical chairs--pay for coffins, support people through chemotherapy and send whole basketball teams to the Lower 48.

On a midsummer day in Tanana, people hauled king salmon from their Yukon River fish wheels, then cut and hung them to smoke on the beach. Ms. Erickson was mopping up a load of thawing produce that had come in frozen, a common shipping hiccup for rural grocers. What to do with a load of icy bananas? Use them in a cake mix.

“Sometimes you don’t have a lot of the stuff to make a regular cake,” said Ms. Erickson, who frequently bakes for St. Aloysius Roman Catholic Church. “Maybe you don’t have butter or you don’t have milk.”

But with one substitution or another, you can always make a mix cake. Mayonnaise can take the place of an egg. Some recipes call for nothing but a mix and a bottle of Sprite. The Whole Foods crowd may judge it, she said, but where she lives it makes sense.

In the wintertime, when Iditarod sled-dog mushers and Iron Dog snow machine racers pass through Tanana, everybody asks for Ms. Erickson’s rum cake. It’s her mother’s recipe, from the Athabascan village of Ruby, 120 miles downriver, made with yellow cake mix, vanilla instant pudding and a half-cup of Bacardi.

In Unalakleet, 300 miles west of Tanana on Norton Sound, Donna Erickson (no relation to Cynthia) is a noted cake lady. Her most famous creation was born in a rush to get to a community potluck. She made a white cake and poured it into a sheet pan because she knew it would bake quickly.

“I mixed orange Jell-O with two cups of bright orange salmonberries. I poured it on top of that cake and I threw it in the fridge,” she said. “People were just like, ‘Wow, can you make that again for me?’ “

Rural Alaska has some of the highest rates of accidental death and suicide in the country. When there is tragedy in Unalakleet, bakers bring cakes to the school multipurpose room and lay them on a big table with corresponding numbers. Popular flavors include salmonberry, tundra blueberry and low-bush cranberry.

Then the cake walk begins: People buy a ticket, then circle the table while music plays. When it stops, somebody draws a number out of an old coffee can. The person standing by the corresponding cake wins that one and the money goes toward healing someone’s family, Donna Erickson said.

“It’s a festive environment even though it’s a sad time,” she added. “You should see the cakes; they are so beautiful. Village bakers are so brilliant.”

In America’s northernmost town, Utqiagvik (formerly known as Barrow), the baker Mary Patkotak is an expert at gaming cake economics. She uses Betty Crocker triple chocolate fudge mix for her famous cherry-chocolate cake. In the village store, it costs $4.59 a box. On Amazon, where Ms. Patkotak orders it, it’s $1.29. Alaska’s many weather delays mean the mix never shows up on time, but she doesn’t care because it qualifies her for partial refunds on her annual Prime membership.

“I can’t remember the last time I paid the Amazon Prime fee,” she said.

She bakes when she knows a payday is coming around. She ships cakes and cupcakes to out-of-town customers who order from her Facebook page, freezing them and tucking them into the cargo hold of a small plane. “We don’t have any bakeries. We have very few restaurants,” she said. “People really crave the fresh cake.”

Last winter, Cynthia Erickson snowmobiled an old propane stove to her summer hunting camp, 50 miles northwest of Tanana on the Tozitna River. It fell apart on the way, but her husband wired it back together. She fired it up and slid in a chocolate cake.

It’s a simple thing, making a cake from a box, but when you’re doing it at 30 degrees below zero in Alaska, you feel rich, she said.

“I was, like, the camp queen!” she said. “Middle of nowhere, eating cake.”