Hey, there’s been a major change to this story. As the Editor in Chief of Hot Bike we scheduled something completely different for the 13th issue of 2005. It was a five-chopper weekend run road test, written and photographed by five different guys with five different perspectives on five different bikes. That’s toast. The new editor said to Jim Houck, “Motorcycle mags are about information not entertainment so we’re not doing it.” That’s cool, so we’ll handle it on Bikernet where we won’t be restricted to a given number of pages, words or shots.
Regarding the entertainment business, each to his own, but I don’t know one custom bike rider who rides a 124-inch S&S Evo for the gas mileage and reduced parking space. Bullshit, we ride for the action, the speed, the girls and the lifestyle. So let’s have some fun with this.
We only had a couple of rules for this run, like the old days. We were like a bunch of outlaws straddling our bikes after downing a handful of reds and escaping the bullshit for the Mexican border. So we packed super light. Some of the guys failed in this department since I only allowed the team to use one T-Bag from Rebecca. It was damn small, but would expand as the weekend rolled along and we packed it full of bottles of Tequila and weed. Panoptic sponsored the event with three pairs of their hot shades and I snagged a pair with polarized lenses and a reddish hue. They fit my face although I peeled the foam padding off the back. All padded shades steam up on my hot face. I told the guys that if they needed another bag to pack camera equipment, that was cool, but nothing more.
Dr. Toph Bocchiaro, HOT BIKE associate editor, broke the rules flat out and packed like a woman. He also wore a full-faced helmet. Full face and choppers don’t mix, but that’s a personal choice. I won’t go there. He straddled a 330 Bourget monster and fought it around every corner. Ernie Lopez, a notorious member of the Black Widows Motorcycle club, packed light, except for the giant cannon camera bag. He rode a stretched American Iron Horse Chopper that was as comfortable as a lounge chair and almost as detailed as the Big Dog. Ernie fought the airbag rear suspension that drifted to the lowest ride point at the slightest provocation. Eric Ellis, the young senior editor of HOT BIKE, packed moderately. He’s short and stocky and wore a Nazi styled helmet and covered his face with various scarves and layers like a women with a dainty complexion. Finally there was Agent Zebra on the Thunder Mountain, H-D based, Screamin’ Eagle powered chopper. The bike screamed modified stock bike. It worked like a champ, but had stock bike edges, castings and brackets.
I initially kicked off this weekend get-away with the sleek pearl white Big Dog but when we hit Hooters the next morning I swapped for the radical Hellbound Wicked with 54 degrees of rake and a 22 over wide glide front end. It immediately reminded me of the late ‘70s. A chopper only knarley bastards would ride. But let’s start at the beginning.
Thursday morning after arguments with our spouses, just like in the ‘70s, we cut through Disneyland’s Anaheim, California to the Primedia ivory tower next to the Anaheim stadium. Our launching point was the Hooters—wish they were open for breakfast. Since Agent Zebra was fighting with his lovely Sonya we rolled in 15 minutes late to meet the rest of the gang. I rumbled in on the Big Dog chopper, the Lexus of the production Chopper line-up, except for the kickstand, which was awkward to reach. I reluctantly gave up the pearl white dog, with red metal flake flames, for the nasty black and silver Hell Bound that Mike Malloy requested that I ride.
I knew immediately that this was a tough-guy’s no bullshit ride. There was nothing smooth or refined about it. Even the massive 124-inch engine hit hard. I spoke to a Hawaiian rider recently who built Local Boy customs. He spoke of the attitude he experiences when he straddles one of these classic fat bobbers. “It’s all about the fun of the ride, no attitude,” Nui said, and I could relate.
The Hellbound made my arms swell another inch. My eyes narrowed and my forehead swelled as if I was pumping iron. We refueled and I noticed that the cylindrical, lock box key, I was handed, was broken and split, like a homeless toothless grin. I looked at Eric Ellis in wonderment. He shrugged and I wondered if the bike was stolen. It clicked in the ignition module but hung in the wiring box by a thread. I sat low in the seat and came face to face with the key dilemma. My thigh pressed against the key, bending the tab to the rear. I adjusted my sitting position to care for the key as if it was a diamond hanging precariously off the side of the motorcycle. If it broke off I was fucked.
We peeled south on the freeway toward Mike Maldonado’s shop, Heavy Customs, in Capistrano. Mike was one of the original ‘80s custom innovators. His shit is fine and he’s still creating out-of-this-world choppers. Then we peeled back to the freeway and stopped at the Boars Nest in Oceanside and finally Wild West Manufacturing on Cabot Road in San Diego.
The Wild West crew built 150 state-of-the-art productions customs this year and doubled their facility to 16,000 square feet. They build three models, Vigilante, Gunfighter and the Chopper Dragon. They’re all based on a patented mono-shock technology and 2.25 quarts of oil coursing through the frame. I’m sure we’ll road test one of these monsters in the near future. A couple of us rode a Wild West down the street and back and it impressed me like a Nascar on two wheels, fast, zoomy, short and low to the ground. No wonder they’re popular in the south.
The Hellbound monster handled like a radical chopper on the freeway. It flexed and swayed like a drunken dog. The sitting position was comfortable and the drag bars made me lean into the chassis like a mad drag racer would. I wanted to go fast, peel out of town and across the desert as if escaping a shotgun-toting husband. We stopped at Cycle Visions in San Diego where Randy Aron created the first V-Rod based touring model kits. He escaped to Europe but we kidnapped an employee for a run into old town San Diego for margaritas, chips and salsa.
The sun was shinning as it does most days in Southern California. It felt damn good to escape deadlines and corporate rules to split lanes with the bros. The bikes ran sweet and Old Town Welcomed the five rumbling choppers as I struggled to make a U-turn and park the block long chopper.
I’m pointing out the down side of this scoot, so a prospective buyer will be fully aware of the bad ass monster he’s straddling. Hellbound sells four Wickeds to every one of their other models. These monsters are popular. It’s a blast to ride, but nowhere as easy as a stock bike, or even a mild chopper. There’s nothing mild about this bike. It’s tough, long and takes a muscle or two to handle. But when I pulled up in a crowd of choppers there was no mistaking the Wicked badass black monster. It had tough class.
At our first gas stop in Dago I poured 3.1 gallons in wild stretched tank and we had peeled through 128 miles for 41 and a third mpg. Not bad at all for a 124-inch S&S monster that was set up to pass California EPA standards. I hit the Agent up for the mileage since I wasn’t packing no stinkin’ trip gauge.
As the sun began to set over the Mexican border we cut inland from the coast toward Alpine, California where Bobby Baldwin runs the Biker Shack, (2226 Alpine Blvd. Alpine, CA 91901, 619- 445-9993). He’s the sole and only connection for the recently deceased Excelsior-Henderson models. He has a dozen and performs upgrades on transmissions, Engines and cooling systems. He knows them like the back of his hand and even stretched on of the classic frames and installed a PT cruiser inline four. It’s harkens back to he old days from the Weber carburetors to the squared off ‘20s style gas tank.
Since E-H died Bobby opened his doors to Harleys and runs a full service shop. As the afternoon margaritas wore off we shifted to Italian food and Jack Daniels, then rolled to Bobby’s house/Excelsior Henderson museum for an evening of playing pool and talking about the first In The Wind magazine from 1978. We stumbled staggered and discussed the bikes we rode into the wee hours.
The next morning we hit Janet’s Montana Café, a wooden building with river rock pillars and the best breakfast this side of Ojai, California. The Wicked was perfect for Jack Daniels and margaritas. It reminded me of psycho broads and fistfights. It never missed a beat as I downed a handful of aspirin and gazed at a sweat-stained map into the hills.
In Dago we discussed peeling across the border, but these bikes, too often, are delivered without papers. We didn’t have shit and the federales would snatch them in a hot flash and that would certainly piss off several Hot Bike Advertisers if we lost five bikes out front of a whorehouse in Tijuana. So we turned inland and pondered rolling to the Arizona Border for a 114 degree heat bath.
As a road test it was incumbent on us to twist these production choppers through every road aspect we could encounter and California was the perfect location. We could split lanes in bumper to bumper Los Angeles, ride the meandering Pacific Coast Highway, dodge senior citizens in packed parking garages, dip and duck through the winding mountain roads of the Cleveland National Forrest and dodge rattlesnakes lingering in the sun along sand scattered straight desert highways. So we did.
We headed north off interstate 8 heading east on 79 out of Descanso toward the peach pie capital of California, Julian. It was my first chance to push the Hellbound, which I found out later contained a tough-as-nails polished 124-inch S&S powerhouse. Since it didn’t have a right side drive transmission the bike slide into left leans without a problem, but turning to the right demanded thought and weight preparation. Not bad, but I had to think about it. We needed a Baker right side drive tranny.
It was smoking hot in Julian but the ride was perfect and we stopped from time to time for photo opportunities alongside lakes and rambling green hills. We gassed in the 1800's mining town (1.6 gallons at 54 miles, 34 mpg), had a beer at the Boars Head Bar and almost lost Zebra who darted out of town before we could signal for a beer stop.
We deftly scrambled from highway 79 through Warner Springs along mild twisties to highway 371 in Aguanga on the edge of the Cahuilla Indian Reservation, which dips back to sea level desolate desert. Ain’t we cool to the Indians? We were destined to reach NuttBoy’s mountain resort in San Jacinto almost due north. But we had to cut through the dusty desert berg of Anza.
I peeled through the mountains changing positions with Toph to test the hard corning aspects of the Bourget against Ernie’s slammed American Iron Horse and his over-his-shoulder photographic skills. Eric rambled along on the Big Dog like a rich kid cruising in his dad’s Bentley. He didn’t have to do anything but look cool.
The desert was smoldering when we peeled off the road just before the Highway 74 Junction into the Sergeant Major’s Rib Joint, purely by accident. The joint was a hole-in-the-wall sundry store for 50 years, and then the retired Marine discovered it as his retreat, retirement castle. He barbecued ribs and the smell wafted us right into his refurbished patio while he drilled us with his plans for the future growth of his dream. His ribs were the finest and baked then marinated for a day then grilled outdoors on the edge of the desert for passing military guys and their families. He planned more fire pits, more classic wrought iron outdoor furniture, moving the neighbor who was lingering over his property line and expanding the patio. He also hired bands for the weekends.
After 23 years in the Marines, working with Special Forces, including two tours in Iraq he was finished. “Hey guys,” he said between recipe descriptions, “Do you know Wink Eller?”
We said in unison, “Hell yes.”
”He lives just up the road,” the sergeant said and snatched up his cell phone. Five minutes later Wink rumbled into the gravel parking lot aboard a quad and challenged us to ride up sand and clay packed dirt road to his new desert castle. Wink was packing to visit his ailing father in North Carolina, but we received a brief tour of his shop. Wink had recently survived a rattlesnake bike and to his left calf and a couple of associated heart attacks.
It was an opportunity to test big inch production choppers on dusty dirt roads. Big assed wider tires are a pain in the ass, as far as I’m concerned, but when it comes to soft sand dirt they’re a blessing. But we still had to deal with the narrow 21-inch fronts and Ernie went down. He bounced back up in a flash and was on his way. I’ll bet he was twisted 180 degrees trying to take a shot of his dust trail with that massive cannon camera in one hand and slid into a ditch. I need to learn how to ride a dirt bike. It’s a separate philosophy.
We peeled onto the highway and headed toward the highway 74 junction. In the back of my mind I was concerned about the impending mountain twisties, since the last time I peeled into these hills I straddled a Buell, which made mincemeat out of tight corners. Turning left we entered the San Bernadino National Forrest and glided through the Garner Valley, so majestic that it reminded me of the Ponderosa. It was broad vast and green at 3,500 feet, while surrounded by jagged mountains strewn with Jefferson pines, Ponderosa Pines and Colter Pine trees. We began to meet other motorcycles on every bend. We were the kings, though. We passed stock bikes, street bikes, metric cruisers and sport bikes, but no Choppers. We were still a rare breed.
The Hellbound Wicked was strong beneath me, hammering along roaming roads towards the mountains looming ahead. Occasionally I detected some valve noise, which dissipated as quickly as it jarred my senses. The brakes were strong and agile. The clutch never blinked or needed adjustment. The front wheel was so far away I thought it belonged to another machine. I asked myself if I would ride this bastard to Sturgis and admitted that I would without a problem.
It was comfortable for a big man in a battleship sense. On the other hand it was rowdy yet secure. I personally would have changed the controls for more Hellbound distinction. I also pondered the difficult to access gas cap and pondered a wild, off to the side, spigot that would give the looks of the bike more unique distinction.
I kept expecting tight twisties at every rise but the road meandered through one broad expanse into another until we were less than five miles from the summit. Dr. Toph mentioned later that although we were barely exceeding the speed limits he encountered the same adrenaline rush of tearing through the hills on a sport bike. I drug the kickstand on a regular basis on the left and fought the bike through right hand corners. It was like racing a long stinkin’ Lincoln through a formula I track.
We were heading directly toward Idlyllwild, a popular mountain community, I encountered from time to time since I camped out with my folks. I’d ridden the mild mountain curves surrounded by massive, sparkling granite boulders, pines, and curvy manzineta bushes on various motorcycles, in my folk’s station wagon. I’d dodged western gray squirrels, chipmunks and hoped to avoid Pacific and red diamond back rattlers.
We navigated our way into Nuttboy’s gravel mountain retreat driveway, slammed down five chromed kickstands and the writers’ conference began.
The next day we cut a dusty trail down the other side of the mountain into Hemmet on our way back to the smog-soaked LA Basin. Helluva weekend. No breakdowns. A sampling of the best production choppers on the planet with good people. And the Wicked was the hellion of the mix.
• Warranty: 2-Year Factory
• Dry Weight: 624 Lbs.
• Engine: OHV 45 V-Twin
• Dispalcement: S&S 117″
• Bore & Stroke: 4 1/8″ x 4 3/8″
• Compression Ratio: 9.2 to 1
• Fuel System: S&S Super G Carburator
• Fuel Capacity: 3.5 Galons
• Oil Capacity: 3 Qts.
• Transmission: 6-Speed
• Primary Drive: 3″ Belt
• Final Drive: 1 1/2″ Belt
• Pulley: 65 Tooth
• Frame Stretch: 4″ Up – 4″ Out
• Rake: 48 neck, 6 tree, 54 total
• Seat Height: 24 5/8″
• Rear Suspension: Shocks/Swingarm
• Front Suspension: 41mm Telescopic
• Wheelbase: 93″
• Front Brake: 4-Piston Caliper
• Rear Brake: 4-Piston Caliper
• Front Tire: 90.90 x 21″
• Rear Tire: 250mm x 18″
• Tire Pressure:40 PSI(Front, Rear)
• Ignition: IST or Dyna Single Fire
• Charging Output: 32 Amp
• Battery: 20 Amp
