Editor’s Note: The day after our reporter turned in this story he quit. “It was worse than boot camp,” Snake said, “I was surrounded by the best custom manufactured bikes in the industry and the hottest women Wichita could muster then drug from location to location by the mad dog of motorcycle photography, Michael Lichter.”
Snake’s been a member of Bandit’s editorial crew for over 35 years. He’s a slacker, a drunk and most of the time he’s on the verge of being fired. He’s late on assignments constantly, turns in incomplete work and hits on all the girls. He’s not even much of a mechanic. The entire Bikernet editorial crew was surprised when he received the assignment to cover the photo shoot behind the first Big Dog Swimsuit Calendar, in the hometown of the company, Wichita, Kansas. He tossed three sets of boxer shorts in a suitcase with a 12-pack of Coronas and four limes and hit it to the airport in Los Angeles.
He’ll be back, but in the meantime here’s his story.–Renegade
I’ll tell my story, all right. I was honored to have an assignment that took me farther than Burrito Mama’s to pick up lunch. Big Dog is currently the largest manufacture of American motorcycles, beyond the H-D factory. They build the sharpest array of production customs in the industry. Bandit calls ‘em the Lexus of the industry. I was pumped to be blessed with an all-expense voyage to Wichita, besides there are no girls in this third world country, between San Pedro and Long Beach California. It’s a no-girl land, ghetto on the edge of the port of Los Angeles. You can imagine the sheer joy coarsing through my bones at the thought of attending a Swimsuit shoot with the master of motorcycle photography, Mike Lichter.
That’s where my joy ended. I’ll explain. Mike Lichter kicked off his biker/photo career by shooting the Black Hills Rally, in Sturgis, for Bandit in 1981. He’s a persnickety bastard, who doesn’t have the slightest regard for a bad photo, the wrong light or a stinky pose. He’s a perfectionists and I noted the organized tenure the moment his staff hustled off the plane in Wichita, with 2-tons of equipment. Steve and Emily dashed off the plane, rented a semi and began to set up a photo studio to shoot the 2006 model line-up and the Big Dog apparel catalog, while mike and I were whisked to the suburbs looking at locations for the calendar shoot.
This was the beginning of six days of boot camp mayhem. We worked from a bugle-blown wake-up call at 5:00 every morning until the last rays of sunlight flickered over Mount Vernon. When we weren’t shooting two bikes at once in a brisk morning 30-minute window, I was holding reflectors in 100 degree July swelter. Between mad rush morning shoots, while the sun rose rapidly in the eastern sky, and sunset shoots where we moved bikes inch by inch to maintain the proper light, we ran to the portable Lichter studio to shoot new models, then to another location for apparel photography.
Between taking notes, holding reflectors, organizing apparel, lifting bikes onto loading docks and reloading truck loads of Nikon camera equipment, I couldn’t grab a beer or hit on a local Wichita model. The frustration was extreme as I gazed at the model test shots, not the bikes, the girls. Mike’s a devout family man and he looked at the girls’ curves as if they were the lines of a Big Dog painted fender.
Mike’s crew was made up of somber Steve, recently married, a man with the passion of an egg timer, then there’s Emily. A little brunette with big dark eyes who attracted me like Billy Lane to a fifth of Jack Daniels. She was off limits, under the constant fatherly scrutiny of Master Lichter. That still left me with at least 12 models and half the population of Wichita. How could I go wrong? I was the new guy in town. Except I couldn’t breath. “Snake,” Mike snapped. “Grab that 3-foot diameter reflector quick, and roll that K-9 back a foot. We’re losing light.”
The days turned into a blur of blistering heat and camera settings. Ultimately, in six days the Lichter crew shot over 200 images that were used in the Big Dog Calendar, their catalog and for new model presentations. We have a serious selection right here on Bikernet. Here’s the goddamn Calendar rundown.
January
That’s Kelly, a lanky Wichita girl, with a bathing suit that looked like a couple of Hobbie Kat sails. I tried over and over to get close enough to her navel to seriously inspect her glittering piercings. I would have worked my way up from there, but Mike barked at me, as if he was the protective father of every model. This black stretched K-9 Big Dog was shot in a place called the yard on the edge of town. It’s an old dilapidated junkyard of industrial buildings. The afternoon light was fading on the surreal flame job as Mike shouted orders.
My hand yearned for Kelly’s cleavage and got no closer than a 4-by-8-foot sheet of foam core board, used to reflect light onto her sultry soft skin and the hard-to-shoot black stretched Big Dog frame with adjustable shocks, a hidden oil bag, easily retractable rear-mounted kickstand and low seat position.
The K-9 Engine was polished 117-inch brute power, with a S&S Super G carb, single-fire ignition, electronic compression releases (to save the starter), and a safety electronic kill switch.
During lunch breaks that were chow fests under the constant scrutiny of Mr. Lichter, we rode some of the bikes. With their exclusively designed right side drive transmissions and balance drive lines, 300 tires weren’t cumbersome.
Once on board the K-9 I contemplated hitting any interstate for an escape run, but Kelly’s cleavage pulled me back.
February
I fell in love outside an old Tire repair joint on the edge of town. Something about those sunglasses and the way she sat on that 21-inch Pitbull tire. Mike barked at me as I offered to lace up her shoes. He shot every bike at three different angles to afford his clients a variety of images to choose from. She didn’t bring a bathing suit and I liked her outfit.
The sun was drifting and we moved bikes mere inches to capture the perfect lighting on her thighs and that long and low crimson rigid frame. The key to the Big Dog growth is fit and finish, exclusively designed contoured controls and reliability. I knew if I could grab that Pitbull and Amanda during a smoke break, I could be long gone with that helical geared 6-speed transmission and a 4.6 gallon gas tank that would blast through 200 miles before I’d be force to stop to refuel.
I wanted her bad, but it wasn’t in the cards. Broke my heart.
March
The shot for the 2006 black and blue, stretched, rigid Ridgeback took place back in the yard. Mike barked at us to set up three tripods for his high-dollar digital equipment so he could shoot multiple bikes. I was staggered by the babes. Emily breathed in my ear, Julian wore a skimpy bathing suit and another model, Liz, enticed me. I didn’t know whether to go cross-eyed or… I tried to focus on Mike’s rapid orders and darted from one shoot to the next.
I grew up with Southern California Blondes and Jillian fit the mold, straddling that 9-foot long chassis and wide glide with 41-mm tubes pressing against her tanned legs as the afternoon sun and 100 degrees beat against he surfer girl features. Beach side bimbos never fit the biker mold. We needed dark-haired girls so the grease stains would match. I itched for Amanda, from the February shoot, as Mike barked orders in my direction. “We’re burnin’ daylight,” Mr. Lichter snapped. Same words Bandit barks at me constantly. I was beginning to think the coast was more laid back. I reached for a Corona and Emily slapped my hand.
April
The next morning we were rousted with another 5:00 a.m. wake-up called and driven to an alley on the outskirts of town. “We need to shoot the first bike before any direct sunlight hits the building,” Mike outlined during his morning missions. Even outlining the daily goals made me sweat. Then Wendy strolled into the picture wearing only a tight fitting wife beater, and I could sense my hands quiver. This was torture. She leaned against the textured historic brick wall surrounded by a cobblestone street and her knee touched that glossy K-9 steel fender and I melted down.
I sensed it was this re-hab boot camp Bandit lured me to endure. No booze, no broads, yet surrounded by them for six days. Fuck!
Mike tried to keep my mind of the bottom seam of that shirt by ordering me to move the stretched Softail with matching billet wheels, rotors, and pulley just an inch up, then an inch back to dodge the morning sun. With the ideal background, Wendi leaned, just so, against the harsh brick and that T-shirt hem slid up her thigh perfectly… That’s enough. I couldn’t take it, I was breaking down.
May
Liz watched me check out the other models and sneered at me while she posed with the 2005 Bulldog with rear air suspension and 37 degree raked frame. Big Dogs have a together appearance and I give ‘em points for the contoured hand controls, grips, foot controls and matching, rubber inlaid, pegs. The mirrors, turn signals and fender struts are distinctive and capture the flow to make all the elements work together. The triple trees and rear axle covers scoop with the design of the wheels and pulley to give the bike a sharp-edged finished look.
Liz was giving me a sharp edged glare, but the novice Wichita model looked natural posed with the low-slung Bulldog, at the end of the day against the steel fabrication building on the edge of town. The sun dipped fast, Mike shouted orders and I prayed for happy hour and a chance meeting with Amanda. Another long day crept to an end as the light diminished and the clock pointed at 8:00 p.m.
June
Just when I thought I was going to survive the Lichter Rehab Boot Camp the morning alarm went off at 4:45. We were mustered to quarters early, snorted cups of coffee and rolled out to the Wichita warehouse district. Standing at attention alongside the Lichter Studios Company Humvee we were given our orders for the day. “Set up lights and tripods on pallets,” Mike shouted over a massive bullhorn. “We’re shooting the first bike on that loading dock.”
I spit at the ground and tried conjuring that No Problem, I can handle anything, look. Then it dawned on me that we had to lift the bike onto the loading platform, 5-feet off the ground. Damn! I ditched out to the back of the truck for another Krispy Kreem donut. I looked down the long alley and wondered if I had a chance of cutting out. Then another aspect hit me. Maybe the girl would need similar lifting. The though of wrapping my arms around another Kansas sweetie kept me hanging on.
Time drifted by as we set up the equipment and Mike paced up and down the alley tapping his watch as if he could make time slow down. He pondered the late morning studio shoots, the apparel girls waiting, the stale lunch and my whining. The model was late and so was the 2006 Ridgeback. There was nothing we could do, except endure Mr. Lichter’s incessant harangue. You would have thought I snagged the model, Kristin, and poured her full margaritas the previous night. A lovely thought, but I was innocent. He accused me of hitting on Emily. I was guilty, but denied it. I couldn’t win.
Finally the long and tall, Bandit Style, 300 back tire Ridgeback arrived with a redesigned stretched one-piece fuel tank, and so did Kristen. We hefted the bike onto the loading dock in front of the historic brick wall and the sun behaved itself. The shot was stellar.
July
Everything slipped into place as we rolled the 2006 Big Dog Chopper into the old single-family-owned garage on the edge of town. The family youngsters refurbished the gutted historic building, and turned it into a Wichita Saloon. We ducked the heat; the bike looked fine, then in walked Jahree.
“I like the ethnicity aspect,” Michael quipped about Jahree’s complexion and heritage, while I wanted to trace her six-pack abs with my tongue. When she smiled the whole block building lit up and the paint peeled off the walls.
I stood there like a kid unleashed in a candy store. A euphoric haze wafted over me when Jahree’s eyes lit up. Then Director Lichter snapped for me to open the antique shop doors, move his precious tripod and hold a reflector just so. Oh, and make sure I was clear of the shot. Don’t want no snakes reflecting in all that Big Dog Chopper Chrome.
She mesmerized me with every curve, every smile and her light, relaxed banter. There’s nothing like a true stretched and raked to 37 degree, chopper and a girl who likes a good time.
August
I’m confused and studied the subtle nuance differences between the fluorescent K-9 and the Chopper. The K-9 is raked to 39 degrees and has a 300 rear tire, versus the 250 on the Chopper with 37 degrees rake in the frame. It’s a subtle price point, ‘cause both bikes carry the Big Dog styling cues in the controls, wheels, rotors, pulley, and sleek wide glide front end.
Between staring at the wild paint and trying to count the bling jewels in Paige’s navel I was busy. We were tucked into the other end of the family garage with the front wheel poised dangerously close to the edge of an old mechanic’s pit. Mike and Steve set up a smoke machine, but a high- temps relieving breeze restricted its usefulness to a slight haze over the front wheel. “I try the smoke ingredient in an effort to capture rays of light streaming through the windows,” Mr. Lichter explained and blamed the failed attempt on me.
Paige attempted to rescue me, but Steve headed her off with outlaw and creepy, big city, biker tales. She decided Wichita was a safer home.
September
We were all in trouble while shooting September. The daily workload and diet of Krispy Kreem donuts and coffee wore on us. Moving sluggishly to Mr. Lichter’s distain, we were burning too much daylight while back in the industrial junkyard as the sun settled hurriedly in the west. I couldn’t move the bike fast enough. Steve, Mr. Tripod, couldn’t keep up with multiple equipment moves, while Mike attempted to shoot two bikes and the sun said,” Adios.”
Although Whitney’s resume indicated an experience with FHM magazine, she wasn’t comfortable with the camera. Maybe she was caught in a New York Party shot? Mike is the President of the Colorado Photographers association, but he didn’t like my notion of the crew going on strike. We were beat, but that rigid Ridgeback called to Master Michael, his assistant Steve and I. It spoke of the industry.
”Not too long ago,” Steve said, “we would be dazzled to shot a bike feature of a bike this well designed and built. Now they build them daily, and warranty them for years.” We all took pause and admired the workmanship, the components, fit and finish. Then Mike started barking orders again…
October
Tricia also graced the Big Dog Calendar Cover with her finger tucked into the band of her bikini bottoms, as if she was she was wearing Levis and standing in a country western barn. There was something so much more enticing about delivering that move to her her bikini bottoms. We stared and moved the Big Dog Mastiff under her delicate grasp.
As I held the warming reflector bouncing wonderful light on her soft skin as I checked out the rough texture of the busted glass and tin building in the background, then compared it to the black low 2006 Mastiff that was as refined as a Rolex watch, with floating rotors, LED taillights, a high-output charging system, ground trigger switching and an innovative EHC (Electronic Harness Controller). There was no hard wiring for quality, easier servicing, more advanced diagnostics and repair ease.
Again we were fighting the rapidly changing morning light, then running to shoot studio beauty shots, catalog shots and apparel, before praying for another glorious sunset.
The Mastiff was more my size, long, with a new stretched tank (4.6 gallon capacity), 4-inch ground clearance, 250mm, rear tire, just a 2-over wide glide front end and 39 degree rake. It called to me to steal the woman from the harsh realities of that jagged building, on something as refined as the curve of her cheek, and tear outta town.
I was daydreaming again.
November
One mo’ time Mike whistled to drag the crew from our required sleeping barracks, where no philandering or drinking was allowed, and muster for duty. It rained on us at the junkyard as we hoisted the 2006 Big Dog Chopper onto another concrete loading dock some 5-feet off the ground.
I was tempted to plead for medicare/workmanscomp claims when T’Lane walked onto the set wearing that black skin-tight nightie and tall leather boots. It was cold and I dug a blanket out of the Lichter Limo and carefully wrapped the model for comfort and handling. When she slipped the black net gauntlets up her forearms and laced ‘em tight I looked for a riding crop and Emily prevented me from removing my shirt for a whipping.
“She’s not that kind of girl,” Emily said and dismayed I returned to my Lichter Studio Junior Assistant duties. I had a tough time focusing on my Bikernet undercover study of the differences between the 2006 Big Dog Chopper and the equally sharp tall K-9. Digging around I discovered that the K-9 weighs 37 pound more than the Chopper at 690 pounds. The chopper is stretched 3 inches out and 7 up, while the K-9 configuration called for 4 out and 8 up. The similar Chopper fuel capacity was 3.8 gallons against the 4.4-gallon K-9 tank. The sleek Chopper wide glide was 10 inches over stock against the K-9 1 foot. Performance brake systems were the same as well as the 117-inch engines, but rear tires varied from the 250 on the Chopper for the 300 K-9 choice. The distinctions were as close as XL and XXL.
They were both bad ass monsters, but T’Lane fit the shot like a dream and her demeanor called to the chopper world, of late nights barking through city streets, all- night clubs and crawling through apartment windows. Could be fun.
December
Deborah lost her patience with Mike’s perfectionist’s dialog. “Shoot this sucka,” she snapped and spread her legs. We all stopped dead in our tracks. Emily smacked me in the back of my head to dislodge my line of sight and I looked up the street and it dawned on me. It was Friday. The old cobble stone street was lined with art galleries, studios and nightclubs. As we moved the bikes once more for a fresh angle and to capture the last glimmer of sunlight, neon began to twinkle on in the background.
I sensed the rumble of 117 cubic inches and the end of the longest workweek of my life. We peeled through nearly 90 hours of solid, non-stop work in six days. As the final digital-camera-shudder-sound fired I straddled that K-9, asked Deborah if she wanted to ride, and in Bandit’s honor, cut a dusty trail on that long stretched monster. She rode like no 300 I ever straddled.
As the sun set we disappeared over the horizon, only to return to the nightclub district and burn an all-nighter. I was back on track.
For Big Dog info go to: http://www.bigdogmotorcycles.com/
