This piece speaks to so many things. This brother is retired, but he’s not turning the motorcycle flame down. When we started this series, he faced three restorations of 1913-’14 Harleys and one Excelsior-Henderson. I could be wrong. There could be a 4th. Since then, he’s scored more early bikes, sold bikes, restored Museum bikes and is currently trying to buy another JD-model V-twin.



So, don’t mind me if I get crossed up from time to time. The other day Dan sent me shots of lacing and truing early wheels, so here we go. All early wheels are laced with the hub centered over the rims. All early motorcycle wheels came with clincher rims and tires, which are tough to mount and even tougher to install the tubes. All the early bikes had 28-inch in diameter rims.



All the early bikes came with 36 spokes until 1912 when Harley engines grew more powerful, so they switched to 40-spoke wheels. They’ve been the same ever since. Sure the rims changed and widened and the spoke thickness became more substantial.



Let me see if I can get this straight. Dan lays towels down and starts to connect the hub to the rim with spokes. While carefully watching the position of the nipples, he installs a spoke in the hub and counts four dimples over on the rim and installs it. If he was lacing a hummer wheel, it would be three-over.



If you wondered if you were doing it right check the length of the spoke sticking through the rim. If it’s way long or short, you’re off and need to correct.

He laced the inside group and then the outside group crossing four spokes of the inside group with each new spoke. He flipped the wheel over, did the inside group and handled the outside group of spokes before installing the wheel in the truing stand.



In the stand, he applied masking tape to the four, 90 degree corners. Then he started to tighten the nipples up and down and side to side while watching his truing gauge. He has the old cool tightening tools for the job. He can now lace a wheel in just about 10 minutes. Truing takes patience, bourbon and time.





Remember to check the length of the spoke sticking through the rim and nipple. If one is way off, you might have a problem.



Once close to completion, Dan punched each nipple from the outside because of the thickness of the paint. After final tightening and truing, he checked and ground any protruding spokes to prevent tire puncturing. He made sure all the surfaces were smooth and wiped clean before applying the rim strip.



His tolerance for early wheels, which are more forgiving is .060.



Here’s a sidebar story. Russell Mitchell was involved in a TV series. If the contestant could build a bike within 30 days from the ground up, he could keep it. Lacing wheels became the toughest hurdle to the competition. More guys lost because they couldn’t lace and true a wheel in time.





Here’s an adage direct from Dan, “If you can’t find a part—you make it!” Here’s a Magneto cable control sleeve he fabricated.



Okay, that’s it for this episode. Dan is currently restoring a ’13 and ’14 from the Mecum auction donated to a museum by E. J. Cole for Dan’s makeshift shop display. Tom Faber is building Bars for these rollers and with new paint for the tanks and fenders, they will be complete and ready for display.

See ya next time.

–Bandit

The Supreme Court has nine members, some men, some women, some who aren’t sure what they are, eventually some will be cross-dressing women with penises who identify as pelicans.

Soon some will be illegal aliens just like what is now being allowed into our military for when the time comes for the Pentagon and Gen. Milley Vanilli to declare war on the American citizenry with the expectation of obedience from our Isis-M-13-Cartel Inc.

Military – which obedience Milley Vanilli will get – some will be jihadists, some will be high-school shooters from prison some will be Hamas as are already some of our Congress Inhabitants. Some will be people who glue their hands to runways and throw paint at priceless art objects without retribution and some will be actual non-humans, probably kangaroos, declared by the Supreme Court as having all the rights of American citizens.

At the MOMENT the freakiest most incomprehensibly moronic member of the Supreme Court is none of the above. I take that back, she actually is one of the above, a woman who, when questioned regarding her qualifications for the job, confessed that she has no idea what a woman is since she is not a biologist. She doesn’t know what a woman is because she’s not a biologist but she knows how to translate a document written in 1789 into a 2023 roadmap-to-liberty for 350 million people who DO know what a woman is presently living in America. And she will KEEP doing it with don’t-know-what-a-woman-is level of competence and intelligence until she fucking dies. Since she can’t be fired. Talk about the fix being in.

This “doesn’t know what a woman is because she’s not a biologist” idiot is leading the pack toward what the Supreme Court has officially become: namely, a sideshow shitshow circus of imbecility taken to the level of a monkey menagerie on angel dust.

Before she got the green light to take her Forever Job there was an earlier incident with an imbecilic candidate for the Supreme Court who has ALSO since gotten the job. He was, or is, an alleged male who was up for review to join for life the Supreme Court and he wasn’t interrogated on his medical knowledge of what the sexes are, no, he was cross examined by his intellectual kin in the Senate regarding his personal penis-sanctity.

He MAY have liked fucking women! At least that was the suggestion or implication or rumor or innuendo. His accusers didn’t say he did like fucking women and they didn’t say he didn’t like fucking women, what they said was to suggest that if he DID like fucking women that that was bad or not normal or who even knows. He proved his qualification for the lifetime job, however, by going to pieces over this, dragging his little daughters into the circus arena and allowing them to watch dad go to pieces in person rather than just hearing about it from David Muir.

Like I say, the implications or suggestions were unclear regarding the sexual topics aimed his direction. Being a normal male with a lustful interest in feeling coochi and tits is looked-upon by today’s American Office Holders and certainly “members of trusted news teams” as a perversion.

Heterosexual perversion – men liking pussy – is frowned upon by Congressional Interrogators and members of trusted news teams for one reason or another, the main reason being it implies heterosexuality and therefore COULD prejudice your Reasoning Powers regarding proper sex which in 2023 is homosexual aberrated sex unless children are involved then it’s a full speed ahead totally normal sexual attraction.

Before him there was the Man Whose Life Matters who has since become apparently mute who was accused by some woman of having put a pubic hair on top of her can of cola. This quite understandably rendered him unfit for a meaningless job for life, but somehow he got past this sanctity/morality barrier and got the job either because he actually did this heinous act or else because it couldn’t be proved he did this heinous act, the public hair never having come actually into evidence for all to see and examine and perhaps sniff.

If you THINK this suggests the Supreme Court is deteriorating in its sanity levels, well you would be wrong, mi amigo. It was CREATED insane. It’s merely fulfilling its destiny.

Thinking you can create liberty and justice for all when you have never done such a thing before ever in your lifetime is called by people who still have unaltered gain-of-function RNA “delusions of grandeur.” It’s ALSO called by the Mob as “conning easy marks into going all-in with no hand.”

Since the focus on this piece is the Supreme Court, or in other words only one of the alleged “three branches of government” – all of which were created overnight just like the FBI was, and which three have been expanded at this point into a thousand branches of government – the most powerful now being “the health-advisory” branch. Which, if I remember correctly, appeared – much like the Constitution itself did – overnight. And was born with full dictatorial, devastating, tyrannical, “declared wise” orders that affected – as far as we know – ONLY Western Civilization nations. Excluding Russia: who said fuck this Covid-crap.

Since this focus is to review merely the Supreme Court and not the other two “branches of government” let’s get down to ripping its pompous-ass posturing of Possessing Divine Wisdom Imparted To Nine Costumed Termination-Free Sub-Deities into confetti via the Woodchipper of Reason.

Here is the job description of the nine members of the Supreme Court: “Nine people who will spend their lives doing absolutely nothing until a decree already passed into law created by any one of ten trillion ‘lawmakers’ comes to their attention that has raised enough fuss in the press-activated public THAT ALL NINE AGREE TO ACTUALLY TAKE A FUCKING LOOK AT IT. After which time of ruminating and deliberating and mumbling and scratching at their be-robed balls and their be-robed cunts and ‘forming opinions’….they grandly announce whether or not at least five of the nine came to an agreement ‘that the law is – or isn’t – Constitutional.”

Here’s why this is a joke: APPARENTLY the Constitution is such a Gavin-Newsom-level pile of incomprehensible, random, arbitrary pretenses at divine wisdom and prose and rules and decrees and edicts and creations of reality out of nothing….. that NO ONE ACTUALLY KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK IT ACTUALLY SAYS. And when the bickering gets OVERT enough to where it’s actually causing people to – ya know – start SHOOTING people or setting fire to Macy’s – then and only then will the Supreme Court’s useless coven of unassailable, can’t be fired membership of be-robed, yawning, dreary, Bohemian Grove masturbators who have to account to no one for being wrong – whatever “being wrong” would even be when deciding what a load of gobbledygook says or doesn’t say – only then will these nine Sith Costumees doing their Star Wars make-believe Comicon cosplay nine-man Pronouncement of the Hierarchs “interpretance” the Constitution – only then will they stop hacking their nuts long enough to pronounce and decide and opinionate regarding whatever aspect of the runic, secret language Constitution roadmap-to-nirvana presently up for consideration as to MEANING….actually means. Until further notice.

And this preposterous “enlightened” version of government has been going on for 250 years, this “interpreting” of the Constitution, which is apparently the most arcane, elusive, mysterious, subliminal, subtle, code-like and apparently bewildering flabbergastance ever committed to paper by the 1789 First Timers at Constitution-making. Or whatever you even call this sort of thing that someone decided to do to advance the science of constitutionology. One of which every country on earth now has. And how THAT workin’ out, earthlings. Looks like the world’s bureaucrats knew a bad idea when they saw one and raced each other to get on board..

You ever actually read the Constitution? Get prepared to scream to death, pardner. Get prepared to march one foot in front of ‘tuther into a fucking maelstrom of arbitrary, pontificating, hear ye hear ye blathering The Good News of Redemption bureaucrat style. Keep in mind the average bureaucrat cannot create a chocolate fucking milkshake forget about how to secure the blessings of liberty to 350 million, some of them legal, inhabitants, all, at the moment, on the verge of 20 different categories of civil war.

I know what you’re saying: “The Constitution is so majestically configured and designed and constructed and deployed and engineered and made so perfect by bureaucrats with such minute and magnificent tolerances with Jesus himself actually opening his hands upon the document and proclaiming it from God that you need an IQ of 300 just to even begin to learn its wonders, and a complete understanding could take years. It is too sublime for us in the peasant citizenry to understand.

Only the High Priests of Constitutional Understanding who live under Mt. Shasta can, after a lifetime of focus and immersion into The Law and the Prophets bring the Divine down to Earth and fill these wise men of the Court with the extraterrestrial knowledge of the Old Ones of the firmament, as we walk in a slow circle of prayer and slaughter the sacred bull of Isis.” That’s what you’re saying. And who could blame you.

And I’m sure you would agree if you are any kind of politically-astute loyal American that In fact it could take 250 years and an IQ of three thousand not just three hundred because so far NO one, at least no one on the fucking Supreme Court, has ANY FUCKING IDEA what the fuck the Constitution says from one fucking day to the next. It’s no wonder that that snake-oil spitting dentures-clacking skank Nancy Pterodactyl Pelosi calls it a Living Document. She actually totally gets it: because it’s not just living document: it’s having a fucking goddamn 250 yearlong epileptic butt-seizing, backflipping, bone-breaking spaz attack.

Let’s face it, if you hire 9 guys who can only be replaced by death and their sole job is to figure out what a 4500 word edict made by a British committee actually says…then you musta fucking seen this coming right out the gate when you were tossing this Kamala Harris Constitutional word salad together. You and your pompous ass, British Government Loving, former loyal subjects of Good King George must have said to each other “Why the fuck are we putting in all these so called checks and balances when we COULD decide ‘Fuck the checking and the balancing, let’s just SAY they’re checks and balances since apparently these colonists are gung-ho for English Oppression American Style. We’ll CALL it checks and balances and then let’s hook-up and become fucking PARTNERS against a common enemy: namely – EVERYONE NOT IN GOVERNMENT!!!”

Then they all laughed, tossed back a few flagons of really shitty beer and said “Ok, let’s get back to writing-out this litany of holiness that will entitle us to tax, arrest, license, fine, draft, confiscate private property, summons everyone to jury duty and call it liberty and justice for all and get this over with, I have some darkie, naked-titty teens to fuck that I just bought from some other darkies.”

TURNS OUT….. after 250 years they are still interpreting the mystical heavenly language that may or may not remain in place when the next nine Lifers take their places in the Job Security Chairs and decide the previous interpretations were wrong or the interpreters assumed something unwarranted or they created an irrelevancy no longer applicable to the present application of the sense of and by the sense in the sense of which you are sensing things.

IN FACT, if they fucking DECIDED to, in a 5 to 4 majority fucking OPINION, the Supreme Court could declare something Constitutional or NOT Constitutional and they could give as their reason, “because the moon is in the 7th house and Jupiter aligns with my ballsack,” and no one in the other 3,000 compartments of government could say shit about it and as far as YOU having a fucking say in all of this? Go get Covid-“vaccine” Number Three Hundred and Five instead. You’ll be accomplishing a lot more in the line of sanity and good sense.

The reason there is a Supreme Court at all is 1: to provide 9 eternal bureaucrats who can’t be fired with costuming and housing and a pension etc. for “deciding” if there’s a majority of 5 of the 9 regarding what is “Constitutional” and what isn’t. Because if we don’t know what’s Constitutional and what isn’t then we could all die of Covid and global warming. The other reason, which would be reason number 2, is to create the myth that everyone thinks is real called “the balance of power.”

To have a “balance of power” you have to have more than one power. The thinking here is if you just have one power that is too much power: because there are no rival powers put into place to keep the one power from becoming, well, the dominant power. To prevent this, you create two more power departments. In other words, instead of creating just one dragon you create three of them. THAT way you have the One Power’s power reduced by two thirds. Which keeps us all safe. Because now there are three dragons of power who cannot ascend to Total Power because the other two dragons of power will resist and thus the powers that could be manifest by one dragon will not be manifested because there are now three dragons. Unless of course they decide to work together.

Follow this closely, this is how creators of Faux England – or the USA – reasoned. By creating three powers and not just one and declaring them via a declaration as being equally powerful, then all three powers are reduced to zero power, since they balance and thus nullify each other’s power and thus create harmony and the absence of power which is peace and prosperity because the three created powers now are No-Power Empowerments. It really is all quite magical and has been shown to be working via the illuminated conclusions of the Rationalists of the Enlightenment.

IT TURNS OUT that the Executive Branch, which has only one fucking member, can actually not over-rule but can, well, over-power the other two “branches” of government even though the executive branch only has one, well, ya know, guy. The President. The other two power sharers have nine in one Balance-ment and, basically, six hundred and fifty, more or less, in the other Balance-ment.

I know what you’re saying: “This doesn’t sound like a balance of power.” I know. It sounds more like a clown house of fucking assholes. I know. And that’s what it is. It’s almost like……it’s almost like the plan that was voted on was never tested. Also, in the balance of power, only one of the powers has authority over the National War Apparatus: the President: or in other words the Executive Branch. It’s like making sure there is always a potential Hitler at the helm of the national military in case the balance of power threatens to overthrow the President. Which no President wants.

The thin thread that holds all this nonsense together is the “faith” in the “Nation” by the citizenry. TURNS OUT that segment of the citizenry who actually thinks patriotically are all dying of old age and all the generations after them – at least so far – are all useless, brainless lovers of “all of us being in this together.”

No matter WHAT it might be we’re all IN together. It could be a tranny brothel in a blue homeless tent. As long as we embrace it in the interests of keeping everyone safe: meaning obedient. That’s basically what American patriotism is today: a banner on the side of a public bus that reminds us we’re all in this together. For some reason the word “comrade” is not yet at the end of that slogan.

So, let’s review. The Supreme Court, nine members, one of whom, a woman who doesn’t know what a woman is, and one of whom, a man, who cried when accused of being at a frat party in college, and also, lest we forget, a different man who is best known for being accused of putting a female pubic hair on top of a beer can and who apparently is mute, and six other people so bland and boring that they’re not known for ANYTHING; they all have lifetime jobs of waiting for one of the other two branches of government to do something and ten years later the Supreme Court MIGHT take a gander at whether or not whatever they did violates or doesn’t violate whatever the living document of the Constitution proclaims itself as saying at the moment.

And if I might return for a moment to the issue regarding the woman who got hired as a Supreme Court Judge even though she said she did know what a woman is…..you really can’t blame her: she was ADMITTING she was a goddamn fucking idiot. She was declaring in fair warning that she didn’t have the brains God gave shit-smeared artichokes. And she got hired anyway. She GOT the job. By the people interrogating her.

So, she will be, for as long as she fucking lives, one of the nine moronic costumed people who will be deciphering the living writhing coiling tour-zhah-taying, spinning, vibrating living document that no one can agree in 250 years on what it ACTUALLY says. So, in a sense you can’t fault the Supreme Court for being inhabited exclusively by moronic koala-brained lizards. They didn’t hire themselves. That would be unconstitutional. No: they were hired by people even stupider than the members of the Supreme Court–thanks to the balance of power. Or balance of morons that is designed to crush anyone who accidentally shows up with an IQ.

That’s apparently what the people operating and doing the hiring at the Supreme Court have as their hiring criteria: that the chosen lifers all be bewilderingly sub-par individuals. Who actually hires these judges?

They SAY it’s members of one of the three branches of dragons but I’m thinking maybe some 4th branch of government we’ve never heard of, the Justice Personnel Department, or maybe some 3,375th branch of government created by the Janitor Department of government or maybe by the CDC or maybe the WHO or maybe the Parks Department or the DMV or maybe David Muir or Gavin Newsom or Ping Pong Dung of China.

At this point I don’t think it really fucking matters what idiot sector of the Idiot-go-round is hiring unfireable morons, all idiots seem to be pretty much interchangeable, and in government pretty much mandatory.

One more thing: the question arises if you have any level of human awareness….. what had to be going through the craniums of the Create-a-Nation creation team of 1789, most of whom likely could not cut a sandwich in half, in thinking that creating three governments which had oversight authority over State governments – or another load of governments, in other words – which had oversight authority over county governments – another shitload of governments…that had oversight authority over city governments…..MORE shitloads of governments…all of them in a race to see who can “create legislation” for the Supreme Court “to write opinions” on, not only faster than any other legislation-creator might be doing but even more progressively deranged legislation than anything in history, like they’re all in a race to be the most imbecilic-ly fucked up…

What if anything was going through their drunken, self-absorbed, pompous Jerry Nadler-brained heads to where they were ass-fuckingly, Worshipful Masteredly, buttless-aproned-attiredly convinced this out-of-nowhere “creation” was going to bring “a New Order,” not fucking chaos, bedlam, wrath, rage and rioting, no, none of that, but rather A New Order….to our de-Englanded shores?

I guess it never occurred to these powdered-wigged dandies that 250 years down the road….this would all turn into a fucking Ocasio-level screaming shitload of America-hating bedlam. Pretty confident of themselves. I guess they all thought it would work. Just like California’s bullet-train project. Just like the Covid Protocols. Just like altering the weather by not eating meat. Just like voting a child-sniffer into one of the checks-and-balances dragons’ nests.

There you have it…

–J.J. Solari

I made plans to attend Harley Davidson’s 120^th Anniversary in Wisconsin, when I got a phone call from Berry Wardlaw. He told me about the Panhead Anniversary and the event that was happening to celebrate it in the Milwaukee area.

 The Event was June 22-24 and the Harley Reunion was July 13-16. That would mean two rides to Milwaukee from Florida and back. With almost a month between the events, so it was doable.

I contacted Greg Lew who promoted the event and made arrangements to attend. I even got a VIP badge, something to do with being old I was told. 

Well, I got caught in one of those rain storms that made it difficult to see the front wheel on my way from Florida to Accurate Engineering in Alabama. I ride through them on a regular basis in Florida, but it does slow me down some. The weather report announced more rain on the way to Milwaukee. We faced a run schedule, and I did not want to be the one holding us up.

It turned out Vivian’s Pan and the Indian were going in the van and my bike on the trailer. I personally do not like trailering a motorcycle, if it is rideable, but do realize that sometimes it is necessary. As it turned out putting it on the trailer this time was the thing to do.

We had a great trip to our friends Tony and Vickie’s house just outside of Milwaukee where we would be staying.

 

My new Ultra let me know it was not happy going on a trailer. Luckily, I caught it the first night we stopped. I fixed the issue and all it took was a short low charge of the battery in Tony’s garage to correct her attitude.

Tony has a sharp, organized shop set up in his garage, and the vintage bikes faced last-minute adjustments.

The generator was not working on Wigwam (Molly’s Indian), so it was decided to just run it off the battery and not use the headlight. A spare battery went along on the rides, just in case. These things happen and the mission was to make the ride and fix the motorcycle when parts and time were available. Mission Accomplished.

On site features thanks to Tom Hinderholtz included sprawling grass areas for tents, parking with water, showers, electricity and other facilities.

There were hotels and RV parks close by as well.

On Saturday morning a reported 108 Panheads and other motorcycles met at Wetzel Brothers Lot in Cudahy for a Police Escorted Ride to the Harley Museum.

Since Berry was on an Indian, and I was riding a new Ultra we rode in the back of the group.

When arriving at the museum the Panheads were lined up handlebar to handlebar for a panoramic photo with the oldest motorcycles in the middle of the photo.

After the photo there was a bike show in front of the museum and also other motorcycles were involved in field games.

What a great, historic day.

I should note that Vivian did offer to let me ride her Panhead in the parade, but I did not feel right doing that as it was not mine. That’s a Good Sister.

 I thought I would mention a lot of these older motorcycles have lights that are not that bright even when they are working (6-volt). “We need to get home before dark,” said many vintage riders.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holy shit, the rally is already all over us. Brothers and sisters are riding into the Black Hills by the droves. It’s going to be an interesting event, with the H-D Anniversary hitting Milwaukee in July and the rally just a couple of weeks after thunder rocks the asphalt all over Wisconsin.

I’ve been waiting on my chain primary drive from Tech Cycle and Paul Cox, it’s cool albeit terrifying, but what the fuck. We only go around once. It arrived the other day and we started the alignment procedure, which didn’t fair worth a fuck. Answers and solutions are coming.

Then we looked into how the drive chain would align with the sprocket on the transmission and wheel. Fortunately, I had three different offsets. None of them came close. I was going to need to move the wheel, but everything was tight.

Irish Rich suggested flipping an offset sprocket over. Crazy, I started to machine the lip of the PBI sprocket. Then it became apparent that the sprocket still had to come in contact with the seal spacer. The difference was just a few thousandths of an inch.

I found some galvanized rings used for plumbing or home projects, but they contained the correct inside diameter, 1.750. Each one was about .035 thick. Together they did the trick. I may need one to create a sprocket locking washer as you will see, unfortunately, it won’t work. I need something with a 1.5 inch inside diameter and wide outside diameter so I can drill a hole in it and bolt it to the sprocket.

McMaster Carr has stainless shims. I believe they will do the trick.

Since I flipped the PBI sprocket over, standard locking devices won’t work.

Okay, so I had trans plate issues, I had clutch sprocket to engine sprocket issues, and I had trans sprocket to wheel sportor sprocket problems.

The mounting studs screwed into the bottom of the S&S Transmission case weren’t long enough because Rich made the VL 3-speed frame into a 4-speed trans excepting frame by adding and welding the 4-speed tranny plate into place. I ordered and searched for longer studs. I found some at ACE hardware, too short. McMaster Carr did the trick, but they are coarse threads at both ends.

All this alignment stuff has prevented all sorts of projects from being completed. Even the rear fender could not be final mounted.

I did make a coil mount with a Paughco chromed, Knucklehead top motor-mount. I’m working with three fastening methods. Some things will be brazed, some silicon bronze TIG welded and some mild-steel TIG welded. My Miller MIG welder always backs me up.

I brazed the coil bracket and put it in place without bolting it to the engine. Engine needs to be aligned and bolted to the motor-mounts first.

I also had to search for a taillight lens. John gave me this taillight early on, but with the wrong lens. It’s interesting trying to find the correct lens and the license plate window. Shit, it’s impossible to find. I even found a company focused solely on old glass lenses. I wrote and called; they’re gone. Let me know if you have a connection.

Charlie Rust said he had a box of old glass lenses in his shop, well sorta. I took a half-dozen home to try out. The only one that came close was a clear Lucas lens, and I started grinding the edge. The key to grinding glass is heat. If it gets hot, it will crack. And it’s best to have a very fine grinding wheel, I do now.

Meanwhile back at the 5-inna-4-speed case transmission. We put it together several times with various shafts and gears. Our assortment of gears and shafts messed with us big time.

We even had a variety of trap doors which we fumbled with until we had a complete transmission, but not a tapered shaft, so the Evil belt system was set aside. That’s when I was introduced to Tech Cycle.

Charlie gave me a cool, old, Shorty muffler with a pipe stuck inside. That bastard would not budge. We heated it, beat on it, twisted it but nada. We finally cut it off and welded it directly to the 2-into- 1 pipe system. It came with a goofy tip and I was determined to use it. I also TIG and MIG welded some connections and then brazed one. I thought I fucked up, but when the system was completed, I tried silicon bronze TIG welding each joint completely. I messed with the heat some, and it worked to unify each weld.

I TIG welded my seat pan, drilled and shipped it to Howard Knight for leather work, along with the straps. The oil tank is tested and ready. So much to do and so little time.

Check it out. I ground the Lucas glass lens until it fit in the light socket, then the retaining ring wouldn’t fit. I made a ring from a chunk of exhaust pipe and then tried to figure out how to fasten it down. It works, albeit strange.

Hang on, the 120th anniversary was last weekend, two weeks until the rally, six weeks until Bonneville. This week I will endeavor to line up the rear wheel with trans sprocket and finish mounting the fender.

Ride on and Ride Forever!

–Bandit

SOURCES:

Atomic Dice

Clauser’s Machine Shop
Spearfish, SD

Dakota V-Twin
Spearfish, SD
www.dakotavtwin.com

JIMS Machine

McMaster Carr
www.dakotavtwin.com

Paughco

Shamrocks Customs
Sturgis, SD

S&S

TechCycle
www.techcycle.com

Terry Components
Check on J&P Cycles

Nash Motorcycles

Colony
www.colonymachine.com

Black Bike Wheels
www.blackbikewheels.com

Custom Chrome
www.customchrome.com

Barnett’s clutch and cable

Dennis Kirk

The book doesn’t have long paean – look it up – to the nobleness of destitution, suffering or sadness…… nor long tirades against the relentless oppression of the government and “the greedy corporations” and Man’s inhumanity to trees or anything else remotely whiney. This utter lack of depressing content and mega overdoses of relentless can-do-ness CAN be upsetting to some readers who demand to be driven to despair via their reading material.

And you are not going to get that kind of a book from someone who, from what I have read so far, is the human version of a river otter.

The target audience for this book is other chopper hobos or at least other chopper lunatics. I don’t mean chopper criminals, I mean chopper lunatics. The joy of captaining a Harley that has been transformed into looking more like an eel than a capybara is not for everyone, certainly not sane people, because motorcycles are inherently dangerous enough and this would be the case even in a world without automobiles – all the drivers of which consider an accident with a motorcyclist to be, if anything, a piece of good fortune. Because, let’s face it, they could have hit another car or even a truck. Hitting a motorcyclist?…….why have empathy for someone who is traffic-tie-up-proof and is going to get where he’s going before you do? This is how drivers think. Despite all the efforts of “biker awareness” lardheads who think slogans and activism is going to change all this. Auto drivers not only resent motorcyclists they don’t actually CARE if they hit them: THEY won’t be hurt. They’ll be like Superman accidentally flying into a goose. Except in Superman’s case it actually would be accidental.

Getting back to choppers: chopper fanatics turn an already really bad idea – the large-engine motorcycle – into a really enjoyable experience. But they also turn it into an even worse idea than it was to begin with! It is only lunatics who have this particular circuitry that translates turning an already savagery-filled machine into one that is even more-unwisely configured for safety but also a lot more relaxing and fun and still goes like hell. You cannot really LIKE chopper-riding…..and be normal. So they’re NOT for everyone. They’re for lunatics.

So the target audience for Chopper Hobo……is other lunatics. Lunatics don’t care if you say bwa ha ha a lot. Plus, he only says it when he has sublimely overcome what to anyone else would be a deal-breaking misfortune or piece of stupidly bad luck, or when he squeaks by via impromptu cleverness what could have been a real problem, either from an inanimate object or another human.

A “chopper hobo” should not be confused with the one category of “chopper addict” that existed in the “Chopper Hobo” days that was leagues-ahead in lack of “upper crust affiliation” and lack of personal couture than a chopper hobo, and that would be the “one-percenter” category. The chopper hobo of the Chopper Hobo book is as different from the one-percenters of the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s as, well, a river otter is different from a Nile crocodile.

Can we talk about the woodworking?

Enclosed is a picture of the Neiman Marcus Rotunda in San Francisco. There is a lot of woodwork visible. A lot not visible. The guy that spends most of this book sleeping in the dirt, who would today be called “homeless” …. though that would have been news to HIM, and who very often for the years spanned in this book didn’t know where his next meal was exactly coming from….was part of the woodworking crew of artisans who did all the shit you’re looking at. If he wants to say bwa ha ha or anything else in his own book, I’m gonna take my hat off no matter WHAT the fuck he says or how many times he says it. To review?….the Harley bum who wrote this book helped create the interior you see in the photo. Of, no, not a Walmart: a Neiman-Marcus. They oughta hang a fucking sign from the imported-from-France ceiling that says “CHOPPER HOBO WAS HERE.”

Dealing with how you make each new day not only survivable but also enjoyable – even though nothing that has happened so far is going to resemble in any way what’s going to happen five minutes from now….and finding it all interesting and mostly cool as hell…..is what this book is all about. It’s not a book for the self-pitying. It’s a book for the enthusiastic. And if you don’t know what enthusiasm is….Chopper Hobo will walk you through it. Ok, ok, pack you down with bunji straps through it. Whatever. Jesus. Critics everywhere. BWA ha ha.

On Amazon at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1667830546

There is an American wives tale that without the Constitution there would be no America. Which is nonsense. The Constitution is the thing that is going to eradicate America. Something every other nation is going to cheer. They won’t even have to take part in the overthrow. America will overthrow itself. By law and by riot – which two words are synonymous by the way: the law is just rioting in slow motion.

The world loves 6 things; porn, booze, music, drugs, Kelly Ripa, and the Code of the West. The Code of the West came into being ON ITS OWN as a result of the eastern population of the USA trying to escape the increasingly strangling manifestations of the Feds and the States and the cities and the counties, all four American governments governing all Americans in pulverizing relentless increments of steady increase.

Out West there was just….liberty. The Fed’s attitude was, well, if you want to go out there, we are not responsible and you’re pretty much on your own. APPARENTLY, the Feds thought that was a disincentive. TURNS OUT they were wrong.

It also turns out that when you stop fucking with people by ordering them around, and if they were raised in a Christian environment with everyone having their own notion of what to do with their life, had their own teachers and advisors and tutors and employers and their own FIREARMS!!!….voluntary rules everyone considered fair and equitable basically slammed into place almost overnight!

That’s what happened in the American West. It was THE CODE OF THE WEST. It just fucking happened. No votes, no representatives, no newspaper editorials, no news teams, no special sessions of Congress….. just common fucking sense.

This all came to an end once the Constitution made its way across the Rio Grande. APPARENTLY, the Rio Grande’s only justification for existence is to allow passage across for trouble makers.

The Constitution is now in full power in the West, it’s Leading Superstar and future candidate for a fake election to the Presidency being Gavin Newsom, the “governor” of California, who is so far removed from the Code of the West even the Younger Brothers would start a fast gallop to Maine and Vermont just to be away from someone so vile and worthless as a human being.

Let the Code of the West, some salient aspects of which are itemized below, be a guiding light to you when someone tells you without law there is no order. Because if everyone has a gun and there is no law…..order is the First Item on the To-Do list, and it gets taken care of not only pronto, but with full foolproofness, full cooperation and full enthusiasm. No voting on it necessary. Kinda like with the Biden Presidency!! Only, ya know, with no one sniffing the kids.

end

“A man’s got to have a code, a creed to live by, no matter his job.” — John Wayne.

First chronicled by the famous western writer, Zane Grey, in his 1934 novel The Code of the West, no “written” code ever actually existed. However, the hardy pioneers who lived in the west were bound by these unwritten rules that centered on hospitality, fair play, loyalty, and respect for the land.

Ramon Adams, a Western historian, explained it best in his 1969 book, The Cowman and His Code of Ethics, saying, in part:

“Back in the days when the cowman with his herds made a new frontier, there was no law on the range. Lack of written law made it necessary for him to frame some of his own, thus developing a rule of behavior which became known as the “Code of the West.” These homespun laws, being merely a gentleman’s agreement to certain rules of conduct for survival, were never written into statutes, but were respected everywhere on the range.

Though the cowman might break every law of the territory, state and federal government, he took pride in upholding his own unwritten code. His failure to abide by it did not bring formal punishment, but the man who broke it became, more or less, a social outcast. His friends ‘hazed him into the cutbacks’ and he was subject to the punishment of the very code he had broken.”

Though the Code of the West was always unwritten, here is a “loose” list of some of the guidelines:

Don’t inquire into a person’s past. Take the measure of a man for what he is today.

Never steal another man’s horse. A horse thief pays with his life.

Defend yourself whenever necessary.

Look out for your own.

Remove your guns before sitting at the dining table.

Never order anything weaker than whiskey.

Don’t make a threat without expecting dire consequences.

Never pass anyone on the trail without saying “Howdy”.

When approaching someone from behind, give a loud greeting before you get within shooting range.

Don’t wave at a man on a horse, as it might spook the horse. A nod is the proper greeting.

After you pass someone on the trail, don’t look back at him. It implies you don’t trust him.

Riding another man’s horse without his permission is nearly as bad as making love to his wife. Never even bother another man’s horse.

Always fill your whiskey glass to the brim.

A cowboy doesn’t talk much; he saves his breath for breathing.

No matter how weary and hungry you are after a long day in the saddle, always tend to your horse’s needs before your own, and get your horse some feed before you eat.

Cuss all you want, but only around men, horses, and cows.

–Camp Cook Marfa, TX – Lee Russell, 1939.

Complain about the cooking and you become the cook.

Always drink your whiskey with your gun hand, to show your friendly intentions.

Do not practice ingratitude.

A cowboy is pleasant even when out of sorts. Complaining is what quitters do, and cowboys hate quitters.

Always be courageous. Cowards aren’t tolerated in any outfit worth its salt.

A cowboy always helps someone in need, even a stranger or an enemy.

Never try on another man’s hat.

Be hospitable to strangers. Anyone who wanders in, including an enemy, is welcome at the dinner table. The same was true for riders who joined cowboys on the range.

Give your enemy a fighting chance.

Never wake another man by shaking or touching him, as he might wake suddenly and shoot you.

Real cowboys are modest. A braggart who is “all gurgle and no guts” is not tolerated.

Be there for a friend when he needs you.

Drinking on duty is grounds for instant dismissal and blacklisting.

A cowboy is loyal to his “brand,” to his friends, and those he rides with.

Never shoot an unarmed or unwarned enemy. This was also known as “the rattlesnake code”: always warn before you strike. However, if a man was being stalked, this could be ignored.

Never shoot a woman no matter what.

Consideration for others is central to the code, such as: Don’t stir up dust around the chuckwagon, don’t wake up the wrong man for herd duty, etc.

Respect the land and the environment by not smoking in hazardous fire areas, disfiguring rocks, trees, or other natural areas.

Honesty is absolute – your word is your bond, a handshake is more binding than a contract.

Live by the Golden Rule.

https://www.legendsofamerica.com

A couple hours ago, packed up my pet bunnies and locked down my dogs and door. Dashed for some McDonalds to go visit my mom in rehab…. The walking and pain kind of rehab, not the drug kind.

I walked out in the fucking oven full of cornbread Arkansas air to my goose talking loudly and my neighbor, known as Boogie, huffing and puffing across the yard. My neighbor Boogie is one of those hardworking, friendly redneck Arkansas men who always wears overalls and white t-shirts who is 5-foot tall and has little nubs for teeth and always wears a big ol grin with a little tobacco in the corners and you know your house is safe as long as he lives across the road.

When he introduces himself as Boogie, he does the little fists together to each side, butt shaking motion known internationally and in discotheques as ‘boogying.’

I went ahead and put the rabbits and myself in the Trump car and turned on the AC as he huffed to a stop, telling me with some grand measure of excitement that someone has stolen his push mower he keeps under the front porch. I said ‘NOOOOO’ and put my hand over my mouth in the also well-known gesture of southern lady shock and surprise and bless your pea-pickin’ heart.

He went into some detail about who he thought stole it…. Which would be rather poorly received in today’s political climate… and I told him my Trump car goes a long way towards letting people know they would get their asses shot off at my place.

He goes ‘imma put my Rebel flag up!’
I said ‘Good idea! I’ll put mine up too!’
Fist bump.

Then he says ‘and Imma call the sheriff!’
And I said, ‘I could hang my ‘Fuck Joe Biden flag.’

Another really emphatic fist bump and a little WHOOP.

‘Imma put my shotgun by the door!’
‘I already got a .45 under my pillow.’
Fist bump again… at this point he is sweatin’ and grinnin’ and kinda bouncing up an down on the balls of his feet.

‘Imma put that big dog out in the yard.’
‘Anyone walks in mine will meet six bullies.’
Double fist bump and a little rebel yell.

‘IF’N I SEE ANYONE AT YOUR PLACE WHEN YOU GONE IMMA SHOOT EM IN THE ASS!’

‘Well alright but don’t fuck around and shoot my goddamned goose.’

‘I ain’t gonna shoot that goose.. I LOVE THAT GOOSE. When he says HAWWWW HAWWWW (this sound was accompanied by him miming the goose, wings spread and high steppin’ stomps) i tell the ol lady, ‘Listen Josie, that old goose is callin’ me again…’

When I got back from visiting my mom, the heat was just fuckin’ heavy and damp, and the sky was a dark periwinkle color over the pine trees and fat drops of hot rain falling now and then…

There was a faded, tattered, almost see through stars and bars fluttering in the breeze from his porch… and a couple more, and American flags too, showing up on down the road. His buddies were standing around leaning over the beds of their trucks fooling with dogs and shotguns. I popped the trunk and got my pistols out of the trunk and my extra ammo and brought them in…. Then I went out and hung a metal sign by the road that says ‘you are no longer a trespasser… you are now a target. ‘

Now the whole street has their front windows open, guns in plain sight, porch lights on, and the sky is rumbling and the whole street is watchful and still, because we are prepared for whatever happens next.

A Salt torpedo progress report reached a high-point on my to-do list, but the 83rd Sturgis rally hit today, yikes. We have less than three weeks to prepare and roll to the Bonneville Motorcycle Speed Trials is Wendover, Utah on the 25th.

Scrutineering has been the major obstacle to our progress. Or should that be reworded? We’ve missed a couple of items or misread the rules, or… Anyway, we are scrambling to fix the fixes.

First, we discovered we needed a battery shut-off that could be accessed from the outside of the body. How the hell did we miss that? We also needed the same for the ignition. We decided to combine the two with a monster switch from a major auto-racing site.

The rules from the FIM, the AMA and another book called for making a window so a finger could shut off our petcock from the outside and another one so someone can reach the fire extinguisher pull cable. We were beginning to get the picture.

Then someone said we needed to be able to launch the parachute from outside the body. Cabana Dan spoke up, “What the hell? Run alongside the torpedo and pull the parachute so it can stop. Bullshit.”

That caused our team to take another hard look in the rule book, or books… That requirement didn’t exist, but we discovered another one. We were supposed to have a tilt switch. If the Salt Torpedo leans over 40 degrees, the parachute is supposed to automatically deploy.

At our recent team meeting we started to assign tasks to various team members. Luke drew the short straw and became the officially, almost certified parachute technician. He looked at us cross-eyed.

Luke and I dug in and started to research the components and how this system would work. With the assistance of Drew Gatewood, he made some calls and I received a link to RiekerInc. They build sailboat leaning meters and a tilt switches with various options, like 15 degrees, 10 degrees, electronic variables, you name it. They said call if you have any questions, but no number was available. That’s another story, which I finally overcame and ordered a tilt switch.

But then, what was going to pull the cable? I spoke to Dennis Manning and his systems are all pneumatic, but in the old days they used solenoids. I recently dealt with a solenoid system for popping open the door on the shaved doors ’58 Chevy. I knew the drill and we ordered one with 1.25-inch throw.

While waiting for the components to arrive, Luke and I deployed the parachute. We needed to practice re-attaching or reloading the chute. The spring system surprised Luke, and then we discovered the damaged chute canvas sack. Tucked inside the chute case for almost two years, moisture and rust got to it. We tried to clean it, but it was shot. I called Shrouds. They immediately sent me a new bag and warned me about careful installation instructions for replacing it.

The connecting straps have two loops and 50 feet of strap. The Shroud rep, her voice cautious told me not to remove, or attempt to remove the old bag until the new one arrived. We did as instructed and all stumbled along as planned.

Of course, weather predictions and water on the salt reports are flying at us, and we won’t know until a week before the event. In addition, there’s the threat of the BLM changing their mantra from Land Management for human use to managing land against human use.

Of course, that’s causing lawsuits and other issues with folks who like to hike, ride bikes and motorcycles in the wilderness controlled by the BLM.

We are so fortunate to have Tim Peterson from Flat Earth Art nearby, actually behind Dakota V-Twin in Spearfish. He volunteered to make a house-call and pinstripe or letter the Torpedo and our recent SUV acquisition– had to give it some class.

Hopefully the tilt meter will arrive by Wednesday and as the rally dwindles, we can get back to work on final tilt wiring issues and preparations for Bonneville.

A rally Torpedo meeting took place on Wednesday afternoon, after the HOF Breakfast, while Micah, our pilot was in town. We attended the Ugly MC dinner for the best food during the rally Tuesday evening, and then the brothers came to the Bikernet shop in Boulder Canyon for the meeting Wednesday around noon. Micah is a member of the Ugly’s and so is Carlo Lujan, from Auburn, California near Micah’s new home. Carlo and Emma own an Indian Dealership and Carlo drag-raced forever. He made a couple of suggestions including additional head venting. I received them in the mail on Saturday as the rally slowed. I’m on it.

Micah’s son Eddie, a very sharp young man, pointed out cracks in our front tires. They’ve traveled less than ten miles, but waited almost 3 years including one year in the snow for a chance on the salt. I ordered a spare, but now I needed another one, and I reached out to Randy Cramer at Dakota V-Twin for installation. I’m on it. The other tire arrived Saturday.

This was the to-do list from the previous chapter on the Salt Torpedo:

Scrutineering
Shifting Adjustment
Battery
Bolt down seat
Trailer

Tools
Check Motel Accommodations
Team
Install speedo
Sprockets, check and bring extras
Jets

I bought a new trailer from Goldies Trailers in Whitewood and had it set up for hauling the Torpedo to Bonneville, including logos. I also ordered a tool chest for the van, which I will start to fill on the last week. I bolted down the seat and checked the motel accommodations.

We ordered and received a speedo for a bicycle. It straps to the frame and works picking up a GPS signal anywhere. I ordered and received another transmission sprocket.

Carlo also suggested that I go around the bike covering electrical connections with silicone or perhaps the special non-conducting dielectric grease. And we discovered an issue with salt blasting the driveline from the rear tire. It should have a fender, but they can often slow the beast down. I’m going to make a cover to protect the battery and maybe more.

While studying the rule books, I stumble across another dilemma. Under Cyclecar in the FIM book it calls for all cyclecars to have handlebars. I immediately reached out to Drew who said, “No streamliner has ever had handlebars. Let me check.”

We were okay…

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