Here’s a product that caught our attention. It addresses some of the questions that many riders have answered when they bought a trike, but it still lets you ride a motorcycle and enjoy life on two wheels: Side Kicks are designed to give you back the feeling ofcontrol over our bike when you need it the most by providing you with stabilityat low speeds when you are coming to a stop, making slow speed turns, slowlymaneuvering in tight areas, sitting in traffic and taking off from a stop.

Note: Side Kicks won’t replace your kickstand because they are only functional when downward force is applied with your feet. This product is to be used for support only and isn’t intended for highway use or off-road use. Tires are not rated for highway speeds. If used for other than the intended purpose they may cause injury. Click on the banner below to visit the Rush website and find out more.

Aptly Named after the 1969 Pontiac GTO, “Judge.” This American motorcycle delivers on its promise. I couldn’t pop a wheelie but at least burned some rubber. The Judge has lots of torque and power via the Freedom 106. The company claims 113 lb-ft of torque from the 106ci (1731cc) Twin. A 140mm rear tire and a fat 130/90 tire up front anchors each end of the bike. This big tire and 16-inch five-spoke wheel is even more visually pronounced because of a single front brake rotor.

The foot controls aren’t really center (or mid) nor are they forward so I shall christen them
“Midward Controls.” I was primarily riding the mountain twisties and ground the lowered model components things down through one sweeper after another. It seems I tore portions of the paint finish off the pipes too -sorry Victory press fleet masters.

The sculpted seat holds riders secure while slapping the throttle, but the comfortable level was commendable for my 6’1″ frame. All well and good, but I was concerned about its unusual shape that locked me into one position for the long run. I wonder if aftermarket manufacturers (or Victory for that matter) will offer more flexible options and choices. Based on how the stock seat hovers over the rear fender to keep the paint looking good a solo seat is a natural accessory Victory may offer in the future for the Judge.

I’ve spend a lot of time on motorcycles with ABS brakes lately and was locking up the Judge’s rear brakes (300mm floating rotor with 2-piston caliper) easily. I would suspect an adjustment might be available, but we will dive into all the options when we publish the full review.

I’d like to know how much gas remains in the tank when the fuel warning light blinks on. I ran out of gas 15-18 miles after the low-fuel warning light caught my attention. Yes, I did burnouts and you do want to hammer the throttle of this muscle bike, but all the other Victory models afforded me a gallon or so after the warning light came on.

I may sound like judge and jury but in fact, the Judge does what it’s designed for, and very well. Retro ‘60s look, and lots of America muscle. You be the Judge.

Check out the NessCafe, a cool Zach Ness Judge build:

http://youtu.be/xSR7Foh4bkg

Check the last chapter: Click here

They sat on the dirt in silence in the dark of the shed with just the road noise of the cars and tractor-trailers in their ears. Occasionally, a tired trucker rubbing the edges of the road with his trailer wheels would punctuate the silence with a brief snapping sound just loud enough to keep Zen awake. He wrapped Trista’s bloody knuckles with his filthy bandanna in a way that her hands resembled a child in prayer. She was sleeping on his shoulder and his eyes were closed but sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.

The sounds of the gas station power breakers shutting down brought him back to reality. How long had they been here? It was dark and getting cold. He looked at his wrist for his watch but it wasn’t there anymore. How do you lose a watch? Just then, the door opened and the Indian appeared. “Come out.”

“Trista, wake up.” Zen whispered, gently shaking her.

“The gas station is closed and we hired a security guard who comes on in a few minutes so follow me.”

Zen’s first impulse was to ask where, but then realized he was too tired to make decisions.

“Follow me through the gate behind the shed and up the hill. Lock it behind you.”

Trista got up and took her left hand out of the bandage, keeping it wrapped around her right knuckles as they were the first ones she put through the glass.

“Can you hold on kid?” Zen asked quietly firing up his Dyna Glide.

“Yeah, I think so. I feel sick.”

The Indian led them up a dusty steep hill behind the gas station that the Dyna climbed with ease in first gear but the rough road was enough to open the bleeding in Trista’s hands. After fifteen minutes or so of riding behind the Indian’s old Chinook car and making a few twist and turns to avoid parts of the road that was washed away in the winter rains, they reached a valley with a few trees and three trailers, one of which was burnt on one side and melted.

Zen was covered in dust. Turning off the bike, the fog of brown seemed forever to settle. The twin cam ticked and popped as it cooled down. He warmed his hands on the engine before dismounting and helping Trista off the back.

“Push your bike behind the second trailer and under that porch. There is a tarp there so cover it up. Watch out for snakes.”

“Come with me girl.” Said the Indian, leading her into the trailer.

The Indian called to another woman in a language Trista had never heard before and by the time they got to the trailer steps, she fainted and fell on her side in the dirt. The Indian tried to catch her but he was too slow.

“Trista!” Zen shouted and regretted doing so immediately as his voice echoed no less than three times in the dense canyon.

“Bring her inside, let my aunt take a look at her.”

The old woman hobbling out of the trailer looked like she was older than God himself. Looking at the girl piled in the dust, she put her hand on her head, “She has a fever. What happened to her hands?”

“Help me put her on the couch.” The old man barked at Zen as he was trying to lift Trista up.

“Her hands are cut pretty bad.”

“I can sew them up” Said the old woman who had a permanent frown of wrinkles on her face.

“Do you know what you are doing?” Zen asked.

The woman just stared at him and sighed.
“Come outside with me.” The Indian asked him as he grabbed a few bottles of water from the fridge that had to have been made in the fifties.

Zen followed him outside and they climbed a few boulders and started walking up a hill in the dark when Zen said, “Listen, I am too tired to hike in the dark right now.”

The Indian kept walking for a few more minutes.
“We’re here.”

The hill overlooked part of the highway as it spiraled down into a fertile valley to the left and on the right about three miles was the biggest casino he had ever seen.

“Jesus.” Zen said aloud to himself.

“Let’s talk plainly young man.”

Zen couldn’t take his eyes off the sea of neon below.

“You want to smoke?” the Indian asked, pulling out a tobacco pouch.

“I’m allergic to tobacco.”
“It’s not tobacco.”

“I don’t smoke drugs.”

“It’s not a drug, it’s a plant.” Said the Indian as he lit the bowl in his brass pipe. Inhaling the acrid smoke deeply, he paused before exhaling slowly.

“Fuck it.” Zen said, taking the pipe and breathing in.

“You’re doing it wrong.” Putting his thumb on the underside of the pipe he told Zen to smoke again.
Zen coughed almost immediately and gave the pipe back to the Indian, but just then a euphoric rush took all the tension out of his neck and he felt twenty pounds lighter. Maybe even thirty he thought.

“That’s why I gave it to you,” said the Indian, “and that is enough. All things in moderation.”

Tapping the ashes out of the bowl against a rock he looked Zen squarely in the eye. “Tell me again what happened.”

Under the stars that could still be seen for all the ambient light from the neon Casino, Zen spilled his guts.

The rooster crowed at 5:40 and and Zen woke up under a blanket that smelled like a dog had been using it to give birth to puppies on. Cracking one eye open, he saw a Bassett hound sleeping next to him on the floor. Trista had wrapped herself in his jacket and hers and sometime in the middle of the night had taken the rest of the covers.

Getting up off the laminated floor, he almost hit his head on the side of a kerosene heater that ran out of fuel before he fell asleep. Rubbing his eyes, he got up and looking through the trailer window, he watched sun rise over a mountain until he couldn’t stare at it anymore.

“You are up.” The old man greeted him.

Zen looked at the old woman and she had a towel in her hand and a cup of coffee. “You need a shower?”

“Yes. I haven’t had one in a while.”

“I can tell.”

He showered in the lime green bathroom until the hot water started to cool off and when he opened the curtain to step out, there were a pair of overalls and a thermal shirt and wool socks where his clothes had been.

“Zen?” Trista said through the door.
“Yeah girl.”

“They are washing our clothes.”

“Okay.”

When he got dressed, he could smell chicken and fry bread. He hadn’t been clean since leaving Dr. Sinclair’s house.

“Hungry? There is food on the table.” Trista said with eyes half closed. She was wearing a flannel robe and side stepped him to get in the shower.

“There isn’t much hot water left.”

“That is okay, I am burning up.”

“Not good.”

The Indian invited him to the table and drank from a ceramic mug that said “Worlds Greatest Indian” on it.

“I talked with my aunt and you can stay until her hands heal.”

“Thank you. We are in…”

“Enough!” Said the woman, cutting him off. “Eat.”

After eating everything on his plate and downing his first of two cups of coffee, he heard Trista cussing in the shower.

“How bad are her hands?” he asked the woman.

“My aunt says she needs at least four or five days, then you can take the stitches out. She is tough; didn’t even flinch when she sewed her up.”

“I can’t thank you enough. We are in real trouble here and I am afraid I am running out of time. It is just matter of when before the authorities find out it was me.”

“I can’t believe the court just let him go.” Zen said looking out the window.

“I can.” The Indian said flatly. “You don’t have to be a Native American to know the United States Government cannot be trusted.”

“He took away my family.” Zen said slamming his fist down on the table causing coffee to spill out of his cup.

“And this bad man is slowly taking away the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to live after I finish this.” He felt so tired after confessing that.

“What about the woman?” The old woman asked.

“She looks to you.”

“She is not my woman, she left a desperate situation and I let her get involved in this vendetta of mine.”

“Well, let her go or become one with her. You can’t be double-minded. Either you love her and start a new family or you die with her in this.”

The old woman now had some fire in her eyes.
Zen looked at his breakfast for a long time and then spoke. “What good is living in a world where there is no justice?”

Later that day, Zen helped around the place while the Indian went to work at the gas station. He tried to organize junk and burn trash. His bike was out of gas and he was looking for a gas can when the Indian surprised him.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared the shit outta me!”

“I am an Indian you know.” He said smiling.

“What is your name anyway?” Zen asked the Indian.

“Maybe it is better you don’t know.”

“There has been some news about that gang.”
“What news?”

“Some more of them were found dead in Oregon. There were some Mexicans killed with them too.”

“I need a newspaper.”

“There is nothing in it yet, I just saw it on the television.”

“Did anyone you saw have a red beard?”

“They didn’t show all the faces but some of them looked young and dirty. Why are so many people who ride motorbikes dirty?”

“Most aren’t, just some.”

“There is an event at our Casino next weekend and many bikers come there. The police want to cancel it but they don’t have a say. It is up to our tribal council and it brings too much money to shut it down.”

“Don’t take this the wrong wa,y but you don’t look like you are exactly reaping the benefits of gambling.”

“I am one of the only ones who are too proud or too stupid to take any ill gotten gain from that. Why do you think I am dressed like an idiot all day?”
Zen said nothing and found it hard to look at the Indian.
“There was a time I was an activist for my people. You ever heard of Red Power?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Yes, well it was…Nevermind. I have been watching you and I believe I have seen that in any great undertaking it is not enough for a man to depend simply upon himself.”

While they were talking outside, the old woman spoke to Trista while changing her dressings.
“Why are you with him. What’s your stake in all this? She asked her.

“I believe in what he is doing. Unlike most men, his heart is wide open, laid flat and he is uncompromising.”

“Uncompromising men are easy to admire but more often than not their ways end in death or ruin.”

Trista looked downcast and said, “I know.”

The day before the rally was to kick off, thunder from straight pipes from the highway and real thunder sounded from the valley to the East. The Indian came home early and they shared a crockpot dinner of chicken stew and corn tortillas. Trista was better and having rested a week and a half, they were anxious to leave at first light.
The Indian followed Zen out back when he went out to check on his Dyna and put some food and water in his saddlebags.

“I need some gas.”

The Indian when back to his car and handed him a hose.

Zen looked at him and the Indian said, “What? You don’t know how to use an Arkansas credit card?”

“Yes I know how to use a siphon, I just didn’t know where to get it from.”

The old man pointed to his car. “Take what you need.”

When the tank was full, he saw the old man and woman arguing in their native tongue. The Indian walked over to Zen with a grim face.

“I need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Meet me at the bottom of the ravine where those trees are and watch for snakes.”

The sun was setting and long shadows drew across the hillside. Zen almost lost his footing as he walked down the hill and half an hour later the Indian appeared with a flashlight that was low on batteries.

“Follow me.” He said as he pushed aside brush and kicked down branches of overgrowth.

“Help me move this junk aside.”

A half hour later they were both sweating from moving old washing machines, car parts, railroad ties and other junk.

“What are we doing here?”

“Follow me.”

They ducked under an overhang between two boulders and entered the mouth of a small cave.

“What’s in here?”

The old man stared at him gravely.

“I want you to listen to me very carefully. My name is Charlie Ironknife and you are going to see something that no white man or Indian woman from my tribe has ever seen. Only two other people alive know about it. Other than me and my cousin who is dying from asbestos poison can do this. And you are going to be the last person in the world to see this. But it is okay, my aunt says you won’t live long.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Zen countered as they walked deeper into a tunnel of the cave.

“What were you arguing about with your aunt?”

“She wanted to watch but I told her no. Women are so curious. I would like to show it to her but it would spoil your medicine and you need all the help you can get.”

The Indian pointed with the flashlight to a drawing on the cave of a flame.

“Under that inscription, there is some black tar. Bring me some.”

Zen picked up a dusty glob about the size of a pancake.

“My ancestors would trade with the Chumash for oil that would occasionally wash up on the beach far from here. We used it for many things but making quick fires was a use.”

The Indian’s face became more serious with every breath.

“Make a small fire using some of it.” He commanded. Zen made a comment about the smoke filling the cave and the Indian pointed to the ceiling at a small natural opening where some stars were visible.

“I don’t usually wear my false teeth because they hurt my gums. And a couple of the teeth are missing. But I need to sing so I will use them.”

Zen let out a chuckle and the Indian stepped forward towards him with lightning speed and put his left hand on Zen’s throat and drew a knife from under his belt.

“This is NOT a game boy!”

Shocked by the action of this crazy Indian who didn’t seem at all like the bumbling old man he had known for the last week, he replied “Yes sir.”

Walking past Zen to a shelf carved in the rock, he retrieved a small round drum with rattlesnake tails on it.

“You are going to have to play the drum. And so don’t beat it like you are playing rock and roll music, just beat it in time with your heartbeat.” The Indian took it in his hand and held it close to his heart and slowly struck it with his palm.

“Like that. Got it?”

Zen nodded.

“Now I want you to sit you ass down and take off your jacket and shirt and shut your mouth. What you are about to see is holy to our people. We have about a thousand people on this rez and none of them know.” He said shaking his head sadly.

“The white man gave us liquor and took our land, he gave us empty promises of peace. Later, they gave us the “right” to have casinos and the money took our pride. That was the end of us and our culture.”

“Now breathe deeply for the four seasons and then start to beat the drum.”

The Indian started moving and speaking years younger than his age and his eyes danced as he stared at the small fire. He remained hunched over and very quiet for some time. Zen kept beating the drum and it echoed in the dimly lit cave. When he turned around, there were tears running down his face. He mixed the Tears mixed with red dirt and herbs from his pocket and covered Zen’s face with the paste.

A slow song was sung in a beautiful rhythm and although he couldn’t understand it, it seemed to repeat and he could pick out the last syllable of one stanza that was used to begin the next and so on it went.

The Indian pulled out a silver dagger with a deer antler handle, made a slashing motion in the shape of a vertical circle, shouted once and fell silent. He put his hands on Zen’s head for just a moment and then put his palm over Zen’s to stop the drum. Setting the drum aside, he went to a corner of the cave and dug with his hands in the sand and pulled up a hemp rope which promptly snapped. He grasped it again and pulled up a length of it until the attached deerskin pouch was visible.

He cut it loose and put it in Zen’s hand.

“I am giving you all the medicine I have. This was supposed to be for a great leader of my people but none emerged. We thought there was one but he died in the Philippine islands. I thought my son would one day lead us but he passed away before I could give this to him. He was killed by an automobile years ago.”

“May I ask what this is?” He asked, sitting straight as an arrow and projecting the utmost reverence for the ceremony.

“Inside that pouch I have never looked. To do so is to spoil the medicine. But I was told when I was a young boy that inside is the tooth of the shark, the nail of the bear, and the fang of a snake. There is gold dust and some ashes of our enemies. I was told that an eye of a Spaniard is in there. I have never looked and I am afraid to. This pouch was to be carried by the leader of a war tribe who went to make peace or war when he faced terrible adversity.

My great grandfather died retrieving it from the neck of our last true leader who fell in battle. It was worn only once more after that when my uncle went to visit the Department of the Interior. They wouldn’t see him without an appointment and he was arrested for damaging an office and some policemen. We were lucky it wasn’t confiscated when they let him get back on the train. But the police chief took pity on him and gave it back. It symbolizes death with the dangerous parts of the animals from the former area of my people’s land and influence. The gold represents time and freedom. I have danced and prayed to the Great Spirit for your strength and guidance and success in your war.”

“Yes sir, I understand.” Zen stuttered as his chill bumps seemed to run from his arms and legs into his throat.

“I am going to tell you something first in my native tongue and then in English. The English translation doesn’t exactly carry the same meaning but here goes.”

After he spoke in a dying dialect, he paused and shook his head.

“No one who gets revenge is ever ultimately satisfied. Even if you kill your enemy ten times, you cannot completely defeat him. You must absorb and digest this man with your spirit”
“Are you saying that even if I kill this man, I am going to be haunted by his memory?”

“Yes, you will never get him out of your heart. Even if you kill him, you will have his burden. Church people call it the mark of Cain, we called it the voice of the Spirit. It was placed there to keep us from killing each other needlessly.”

“He took away my family and he knows who I am. He probably knows it was me and as long as he lives, my life is in danger for what my retaliation to his gang.”

“I have beseeched the Great Spirit to give you strength to wisely choose life or death. Now take this medicine and keep in around your neck. Do not tell anyone for the rest of your life what you saw me do this night. And if you live through this, promise me you will bring it back to me or see that it is buried with me.”

“You have my word and I am honored with your trust.”

“I hope that you can finish what you started. If you kill this man, I hope you do it without hate in your heart. I pray you can finish with your soul and freedom intact. Who knows? Maybe you can have a second family with the girl.”

“Maybe.” Zen sighed. “Maybe.”

Paul Cavallo and the gang at Spitfire Motorcycles have been hiding in the wings of Hellbound Steel Motorcycles and West Coast Choppers for a couple of decades. Like a bunch of sequestered pirates, they finally escaped the confines of the big money sorts to fly their own Jolly Roger flag.

Ya see, Paul designed, and with his crew, built most of the Hellbound Steel bikes until the bubble burst and the sales guys headed for the hills. He also manufactured products for lots of high dollar businesses, until they dried up and the true bikers remained standing at the helm of their pirate ships. If you stumbled into his Rancho Cucamonga, California shop, you’d know what I mean.

He still runs a massive machine and fabrication shop building an extensive line of Spitfire products, and he’s crafting one bike at a time now for devoted customers with low budgets.

“Bikers have always been compared to Pirates,” Paul said, “so we built this 1975 Ironhead custom in their honor. The French phrase, ‘jolie rouge,’ means beautiful red! Red was the color of the signal flag meaning attack.”

I was intrigued by his statement and researched the term. That red attack flag had a stronger significance according to Wikipedia.com. Check this: The name “Jolly Roger” goes back at least to Charles Johnson’s A General History of the Pyrates, published in Britain in 1724.

Johnson specifically cites two pirates as having named their flag “Jolly Roger”: Bartholomew Roberts in June, 1721 and Francis Spriggs in December 1723. While Spriggs and Roberts used the same name for their flags, their flag designs were quite different, suggesting that already “Jolly Roger” was a generic term for black pirate flags rather than a name for any single specific design. Neither Spriggs’ nor Roberts’ Jolly Roger consisted of a skull and crossbones.

Richard Hawkins, captured by pirates in 1724, reported that the pirates had a black flag bearing the figure of a skeleton stabbing a heart with a spear, which they named “Jolly Roger”.

Despite this tale, it is assumed by most that the name Jolly Roger comes from the French words jolie rouge, meaning “pretty red” and referring to a plain red flag which was flown to indicate that the ship would fight to the death, with no quarter given or expected.

“The phrase was overheard by English-speaking sailors who pronounced it Jolly Roger,” said Paul, “and the rest is history.”

Like the pirates of the Spanish Main, this bike has an eclectic street buccaneer personality, from the micro glide 35mm front end and narrow Spitfire Vader (his play on the original Invader mag wheels) wheel, to the 12-spoke Drag rear wheel and trials rear tire.

In fact, this became the first Spitfire product display bike built, and it won Best Paint at the Grand National Roadster Show in 2010. Like a bunch of crazed pirates, I’ve watched an unsuspecting brother roll a stock Honda 500 four-cylinder motorcycle into their vast metal cave, only to have it ripped to shreds, while Paul sketched out a frame design on a scrap of parchment. Before the day was done, the driveline was alive once more in a perfectly TIG welded custom, one-off rigid frame, coupled to the original stock front end, and wheels. As the sun set into the Pacific, the scruffy crew mounted a modified gas tank, rear fender, and manufactured a perfectly contoured oil bag, and the bike took on a new life as a tight bobber.

“Wait a minute!” Paul snapped at me as I was trying to peel out of his shop. “I don’t know anything about pirates. Paul Darayat, of Riffraff Kustom Leather came up with that.”

I looked at Paul wearing a stripped t-shirt and his demin cut, with a strange hat cocked over one eye, and my gaze drifted to the framed poster on the wall leaning slightly. The illustration depicted a smiling skull with the crossed rods and pistons, which may have been adorned with an old motorcycle helmet, but it took me back to something I found on Wikipedia:

During the Elizabethan era “Roger” was a slang term for beggars and vagrants who “pretended scholarship.” “Sea Beggars” had been a popular name for Dutch privateers since the 16th century. Another theory states that “Jolly Roger” is an English corruption of “Ali Raja,” supposedly a 17th century Tamil pirate. Yet another theory is that it was taken from a nickname for the devil, “Old Roger”. The “jolly” appellation may be derived from the apparent grin of a skull.

“Yeah right,” I said, staring at the blazing eyes in the grinning skull. I grabbed my notes, and cut a dusty trail for the Bikernet.com all-black hearse on the edge of Spitfire parking lot. I had to make the HORSE Back Street deadline.

Talk about pirates. I felt surrounded as I rolled back to the Port of Los Angeles.

–Bandit

Fabrication: Spitfire Motorcycles
Year and make: 1975 Harley-Davidson
Model: Sportster
Assembly by: the Spitfire Gang
Time: 6 months

Engine:
Year: 1975
Model: XLH Sportster
Ignition: Electronic Dyna
Displacement: 1000 cc
Lower end: H-D
Pistons: Forged
Cases: H-D cast aluminum
Heads: Iron
Cams: Sifton minus, minus
Lifters: solids
Carb: 38mm Mikuni
Air Cleaner: Spitfire modified from Hot Rod
Pipes: Spitfire with Megaphones

Transmission
Year: 1975
Trans sprocket: 23-tooth
Wheel sprocket: 48-tooth Spitfire

Painting
Molding: Wayne Wreck
Painter: Sweet Baby Janes
Color: Red candy over gold base
Type: House of Kolors

Frame
Year: Spitfire
Builder: Spitfire Ironhead Bobber
Type: XL Sporty Rigid
Rake: 36 degrees
Stretch: 2 inches in the backbone

Accessories
Bars: Hand built by Spitfire
Risers: CCE
Fender: classic flat 5-inch trailer
Headlight: 4-inch spot
Taillight: West Eagle
Front pegs: Spitfire
Rear pegs: Spitfire
Gas Tanks: Dished Sacred Steel
Oil Tank: Spitfire
Seat: Riffraff Kustom Leather

Forks
Type: 1982 RM 250 Susuki
Extension: perfect stock 35mm micro glide
Builder: Spitfire shaved legs
Trees: Spitfire anodized black

Wheels
Front
Size: 21-inch Vader by Spitfire
Hub: Vader spool
Rim: Vader steel
Tire: Avon Speedmaster

Rear
Size: 18-inch 12-spoke Radir
Hub: cast aluminum modified by Spitfire
Rim: cast
Tires: Trail Michelisin
Brakes: Spitfire sprotor rear only

Part 1: By Krylon John

The spirit of David Mann, and his many contributions to the biker lifestyle lives on at Chopperfest held every December in Ventura, California, since 2004. Now heading towards its 9th annual celebration the event will once again return to the Ventura County Fairgrounds adjacent to the glistening shores the Pacific Ocean. Originally the brainchild of Dave “Huggy Bear” Hansen, as a gathering to celebrate choppers in general, the event soon tightened its focus with the passing of David Mann, on September 11, 2004.

Huggy Bear, along with his crew from The Shop in Ventura got the ball rolling, and the first annual David Mann Chopperfest included an exhibit of David’s art along with a lot of the Mann’s motorcycle industry friends attending from all over the nation.

This year there was a brief moment of panic at the last hour setting up the art gallery when no one from Segal Fine Art had appeared to hang giclee renditions of David Mann’s paintings on the walls. After working all day moving in entrants, and vendors, The Shop’s Tory Du Varney devised a way to hang David’s art, and worked late into the night getting it done. As a shameless plug, I guess I can also mention six of my abstract paintings were seen for the first time in a public exhibit.

 

All of us take the judging process quite seriously, and each class is judged by guys with a good understanding of what they’re looking at. To give a little insight into how things work I’ll share a few things I’ve learned in the past three years that I’ve been a judge. The key to the whole thing is to pick a motorcycle that embodies the essence of the bikes depicted in David Mann’s Easyriders, and Biker magazine centerspreads.

For example an old chopper that’s obviously still a rider will place higher than a barn find survivor that hasn’t leaked on a public highway with current tags in a long time. It’s all about keeping choppers alive. One of the bikes that I placed third in front some bikes that were nicer in appearance, placed because the kid bothered to stick around, and fill me in on what features it had that didn’t meet the eye. What capped it off was the kid who had just finished the rigid-framer the night before, and blasted all the way up from Camp Pendleton just to be in the show. That’s the kind of lifestyle experiences David Mann portrayed in his paintings.

That said, you folks who hauled out the survivors, or showed regular street bikes don’t get discouraged if you didn’t win, because everyone really enjoyed seeing what you built. The odds are good your bike will show up somewhere in the pages of a magazine, or archived forever on Bikernet.com.

In addition to a large indoor, and outdoor swap meet area with new and used parts, Chopperfest attracts the best of the best when it comes to shops that specialize in choppers, and related services. The list included, Old Gold Garage, Ventura Motorworks, Todd’s Cycle, Top Shelf, Nash Motorcycle Co. Garage Company, Evil Spirit Engineering, Boars Nest, Santa Clarita Choppers, Born Free Cycles, Jim’s Machine, Performance Machine, Split Image Kustoms, Sic Chops, Chassis Design Studio, and Kiwi Indian.

There are two Dave Hansens involved in the inner workings of David Mann Chopperfest. Perhaps it was “Big” Dave Hansen who described the event best when he said, “Chopperfest has become more than a swap meet, show or memorial. It’s a lovefest and a must go to gathering for anyone who appreciates bikes, art and the culture. Mostly, it is about the people, and who makes it unique.”

The 9th Annual Chopperfest will be held December 9, 2012.

Part 2: Story by: STEALTH

Friday December 9th 2011, Vicki and I made our way to California for our annual visit with my good friend Bandit. It is always a pleasure to visit with him and Nyla and the Bikernet crew.

This time we flew in on a red-eye to attend the 8th Annual Dave Mann Chopper Festival in Ventura California on Sunday December 11th 2011. Most of you who have ever picked up an EASYRIDERS or BIKER magazine know Dave Mann, or maybe I should say know of his artwork. His artwork was always featured as the centerfold in Easyriders and later on, in Biker magazine and in some early Iron Horse issues.

Dave Mann’s artwork inspired many a chopper builder from coast to coast. I remember going to the local 7/11 store and picking up a copy of Easyriders, the same day it arrived, I had the shipment schedule down to the day! The first thing I would turn to was the Dave Mann centerfold to see what he had created. Looking at his motorcycle artwork, you could hear the bike roar and feel the wind in your hair and no detail was ever missing. One thing I learned some years back was that Dave never added valve stems to the wheels in his artwork. I guess that was his trademark? His work made you want to get and out and burn some asphalt or hit the garage and turn some wrenches.

I have two pieces of his artwork signed by THE MANN himself. They are two possessions I really value. My garage walls are covered with Dave Mann art and anyone who has been into bikes for any length of time probably has at least one piece of his work displayed in their garage. His artwork often portrayed a brothers spending time in their garage building bikes.

For me attending the Chopper Fest was a dream come true. Panheads, Knuckleheads, and Shovelheads dominated the show. There were some cool Evos and one or two Twin Cams on display. You won’t find any baggers at this show. All of the bikes are true to Dave Mann’s artwork, Ape Hangers, Z-bars, Jockey shifts, tank shifters, solo seats, kick starters, bare bones, nothing extra on these bikes, choppers at their purest form.

I was like a kid in a candy store, not knowing where to look first. All of the bikes could have been sprouted from an Easyriders centerfold. The bikes in the show are top shelf; these bikes are riders not trailer candy. The competition was stiff. If you win a Dave Mann award, you have pulled off a major feat! I would hate to be a judge. They had serious work cut out for each judge! The atmosphere at the show was cool, lots of vendors with lots of parts.

Vicki and I saw some amazing scenery riding up the Pacific Coast Highway to the show. On one side was the Pacific Ocean warmed by the sun and splashing against the craggy coast, and on the other side were the Santa Monica Mountains splashed with winter greens, winding roads and big buck homes, JUST AMAZING! By the way, we rented a 2011 Electra Glide Classic. I wanted to rent a Softail or a Sons of Anarchy Dyna but Vicki insisted on the BIG love seat on the back?

I am very fortunate and very thankful for having the opportunity to attend the show this year. . Thanks Vicki and thanks to Bandit, Sin Wu, Nyla, the security dogs, and Claude the African Macaw, for letting us stay in the vast and dangerous Bikernet Headquarters. Also thanks to Ray Wheeler for being our personal chauffeur for the weekend. How boutcha Ray!!

Dave Mann passed away in 2004. There will never be another artist like him. He was THE MANN! He lives on in his artwork hanging in biker’s garages, from coast to coast! Check out all the bikes from the show, I hope you enjoy them as much as I did.

Until next time, RIDE!
–STEALTH

Arlen Ness Cheap Shot	Dobeck (Techclusion) TFI Controller

Brake light hotwire / to the Cheap shot power lead

Installation was pretty straight forward, power supplied by the brake light wire, ground to the battery and then we had to find the two wires to the injectors, yellow/white and gray/green.

 Tap-on connectors.

With the diagrams provided, set the screw pots as indicated depending on what changes you have made to the engine i.e. stage one etc. You have four small adjusting screws, one for idle, mid range, full throttle and RPM’s.

After a few adjustments and a couple high speed runs, we had Jeff’s bike dialed in. The green LED is the idle adjustment, the yellow is mid range, followed by red for full throttle. the last LED is for RPM, which is factory set, but you can still adjust it if your bike has more than the 4500-5000 RPM capability. It took about 30 minutes, and runs like a scolded dog! Plus, if he decides to make more modifications to the engine, he can adjust the Cheap Shot accordingly. Dobeck (Techclusion) and Arlen Ness offer fuel tuners with direct hook up to your fuel injectors, which makes it a no brainer as far as installation. Dobeck still offers the inline splice unit for those of you who do not want to mess with the injectors, and I found the Cheap Shot in the Bikers Choice catalog. Just recently Cobra came out with a new product, the Fi2000R Powerpro Tuner Digital Processor.

The Fi2000R has no adjustments, no PC downloads, and makes up to 80 EFI changes a second, you simply plug it in. I deem this to be state of the art, and plan to install one on my bike very soon. stay tuned for the Cobra Fi2000R install, I think you’ll like it.
All the schematics and instructions come with the product, and you can view a cool installation video at www.techclusion.com along with schematics for every Harley made.

Tail gunner out, until next time.

Product references:
www.jpcycles.com • Arlen Ness big shot $249.99 -$299.99, depending on bike model.
www.techlusion.com • price varies depending on bike model, but right around $200+.
www.bikerschoice.com • Arlen Ness Cheap Shot P/N 26-3169 & 26-3168, $149.95 

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Click here to read the chapter 6: http://www.bikernet.com/pages/story_detail.aspx?id=10268

This is a blast. The year is just starting and shit is flying at us everyday. Gary and the gang from next door delivered enough steel I-beams and C-beams to build a deck, and in two days a gang from Long Beach will deliver a pool table into the Bikernet barracks and gym. And if we are lucky, (today is Wednesday the 3rd of January 2012) we will have all the elements in place to fire my son’s Mudflap girl bike on Tuesday, while IKustom films the event for his TV series. We may even have a live Mudflap Girl in the shop.

While my Mudflap baby is waiting on a custom Saddlemen seat, I hurriedly shifted back to my son’s version of the FXR. We needed to wrap up some minor elements, and hit the Ace Grip/Wire Plus wiring. Then we would be ready for another Saddlemen seat.

Before I could finalize the primary system, we needed to order a rear belt from Biker’s Choice. One of the major benefits of chains over belts is the mechanics. We had to pull the whole motorcycle apart to install the belt. It had better be the proper length–it was.

It took a while to clearance the outer primary around the Rivera Primo Inc. inner belt drive system. I needed to have the mid controls in place before I could install the weld-on Mr. Lucky kickstand that contoured the frame. All the appropriate elements needed to be in place. With the final linkage in position through a plastic tube that acts as a bushing, we moved forward, we installed the Primo Rivera belt and clutch system, but I still had to make a clutch pushrod. I removed the tranny pipe-side cover and checked the throw-out bearing type.

We finally made it, although my hard-working son was absent. At first, I grappled with the mentoring scenario. I shouldn’t lift a wrench without him on hand. Two elements pulled me from the tough-love fatherly position. Frank is struggling to support two ex-old ladies and three kids. This is a lesson to every young man. Beware.

You can imagine the tug-o’-war that goes on constantly. I’m not completely innocent. I was predominately an absentee father. A decade ago, I spent some time on the board of three group homes for abandoned kids. These kids had no folks and the effects were manifested in their lives like that tsunami in Japan. Kids need parents. Our society is all jacked up when it comes to sex and kids. I won’t go there, but the bottom line is simple: Kids need to be carefully planned and looked after. They need both folks and a stable family. So, I said, “Fuck it!”  I’m moving forward to finish Frank’s bike, whether he’s on site or not.

Besides, we are rolling into 2012 and need to wrap up these bikes, road test them, break them in and prepare for the ride to Sturgis. Actually, I started to bug two of my grand kids who are 16 and 18, and very sharp, but ditched high school. Frankie or Frank Jr. is working as a tattoo artist, and I encouraged him to set some goals for 2012. He stepped up to take over the XS project, and came over to help with his dad’s bike. It was good to see him involved.

With the mid-controls in place, I could breakout Mr. Lucky’s weld on kickstand and begin the installation. I needed to make sure to assemble it is a safe location. Any time you have springs, ball bearings, and tiny setscrews, you need to be careful. It’s not a bad notion to perform assembly over a soft rag, so parts can’t vanish into a black hole.

This is actually a simple operation, but it takes 220 volts and a welder, either TIG or MIG. I slipped the supplied spring in the body of the kicker arm, then the ball bearing on top of the spring. Then the bare metal piece is carefully slipped into place. It’s easy to tell how to position the arm and the ball, since there are just two ball indents. So, the flat side of the bare chunk faces forward. Before final assembly, I will completely grease the ball, the spring, the mating surfaces of the weld-on portion, and the axle pin.

With the kickstand arm pushed and held against the spring and the ball, a second set of hands slipped the axle pin into place and started the fine threads. Again, upon final assembly I will blue Loctite the pin threads.

Then I faced the delicate, do, or die job: positioning the weld-on portion. We fitted it several times, then marked the position with a felt pen on the bottom frame rail. Then I loosened the lift clamp, strapped, and rolled the bike over toward the primary side with a strap, until I had it positioned at just the correct angle. This is always a trick. Too far adds dangerous weight to the kickstand and makes the bike awkward to maneuver. If the bike sets too upright, it’s iffy to park, and as with my Shovelhead, I can’t park it in many positions. It wants to pop over. Even the wind can push it over.

With all the touchy elements considered I positioned the Mr. Lucky kickstand against the frame, and folded it up to see how it fit in the running position. It ran smack into the mid controls system, so I adjusted, and we are thinking about running a piece of hose, or even shrink wrap up the kickstand arm to prevent vibration.

With the bike leaned and the arm in the extended position I made two guide marks on the weld-on portion and on the frame rail. Then I could straighten the bike for tacking. I tacked the weld-on bung on both ends, and then tested the position against the straps. Then I ran a bead along both sides with my MIG welder. I plan to double up on the welds with the TIG, once we pull the bike apart.

We were cranking along, but had to step back to my Mudflap girl bike, since the shocks faded and we needed 1-inch longer shocks. We had to pull them apart and add to the bumpers so that the fender would not hit the tire. Progressive has various bumper lengths. The key here is to dismantle the shock, install them, lower the bike until it hits the fender, and make a bumper measurement. Progressive makes hard plastic bumpers in various thicknesses. We made a special tool, used a drill press, and took the shocks apart several times, until we had them dialed in. The key when measuring for shock length is to consider about 1-inch of fade once the shock is installed. We shifted back from a 12-inch shock to 13-inch Progressives.

So, my Mudflap baby was hauled to Saddlemen for the gurus of seats to evaluate. I’ve toured many companies over the years, and the Saddlemen operation is impressive. I met guys who have been making seats for 25 years, and their sons are now working with them. It’s truly a family of operators. They’re very involved in an ongoing hunt for the perfect seat technology. First, they studied foams, and then gels, and now this new design that affords a buffer area to relieve pressure on the spine. We discussed styling and design. Then we peeled out to let the masters consider the options.

We faced an open warm, clear, SoCal day and jammed back into the shop. I started by installing the Biker’s Choice regulator bracket and the Spyke regulator into position. Ray turned to install the S&S carb, since we were faced with the opportunity to install and complete the Crane cam and lifter system. Most Crane products are manufactured by S&S, including their roller rockers for twin cams.

We discovered a crazy tough oil cooler system from Baker Precision, on Signal Hill, and I tacked studs into place on the front frame rails. It’s made in Canada for automotive power steering oil cooling applications. After we installed the belt, we discovered a problem with the rear fender and the belt slot. The fender needed to be removed and reshaped. I also needed to develop a rear brake anchor.

That was the day Buster came by and we decided to go for a ride. I crashed, returned to the shop bruised, but the Shovel kept running. I thought about kicking back and watching Sunday night football, but I needed to pause it, and jammed back to the shop to keep the program rolling on Frank’s bike. While Ray installed the S&S Super E carburetor, I removed the rear wheel, the rear fender, cut a new slot in it, and drilled a hole where the Choppers Inc. Mudflap Girl taillight stem hit the fender.

So here’s the snafu. It surfaced the last time Frank came over. “I didn’t want mid controls,” Frank said. “I wanted forward controls. It’s all your fault.”

In the next segment, we will deal with his changing desires–kids. Then we’ll fire his bike, with the ACE grip wiring system to lead the way.

Sources:

Spitfire

Biker’s Choice

JIMS Machine

MetalSport

BDL/GMA

Wire Plus

Branch O’Keefe

Bennett’s Performance

Custom Cycle Engineering

Saddlemen

Bub

S&S

Mr. Lucky

I flew into Detroit to meet with builders in Michigan a day before the kick-off of the Ultimate Builder Custom Bike Show in Novi, a suburb of Detroit. Biker Pros produces a custom bike show at all 12 Progressive International Motorcycle Shows across the country.

The custom bike show is designed for builders of choppers, bobbers, cruisers, custom bikes, touring sleds, and sportbikes to showcase their barroom swagger. These metal artists build bikes that are glistening eye-candy and find a functional groove like a rock & roll revival.

The first stop on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride was Kustom’s Inc. My partner, Bob Kay, and I picked up a micro Sonic Chevrolet and flogged it up to Grand Ledge to meet with Gary Maurer and Julie Guilford at their shop. They are both metal masters and service customers locally and around the country. Kustom’s Inc. is a hot rod, racecar, and motorcycle fabrication company. They are the builder’s builder and are often subcontracted out to create custom components for other builders.

It was brisk in Detroit as I darted from the rental into the shop where I stumbled over a chunk of thick wall mild steel tubing bent at an odd angle. Everywhere I looked the shop was awash with metal in process. Every inch of the shop seems to have a staged project taking its turn for completion. Current projects include a Radical Bagger’s frame update, Pro One Bobber with batwing fairing and a Rislone Racing Trike. In addition, there are sundry hot rods, muscle cars, and dragsters waiting for attention.

Gary is also the mover/shaker behind Evil Engineering. He and his partners build bulletproof open primaries. My feeble mind whirled with the various projects, components, shop capabilities and tooling.

After a couple of hours, it was all a blur. On overload we loaded up and headed for Rislone. They make chemical additives for automotive applications and are a primary sponsor for Kustom’s Inc. Before we arrived there, we emergency braked and ducked in at Baker Drivetrain. We rolled up to the facilities as Bert was having a smoke out front… He pissed and moaned about being forced to smoke outside the shop, then decided to give us a tour instead of running his errands. If you know Bert you know how political incorrect he is. He greeted us as ole panty sniffers and proceeded to show us around the plant.

The Baker team is a tight knit group of enthusiasts who keep the transmission gears shifting. He’s a secretive bastard with some rooms closed off to the public. He shut a particular steel door, looked at us askance and admitted to developing new products for the upcoming V-Twin Expo, in Cinci. I can’t tell you what they are, he wouldn’t tell us, “But I can tell you this,” Bert said staring me down as if I could see through walls. “You are going to like what you see.”

When we rolled up to Rislone / Bar Leaks offices, we were only a couple hours late. Bob Mermuys runs the family business and believes in living through better chemistry. They make fuel and oil additives through Rislone and leak stopping products through Bar Leaks. They sell all over the world and plan a marketing push into China. It’s great to see a company looking to export American technology into China instead of the other way around.

Next up, on our hit parade was the psychedelic one, Ron Finch of Finch’s Custom Styled Cycles. As we hit place to place, Maurer blithered a running commentary on the code of bikers and bike builders. It’s a lot like Bandit’s Code of the West. He also has a name for everyone. One of his best buddies is Butt Crack and another friend was named The Angry Inch. I’ve just been endowed with the name “The Corporate Guy” which I’m sure will be shorten to the “Suit” soon. I don’t get it. I don’t own a suit. Bandit calls me, “Prince Najar.” Where the hell did that come from.

Hitting Finch’s compound is a feast for the metallic eyes. His studio is located in central Michigan and is like a big club house that contains everything a boy needs to while away the hours… a paint booth, steel repository, tools, collectables, motorcycles, loud classic rock and custom art. The grounds are full of metal sculptures with a sparkling 12-foot holiday motorcycle, the centerpiece of the collection.

Ron Finch has been referred to as “The Legend” not only as a builder of custom motorcycles, but also as an artist. He started Finch’s Custom Styled Cycles in 1965 in a small building in Pontiac, MI. His custom bikes have been shown in museums, art galleries and bike shows throughout the US, Germany, France, Sweden, and the Netherlands. Finch’s work proclaims the freedom and individualism that is associated with the motorcycle lifestyle. He’s not a Legend, he’s a goddamn “God,” but don’t mention it.

One bike that caught my attention is called “Double Cross” due to the crossover design that is carried through the frame, exhaust, handlebars, and accessories. The gas tank and the oil bag are concealed in the rear fender. This makes the polished S&S EVO motor pop. Dual Weber downdraft carburetors are mounted vertically and secured on either side of the engine.

A Finch sculpture is not what you consider a classic casting. It’s more like the psychedelic ’60s meets the stoner biker. Ron brings metal to life by sculpting found metal to create creatures, eyeballs, and plants. He swears he’s never experimented with drugs.

Running two-and-a-half-hours late, we missed lunch. We descended on proffered stale shop Xmas cookies and wilting vegetables like locust. Within minutes we licked our plates clean, downed warm beer, smiled once more and cut a dusty trail.

We wished the Finch’s adue and Happy New Year as we peeled out to our last three stops, first to Fab Kevin’s, then Voodoo Choppers, and Chop Docs.

Like all of the builders we met with previously, Fab Kevin down-sized his businesses while adjusting to the new economy. Fab Kevin has an efficient small shop in a strip mall. The damn thing is packed from deck to rafters with product. He has just enough room to roll a couple of bikes onto lifts.

Fab Kevin is a savant when it comes to custom steel parts for your bike build, such as seat kits, seat spring bungs, seat hinges, fender struts, point covers, tail lights and brackets, oil tanks, jockey shifters, forward control adapters, tank mounts, motor mounts, etc. He showed us new bungs designed for extremely tight-to-the-wheel fenders. They are recessed and mount flush under the fender to ensure that the bolt-head doesn’t catch on the tire.

Fab Kevin utilizes hammers, a builder’s insight and state-of-the-art CNC Plasma and Laser cutting equipment to ensure accurate parts and fabrications. Speaking of hammer, the bike belonging to the owner of The Horse Back Street Chopper Magazine aka “Hammer” was on the lift and getting fixed. And Fab Kevin recently helped Bandit with a precision made Mudflap girl shift linkage for his FXR.

After a couple of calls we headed out the door and around the corner for a surprise visit to Voodoo Choppers. Eric Georges is as tall as an NBA forward and has a bone-crushing handshake. Eric latest build is a stretched out midnight-black bobber called De Lux. Eric is known for his work on Discovery when he built the wheelie dragster on the Ultimate Car Build-Off and of course his handcrafted motorcycles. He was wrapping-up De Lux as we interrupted his shop activities. It is built with handcrafted controls, frame, exhaust, bars and hand-built oil and gas tanks. I was beginning to sense the aura of a true creative nirvana surrounding the once smog-filled Detroit skies. What was the deal?

The Voodoo Choppers’ shop was packed full of bikes. Some were in the for mods and others for repair. One build caught my eye. It was rapidly becoming a stretched out chopper wrapped around a four-cylinder ’80s vintage mil, long and lean with a fat lump in the middle… perfect.

Too soon, it was time to make our way to the last builder’s location, Chop Docs Choppers out in Waterford, Michigan. I got my hand crushed once more and said my good byes as we loaded up under threatening gray winter skies.

We rolled up to Ron Harris’ shop a mere 5 hours behind schedule. As we walked in, Ron was bent over a set of bags, buffing them to a fine luster. He was readying his customer’s bike for entry into the Ultimate Builder Custom Bike Show in Detroit the following day.

If he was pissed by our late arrival, he didn’t show it, as beers were handed out and the insults came fast and furious. Ron’s posse is fiveX-plus dudes, so when he hits Rock Star status he will be in good hands.

The Chop Docs team did well at the Ultimate Builder… Shoobdville, a 1997 Fat Boy Bagger, took first in MOD Harley and Sweet Lou, a 1977 H-D FXH and Ron’s personal ride, took 3rd in Retro Mod. Unfortunately, it got beat by an urban 1977 Honda GL 1000 Goldwing. Cheer him up at… http://www.facebook.com/pages/Chop-Docs-Choppers/103193386394992.

The first bike I spotted when I stumbled inside was an Ironhead Sportster, recently converted to a hardtail. Ron’s challenge was to refurbish this $500 garage find and have it running and sparkling for $1,500. Cycle Source Magazine is covering the build in an upcoming edition and we will see the completed bike in person in Daytona during 2012 Bike Week.

Chop Docs Choppers is a full service business. Up front, his wife cuts hair. In back, Ron paints and fabricates bikes. Glancing around the shop at the assorted mullets and long hairs, she apparently doesn’t get much support from the biker community.

We want to thank Gary and Jules for being tour guides for the day. American ingenuity, innovation and collaboration is alive and well in Detroit. It is not easy to thrive in the motorcycle industry today, and it must be even harder in Michigan, but these guys are doing it and having fun as well. We also want to thank all of the Michigan builders who came out to support the 2012 Ultimate Builder Custom Bike Show.

FreeStyle Class
1 Steve Broyles, Stevenson’s Cycles – GL Special, 2008 Stevenson’s Cycle Bobber
2 Eric Gorges, Voodoo Choppers – De Lux, 2011 Voodoo Choppers’ Bobber
3 Rob Gallo, Detroit Choppers – Detroit Black Out, 2011 H-D Road Glide

Mod Harley Class
1 Kirk Schubert, Chop Docs Choppers, Shoobdville, 1997 Fat Boy Bagger
2 Jody Jendon, Reflections Custom Cycle, 2007 Street Glide
3DJ Hunter, Biker Bobs H-D, PDS, 2010 H-D FLHX

Performance Custom Class
1 Jack McCoy, M43 Powersports – Inferno, 2008 Suzuki B-King
2 Mark Hunt, Bummer – Crazy Horse, 1974 H-D Ironhead
3 Giovanni, Blacksmith Motoring Co. – El Vaquero, 1977 Honda GL 1000 Goldwing

Retro Mod
1 Steve Hollon, Gogatha Choppers – General Grunge, 1987 Sportster
2 Giovanni, Blacksmith Motoring Co. – El Vaquero, 1977 Honda GL 1000 Goldwing
3 Ron Harris, Chop Docs Choppers, Sweet Lou, 1977 H-D FXH

People’s choice

-Jeff Najar

Baker Drivetrain

Kustoms Inc.

S&S Cycle

If you’re wandering through the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum and Hall of Fame, you’ll come face-to-face with historic memorabilia. You’ll see pins and patches from distant rallies. There are old racing programs with famous notes written in the margins. You’ll find riding gear, toys, and tons of other great motorcycle related history pieces. But when you come across this item, you might just pass it by, because at first glance, it appears to just be an old notebook. But it’s far more important than you might think. This book holds the true history of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally – it’s the very first book of minutes from the Jackpine Gypsies Motorcycle Club.

If you got to look inside the faded pages (which isn’t likely as it’s fragile, valuable, and in a locked case), you’d find some some amazing notes. On the very first page, you’d find the following: “The Jackpine Gypsies Motorcycle Club” Sturgis, South Dakota. “I hereby agree to abide by the Laws and Club Rules of the ‘Jackpine Gypsies’ Motorcycle Club,’ Sturgis, South Dakota. That I will cheerfully serve, on any committee on which I might be placed, and further, I will always work for the success of the Club.”

Turn the page, and you’ll see a membership list of the very first 15 people to attend an official meeting of the club on January 21, 1938. Included on that list are J.C. Hoel (Clarence – known to his friends as “Pappy”) who is widely recognized as the founder of the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, and Don Vodden, one of the nine original racers to compete in the first races held in Sturgis.

Turn a few more pages, and you’ll find minutes of those very first meetings. While many may believe that Pappy Hoel served as president of the club, he actually only served as temporary president for two meetings – when the club elected its first slate of officers and made Joseph Kelly its first president.

The book continues with minutes of meetings through August 17, 1939, but doesn’t end there. Turn a few more pages, and you’ll find the Constitution and Bylaws of the club – once again, all hand written.

The pages of this little notebook are full of interesting pieces of history about how this group of local men came to initiate a motorcycle club, and kick-off a weekend of racing that blossomed into what is today one of the biggest motorcycle events in the world. This booklet is just one gem that makes its home in the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum & Hall of Fame.

–Christine

If you have time, and most of us don’t, check out this court decision from New Hampshire. It’s the perfect example of over-regulation in this country. You’ll run across federal regulations, state regulations, and some damn city’s new regulations, all to kill the life-saving sound your motorcycle makes.

I say this is misguided because the rumble your motorcycle makes could save your life, but some citizen call noise a “Quality of Life” issue, and of course, it’s his or her right to have Quality of Life, right? At one point, quality of life in America represented a roof over your head and a square meal. Now, god forbid, someone smokes a cigarette a block from your home, or one loud motorcycle blasts past. If tomorrow we are bombed, or the economy tanks again, nobody will care about your exhaust pipes, they’ll be worried about finding a job or a bomb shelter.