Mini-Bike Coast To Coast
Mini-Bike Coast To Coast
This is the story of a mini-bike named Mimi who had the courage and faith in herself to begin a long, arduous trip from New York City to Los Angeles. This is her story of the 3,808 mile adventure in her own words . . .
Mimi Livingstone
Wm. Glen Davis
I first saw my traveling companion at the freight office Idlewild Airport on June 9th, just before our departure. Bill is skinny and quite a funny looking character.
As for myself, I was born in Azusa, California, in the back of the Go-Kart factory with the assistance of Duffy Livingstone, my Father. Duffy built me from a basic “Scrambler” frame. The only difference being modifications for the highways and roads. I have sturdy fenders, a chrome headlight and tail-light; also a nice rack on my back for Bill’s suitcase and my army surplus tent. My “Kit Bag” which hangs on my right side, is for our tools, extra sprockets, chain oil, and road maps.I have a bright yellow California license plate, and the usual Go-Kart Candy Apple Red paint job.
At birth my weight was only 85 lbs., dripping wet. We found later, to our astonishment, that my weight jumped to 155 lbs., loaded for the road and topped off with my 2Vi gallon capacity.
My name originally was Mini-Bike. Bill changed it before we started from Idlewild, however, and gave me the name I now go by; Mimi. I’m named after a sweet, charming, French girl he knew in Paris.
My heart, and something naturally vital to my welfare, is a Power Products Super 58, two-cycle, 5.8 cubic inch engine. As we crossed the Continental Divide (7,300 ft.) we impetuously named my engine Valiant. After arrival in Los Angeles, we retired Valiant to the “Home for Tired Coast to Coast Mini-Bike Engines.” Valiant proved itself over and beyond the call of duty.
Bill started out driving slowly and gently, as he had no previous experience with mini-bikes. Thank Heaven for this, because we got lost twice before even getting out of Idlewild. We drove inside, but they informed us politely, that minibikes were not allowed . . . house-broken or not!
We watched our first sunrise together while driving across New Jersey. In Pennsylvania we visited Gettysburg and Somerset; also Bradford, where they manufacture Zippo lighters. Bill toured the factory, but they wouldn’t let me in.
While crossing Ohio we almost got run over by a thoughtless man in a station wagon. I was by that time, however, becoming hardened as all cycles do sooner or later, to the selfish drivers with four wheels.
Due to Bill’s exuberance, the starter cord broke as we arrived tired and dirty in Toledo. We called a friend named Carlos in Detroit (pronounced DEEtroit), who came down to help us. I fit easily into the trunk of his Pontiac even though fully loaded with our road gear. The blackness inside the trunk frightened me, and I didn’t like the 55 mile trip to Detroit one bit. (We deducted this 55 miles from the mileage total, as my feet were not on the ground).
We rested in Detroit for 8 days. I was not feeling well, so Bill took me to a hospital named “Kart Sales.” While I was recuperating I overheard a man named Wally say: “We found June bugs, flies, mosquitos, rocks, assorted twigs, grass, and a half pint of water in her gas tank.”
No wonder I was sick!
A Sunday was spent taking photographs before our departure from Detroit. During the photo action I met my first motorcycle. He came up from behind and the rider talked with Bill. I looked up at this mighty behemoth, and said, “Hello.”
I loved his fluorescent blue paint job, and his huge chrome horns. Everything under the sun seemed to be included in his outfit. He grunted, then in a deep grumble asked, “I’m a Harley-74, what in hell are you? I blushed and looked up in awe, then proudly replied, “I’m a mini-bike five and four-fifths . . .”
After our rest, we headed for Indianapolis. At Indy, Bill and I decided to attempt breaking the existing world record for 24 hours. (Previous record; 285 miles.) We spent a day and a half preparing for the record run at Go-Kart’s distributor in Indianapolis, The Tool Shed. The departure was at noon during lots of confusion, and fussin’ . . .
Even though we both slept six of the 24 hours, ate two meals, and got lost twice, we covered a distance of 324 miles, ending at Cuba, Missouri. After resting for two hours in Cuba, we continued on to Springfield, Mo., a distance of 140 miles.
The Salvation Army took care of us in Springfield. I slept in the lobby of their hotel; Bill took a bed. I overheard some men say that this was the first time a mini-bike had ever received help from the Salvation Army.
We slept in barns, restaurants, fields of hay, near small rivers, and in the desert three times. I didn’t like the desert for sleeping, because I’m afraid of rattlesnakes. The most restful night was in a Pennsylvania graveyard. One of the most interesting was in New Mexico, in a pool hall.
My power drive utilizes #35 chain throughout, and transmits through a jackshaft system with a Max Torque centrifugal clutch. The small sprockets are hardened Tab-Loc; all are easily changeable. We obtain various ratios by changing the one on the right side of my jackshaft. I have five different speeds:
14 tooth — My Triumph Tromper. 13 tooth — My Pikes Peak Peaker. 12 tooth — My Traffic De-Congester. II tooth — My Death Valley Defier. 10 tooth — My Bonneville Blow ’Em off Wipe ’Em out sprocket . . .
For coming across our nation, Duffy installed a fantastic “Snow Tire” on my rear end. On my front is the usual “Scrambler Grabber” tire. Since the arrival, Duffy has installed a “Scrambler Grabber” on my rear so it would be easier for me to navigate the tricky mountain passes of Hollywood Hills. (The police are prejudiced against mini-bikes in regard to freeways, but I suppose it is for our own good.) From what I understand,
I am not the largest cycle ever made!
Many interesting things were added to my traveling outfit during our trip. For example, on Flag Day we were given a wonderful flag that had been in front of a gas station for 20 years. The owner, a marvelous 86-year-young gentleman in the Alleghenies, wanted us to carry his Stars and Stripes across the nation. Another time, I woke up with a smiling face on my headlight which had been painted on carefully by two friends named Don and Greasy Hound Dog. I’ve been smiling ever since.
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In Dallas, Texas, after cutting down through Kansas, and Oklahoma, we visited a nice fellow named Carl. We stayed five days in Dallas, which included a marvelous Fourth of July. It had not been our purpose, before, to maintain any kind of high speed average. After leaving Dallas, however, we decided to stop messin’ around. Dawn till dusk was the standard after that, and we covered the 1,500 remaining miles to Los Angeles in just over 7 days.
One of the few failures was the sparkplug in Valiant’s head. The very high RPM and sustained speed of 40-plus, brought the usual trouble of plug fouling. Eventually the hole stripped out, and Bill had to stop at Flagstaff, Arizona.
Luck was with us, though, and we fell into a den of Hondas. A full 24 hours was spent in Flagstaff, and we received real swell help from George McMullen, and a friend named Huey, of Babbitt’s Marine & Cycle. The forest around Flagstaff was magnificent. Bill and I slept under a tree so tall I couldn’t see the top. The next morning I said my farewells to the Hondas in Babbitt’s place. I didn’t know much Japanese, but I smiled and pretended I did. Bill did teach me to say . . . “Domozurugato.” It means thank you, but I got it all mixed up. The Hondas didn’t seem to mind, though.
The Mojave Desert didn’t turn out as badly as expected. We crossed during the early evening, and stopped only once for gas at the halfway point. The distance from Las Vegas to just outside Barstow, Calif., (135 miles) was tossed to the sandy winds at the rate of about four hours.
After Barstow, Bill and I didn’t have much trouble finding Los Angeles. We could easily see the blanket of smog from a great distance.
Bill and I spent a total of 24 days on the road. We covered 3,808 miles from Idlewild to Los Angeles . . . and crossed 13 states. Since arrival I’ve clocked another 200 miles, and have been in for my 4,000 mile check-up at Go-Kart. A friend has installed a dash panel with a Triumph speedometer, so we won’t have to use a road map for distance recording any longer. My speedo is red-lined at 90/2 MPH for safety reasons.
My dash is also equipped with a much needed altimeter, and a roll and bank indicator from a submarine. For future trips in Nevada and Arizona, we have a radiation counter that informs us if we get too close to where they are practicing blowing up the world. It registers in “Milligoofins”?
Our speed, by the way, varies with every conceivable condition. The wind direction, for example, has a great deal to do with speed. Also, large mountains, trucks, cars, bugs, the number of people riding me, and of course the drive ratio from engine to rear wheel, all affect my speed.
The only time we were stopped by police, was when a special road-block in West Texas was set up for Bill and me. Four officers were needed for OUR road-block. They were told, by a practical joker, that a giant motorcycle was entering town. Actually, they were very nice to us, and wanted to drive me after the fanfare settled down.
The only spill was when we came off a 115° run across the desert from Carlsbad to Roswell, New Mexico. We ran into a heavy rain squall. I got frightened and didn’t know what to do ... so I bucked Bill off, right and proper. Afterward, he patiently explained to me what a rain squall was, and I never bucked him off again. I now have a battle scar on my front fender to remind me not to be afraid of nature.
Now, about DOGS. Bill has tried to explain to me how they are. But never . . . NEVER, in my short career have I seen anything as horrible (except perhaps automobile drivers). I don’t care what anyone says, dogs still continue to scare me out of my wits. Every size, shape, and form have chased us from time to time. Once, four hungry dogs chased us. That was a narrow escape, let me tell you. (Not mentioning parking problems).
People are always asking us silly questions, so here are a few answers:
We crossed 255 bridges.
We passed 1 moth ball factory.
We stopped at 114 cafes, coffee shops, and restaurants. (Names upon request, if desired.)
I got scared 17 times.
We passed 38 cars, 4 trucks, and 1 jeep. (Not counting city traffic.)
Ran out of gas 6 times.
Bill’s hat blew off 3 times.
We passed 112 graveyards.
Noticed more dead dogs in Oklahoma than any other state.
We met 3 horses, 4 turtles, and 1 frog. (Names upon request.)
During the entire trip . . . only 1 flat. (Last day, naturally.)
We met 48 waitresses in the various restaurants. (Names upon request.)
We went through 2 sand storms.
Bill spent $20.06 for my food; (47 1 /8th gallons ... 23 quarts of oil for mix.) Approx: 80 MPG.
We spent $43.49 on Bill’s food.
(He has a much larger appetite than I.)
Recommendations for the future development of Mini-bikes:
Racing fairings for high speed runs at Bonneville, and Daytona, and drag chutes for stopping at the end of the drag strips.
Bacardi Rum is what I happily recommend for long distance trips such as ours. You never can tell when you might run out of gas, and Bacardi Rum works fine. (The factory states that their engines will not run on Rum . . . but you ask Valiant. He loved running out of gas.)
All in all, it was a wonderful adventure. Indians once tried to make Mimi-burgers out of me. but I’d still do the whole trip over again if I got the opportunity.
I didn’t learn one bad habit while crossing the continent . . . but in Long Beach I was taught how to do a wheelie by a funny guy named Joe ...”
