Enough of your fractured fables ,get to the part where you loose your marbles and are foaming at the mouth with a gas can a lighter in your hand and the f14
Silence, RubberSphincter...I'm getting there. This thread has taken a slight detour. But, the backstory is important, so as to put the whole BlunderJet debacle into perspective. I guess I'm telling this tale, so that it frames things in such a way... so that you, the reader, gets the whole picture of where I was coming from, and which direction my riding was going at the time, right up to the point I got tangled up with that POS BlunderJet.
That part of the story is classic. So, stay tuned. But here's the thing... I have to locate the infamous tape. It's on VHS. Then, I have to figure out how to copy the tape to digital format, so that I can share it.
In the meantime...back to the tale. It's the summer of 1988, and we're hitting the [Colorado]river hard. Pretty much every weekend. I'm starting to hone my chops as far as freestyle goes. But, having the fastest ski around is equally as important. In between bouts of doing tricks, we would break into impromptu drag races.
Bragging rights, you know? Chicks dig a fast jet skiier... or so we thought.
The result of repeated WOT runs took a heavy toll, though. I was grenading top ends, and even cranks, at an alarming rate. The more I modified that 550... the frequency of DNF's went up. I had to decide between going fast, or doing tricks.