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Sturgis Motorcycle Museum Experience for September 2013

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

People ride for all sorts of reasons – transportation, relaxation, just pure fun. It’s probably been true to some extent from the advent of motorcycling. But you have to imagine that in 1914 and 1915, it must have been more about transportation and maybe about fun than it was about relaxation. Ah, but there was the rush of excitement.

Imagine having to pedal your motorcycle to get it started, and manipulate a half-dozen levers.

Imagine having to pump oil in and let it work its way through the motor just about every time you stopped. Imagine riding across country at top speeds of maybe 45 miles per hour on roads that were probably at best rutted and at worst non-existent. Imagine riding a rigid frame just one notch above being a bicycle, adjusting your chains, brakes, clutch, valves, points, you name it after riding for just a few days.

Doesn’t sound too relaxing when compared to the way most of us ride today, but it was always a mechanical adventure wrapped around the rush of the open road.

Still, at least one couple decided that reliving some of that history now would be fun. Sturgis Motorcycle Museum Hall of Famer Cris Sommer/Simmons and her husband, Doobie Brother Pat Simmons left the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame on August 20th heading for the 110th Anniversary Celebration of the Harley-Davidson Motorcycle Company. The pair finished their ride at the Harley-Davidson museum in Milwaukee. Accompanied by Cris’ brother Mark in a chase van, the two mapped out a route that avoided busy highways as their bikes have a top speed of only about 50 miles per hour.

The evening before Cris and Pat took off, the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum held a send-off reception for them and their bikes. Effie is Cris’ 1915 Harley named after pioneering motorcyclist Effie Hotchkiss. Effie has a history of long-distance riding as she was the bike Cris rode in 2010 in the first Motorcycle Cannonball. Vinnie is Pat’s 1914 Harley named after the man who sold the bike to Pat. Vinnie is new to long-distance riding as is Pat. Both bikes got to spend the night inside the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum before the couple – accompanied by a few friends – left on the first leg of the journey.

Throughout the run home, the two rode at a fairly leisurely pace. The first day from Sturgis to Pierre was actually one of the longest days at about 175 miles.

“Watching the couple make their way across the center of the country has been a delight, said Christine Paige Diers, Executive Director of the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum. “Cris has posted frequent updates on facebook, and we at the Sturgis Museum feel blessed to have been chosen by this amazing couple as the place to start this historic ride.”

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

For Chapter 4 Click Here

Editor’s note: The following story was reprinted from the book, “Borderland Biker, In Memory of Indian Larry and Doo Wop Music,” by Derrel Whitemyer.

Revised version August 6, 2013.

“When I die I want to meet God and say, what the hell were you thinking, like what were you thinking?” —Indian Larry

The right part of the fork began next to an adobe wall. Giant cactus grew beside it. Behind the wall was a large house with a turret roof; it looked neglected. Between the house and the wall were rows of fruit trees; they also looked neglected. The bamboo ended where the wall began. Sunflowers, some over seven feet in height, bordered the beginning of the left fork.

Larry looked first at the right fork that went through a locked gate then at the left fork, “The left fork after a couple of miles goes straight up the mountain in the granddaddy of hill climbs; it’s not as steep as Utah’s Widowmaker but it’s paved and much longer. With no turnouts or places to stop a stall or missed shift will give you a terminal one way ticket back to the bottom. The good news is I can see the front part of third bridge at the top.

“The right fork, the one Aaron told us to take, doesn’t even go towards the bridge. In fact, my heightened senses are telling me it’s dangerous. If he lied about the spiders and freeing Hilts the odds are he’s trying to trick us into going the wrong way. I vote we take the left fork.”

Riding over to within a foot of the wall, I said, “The house looks lived in; how dangerous can it be to say hello? Could be the owner might even have information we could use; he may even have some fresh water?”

“Don’t touch the…”

Larry’s warning came at the same time my tire touched the gate and the temperature dropped as if we’d stepped inside a meat locker. Seconds later the rank smell of a meat locker blew over the wall and our bikes quit running.

“Too late to ride out of here,” yelled Larry as he jumped off his bike. “Whatever’s on the other side has cast some type of spell on our engines and is right behind the gate.”

As a giant hand began to slowly push the gate outwards the deep voice that belonged to the hand said, “You fellas weren’t goin’ to leave without sayin’ hello were you? I don’t get many visitors anymore unless they’ve been sent by Aaron. Were you two sent here by my friend Aaron?”

At the sight of the gate moving outward Pa’s ah-shucks face, actually his electric blue eyes, flashed before me and I found myself pulling my guitar around from behind me where it had been strapped on my back.

Taller than Charon and with a body that more than matched the giant hand, he smiled, “Would’ve been impolite not to greet visitors, especially ones,” turning to look at me, “that knock at my gate. My name’s Paul Femus.”

His smile highlighted he was wearing sunglasses with thick coke bottle lenses set so close together they joined in the middle. And when he turned to look at Larry I would’ve sworn the two lenses were really one large lens.

“The name on the gate says Paul E Femus,” said Larry. “What’s the E stand for?”

Dressed in stained overalls, Femus bowed, “Paul E Femus at your service and the E stands for else.”

“Else?”

“Else, as in you two,” and Femus moved fast for being so large, “should’ve chosen somewhere ‘else’ to stop.”

Had he not been nearsighted and had his glasses not fallen off revealing his one eye I wouldn’t have been able to roll off the back of the Wide Glide, pull my guitar to the front or know he was a Cyclops.

Scrambling to my feet I remembered Pa saying I’d know when to play. And so I played the G chord and it sounded dead, as I knew it would without power. But when I struck it a second time followed by an F then an A my guitar began to resonate as if it had been plugged in, which should’ve been impossible as there were no nearby electrical outlets. Femus stumbled then staggered.

“Keep playing!” shouted Larry. “He can’t stand it.”

I’ve been booed off stage before. Both times it was because I was opening for a big name and the audience was impatient; and so I let go with a series of chords. Larry’s chopper roared to life. Whatever spell Femus used to stop our engines had been broken by the playing of my guitar.

Bleeding from his nose and eye and holding onto both sides of the gate, Femus choked, “How’d you know to play; bet it was Pa that told you? Pa knows ‘bout spells.”

Jumping off his bike, Larry shouted, “Keep it up, walk forward; get him to go back inside.”

Femus gathered strength and was pulling himself upright when I switched from playing random chords, pointed the guitar at him and played David Gilmour’s legendary riff from “Dark Side of the Moon” by Pink Floyd.

Femus let go of the gate and stumbled backwards.

Pounding a screwdriver through the latch, Larry shouted, “Get on your bike, I’ll follow!”

“You go; the gate won’t hold him if I stop playing.”

Larry started to argue then ran for his bike. He’d ridden about a hundred feet up the road and I’d just gotten on the Wide Glide when my guitar went dead. Two seconds later the gate buckled outward.

Femus seemed taller and was swiftly looking from side to side with a nearsighted squint. Without his glasses and if I didn’t move he wouldn’t see me, but I was too frightened not to move. Throwing my guitar over my shoulder then starting my bike became one motion. Praying it wouldn’t stall I popped the clutch. With the front brake locked my rear tire swung around spraying chunks of dirt towards Femus.

“Leavin’ so soon, not gonna say goodbye?” bellowed Femus, at the same time lunging forward.

From then on things happened fast, ending with my rear wheel grabbing the road and Femus almost grabbing me.

“Tell Ma,” shouted Femus, his kettledrum voice receding, “things are changin’; tell Pa we’ve taken the diner and that we’re comin’ for the both of ‘em.”

Riding virtually straight up the mountain was now our only chance of reaching the third bridge. Larry’s description of it being the granddaddy of hill climbs wasn’t an exaggeration; no turnoffs made it a deal breaker. There’d be no second chance, no prisoners. No one would survive a fall.

“I’ll lead;” said Larry after we’d ridden about a mile. “Stay to my right; if I fall keep going. If you stop to help it’s so steep you’ll just end up falling yourself. It’s paved and our bikes have enough power; the problem is traction. We’ll be ok if we stay balanced. Don’t lean so far to the front that you spin the rear tire; don’t lean so far back that you go over backwards. We’ve another mile until we get to the base of the mountain so carry as much speed as you can.”

From then on things happened fast. Using the tremendous torque of his Pratt and Whitney twin, Larry was able to short shift quickly up through the gears and was almost a football field ahead of me when we hit the foot of the grade. So abrupt was the change in direction my bike completely compressed its front shocks.

Forward or was it upward, at this point our direction was relative. Seconds into the climb and already hundreds of feet above the valley, I was already shifting down into the lower gears. Larry was ahead and to my left.

Bamboo forest and the adjoining fields at this height looked like a green carpet and covered the valley floor out to where Femus lived. The area within his compound looked brown like a piece had been burnt. I could only glance down for a moment; I had to focus on not slipping or falling backwards.

[page break]

A Selfless Act

It would be close but we’d make it. The road, it was more like a very steep paved ramp, had backed off a few degrees of climb the last quarter mile. Finally Larry disappeared over the top; moments later I did the same thankful I’d stayed to his right. Momentum carried us across the Ridge Route; a wide turnout on the other side provided room for a safe stop. Larry was already off his bike when I skidded up beside him.

“Hey, we made it,” said Larry, “no thanks to Aaron’s near fatal advice. The third bridge is about fifty yards away and easily the largest I’ve seen. I can’t see the other end as it curves off into the mist. Can’t see any obstacles or barriers either, just a curtain of fog covering the last part.”

Above us steep snow capped hills would block the sun for most of the day. On the slopes directly behind the bridge were patches of wind twisted trees. Water ran across the road; it would be frozen once the sun set. Our decision to take Aaron’s shortcut even though it was a trap leading us to the Cyclops could very well have saved us from riding across ice in the dark and sliding over a cliff.

“Hilts, if he’s behind us, better get here soon,” said Larry. “This runoff will turn to ice at night. We need a fire,” then looking at the patches of twisted trees, “and rain washes broken branches under bridges.”

Bits of brush jammed under the end of the bridge stuck out indicating dry wood underneath. As I approached I could see it was more stacked than randomly washed there from runoffs. When I got even closer I realized the stacked wood was the side of an enormous hut.

“Back off slowly, don’t run,” Larry whispered from behind me. “The hut’s door is huge.”

Pointing my Fender at the wood, I got ready to play.

“Don’t! Whatever’s in there may not know were here; why warn it? What we’re going to need is a fire between us and the bridge but we’ve nothing to burn; all the wood is next to the side of the hut.”

“Unless,” I replied, “we can get gas out of my tank.”

Larry moved quickly to close valves and undo the fuel lines below the Wide Glide’s tank while I worked as fast as I could unpacking an empty plastic bag I carry for water. An irregular snort or a snore coming from inside the hut hurried our work.

“The culvert,” Larry said in a whisper, at the same time nodding towards the hut and draining gas from my tank into the bag, “runs towards the bridge and into the canyon below; if you have enough gas it should get to the brush.”

“But not from here,” I added, “We’ve got to get closer or the gas will soak into the ground before it flows to the wood. My gas, I’ll go; I’ll get as close as I can before I pour.”

I waited hoping Larry would come up with a better plan but he didn’t so I started walking. Every step made the bag make little sloshing noises. At the halfway mark I looked back at Larry; he was giving me a thumbs-up. So I opened the bag’s spout and poured the gas into the culvert but it flowed faster than I would have thought. So I lit a match, dropped it into the gas and ran to my bike as the fire followed the trail of burning fuel to the bridge. But the fire also followed the trail of fuel that was leaking from my bag. So I threw the bag but not far enough and it landed on Larry’s chopper and the fire followed. And Larry’s bike and the hut burst into flames at the same time the hut’s owner jumped clear.

“What have you done!” yelled Hilts from behind us, who in our hurry to start the fire we hadn’t heard arrive. “None of this was to supposed to have had happened.”

Over ten feet in height, the hut’s owner walked slowly towards us. The good news was it wasn’t a Cyclops; the bad news was it could’ve passed for any troll I’d seen illustrated in a Grimm’s fairytale. With feet that would’ve made NBA basketball player’s feet look like a ballerina’s and tree trunk legs and arms, and hands the size of snow shovels, the troll came to a stop in front of us. The hut and Larry’s bike were now burning bright enough to cast the troll’s shadow out and over our heads and down the Ridge Route as a monstrous silhouette outlined with firelight.

“I can’t believe it,” said the troll with a deep voice that matched the snore I’d heard earlier coming from the hut. “And Hilts I blame you for not being with them; I thought it was agreed you’d wait for them at the first bridge?”

The troll was right; I’d acted too quickly and as a result ended up burning Larry’s chopper and the hut to ashes. What could I say, maybe if I hadn’t been in such a hurry?

“We’ll rebuild your home,” said Larry, walking around me to look straight up at the troll, “even if it means delaying what we’ve come to do. My chopper’s gone, an accident, but of more importance is the fact no one was injured.”

“A selfless act,” said the troll, having to step back to look down at Larry, “and your friend,” turning to stare at me, “does he agree with you?”

Walking over to stand beside Larry, “Yes,” I replied.

“Did they pass the test;” said Hilts, and when he said that we turned to face him, “did they pass the bridge’s selfless act test? Selflessness is the virtue you most admire.”

“That and honesty,” answered Ma from behind us and from where the troll had stood moments before, “and yes, they’ve passed the test. They’ve earned the right to cross the third bridge as did you despite your impatience.”

“Me?” said Hilts.

“Yes,” replied Ma. “Traveling here then becoming the troll left me vulnerable; you could’ve taken advantage yet didn’t. Pa and I were fairly certain you’d escaped the city you created without being infected but we had to be sure. After what happened to Andy, the infection changing Andy into Raggedy Man, we had to be sure. You can understand our concern?”

“I understand,” said Hilts.

“All of this was a test;” interrupted Larry, “the spiders and Femus were all tests?”

“Fighting spiders, your escape from Femus and the burning of your bike could’ve been avoided,” Ma answered looking sternly at Hilts, “if someone hadn’t been in too much of a hurry and had followed the original plan.”

When Larry told Ma how Charon’s guide betrayed us by not warning us about the spider webs and how Aaron’s rescue led to following a shortcut that was really a trap leading to Femus, Ma look sternly at Hilts again.

“Aaron’s the name Elvis sometimes uses when traveling,” said Ma. “What did he look like?”

“He had shiny black shoe button eyes;” I replied, “and his skin looked like tarpaper.”

“It wasn’t Elvis;” continued Ma, “Elvis would’ve never put you in danger. Charon will find out who or what Aaron is when he bathes him in the river Styx. Its water not only heals injuries but reveals your true identity.

“Aaron sounds like he was more than what he appeared to be; you were smart to have avoided a confrontation. Regarding the spiders, you two were never meant to face them alone. Facing Femus is another story. A few years ago Pa and I made an agreement with him. We agreed to give him his own house in an isolated part of our Borderland if he behaved himself and was good to passing travelers.

“Blinded long ago he was able, with our help, to learn to live within his compound; the gardens behind his gate were actually quite beautiful.”

“Well he’s not blind anymore, nearsighted maybe but not blind and whatever he’s doing behind his locked gate sure isn’t gardening,” I said. “The place smelled more like a slaughter house than a garden.”

Ma seemed saddened, “I’m sorry to hear that; Femus once loved growing things almost as much as Pa.”

Thoughts of gardens with vegetables and fruits ripening in a warm afternoon sun underlined how cold it was getting. Dusk had come and gone so quickly only the outline of mountains seen against a near black sky marked its passage. The hut and Larry’s chopper were now only burnt embers casting just enough light to see where we’d ridden up the mountain and onto the Ridge Route and where a huge figure was pulling itself up and over the edge of the road.

“Ma,” I yelled, “watch out!”

That Femus was able to follow us up here from the valley seemed incredible and that he was able to immobilize Ma with a shout seemed impossible.

Ma could move only her eyes; Larry, however, became the opposite of motionless and in one movement drew and threw his knife. Femus was already across the road and running directly at us when the blade struck his shoulder, twisting his body just enough to make him miss grabbing Ma.

Pulling the knife blade out of his flesh like it was a tiny steel splinter, the Cyclops laughed, “You’ve a good aim for a guy missing a finger. You’ll be last; you can watch me rip your friends apart.”

“You’ll have to get by me first,” said a familiar voice from behind us.

[page break]

Archetype

Still wearing my wool watch cap, sunglasses and leather jacket and looking much thinner than when Larry and I first saw him on the elevated highway, Hilts walked slowly around to stand in front of us. As if seen through water he appeared distorted, almost transparent. Contrasting his faintness were a pair of 1880s single action Colt 45s hanging holstered from his waist. So real were the big revolvers they stood out in bold relief next to his lean body; it was as if he were transferring what life force he had left into conjuring them. Time slowed. I could see everything, the worn leather holsters, the coiled snakes carved into the ivory handles, and Hilts’ face. Only it wasn’t his face; it was Shane’s or Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti western face. And I could’ve sworn that just before Femus charged it smiled, they smiled.

Femus was fast and nearly upon us when Hilts or whatever guardian angel gunfighter Hilts had become moved. In a blur the right hand Colt went from being in its holster to being in Hilts’ right hand. Fire leapt from its barrel, followed by smoke, followed by more fire and smoke. With the trigger held he fanned the hammer successively in an almost continuous roar until all rounds were gone and there were six holes stitched across the Cyclops’ throat like a black pearl necklace. Femus stumbled to a stop so close he could’ve swatted us. He raised his head to bellow but couldn’t, instead he blew blood out the holes in his neck, only it wasn’t blood, it was a thin tar.

And then Hilts drew his left hand Colt and emptied it into the roof of Femus’ mouth.

“He won’t die,” I yelled.

“Because he’s already dead,” cried Ma, now able to move.

And then Ma did the strangest thing, she reached out at the same time Femus looked down. He nodded knowingly as if seeing her for the first time and touched her hand. An arc, just a small snap of blue jumped between them and then Femus collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut and was still. A second later something hidden in the mist screamed as if one of its limbs had been cut off.

“He’s been dead for a long time,” said Ma looking down at Femus. “Whatever screamed was controlling his body and used it to shout an immobilizing spell over me, luckily for only a short time. This isn’t Femus; it’s his body animated by some perverted puppeteer but it’s not Femus. The Femus I knew was, with Pa’s help, learning to live within his garden compound. My guess is that someone promised him the eyesight he’d lost long ago if he’d turn travelers away. When Femus said no to capturing them he was turned into a zombie and made to do it.”

Stars came out to mock us with heat we’d never feel, a heat we’d only see as bright dots in a now black sky; a reminder we’d need a fire to survive the cold night.

Femus was disappearing, rapidly decomposing; his huge skeleton was beginning to push through the skin. And yet Ma with no sign of revulsion reached over and closed the giant eye. She was silent for nearly a minute and only when the skull showed did she rise to her feet.

“This is not about getting revenge for what was done to Femus;” said Ma staring down with compassion at what was left of the Cyclops, “this is about stopping the destruction of this Borderland. Not only is this about stopping our Borderland from being destroyed but maybe all Borderlands.”

“I’m sorry…didn’t know…had to stop him,” said an almost too thin to see Hilts who’d staggered up to stand beside us and then collapsed.

Creating the two single action Colt 45s and becoming the archetypical gunfighter and then battling Femus had taken almost all of what was left of Hilts’ life force.

Ma rushed to his side, “He would’ve wanted you to stop him from hurting others. What you killed was already dead; it was his body but it wasn’t Femus. You had no choice; he would’ve understood.

Ma looked at Larry, “Hilts will disappear completely if I don’t get him bathed in the river Styx. Hand me his other half, the part you found at the first bridge.

“I need it to absorb what’s left then get it to Charon. Charon can save him if I can get the pieces to him in time. He’ll bathe the two parts in the river so they’ll join back together.”

Larry handed the rolled up celluloid cutout that had been used as a decoy to fool Charon and gave it to Ma. Ma then unrolled it and knelt over what was left of Hilts. If you hadn’t known where to look you wouldn’t have seen him; already the revolvers were gone and his body little more than an outline on the ground. Ma carefully spread the cutout over him. For a moment nothing happened, then the cutout’s eyes moved and I realized it had absorbed what was left of Hilts.

“I’ll become vulnerable again changing forms,” said Ma as she changed into a huge harpy eagle. “I’ve got to change form to get Hilts back to Charon. Spend the night here but leave before sunrise; you must be completely across the bridge before any direct sunlight shines on it.

“Getting to the Styx Diner will be the hardest part of your journey and I was hoping you could’ve made it with Hilts. There’s enough wood nearby so you won’t freeze. And you’ve both passed the bridge’s selfless act test so it’s given you permission to cross.” Ma looked at Larry, “Take his motorcycle; he’d have wanted you to.”

Larry finished rolling Hilts back into a tube then placed him between Ma’s talons.

Grasping the cylinder tightly, Ma hopped to the edge of the road then looked back, “Don’t let your fire go out, you’ll need it; whatever was controlling Femus may still be out there. The bridge will protect you from its side. Keep yourselves between it and your fire; and remember, you must be across the bridge before direct sunlight shines on it.”

Ma then spread her wings and dove into darkness.

Larry continued to stare for a few seconds more, “Let’s get that wood.”

Hauling wood from under the bridge, while at the same time being careful not to fall, was nerve-racking. Ma’s hut had been built at the edge of a cliff.

Wood farther away from where the hut had burned was undamaged and as long as we were moving we were warm. We continued carrying armloads until a large pile had been built about fifty feet up on the road.

Larry pointed down the Ridge Route into darkness, “Ma said the bridge has given us permission to cross and will guard our backs but we’ve still got to protect ourselves from anything coming from that direction. I’ll get the fire started; you get the bikes. I can feel we’re being watched.”

In the time it took to tell me we were being watched he’d started a fire and I’d found my way to Hilts’ Road Warrior; thankfully its engine turned over on the first try. It wanted to get back to where it was warm as much as I did.

“Good,” said Larry when I returned. “Now get your bike.”

Where before there was no firelight to lead me to the bikes, there was now enough brightness to reach out and touch the edge of Femus. Femus lay between my bike and Larry; his huge skeleton was held together only by sinew and skin. Looking more like a monstrous unwrapped mummy than a man and knowing Ma said he’d once been good to travelers didn’t stop me from circling his body. Memories of him chasing us were hard to forget.

I was in luck; the Wide Glide hesitated, stuttered a little, and then started on the second try. Larry’s firelight had grown large enough to reach out and paint a path back to the bridge; it gave me the confidence to stop and get a closer look at what was left of Femus.

Femus had been visited. Too surprised to panic, I found myself getting off my bike to get a closer look. Near his head were bare footprints, close together as if kneeling. Whatever had been here had rolled Femus over in the time it had taken me to start and ride back with my bike.

Every nightmare I’d ever had as a child walked with me to where I’d parked. Left in neutral and running, I had only to shift the Wide Glide into gear to leave. Nothing jumped from the shadows on my return trip to the fire.

“You stopped to look at Femus,” said Larry.

“You were right; something’s out there and it just turned over his body.”

Larry poked the fire causing sparks to jump upwards. Like a swarm of red hot fireflies they followed each other up into the night sky trying to reach the stars before they became too cold and gravity pulled them back down.

“I hate to say it but we’ve got to get what’s left of Femus, drag him back here and burn him,” said Larry. “He’d have wanted it. If we don’t whatever’s prowling around out there is going to try and reanimate him. The two of us shouldn’t have any trouble; he’s mostly just skin and bone.”

Larry’s argument to retrieve what remained of Femus made perfect sense and convinced everything but my legs it was a good idea. After we’d pulled what was left of the body to the fire and were in the process of lifting it into the flames I promised to listen to my legs in the future. Femus or what was left of him tried to sit up.

“All the way, leave nothing outside,” Larry said, swinging the huge but near skeletal arms into the fire. “All of him must be burned; nothing can be left to bring back to life, not a hand, a finger, not even a fingernail.”

Once in the flames the body began to shrink. An aura about an inch off its surface accelerated the burning; ten seconds later it was gone. Larry and I continued to stare, maybe because we were worried Femus would rise from the ashes like the Phoenix.

“You were lucky Ma and Hilts were around to protect you,” came at the end of a hollow laugh not far beyond our light’s circle of sight. “I may have to start dealing directly with you two meddlers myself.”

With my guitar pointed in the direction of the voice, I shouted back, “Show yourself,” at the same time an anemic blue line arched out from the guitar’s neck.

“That’s it, that’s all you got;” laughed the voice again, “you gotta have the will as well as the skill and you don’t.

“You’re nothing but an over the hill studio musician that never had the gumption to do much of anything but counterpunch or open for headliners. You never could get it up when it counted; you’re nothing but a reaction to the action and that’s why you’ll never be more than just a behind the scenes gopher for whoever’s featured on the marquee.”

Smoke mixed with the smell of Femus drifted past my nose then thankfully downwind. Light from our fire lit up a radius of a hundred feet.

“He’s gone;” Larry said a minute later, “he would’ve made his move if he could’ve, instead he chose to mock us. We’ll be okay if we can make it through the night. I’m pretty sure we’ve enough wood but to be safe we’ll get more.”

Going back for more wood, away from the fire’s light at first seemed risky and yet the opposite proved true. Once we were beneath the bridge a sense of calm came across me as if we were being protected. Three large armloads of brush and small logs were carried back to the fire by both of us before Larry and I finally stopped and rested.

“Did you get the weird feeling we were being guarded by the bridge? Ma said we passed the bridge’s test; maybe it’s protecting us?”

Larry finished arranging two branches into a crude bench about ten feet upwind of the fire before answering, “That we’re protected is a benefit from it being hostile to anything that tries to cross it without its permission.”

Warmed only by a worn leather jacket and watch cap, Larry stood next to Hilts’ bike shivering; the cold wasn’t just affecting me. Surviving the night meant putting ourselves and our bikes between the fire and the bridge; when that was done we settled in to wait for morning. Conversation was kept simple considering the bizarre things that had happened in the last couple of days. Topics ranged from Larry’s ideas for future choppers to Larry’s ideas for future choppers. He even had an idea about building one around the Yamaha’s push rod V-twin and Suzuki’s 90 degree liter V-twin.

[page break]

“I never thought I’d hear myself say it,” said Larry, “but metric V-twins may be the future for choppers. The first in mind is Yamaha’s air cooled Star engine; I’m particularly interested in the Road Warrior model. It’s a push rod V-twin that can without stressing its 102 cubic inches be easily coaxed into giving out one hundred and fifty horsepower with almost that same number in foot pounds of torque. An Arizona bike builder I had a build-off against and later came to understand and respect would’ve called it a beast.

“The second, and at the other end of the spectrum, is Suzuki’s high torque hundred plus horsepower 90-degree one liter V-twin. Design a built to be ridden aluminum alloy ridged frame chopper around its Ducati-like engine and you’d be melding form with function. You’d be creating functional art. Neither the Yamaha nor the Suzuki powered bike would be stressed to perform all day at sportbike levels.

“Sorry Charley, I mean Harley, but the art of building choppers will always be about the journey, the way, the Tao. Becoming root bound by staying in the same state of mind and using the same materials and same techniques will be the death knell of chopper building as art. Nineteenth Century artists knew this, moved outside the box, transcended the box, revolted against Traditionalists and became Impressionists. I’m especially interested in building a light tight chopper around Suzuki’s 90-degree one liter V-twin.”

Surprisingly we both avoided talking about tomorrow. Once I came close to describing the eight foot figure of light Pa had become; instead I asked Larry if he would ever build another bike using part of an airplane’s radial engine.

“Maybe,” answered Larry, “but I’d rather try something new, something that’s never been done before. Get some sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”

Agreeing to relieve Larry at midnight, I fell asleep only to be awakened just before sunrise by a tremor. Rippling down from the unseen other side of the bridge it shook the ground enough to rock our bikes.

“Was that an earthquake; and I thought you were supposed to wake me at midnight?”

“It didn’t feel like one;” said Larry through chattering teeth, “and I’m sorry about not waking you. But I started thinking about what’s happened since we left Ma n’ Pa’s. It kept my mind off how cold I was getting and so I decided to let you sleep. I started thinking how lucky we’ve been so far in our journey, with Aaron especially. I hate to think what would’ve happened had we taken him with us and he’d been able to join forces with Femus. He said his name was Aaron but he could’ve been anyone.”

“Or anything,” I added, “I can’t forget his eyes and teeth. My guess is whatever’s taken over the diner is sending out things like Aaron or even worse to terrorize the Borderlands. Andy being changed into Raggedy Man, the city Hilts built destroyed by electroshock and Femus tricked into becoming a zombie are more examples. Now that the jukebox isn’t playing more bad things are bound to happen. Only Ma n’ Pa are in any position to put a stop to it or at least foresee what will happen and warn us.”

Where water had once seeped across the surface of the road in the daytime the same places now glittered in ice; at this hour there’d be ice back to the second bridge. We were trapped here until morning’s sun had time to thaw the road.

“Ma can deal with whatever attacks her, Hilts too if he’s well.” said Larry. “Whatever’s controlling Aaron and once controlled Femus will know that and send Aaron to attack Pa. We’ve got to warn Pa. Ice or not, we’ve got to go back.”

“Can’t Charon stop Aaron?”

“If he’s not fooled;” Larry answered skeptically, “don’t forget Hilts was able to slip past him and he was easily lied to by the imp he chose for us to use as a guide.

“Charon’s quite powerful and able to deal with most enemies; but he doesn’t deal well with deception. And Aaron, if anything, is deceptive; he’d make the perfect politician, car salesman or card shark.”

Knowing Larry was probably right my thoughts pictured Aaron somehow slipping past Charon and attacking Pa. That vision, however, was quickly replaced with the vision of an eight foot figure of blue light burning Aaron to a crisp.

“Pa’s in no danger,” I said, proceeding to tell Larry what I’d seen back at their house by the fireplace. “Pa may be Ma’s creation, but if he is then he’s likely her most powerful. My belief however is they may be co-creators. Ma, or should I say Ma n’ Pa, may very well be being the Borderlands; their being and becoming are…”

“One,” said Larry, finishing my sentence, “and the same; they’re opposites joined together to complete the quantum circle. They’re the archetypal observer and observed, the Universal Field Theory, the Yin n’ Yang; they’re Ma n’ Pa.”

“Because?”

“Because,” continued Larry, “Fritjof Capra, author of “The Tao of Physics,” said all things in space-time are holographic projections of the ‘One’ observing us ‘being’ the manifestation and effect of ourselves. Capra’s book was the only one in the prison library that had all its pages, probably because it was rarely if ever checked out, probably because most inmates didn’t want to know that doing time would be, unless they forgave themselves, forever.”

“What were you in prison for?”

“Let’s just say I had a thing for banks.”

Larry spoke candidly of a history of armed robbery where heroin was his partner until getting arrested put an end to their relationship. Four years in prison studying mechanical engineering and philosophy proved to be more rewarding than crime, so much so that upon release he applied that knowledge to building a new life building choppers. Treating choppers as art, Larry chose to meld metal fabrication with sculpture. From the Taoists he learned that as in nature form must follow function and that to build a chopper that goes against that flow is to go against nature. On the practical side form without function made for a chopper that couldn’t corner.

We ended the night discussing Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”. Was Plato the shadow cast upon the cave’s wall by Plato’s archetype or was he the archetype, or was Plato the ‘Light’ behind the archetype casting shadows upon the wall? Dawn reaching up to paint the highest peaks settled the discussion by showing us that without walls there’d be no shadows, no need of allegories.

“We need,” said Larry facing east, “to leave now.”

“Why? The road’s still icy.”

“Because our get out of jail free card expires once direct sunlight hits the bridge. Our ticket, our permission to cross has a short shelf life; it ain’t a Twinkie.”

Leaving the warmth of the fire before dawn to load up our bikes meant freezing our hands and by the time we’d tied things down our fingers were numb. Ice painted in long strips and looking like thin ribbons of glass still crisscrossed the seamless pavement all the way to the bridge. Where the bridge started the ice ended and a heavy frost took over.

Larry looked sadly over at the charred remains of what had once been his chopper then climbed aboard Hilts’ Road Warrior. The big Yamaha started on the first attempt; my Wide Glide took two tries. Soon both bikes were running and radiating enough heat to thaw our hands.

“Follow my tracks,” Larry called over his shoulder as we carefully rode out and unto the bridge. “Use your gears to slow down; make no sudden turns or stops.”

Giant trees rose up from the canyon below to hang their top branches over the guardrails. After a hundred yards we’d traded the frost for mist. Swirling to a height of eight feet, the mist allowed me to only see how far down the mountain sunlight had crept; Larry’s wool watch cap was the limit of my forward vision. Teasingly the mist revealed what was above but almost nothing in front. Larry’s keen eyesight kept us from hitting obstacles; most were the crushed remains of vehicles. Some were quite old; one in particular was a crumpled old farm truck dating back to the 1940s.

[page break]

“This old timer took quite a hit,” said Larry after parking his Road Warrior beside the truck then walking around and touching the hood. “Whatever smashed it was moving fast. There should be wreckage of the other vehicle but there’s nothing, not even pieces.”

“Maybe,” I countered, “the bridge crushed it like a walnut, ate the driver, then left the shell, I mean truck? The dent marks match the shape of the guardrails.”

With an image of both guardrails coming together and smashing us like clapping hands Larry and I got moving again; hopefully the end wasn’t far ahead. Dawn’s glow was spreading further down the mountain reminding us it wouldn’t be long before direct sunlight touched the bridge.

“Stop,” said Larry as softly as possible and at the same time he rolled to a standstill. “It’s huge, has twelve legs and six heads and it’s just beyond the end of the bridge. It’s heard us but I don’t think it’s seen us.”

Rolling up beside him moments later and looking in the direction he was pointing, I found myself again confirming he had superior eyesight, “I can barely see its outline,” I said, peering as hard as I could into a curtain of gray.

“If you can barely see it, it most likely can barely see you. If it can see anything it’s only our outlines. The road begins just beyond where it’s standing then slopes down hill.”

“If it can barely see us why isn’t it willing to come out onto the bridge?”

“It’s smart enough to know,” continued Larry, “it’ll end up like that crumpled truck we passed if it comes onto the bridge without permission. My guess is it’s been sent here to prevent us from getting off until the touch of direct sunlight triggers the bridge into smashing us. Somehow we’ve got to get it to come over here then get off before it can. If the bridge reacts too fast, like a gag or cough reflex, we’ll also be squashed between the guardrails. Those pearl colored clouds over the mountains are a warning direct morning light is only about a minute away from touching the top span.”

Riding forward made the monster turn. It was as Larry described; it was Scylla with twelve legs and six heads. Somehow it had come out of Homer’s Odyssey and into the Borderlands. The Greek hero Odysseus had to choose between being eaten or squashed, so did we. From behind my back I pulled my guitar around and began to play. Three of its heads looked over and bellowed. As a musician I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or a complaint; I’ve been booed but never bellowed at before.

“Get ready, it’s coming and not for your autograph.”

The bridge shuddered ready to strike but held back only because it still honored our right of passage. Once direct sunlight touched it, however, all bets were off; its railings would crash together.

When the monster broke through the mist Larry roared off and onto the road. It was now completely on the bridge but had misjudged our position by a few feet giving me enough time to flip my guitar around to my back, release the Wide Glide’s clutch and at the same time hear Larry’s warning shout.

“Get off the bridge now!”

Suddenly crowned with direct sunlight the bridge became the crushing rocks the Greek poet Homer had written about in the Odyssey. Odysseus had time to row his ship out of danger; I had none.

“Hurry!” yelled Larry.

Scylla was fast, my bike faster, but not fast enough to clear the bridge. I was nearly off when the guardrails came together like a thunderclap, flattening the Wide Glide from the back seat to the tail light. Scylla wasn’t as lucky. Parts of the monster squirted past me, on me and up the road. I now understood what ‘skin-of-your-teeth’ meant.

We were both silent for nearly a minute before Larry said, “I’ve got to believe luck is still with us. Your bike was crushed but you’re unharmed and I can see a column of mist a few miles ahead. My guess is it’s rising from a hot spring. We could both use a bath, especially you.”

Except for a huge stain soaking into its entry span the bridge looked normal. Larry was right in saying we’d been lucky. Where Odysseus had the goddess Circe to thank for finding a way past the crushing rocks, we had Ma to thank. Had Ma, disguised as troll, not gotten us to commit to a selfless act we’d be paste. None of Scylla’s body parts could be seen but for the few on the road. Parts left on the bridge had disappeared.

“If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I’d say the bridge absorbs, rather eats whatever it crushes.”

“It doesn’t help to think too long about what’s happened;” said Larry, interrupting my spoken thoughts, “count your blessings and focus on the future. From now on we must assume Ma n’ Pa aren’t coming to our rescue; we can’t expect help from anyone, certainly not Hilts. We’re on our own until we reach the fourth and final bridge.”

“What about Andy?”

“We can’t count on Andy either,” continued Larry. “The only help we’ll be getting is from Charon and that’s only if we make it to the river Styx.”

“To ride with Larry is like a dream…for anyone.” __Mondo Pouras

Watch for the NEXT CHAPTER!

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

Editor’s Note: I recently received a note about the last ’48 Panhead I owned. Two years ago Doc Robinson, a moto-journalist and tech writer from Australia, talked me out of it. Since it arrived on his little island in the Pacific he had a mission, to make it vintage road race rally ready. When our reader commented Doc shipped us the latest report on the classic 61-inch EL with dual carbs. Here’s the reader’s letter and Doc’s report.

BANDIT’S ’48 PANHEAD–Hey man, I came across this picture of your Panhead. I was wondering if you had anymore shots, and could tell me anything more about it.

One of the best lookin’ Pans I’ve ever seen.

–Reader

Ah yes, old bikes have some things in common with old lovers, as anyone who has ever suffered a broken heart will attest. And hasn’t that been all of us at some time? For quite some years I had not owned a bike that would qualify for entry into the Great Race, an Australian Institution that sees early Harley-Davidsons pitted against Indians. Details and pictures of this event can be found at www.great-race.com.au and the site is well worth a look.

But with the acquisition of this ’48 Panhead from my good buddy Bandit (from Bikernet) a couple of years back I figured I was “in like Flynn”. Alas, a combination of last minute problems with the bike, a back brake that suddenly decided to lock up completely whenever it was activated, plus a suspect coil and plug lead saw me scrambling. On top of that my wife’s mother suffered a major illness and was in hospital in a critical condition and I didn’t want to leave wife Jane at home alone in that circumstance. But roll on 2013 – come hell or high water I was going to be there.

Now Patty – yes “Patty Panhead” – in my ongoing though somewhat lame tradition of naming my bikes, wasn’t running as smoothly as I would have liked and even seemed to be going downhill somewhat. So I enlisted the services of Neville Lush of Neville Lush Racing to give her a good tune up, a not so simple task given that she runs twin Mikuni 42mm carbies that are directly affixed to the heads.

Now after some work on her, Neville suggested the aftermarket automatic advance distributor might be part of the problem and fortunately I was able to source a brand new Mallory from Mark Hood of Hood Engine Service.

But despite his best tuning efforts, which did result in a decent improvement, Neville informed me that he’d found the front cylinder exhibited somewhat reduced compression and that this needed checking out. Time now, was running short for the Great Race, and in my neck of the woods blokes who are prepared to work on Panheads are somewhat thin on the ground.

However, my big break came when I was discussing my problems with a young tech at Harley-Heaven who volunteered to take a look at Patty for me. Now Adam Kalb, or SuperKalb as I once nicknamed him after he fitted an automotive turbocharger to both his late model Fat Boy as well as his 140cc scooter (the latter which jumped from a stock 4hp to 18hp), is one of those blokes who was born with a spanner in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. While this no doubt wouldn’t have done much for his mum’s birth canal, it did result in him being a problem solver par excellence when it comes to anything mechanical.

Well he pulled off the rocker covers and noticed that one of the lands that supports the rockers had a fingernail-sized piece of metal missing from it. Where had it gone?

Removing the heads provided the answer; it had gone down into the front cylinder and scored the bore significantly. Damn.

So, I raced the heads and barrels down to Hoody who did some measuring and found I had one more rebore left in those old barrels, but said that finding pistons was going to be tricky. However, Hoody worked his usual magic in super-fast time and called me a couple of days later to let me know he’d located some pistons and the job was ready.
In the meantime SuperKalb had checked the cases and flushed them and informed me that the bottom end rebuilt by Lee Clemens of Departure Bike Works in Richmond, Virginia, seemed quite fine.

Now, Hoody told me that the thread in the head under one corner of the land looked like it had been faulty from the factory, and that had allowed the screw to loosen and then the land to jump up and down until a chunk of it had broken off. But he sorted that out and went over the heads, originally rebuilt with roller rockers by Baisley’s Performance, thoroughly, pronouncing them ready for another 65 or so years on the road.

So it looked like I was going to make it this time around thanks to the sterling efforts of SuperKalb and Hoody. Looked like. Until it came time to put the oil pump back together and Murphy reared his butt ugly head. You see we found that we were one gasket short – and it was a critical one in terms of dimensions – so no cardboard cut out was going to do. Double damn!

So, there the bike sat, all ready to go, with all the major problems dealt with and some minor ones attended to, just missing one teeny-weeny bloody gasket, and before we could source one time ran out on me. Another couple of days and I’d have been charging around the Snowy Mountains with a great bunch of Harley-Davidson and Indian enthusiasts, grinning no doubt, like the village idiot. Ah well, as Ned Kelly said, “such is life.” Fingers crossed for next year.

I suppose, now that the bitter disappointment of missing the Race for the second time has faded to just a tight knot in the pit of my stomach and a sour taste in my mouth, I can reflect that some good things have come out of this. SuperKalb has repainted the barrels and rocker covers to schmick up the look, completely cleaned and resealed the fuel tank which he’d found to be pretty rusty internally, tidied up some wiring, and fitted new brake shoes to the rear drum.

With a picture of the Snowy Mountains hanging right in front of her on the wall of my garage where she is parked, I’m hoping some magical osmotic effect just might occur and get her all psyched up for 2014. Meanwhile I’m enjoying the ride and building my retro riding skills.

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

Progressive Insurance Laconia Motorcycle Week®, America’s Original Riding Rally, had decent weather over both weekends and very strong attendance for 2013, its 90th year. Riders enjoyed the White Mountains, crystal clear lakes and great riding throughout New Hampshire.

“We launched our AMSOIL Laconia Passport to great success this year” notes Rally Executive Director Charlie St. Clair. “We are already exploring ways of expanding the program for next year”.

The passport program exceeded expectations for its inaugural year and riders from all over New England as well California, New Mexico, Illinois, Iowa, Canada and even Luxemburg participated! The Grand Prize winner of the “Win a Trip to Laconia in 2014” was Janis Bullen of Ashburn, VA.

The Laconia Mobile Guide(TM) app was new for this year and assisted riders in planning out their stay as well as giving them ways to connect with other enthusiasts. “We plan to work on developing new content for the Laconia Mobile Guide(TM) app for next year as well as fine-tuning the existing content so even more riders can have a great experience with it for 2014”, said Jennifer Anderson of the Laconia Motorcycle Week Association.

This year also saw a ground-breaking 1st annual Laconia Motorcycle Week® Customer Appreciation Parade from New Hampshire Motor Speedway to Laconia Harley-Davidson, with over 300 riders participating to raise money for NH Children’s Charities and Boys’ and Girls’ Clubs on NH. Next year is sure to have even more riders taking in the sites, enjoying a ride around the famed NH Motor Speedway track and being a part of a great cause and parade.

Hill climbers from across the country competed for a packed crowd, at the American Motorcyclist Association-sanctioned Pro Hillclimb in Canaan, NH. Enthusiastic racing fans watch as John Koester took top honors in the unlimited and Xtreme Hillclimb division this year.

Organizers and sponsors ended the event satisfied as the Rally kicked off its ninth decade in 2013 and with sights ahead for the 91st anniversary next June, to officially begin the ‘countdown to 100!”

The Rally that began humbly in 1916, alongside the roots of the sport of motorcycling, continues to make a significant impact on the Lakes Region, the state of New Hampshire, and all of New England.

For a complete schedule of next year’s events, watch for updates to http://www.laconiamcweek.com/Schedule/. For complete lodging and camping options, visit http://www.laconiamcweek.com/Lodging-and-Camping/. While you’re visiting the Official Progressive Laconia Motorcycle Week® website, be sure to sign-up for the free e-newsletter to learn about new information and special deals!

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

Well, here we are, past the point of no return. In this chapter I cover the reassembly of the 1964FL restoration. I have been working on this classic for the past nine months. I know it says frame above, but the frame was bone stock, no dings, or mods. The customer requested paint over powder, so off it went. We sandblasted it clean, checked for cracks, magna-fluxed the frame for imperfections, and checked all dimensions for tweaks. This puppy was straight. With new neck bearings and cups from J&P the frame flew back together. We cleaned the paint off the engine and transmission mounts and went to work. Assembly was straight forward, almost the reverse of the disassembly. Engine goes in first, followed by the transmission.

Primary with belt drive is next. However before the inner primary goes on, make sure you hook up the shift linkage, otherwise there’s not enough room to install the pin and cotter pin. After the linkage and inner primary are on, you can install the main shaft pulley and belt drive clutch. Loosen the transmission and adjust it all the way forward to ease the belt installation. After the belt is on, adjust the transmission rearward to achieve the proper belt tension.

I figured this was a good time to install the rear wheel and chain, making sure the proper alignment and chain tension are acquired.

Oil tank and lines were next on my agenda. I opted for a more modern spin on oil filter adapter, it looks nice and makes oil changes a snap. I kept the original oil filter that was polished just in case the owner wants to go all original some day.

The front forks have been completely rebuilt with all new modern seals, I had them polished also, looks nice! My customer decided he wanted a old school look on the wheels like they did in the ’30s and ’40s, so we blacked out the spokes and hubs leaving the star bearing plates and lug bolts the original parkerized coating.

Just about everything that is aluminum was polished like chrome. We kept to the OEM look on the primary and oil tank, which was black with touches of chrome.

The original bugle horn was restored and polished.

As for the clutch shift linkage (mouse trap), it also was completely gone through and restored, polished and looks like new. I did find out why they call it a mouse trap! Got my Fuckin’! finger snapped twice while trying to adjust it, IT HURT BAD!

The brakes have all new shoes, lines and fittings. Front brake is mechanical and rear is hydraulic, all juiced, adjusted and ready to go. Tires we picked are replicas of the day. They are Shinko reproduction white walls. Not the best, not the worst, but fit the budget just right. They have all new tubes, rim belts and have been balanced and trued by me.

The new exhaust went on comfortably with new head clamps. We kept the original muffler. It was salvageable. All the footboards have been rebuilt with new rubber and rivets and foot controls were installed.

The original generator in chapter 3, was a no go, it had a bad armature and wasn’t cost effective for a rewind. So I ordered (cust. request) a new 6v generator with built in voltage regulator, it too looks very nice. Just a quick rundown, the electric system although all 6v, has all new solid state components i.e. electronic dual breaker distributor with a solid state voltage regulator, no mechanical parts.

The electrical has all been installed and wiring is complete less the head light and tail light. Both electrical junction boxes have been rebuilt with new insulators and wiring harness.

There’s a lot of little things like the $5 chrome chain guard I found at the swap meet and some odds and ends I also found in good condition cheap, at the swap meet. You can see them in the photo’s if you look hard. The steering head lock was a nightmare. It took me months to track one down on eBay. Shortly after I purchased the one on eBay, JP Cycles informed me that they finally had one in stock, go figure!

So here she is, just waiting for the tanks to come back from the painter.

ETA on the tins is end of June, then on they go. Hooking up the fuel system and tins installation will be the next chapter, followed by all systems start and run. I plan on giving the bike to Timbo at his semiannual “Ranch Party.”

He goes all out with a dozen live bands, free food and drink to all his friends, which is about a thousand or so. People show up weeks ahead to help construct stages, dance floors and the Bar-B-Q area. It is truly a sight to behold, covering five+ acres, your never board, everything from darts to wild monkey sex is going on! But this year is special.

Timbo is retiring with 30+ years of service to the Boeing air craft company at Edwards AFB. The bike is his gift to him, so it all has to come together. No pressure for me, HA! If you guys have any questions, feel free to write, or if I left out anything you deem important, ask!

–Tail Gunner out! Checking back with you in July.

Sources:

Note: Some 90% of the parts I used were from J&P Cycles with the exception of a few swap meet finds and the dual electronic ignition from a previous chapter. We found the seat on Ebay. It’s a replica ’48 tractor on pogo. Pipes are classic Paughco replacement units. It looks like a Primo belt drive. The only clue I had was a clutch spacer that was left out for some reason. I contacted Primo, and they said it was an early system and I needed to install the spacer. — Gunner

J&P Cycles

Rivera-Primo

Paughco

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

The past few months have been a blur in many ways from getting to go see and take a few shots of Lindsey Stirling on a Wednesday night, then heading out to cover the Division 4 NHRA races that same weekend, to a change in my “real” job status just prior to the 26th Annual NHRA Spring Nationals!

I made my way out east I-10 to the home of Royal Purple Raceway for the NHRA/Lucas oil Racing Series Division 4 races, Showdown at Sundown while this event would feature Top Alcohol Funny Cars and Dragsters along with all the Super Comp, Super Gas and the others what made this event even more special was this would be the first race of a 10 race season for NHRA and Top Fuel Harley’s! I guess due in part to the demise of the AHDRA, yet when they started promoting exhibitions in the 2012 season you kind of had to think something was up?

I arrived as I always do right as the gates opened, being that this was a Division race I needed to not only pick up the required paperwork and ID, but also to be sure to introduce myself to this group of NHRA officials. While only my second time in an NHRA event I went to the Press/Media room, from there I was instructed to go up stairs one flight to the main control room for the NHRA.

After introducing myself to the man in charge and getting all of the rules and such, I turned to leave and there they were…A table full of “Wally’s!” Let’s see, nobodies looking surely they won’t miss just this one? Unfortunately at this time I had not unpacked any cameras and did not even think about my phone to grab a quick shot, plus they were damn busy up there.

Just in case you might not be familiar, the Wally is the official NHRA trophy awarded to the winning drivers of each class. The 18-inch tall, 12-pound trophies have been handed out since 1969 and are named after Wally Parks who formed the NHRA back in 1951. Contrary to what most folks believe, the figure atop the Wally is not Mr. Parks but is instead modeled after Top Gas racer Jack Jones. Seems Wally Parks called Jack and asked him to pose for pictures that would be used as a model for the trophy. The photo that ended up being used for the model was shot at Pomona Raceway in 1969.

Back outside I made my way back over to the truck to grab a camera and go see what was happening in the pits. For whatever reason I had thrown my black “Arctic Edition” Carhartt in my truck the night before. I actually found this jacket in a Texas store in August, as I was preparing to begin travelling to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada for my winter trips.

I was glad I had it. A cutting wind as a chill (for Texas) met me at the track. Making my way into the pits, I found the Top Fuel Harley folks right next to the tower. Seems 16 of the big boys showed up for this first race, along with a handful of the other MC classes: Pro Dragster, Pro gas, Street Pro and Hot Street.

While I assume the Wally was awarded to all class winners, I discovered that two riders in Street Pro and Hot Street got theirs for just showing up, as they ran unopposed on Sunday. I was even asked by one of the NHRA folks working on the track about the motorcycle race scene here, as some of the classes were a bit light.

Racers are required to attend a certain amount of division races to be allowed to compete at this show! You know, the events you get to watch on ESPN, and boy did they show up! While it is cool shooting the wheel stands of the SS class, the extreme amount of car racers roughly 335+ throughout all the car classes like Super Stock, Stock Eliminator, Super Comp, etc. pushed the schedule back.

As the day wore on the crowds picked up and began to resemble what you might see at a national event. This was due in part to tickets not costing quite as much as the Mello Yello Racing Series National events. Plus the draws of the Top Fuel Harleys first race amped attendance, and just to add the cherry on top, two jet cars were scheduled to run on Saturday night.

While the temps barely made it into the 50s, the wind never died down. At times the Big-3 automakers could have used the entrance tunnel, under the tower, for wind testing, as all day it whistled straight up the track from the finish line.

While the crowds braved the winds and the chill, there was some concern with the Top Fuel Harley teams. If the temps dropped anymore, it was going to be too cold for running big beasts! However, finally the first of the Top Fuel bikes rolled out from under the tower, setting off a round of applause from the windswept folks in the bleachers. Yet, that paled compared to the roar from those same folks, who waited patiently all day to hear those two Nitro methane breathing monsters come to life!

When they rolled out the two jet cars, one of the track officials came over and instructed me to move back off the wall to the return road. Having just re-grown my eyebrows, I moved quickly. The last time I got to see a jet car was at the Houston International Speedway and Shirley Muldowney was still racing. The jet cars were cool with lots of smoke and fire. I wonder what each pass costs them folks?

Sunday morning broke warmer and with no wind! While there were still a bunch of cars to run, every race seemed to flow. The longest delay was after a young man decided to see if either side of his car was made of rubber, testing it on both walls. While he was OK, the NHRA Safety Safari folks decided to be safe and send him to the hospital just to be sure. The track is a good ways from any hospital, so they decided to let him ride in a helicopter to expedite his journey. I mean, after all, he does need to start beating them side panels back out!

Also at the race were the Sportsman Motorcycles. I noticed two ladies out on the track, one who seemed to be by herself each time she came up, so I went to investigate and found out she wasn’t alone. Her husband was racing in the same class. I spoke with her about trying to see if I could get a story on her in one of Bikernet’s sister sites if they are interested, so we will see what happens?

The day progressed comfortably with great weather and hot racing. Doug Horne from Aberdeen, Maryland went on to take the first Top Fuel Harley Wally of 2013 with a 6.363 pass at 237.09 miles per hour!

Race #2 The 26th Annual Spring Nationals

See I told you there were two races! This year I headed out to the track before Starbucks even opened! Possibly due to my excitement of knowing I would be on the “Wall” at an NHRA National Event. Can we say, “Top Fuel Baby!”

See, last year I did get to attend and had a great time, after the shock of realizing I did not know how to read the conformation letter sent by the NHRA! This year I knew I would be out there on Friday, but until I had that orange vest in my grubby little hand I would not rest!

Of course the first thing I did after checking in and getting said vest, was to go the restroom and take pictures of it for Facebook. Why is it that pretty girls and psychotic photographers are always taking pictures of themselves in the bathroom? After unpacking the cameras, I headed to the wall. This is the location of all the race action, so there are all kinds of things to shoot! You of course have the TF, but there is also Top Alcohol, Pro Stock and Pro Stock Motorcycles too! I had goose bumps on the top of my head.

I was back and forth all day between my truck to grab a snack and water, or in the tower to cool down a bit as the Texas weather had returned to blistering normal. I came out and saw the top fuel cars lining up at the tower. I have been out on the track between two top-fuel Harleys snapping photographs and snorting fumes. Yet that can’t compare to having the air filled with Nitro methane when jet cars smoke their tires and rip down the track! When those first two cars fired off, my eyes watered, snot ran out of my quivering nose, and I could hardly breathe, it was intense!

As I stumbled down the track to shoot, I wondered how long this explosive sensation was going to last. All I had to do was point the camera in the right direction, since I couldn’t see a damn thing for the tears. The first hit of those throttles and nothing in my feeble span of life was ever the same! Stuck in the stands and around the tunnel entrance last year doesn’t compare with the sensory overload on the track. There is no way to explain the difference in being 8 feet away when those cars launch, the pressure on your body and the heat from the headers is amazing!! The one drawback, if you can call it that is the rubber residue flying everywhere!

There are still signs of the hot goo on my cameras and my bag. I could not believe what I looked like when I hit the hotel that night. Hell, I attempted to wash some of it off during the day, but that didn’t help much. Not to take anything away from the alcohol cars, but I just didn’t get slimmed the month prior.

After soaking the knees in water as hot I could stand, followed by more hot water, I decided to finally open my Bikernet healthcare benefits package. It contained nothing more than a pint of Jack Daniels, along with a swift cosmic kick in the ass from Bandit’s size-15 steel-toe with the message, “Geez Nancy-girl, I know 3-year-olds who don’t whine as much as you!” Well at least I can have a drink while I soak. Saturday morning was followed by more hot water, while turning the JD bottle on its end to capture the last drops! Then I scrambled out the door. What the hell, it was raining. I called a friend at the track, and yep it was raining there too. So, it was off to the Waffle House for Breakfast and coffee.

Although it was still raining, you could cloud cover clearing towards the track, so I headed out and got visit with some folks, and then here came the rain again! As the afternoon wore on and it kept raining most of the folks left, except for diehards still sitting in the stands despite the heavy rain, thunder, and lightning.

As I stood there in the drizzle, a gentleman came up and tapped me on the shoulder. He asked if I was hungry and before I could even say anything, he drug me into his company’s suite, H&S Constructors, Inc. His family and friend were all hanging out and a couple of the ladies started handing me all kinds of food and drinks, just the nicest folks! After some good food I went to check on the status of the race, finally after a confirmed lightning strike within the park the NHRA called the event for the day.

By Sunday morning the rain was gone, the track way dry and it was back to racing! I hung out in the tunnel grabbing pics. I shot a couple of Alexis DeJoria’s boyfriend. You know him, Bandit he had the TV show where you won the toolbox, anyway was glad to see he is a Canon shooter!

Even though didn’t get a lot done on Saturday, it was a terrific weekend and I look forward to 2014 season. Anyway I now have a total of 8 days at NHRA events with four of those on the wall, and I have yet to fall on the track in front of a racecar or motorcycle! So who knows maybe next year I can get two days on the “Wall?” A man needs goals.

Till Next Time,
–Rigid Frame Richard

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

My friend Wayne just bought a 2013 Harley Davidson Tri-Glide and was complaining it needed some more power to get down the highway. Even with the 103 CI Twin Cam engine that is not surprising because of the weight of the motorcycle.

We decided to go with a Zip Kit package from Zipper Performance that included an exhaust header (he already had screaming eagle mufflers), high flow air cleaner and ThunderMax tuner. The ThunderMax also allows you to download new maps in the future should you do any other performance upgrades.

The exhaust is a Dual Header System from Khrome Werks. The “True Dual” is made of 1 3Ž4 16 gauge material and comes with full coverage heat shields. It is designed for maximum top end power and improved low end torque with balanced flow.

I started off by removing the stock exhaust system. This is basically starting at the back removing the mufflers and moving forward until all parts were removed. This procedure is covered in the Harley Manual and also with the instructions that comes with the new exhaust.

I then replaced the exhaust gaskets using JIMS tool number 788. It makes the install quick and easy.

The exhaust comes with both 12 & 18MM bungs installed. I would be using the 18 MM O2 sensors from ThunderMax so I installed the 12mm plugs. In the next step I varied slightly from factory supplied instructions by installing the exhaust system and then the O2 sensors because it was easier for me.

The header system is installed by inserting the front pipe into the exhaust port and then the rear by using a strong pull to seat it. Once in position the flanges were installed on the studs, neversieze was used on the studs and the saved 5/16-24 flange nuts installed. The nuts were Snugged but Not Tightened at this time. The O2 Sensors come with neversieze on the threads and I installed them. Note; Do not over tighten because once you have run the motorcycle, heat from the exhaust will make them tighter and they could be a problem if they ever have to be removed.

After the header was installed Neversieze was applied to all exhaust pipe connections and the cross over installed followed by pipe extensions (because it is a trike) and then the mufflers. There are detailed instructions that should be followed while doing this. After the exhaust is in place follow the enclosed tightening instructions. The complete installation instructions can be found at

http://www.khromewerks.com/PDF%20Files/Instructions/High%20Performance%20Exhaust/200650A.pdf

Now that the exhaust was installed I removed the air cleaner cover, element and plastic backing plate. I retained the cover mounting screw, 2 breather bolts and “S” shaped hoses.

I used Blue Loctite on the original breather bolts inserted them through the supplied spacer and tightened them securely.

Next I installed the “S” shaped hoses through the new backing plate and chrome caps. Using Blue Loctite on the threads of the stanchions I installed the bottom one through the new backing plate and gasket and into the throttle body then pushed the hoses over the nipples of the breather bolts followed by the chrome caps. I then installed the two other stanchions and tightened to 85 inch pounds in sequence, repeating this a couple of times to seat the gasket and then went to 90 inch pounds for a final torque.

Next the filter element was lined up with the stanchions and the screws provided installed after a small amount of Blue Loctite was applied to the threads.

While I was doing the above I had added some silicone to the air cleaner cover gasket, installed it, and laid it on a flat surface with some weight on the cover to let it set up. Now that it had I added some silicone to one side of the thick supplied washer that was to be used as a spacer. Though some people use Blue Loctite on the cover screw I prefer to use Liquid Teflon. Putting the bolt through the cover and placing the spacer over it with the silicone side towards the filter element the cover was lined up and tightened in place.

Detailed instructions can be found at http://www.zippersperformance.com/pdf/117-448,%20117-449%20%20Air%20Filter.pdf

The next step was installing the ThunderMax. Remove the side cover and the main fuse, followed by the seat. The factory ECM is held in place by plastic caddy latches, simply pull back on them and remove the unit. Holding it firmly remove the lock and slide the release lever to remove the wiring harness from the ECM. This is covered in detail in the supplied instructions and they should be followed carefully.

I routed the front sensor wire across the front brace and then along the right side frame rail making sure it did not touch anything. The rear wire was routed between the transmission cover and the starter and then to the ABS caddy located on the right side of the motorcycle.

I lubed the communication and Auto Tune cables with dielectric grease and installed them into the ThunderMax ECM making sure they were fully seated and then secured them.

The ThunderMax was then installed into the caddy and the other wires greased and joined. I then double checked the wire routing and secured it to the frame with wire ties. I then re-installed the main fuse, the warning sticker about removing the battery in the future and then the seat.

Since I had purchased the unit directly from Zippers it came pre-programmed and I started the motorcycle. I let it warm up, shut it off and then repeated the procedure. I was happy with it so I reinstalled the side cover and took it for a ride, OH YEA!!! A Major Difference and it would get even better as Wayne rode it. He has since gotten back to me and has recommended it to some of his other trike riding friends.

For those who purchase the kit or the ThunderMax from other sources it does come with detailed instructions on how to install the proper map. If you have any issues there is an excellent support staff available to help.

Detailed install instructions for the ThunderMax can be found at http://www.zippersperformance.com/media/wysiwyg/DownloadsPDFs/ThunderMaxInstructions/309-362_Installation_V2012.06.28.pdf

For more information on this and other fine products for your motorcycle Zippers web site is.

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

Thank the deacon of the harsh skies, the winter was gone and it was open-road riding time of year again, time for the super badass Smoke-Out in Rockingham, North Carolina sponsored by the HORSE and Bikernet to the max! I was ready to cut a dusty trail Friday afternoon, like a drunk who had been sequestered on a desert island for a year. Vicki polished her camera lens for a month. We only had a mere 75-mile-ride from Charlotte, and thought about taking our time, but the closer I got the more I rolled the throttle on.

We arrived around 2:30 pm and checked into our room. I was as antsy as red ants on a broken honey jar. Vicki wanted to hang out and find some grub, but I couldn’t wait. We snorted a French fry and then we headed directly toward the Smoke-Out at the Rockingham Dragway.

We were early, but the crowd was packing it in, non-stop. We thought about feeling out the vibe on Friday evening, but the white lightening soaked maraschino cherries kick off the evening’s mantra, like a Viking on steroids. The Smoke-Out is all about non-stop action, from the minute the gates open. I immediately checked the scooter action out and as always the bikes did not disappoint!

My good buddy Bob called me and told me he would be there Saturday morning along with his wife Diane. Bob just finished his rigid Sporty and the break-in trip was to the Smoke-Out, natch. What Bob builds is what the Smoke-Out is all about. Bikes built in a garage late at night, no high tech tools, just determination and some basic skills. Bob is a terrific welder and painter and he handles all of his fabrication with limited resources. So, I was excited to see his bike.

Saturday morning rolled around quick and we jumped up early, headed out for breakfast and into the Smoke-Out. On the way I spotted KC’s Biker Barn and decided to stop. Very nice people, they asked us what size t-shirts we wore and they told us every Saturday they give the first 10 customers a FREE t-shirt! So on top of that I got a new pair of KD sunglasses. Vicki got something, but I can ‘t remember what. I was too anxious to hit the action.

We pull in to the Smoke-Out entrance lot and the crowd was already swarming, and it was only 10 am. We were on sight about an hour when Bob called. He survived his first break-in run and was already planted in the park with a cold one. We hooked up, I checked out his bike, very cool and Vicki and Diane started doing the girl thing.

Bob and I heard the rumor about the Painted Ladies and the Painted ladies booth and we checked ‘em out. Now, let me tell you, from 30 feet away it looks like they are wearing clothes but the closer you get you realize those clothes are alive! Bob being a painter wanted to get an even closer look at the Painted Ladies booth. He wanted to see how they laid that paint down. You know how women always have to have a partner to go to the bathroom with?

Well, Bob and I waited and sure enough finally Vicki and Diane take off on their bathroom run. We thought they would never have to go! It was time for Bob and myself to make a break for it. We shot through the crowd on a mission and found the Painted Ladies booth. We had been there about 2 hours admiring the talented artist work when all of a sudden we get a BIG slap in the back and there are Vicki and Diane! Busted! “What are you two doing?” Diane said and Vicki stood firm, her arms crossed, while glaring at me. We never had a chance to answer. We were drug off by our ears! Oh well, after we recovered from our tongue-lashings we decided to check out the bikes.

The bikes at the Smoke-Out are badass, bare bones, nothing not needed, nothing extra, bikes. No saddle bags, no radios blaring, no windshields, no nothing except the bike in its purest form. You will see and hear open belt drives. I love that sound! Kick starters that fire on the first kick! Tall sissy bars and even a few King and Queen seats, jockey shifts, tank shifters, foot clutches, Ape Hangers and Z-bars! If you dig this stuff, it is all at the Smoke-Out!

At the drag strip, it was all fun for whoever wanted to race and Saturday evening the world famous costume-ball mini-bike races were held. The costumes these guys wear are out of this world! Vicki wants me to build her a mini bike, so she can enter the race next year. I can’t see it, but if she raced I could hang with the painted ladies…

The people of Rockingham and all the businesses really appreciate the Smoke-Out and what it means to their economy. Signs were everywhere reading “WELOCOME BACK SMOKE-OUT” and “WELCOME BACK BIKERS!” It is good to feel welcomed. Hey Myrtle Beach, are you listening?

Edge and all the staff of THE HORSE MAGAZINE do a better job every year. They deserve a BIG THANK YOU! The Smoke-Out is my favorite event and I have only missed one. Vicki and I start making our plans every January, and that is when you need to book reservations because the motels fill up fast.

All too soon Smoke-Out 14 was in the books and it was time to head home. We will back next year! LONG LIVE THE SMOKE-OUT!

Until next time, RIDE!

–STEALTH

SMOKE OUT BIKE SHOW WINNERS

Smoke Out 14 Custom Bike Show will be known not for the number of motorcycles in the bike show but the quality of motorcycles in the show. The innovation, design and engineering is truly outstanding. A number of judges came together (including Englishman and Fab Kevin) and spent several hours reviewing over 100 bikes in the show and came away with the top 10 guys. Each bike will be showcased in the HORSE Magazine.

The 10 winners include:

#90 – Jeremy Camp – Shovel
#85 – Wes Jackson – Shovel
#83 – Courthouse Customs – Triumph
#59 – Bob McConnel – Honda Scrambler
#52 — Zack Williams – Café Sportsters
#53 – Phillip Wiliams – XS 650
#48 – Lance Dodson – Norton
#38 – Tommy Bright – 71 Sporty
#24 – Eric Stein – 74 Shovel
#64 – Arron Lovett

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

I ride a lot at night and many times on roads that are not well lighted. Through the years, I have tried numerous lighting improvements, many of which I first became aware of through their use on other vehicles such as cars and trucks.

In April of 2012 I installed a 7-inch LED headlight made by Truck-lite in my 2009 FLHT Harley. It replaced a higher wattage bulb than came as stock on the motorcycle, and it was such a great improvement even over that, that I wrote a Tech Article on it for Bikernet.

You can read that article at:

http://www.bikernetbaggers.com/pages/Truck_Lite_For_Motorcycles.aspx

I have been using performance bulbs in my passing lamps, and though it was an improvement, it still left a lot to be desired. As a matter of fact one failed in a short period of time and I replaced it with the stock one until I could get another.
That’s when I found out that Truck-lite had come out with a 4.5-inch LED lamp for the passing lamps. Since I was so pleased with the previous light from them I bought a set.

Like its big brother the lamp produces a white light closer to the color of daylight and greatly improves visibility. I should note the LEDs are bulb free and are solid state and encapsulated in a hardened epoxy, to resist damage from shock and vibration resulting in up to 50x longer life than incandescent lamps—amazing.

They are easily installed on 2005 and up Harley- Davidsons with just a screw driver, plus they use the Harley connectors. It can be used on earlier models by cutting off the connector and adding matching connectors to those of the lamp removed.

The lamp is part number 80275 and you can find out more about it and all their other products by going to: http://www.truck-lite.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/GenericView?storeId=10001&langId=-1&pageName=/home.jsp

On the upper right corner of the link you can find a dealer near you. The lights are also starting to appear with motorcycle distributors. Do some shopping around. You can save a lot of money over some of the lighting prices being offered by other sources.

These bulbs really work, and since I see better, of course I ride faster and safer because of them. I live to ride fast, don’t ya know.

–ROGUE

Sidebar:

The Truck-Lite running lamps only draw 0.7 Amps and that is a considerable drop from the standard bulb or the halogen replacements.

The Running Lamps are designed for later model Harleys and have the new connector, but they can be used on earlier models by removing the connector and replacing with the earlier style.

These lights provide superior lighting at very low amperage draw and make them a life saver for some of the earlier low-amp alternator and generator model Harleys.

As mentioned in the previous article on the Headlight, it only draws 3.6 amps on High Beam and 1.8 amps on low.

By Bandit | May 31, 2024

I’m a Panhead aficionado. I’ve owned at least a half dozen, so when Markus Cuff shot this stellar 1960 restored Super Sport Solo for American Iron I was intrigued but patient. I had to wait out the magazine publishing deadlines and schedules. It finally hit the bricks in the June 2013 issue, and Jim Babchak aptly handled the story. I asked Bikernet historian Wilburn Roach to dig up any 1960 Pan info he could find, and Bob T., from 7-Palms searched for historic images.

Jim covered the E-Bay purchase and the basics of the restoration, so I started digging, and called Paul Pardini in Marin County above San Francisco. This wasn’t his first turkey shoot. He’s been riding since he was a kit and stumbled across his sloping San Franciscan street to the neighbor’s house. The 16-year-old heard the rumble of freedom calling and went to investigate.

Paul discovered another young man slightly older than him by a couple of years. Jack Clark spun wrenches on his ’49 Panhead with a stock springer front end and a bobbed rear. That straight-pipe meeting sealed Paul’s raucous fate on the streets of San Francisco for several years. He was immediately enamored with the Panhead configuration.

He purchased a ’52 Pan and peeled through the streets of Frisco, raising hell for several years. “I’d still be at it if it wasn’t for my wife, Laurie,” Paul said. “She tugged on me just hard enough to pull me away from the city and harm’s way.”

His marriage would have never lasted if he had remained in the city. My first wife’s name was also Laurie, and she recently passed away under the destructive hands of the Big C. She tried to pull me away from the streets. She would come out on the balcony of our Long Beach apartment in tears and beg me not to ride. It didn’t work and we ultimately parted. I’ll never forget her.

Paul stuck with his Laurie and raised three girls, but he stays in touch with his city-riding partners and relishes the wild times. After 16 years, Paul sold the ’52, bought a Heritage Softail, and then this ’60 Pan.

“Restorations are a pain compared to a chopper,” Paul said. “Finding just the right part, even the correct information regarding the paint scheme was a chore.”

I could sense during the interview the desire to build an early Pan chop again. “I like to customize,” Paul said. “I’ll find another early Pan someday and build it with a springer, a sporty tank, shotgun pipes, a bobbed rear fender and no front. Now we’re talking.”

He still has a garage wall plastered with David Mann paintings. He’s been married 30 years, but the desire to split lanes in the night across the Golden Gate is still a driving force. Enjoy our Panhead investigation.

Panhead History:

The Panhead era was one of the most significant models in Harley history. Beginning in ’48, it was the last year of the springer forks. In 1949, the hydraulic Duo-Glide front end was introduced. Then the rigid frame slipped away in 1959.

Tank shifters gradually were eliminated in the Panhead era, although my first Shovelhead was a ’66 with a tank shifter. The first electric start H-D was introduced in 1965. The 6-volt electrical system was replaced for 12 zots during the Panhead era along with the manual advance distributor, to be replaced by the auto-advance distributor. Even the tin primary fell away under the Panhead watch.

H-D News from 1960

The Harley-Davidson Topper motor scooter is introduced and is the only scooter platform the Motor Company ever produced.

Harley-Davidson purchased a half interest in Aeronatica-Macchi, forming Aermacchi Harley-Davidson, a European division that will produce small, single cylinder motorcycles.

In this year Brad Andres finished 1st place at the Daytona 200. The top 14 finishers were also riding Harley-Davidson 750 KR models.

A Quote from Willie G. Davidson

The first important new product I was involved with was the Electra Glide, introduced in 1965. The Electra Glide exudes familiarity; it was major because it was the first time we used an electric starter on one of our pleasure motorcycles, and the styling was revolutionary.

Look up the word “motorcycle” in a dictionary, and in my mind, you should see a picture of an Electra Glide, possibly a police version. This is the bike that from any distance is unmistakably a Harley-Davidson. It continues to be a very popular motorcycle for a range of riders.

By the sixties, the custom movement had gained a lot of momentum. I remember being in Daytona around then and watching a group of riders pull out of a drive-in. A guy made his way onto the street with an extreme long-raked, pushed out front end. It was the first time I had seen an extended front fork.

— from 100 Years by Willie G. Davidson:

1960 DUO-GLIDE, 74 OHV MODELS

Prices

60 FLHF-Super Sport- Foot Shift $1,375
60 FLH-Super Sport-Hand Shift $1,375
60 FLF-Sport Solo-Foot Shift $1,310
60 FL-Sport Solo-Hand Shift $1,310

Credits for Paul’s Restoration

Assembly: Milwaukee, Sept. 9, 1959
Original Dealer: Dudley Perkins, San Francisco, since 1914
Original Owner: Thomas Bayly
Original Price: $1,375
Engine Rebuild: Dale at Pengrove Motors, Pengrove, California
Transmission: Cleaned original
Frame: sandblasted and painted stock enamel black
Paint: Pete “The Painter” Underground Color, San Francisco
Color: Hi Fi Red and Birch White

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Sturgis Motorcycle Museum Experience for September 2013

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Welcome to the Borderlands – Chapter 5

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1964 Pan Head part 4 (frame)

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Tale of Two Races

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ZIPPERS PERFORMANCE EXHAUST

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The Broads and Bikes at Smoke-Out 14

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LED PASSING LAMPS FOR TOURING BIKES

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