The November Wind

In the course of human existence, there are generational touchstones that result in a uniform experience that transcends the barriers of race, of creed, of culture. For our parents it was the day the first man landed on the moon. For our parents’ parents it was V-E day, or V-J day, or any of the many other moments, frozen like iron in the consciousness of that Greatest Generation.

And what was that rallying moment for our generation? Our generation, this Lost Generation of latchkey kids, of Just Say No, of Alf, the Smurfs, Turbo Teen? Of Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids, of Jell-O Pudding Pops? Rainbow Brite, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, the SuperFriends? Of C3POs? The cereal?

It was all that, and nothing more.

But time passes on, and pays no heed to the whims of the futile. With it the small victories and large defeats; the short, high highs, the long, low lows; and the stink and the sweat of earning the right to breathe that make life "life" all pass by in an ever-accelerating plummet to the bottom of a 6’x3’ hole in the ground, leaving nothing but the drained and wasted shell of what you were, and what you could have become.

But time passes on, and on it passes, minute into minute, hour into hour, as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of…Something. Something that can make the interminable plummet bearable, if only for a moment. For some people, Something can be found on bended knee, in filtered light on holy ground. For others, Something is metered out in fifths, and drowns them in the amber shades of liquid regret. For still others, Something is found at night, wrapped in lace and smelling of lavender, and just as easily lost when the sun rises from its slumber.

But for a few, a grim, lucky few, that Something is found in a Sisyphean attempt to be added to the ranks of The Remembered, to have their names chiseled upon the rocky face of history, to best time itself and slow the plummet to a crawl so that while their bodies may wither and rot, and their souls may roast eternally in the fires of the damned, their names will live on as generations upon generations, stretching out in rank and file as far as the horizon, will know them, them The Remembered, them whose names were not stolen by the shifting sands of time.

There are such men among us. Their generation is built on the hollow plastic of pop culture and the empty promises of faith and optimism unfulfilled. Their generation has no Omaha Beach to call its own. But these men, for Men they are and not simply boys grown old, have a hunger that cannot be slaked by rum or women or God Himself. They are caged beasts, held against their will in a business-casual world. They are buccaneers, longing to drag a rusted blade across the throat of their oppressor, even as they agree to stay another hour to finish their report. They are spectral knights, who wander, incorporeal, through the streets of civility, longing only for the ringing of steel on steel as they test their mettle on the field of battle. They long, so that when the dust has settled, when the light is dim and the fog rolls over the dead, the rays of a dying sun may shine last upon their standard, still planted, still flying.

There still beats, in the heart of this America, the pulse of a warrior. Team Huey Newis & the Lose does not ask for victory, handed lightly by a society where there is no second place. They ask for competition.

They ask that you open the cage and unleash the beast.

That you hide the women and run up the black flag.

That you pipe in the standard.

Cry havoc.
And let slip the dogs of war.

Uh... Guys, don't we have a race soon?

Its been a while since our last post. I'd like to say its because we've been busy celebrating our triumphant victory, or working on our top secret project, or something other than the truth.
Yes, we blew our head gasket early on in Reno, and we haven't really done much since.


But Willows is fast approaching.
Our mostly-employed team is ready to spend some quality time on the car.
We have to beat I Wanna Roc.
There's far too much Tecate and PBR at the local Safeway.
Huey Newis is getting back to work.

See you in Willows, Nov 20-22!

Manifesto, Part Duh

This writeup comes courtesy of our own Andrew. Thats why we pay him the big bucks kids.

The 80’s were nothing if not an exciting time, full of high expectations and promise. Reagan was in office and deregulation was in full swing, with everything from electrical utilities to animal husbandry being privatized for future ruin. The cocaine pipeline was fully dilated, sending eight-balls of the purest powder straight into the soft tissue of tomorrow’s leaders. Whether it was the coke or the optimism, the laissez-faire 70’s had been ground into dust, replaced by the desire to reinvent the world in the image of…Tony “Scarface” Montana? You know, the “pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps” part, not the "snorting a pile of coke and dying in a hail of gunfire" part.

Human nature always overcomes, and the true nature of humans is outright laziness. As evidence, I give you movie sequels. Despite the heady optimism of the era, the sequels from the 80s were some of the worst ever conceived. In fact, “conceived” might be too kind of a word, as most of the sequels appeared to have been shat out after a night of binging on tequila, curry and Aqua-Net sprayed into a paper bag.

As evidence, I give you such celluloid gems as The Karate Kid Part II, where Ralph Macchio goes all the way to Japan to get his ass kicked; Gremlins 2, where a cute furball gets wet and turns into a monster (Sounds like my prom date, HEEEY-OOOOOO!! – Ed.); and Iron Eagle 2, the ultimate sad derivative of the original that was itself ripped off from Top Gun. Crappy movies begat crappy movies until it turned into a Mobius strip of fucking lame.

Is there a point to this diatribe? Huey Newis and the Lose and its rad 85 Mustang GT may well represent the 80s, but the team’s second run at the 24 Hours of Lemons will not be the motorsports equivalent of Teen Wolf 2. As a team, we have sworn a blood oath to be faster, stronger, louder, cuter, tanner (WTF? – Ed.) and more competitive than the original effort. We will do this through thoughtful improvements to the vehicle and our pit strategy. We will do this by not breaking down…ever. We will do this by building a time machine and going back to a time when the Mustang was new and reliable. Okay, maybe not that last part. Because seriously, a reliable Mustang doesn’t exist unless you’re talking about an actual horse. Regardless, given the opportunity to race at Reno-Fernley, Team Huey Newis and the Lose will sweep away those lingering images of suck from the 80s, give you a snootful of optimism and maybe – just maybe – drag home a bag of nickels for their trouble.

Getting Stronger

With all of the "necessary" safety items addressed during the last race, the team really has very little to do. At least half of our time is spent pulling pranks on our underpowered brethren, team I Wanna Roc.


Since we also had a garage full of questionable suspension components, we figured it couldn't hurt to throw 'em on and see if we can get the Mustag a little more nimble around the turns. Using the previously mentioned worn out shocks and sway bars, the car still sat way too tall. This is where MY expertise comes in.

People from Napa know Wine. People from San Diego surf and go to Glamis, brah.
I, however am from Manteca, California. Per capita NOBODY has more clapped out hoopties dropped to the ground than we do. Rather than spend money on fancy lowering springs, lets just cut off a coil or two.







Ben also took this time to cover up the damage from when he spun out, stalled, and was towed in last race. While he worked on that I watched Karate Kid. Our car needs a Cobra Kai logo now.

Ghettocharge!

So fans often ask me "Weston, if you only have 500 dollars to spend on your car, how can you possibly afford to make it go faster?"
The best part about LeMons is how complex that question really is. Truth be told, you can do nearly anything you want to the car so long as its not throwing money at it. LeMons encourages, nay, ADORES to see teams trying to implement banned or outlawed technology on their racecars.
So clearly we're looking to go fast on the cheap. Junkyards, Used Parts, Custom Fabrication, and Craigslist are the surest path to victory. To help free up some funds for these parts I decided to float a few craigslist ads to try and sell parts we weren't using. Window Glass, Fog Lights, Interior, we don't need any of this junk. Any money we make on it can go back towards the 500 dollar limit. Let me tell you, people really want Mid 80's GT parts.
The first big score was Mustang Dude. Mustang Dude responded to my ad and wanted to know about the race more than he wanted the parts. After telling him what we were really after (suspension upgrades) he loads up half his garage and drags a bunch of rusty, used sway bars and worn out shocks to Alameda. Straight up trade for the seats and seat belts.
Total cost: $0.00 RAD!

Back to the Grind(er)

Hello folks!

Now is that time where most teams would relax, calm down, and reflect on their previous achievements. The Lose is not that team. Already we're buying and selling parts and planning work weekends, with the Reno race only 4 months out, we'd like to have our car prepped with a little more lead time than the last minute dash of last year. Expect more pictures and documenting of the shaky irrefutable evidence on the go-faster parts we've prepared this time!

Maybe this thing will get so big the man himself (Huey Lewis) will catch wind of it. If we're lucky, he'll send us a cease and desist letter (though more likely he'll tell us we're stupid).
either way, our address is right here: email