Bob T. on his latest acquisition, a 2003 FLH Standard.
Bob T. supplies Bikernet with antique motorcycle images on a regular basis. As it turned out I rode with him in the early '70s. Through Bob I met his Brother Chris T. who also contributes to Bikernet and produces stickers for Bikernet.com and Jesse James. But this story unfolded just the other day when we received an e-mail from Bob with the following quote, ” SHE`S BACK…I am still in shock. Nothing was changed, except the motor was rebuilt. And it started on the first kick. I have never been happier.”
The original stock Superglide.
Some 30 years ago he was laid off from Hughes Aircraft after his stint in the Marines, as a Small Arms instructor at Camp Pendleton. His pops hated bikes, but he was also ousted from Hughes at the same time–cut backs. “Dad bought a Der Wienersnitzel and was making a living, so he bought another one on Torrance Blvd. in Southern California,” Bob said. “He put me to work.” His dad got divorced, changed his ways, bought a 350 Yamaha and a sportscar. Both he despised during his family-man era. Bob thought his dad had lost it, but felt the freedom to jump for a new '71 Super Glide for $2,695 in December of '72. It was red and black with pin stripping. He just rode around town, green as hell.
Bob rode that Shovel in various stages for 30 years then sold it four years ago. He currently owns a blacked out Fatboy and a 2003 Standard. Along with decades as a contractor he also collected knives, and recently used Ebay to unload them so he could upgrade his house for his handicapped son. He had money in the bank and the construction process was nearly completed when the phone rang and a distant voice said, “My neighbor wants to buy the Shovel, but I told you I would give you first shot, if I ever decided to sell it.”
Bob was caught completely off guard. “I'll buy it,” he shouted into the receiver. “Hell, I'll give you an extra 100 bucks.” His day was shot. He stumbled around the house like a million buck lottery winner. He was in a daze, unsure he hadn't slipped into Twilight Zone mist. “It was so weird,” Bob muttered. His wall clock slowed to a snail's pace. A black pickup pulled into his Yucca Valley driveway and there it was. “He hadn't changed a thing,” Bob shook as he saw a motorcycle that had covered three decades and over 100,000 miles at his side.
“It was always your bike,” the previous owner said stepping out of the cab. Another old riding partner jumped out of the passenger seat laughing. “I couldn't wait to see your face,” he shouted.
The new owner rebuilt the engine after 100,000 miles. “It still ran when I sold it four years ago,” Bob said. “He showed me a piston, and it was nearly split in two.” The only other change was the new speedometer. “The tranny has never been rebuilt. It still has Andrews 1st and 2nd gears.”
Over thirty years the Superglide slid through a number of transitions. “I painted it black with purple flames,” Bob said, but then the bike was transformed into a true rigid chopper in all black.”
“I was working with Custom House in Hawthorne, California and they used my bike for a feature in SuperCycle in 1976.” They wanted a bobber style so they had Ron Tessensohn paint murals on the tanks. Bob still has those fatbobs.
“I ran the mural until the mid '80s. I ran across another set of fatbobs,” Bob added. “The guys at San Berdo Choppers paint them with the traditional flames it still has.” He rolled from narrow glide and highbars to springer with self-narrowed Z-bars. From up-sweeps and fishtails to handmade Sportster-like aluminum mufflers.
“It's still fuckin' loud,” Bob said. “Fishtails are insane. They'll break windows.” Bob couldn't work once he got his hands on his original rigid. He rode out to see Glen at Glen's Way Fast Bikes in 29 Palms, just to fuck with the performance builder.
“Ya got her back,” Glen shouted as he rolled up to the shop. It still has the Nez Phase 3 primary belt, and early PM brakes on the rear. “The front disc will hold me on a hill,” Bob commented, “but it won't stop my ass.”
He hasn't been able to stay off the Shovel or go to work since he bought her back five days ago. A motorcycle can do that to a man. It's more than a car, except maybe a race car. There's a bond, like the kindred spirit a gun fighter has for his six-shooter. There's a familiar feeling of security and comfort when he rolls through a corner, 'cause he knows how she'll react to every pothole in the road. Bob knows how many times he ducked certain death straddling that rigid frame. He knows every inch of that motorcycle, every click, snap or shift. He's comforted that his asphalt partner is home once again.
