I wanted a new bike that would work well in both conditions. I knew one thing was for sure; the bike was going to have shocks somewhere. So, I collaborated again with my bud in Boston, “Tigman.” After throwing around some ideas, we settled on this design. Once that was done, everything seemed to come into focus. There were definitely some things I wanted to try on this new project. So after a few “pupu parties” with my good friend Roger Kuwahara (aka Mr. Gadget), we came up with some pretty sick innovations. I think one of the sickest things we came up with is the seat mechanism. Not only was it functional, but also it was also purely simplistic.

 

 

As for the name of the bike, it’s sort of an oxymoron. I could have named the bike “Penny Pincha” or “Broke Ass,” since the motor and tranny was found in previous customer’s dump. But I figured what we lacked in high-end parts, we would make up for in the “Fab” side of the build. Thus came the name, “Cha Ching,” because no matter what, the bike turned out to be MONEY!

 

 

Gunner to pilot – copy. Tail Gunner here:
This month let’s talk about lowering blocks. Man I’ve tried them all, Pingel, Burly, and L.A. Chopper. They all do what they are designed to do, lower your bike. Most of them lower your bike one inch or more. To achieve this, almost all the manufactures move the shock mount back and down to get the desired height.

The problem is when moving the shock back it creates a greater “leverage ratio” angle on the shock. Lever ratio is angle of degrees your shock sits at between the swing arm and frame.

The angle of the shock affects the performance and handling of the bike. The L.A. Choppers lowering kit creates zero lever ratio change because the shock drops straight down instead of back. You can read volumes on-line about this subject, so I’ll leave it at that.

For this article I’m using the L.A. Choppers part number LA-7590-00B for 2009 -2011 FLH models. I acquired a set and installed them on my 2009 Ultra. The L.A. Choppers designed the blocks so the leverage ratio stays the same. They virtually drop the shock straight down in exactly the same position as stock, just 1” shorter.

To achieve this, the kit has spacers and longer shock mount bolts.

The instructions are easy to follow. Jack the bike up in the rear, so that the rear tire lifts off the ground. If you have air shocks, bleed off the pressurized air before you start. Remove the saddle bags and install the new hardware per instructions supplied. When installing the new blocks, add a little Locktite to the threads on the counter sunk bolt that attaches the block to the frame. Next, you just basically swap out all the hardware. The kit comes with longer shock bolts and spacers. Make sure the steel spacer is installed on the bottom shock mount and the aluminum on the top per instructions.

Man I know this is going to work, how could it not! The kit also comes with ½-inch spacers and longer bolts to move your saddle bag brackets out to clear the now spaced out shocks. The front one works fine, however, the rear for 2009- 2011 FLH’s does not move, it’s welded directly to the sub frame. On earlier models the kit works fine, because the rear mount bracket can be removed and the spacer installed.

I thought of just about everything to rectify the problem and the only half-ass solution I could come up with is longer quick disconnect pins for the rear bag mount.

By accident I found that the Victory Cross Country bags have just the right size pin (1/2-inch longer, part #7518983, $12.50 ea).

So I ordered a pair. Drill out two of the 1/4-inch spacers provided for the saddle bag bracket relocation, to 5/16-inch (to fit the new pin diameter), presto, it worked. Now install the forward spacer as instructed and the new drilled out spacer in the rear between the bag and the rear mounting bracket. (See diagram-A)

This set up works fine except you have to hold the rear spacer between the bag and the bracket while inserting the pin through. Now the bag is exactly ½-inch spaced out from the shock for clearance. Now torque the shock bolts down to the correct torque value (34 ft. lbs.), reinstall the bags, pump up the shocks to your desired pressure, and your done.

On my scale of five, I give the L.A. Choppers lowering kit a 3 for function and install, and a 5 for overall product quality. L.A. Choppers website has installation video for your enjoyment. (see video)

Shortcut to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZtW7iSMUDB8

The video is great; however, it says nothing about the spacers for the saddle bags. I did talk to Chucky at L.A. Choppers, he said that the bags on the ’08-‘11 FL should not have to be spaced. I found that they did indeed rub after the blocks were installed. So I opted to install them as I previously mentioned. Between Chucky and I, we came to the conclusion that not every factory bike is exactly the same. You may have to use the spacers for the bags, or you may not, you’ll know when you get there.
Till next time, ride hard, ride smart, Tail Gunner out!

Product Suppliers ref:
LA Choppers www.lachoppers.com LA-7590-00B,’02-’11 FL, $104.95

www.bikerschoice.com 40-4022, ’02-’11 FL, $104.95

www.customchrome.com 631407, ’02-’11 FL, $94.99

www.jpcycles.com 700-485, ’02-’11 FL, $96.99

Let thy chief terror be of thine own soul: There, amid the throng of hurrying desires that trample on the dead to seize their spoil, lurks vengeance, footless, irresistible, as exhalations laden with slow death and o’er the fairest troop of captured joys breathes pallid pestilence.

–George Eliot 1889

“How much further?” His daughter asked for the umpteenth time.

His wife kept insisting, “We need to stop, you’re getting tired and I need to go to the restroom. I told you I NEED to GO!”

“Yes, I know. But there isn’t a town nearby and the GPS says were thirty minutes away from the nearest facilities. What do you want me to do? Pull over and let you use the bushes?”

The road was black as tar and the fog kept any stars or even the moon from making an appearance; nothing but road and more road with patches of fog collecting in the dips between the curves in the hills. Why is it that when you are exhausted, everything just seems to get worse? Great roads for a bike but not for a compact car loaded with luggage and a family that was too small to drive if you were over five feet tall.

Again, he felt the pinch points of the seat in his lower back and shoulder. He imagined the engineer who designed this particular compact car seat is probably the chief engineer responsible for reducing the pitch five degrees on the last economy flight he had to take. It was like sitting in a torture chair that only got worse as the minutes ticked by.

“I could be riding my Harley around Sedona right now”, he said.

“Well, why don’t you take your own vacation next time and I’ll just go shopping.”
After what seemed like an eternity there was a tattered billboard coming slowing into view- Next Services 20 Miles; that would have to do. Paying thirty cents more per gallon just for the convenience and probably using a filthy restroom as an added bonus wasn’t appealing but if he heard one more complaint from the wife, he was going to lose it.

If I only I hadn’t stopped…

“Hey, are you going to wake up?” he heard Trista mumble. He could only see black and felt like he was in a haze.

“Honey, I think I have the flu.” he said to his wife. “My back hurts from your stupid car.”

“Hey, you need to wake up and quit talking crazy to me! I’m not your wife! I’m Trista! And you are scaring the shit out of me!” She tried to pry his left eyelid open and saw mostly white.

The whiplash of reality finally sunk in the deep recesses of his brain about what had happened and where he was. The blood rushed from his face and his heart sank. His mouth was beyond parched. He needed to vomit and he did; all over Trista who was holding his head and trying to keep him from touching the wound on his stomach.

“Trista?”

“Yes.”

“What happened? Where are we?”

“What do you mean what happened!” she yelled. “You blew up a roadhouse and then shot a bunch of people and we stopped at this farm and you fainted. You got shot in the stomach or something and when I saw your shirt and jeans all bloody I freaked out and then you had blood coming out of your ear and I nearly passed out but I couldn’t very well do it with you on the floor now could I?”

“Help me up.” “Why am I in a tub?”

“No. Stay down. I could barely drag you into this bathtub in the first place. What are you like 250 pounds? We have been here three days. It’s the 14th and you have been really sick; like delirious even. You were talking to your wife and daughter about your vacation, and I couldn’t make it all out but what I do know is that you had a six inch long piece of something in your side and your ear was bleeding on and off for a while. I found some vet supplies in the horse barn and stitched up your side and gave you some antibiotics. You need to rest, you’re pretty fucked up.”

“Don’t talk like that. Wait, you did what to me?” Everything was slowing coming back and Trista was talking but he wasn’t catching much of what she said so he kept asking her to repeat what she was saying.

“Yeah, she continued, I was in 4H and showed some horses. Well, they weren’t mine but I was allowed to show them. Anyway, I learned some things about taking care of them. I have seen vets stitch up animals before, it isn’t that hard. I think I did pretty well under the circumstances. Did you understand that?” she talked and tried to pantomime what she felt, ”the concept of understanding,” would be pantomimed like.

“I found some crackers and some canned vegetables that got left behind but you have been so sick I couldn’t even get more than a dropper of water down your throat at a time.”

“Wait! You stitched up my side?” He looked at his abdomen at the curves of black thread in a haphazard pattern. “It looks like Doctor Frankenstein did those.”

Trista slapped him and then recoiled in anticipation of his response. When he didn’t move, tears welled up in her eyes. He just stared at her.

“I could have let you die you know. You are alive because of me!” She started to cry and talk at the same time. “I took, took, this out, out, of you.” she cried, holding up a jagged piece of iron pipe she picked up on the edge of the sink.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

Her lips were quivering and snot was starting to drip from her nose.

“I wasn’t even thinking Trista. I’m really sorry. I am supposed to be dead now and with my family. I wasn’t even supposed to live through the attack and now I am still alive. It seems the game has changed. You need to go home. You need to go home right now, he insisted. I must have been out of my mind to take you with me. I blew up a building and shot up a town; that is terrorism and I will get caught and will fry for what I’ve done and if you are with me, you will likely die in jail.”
“ If you think I am going back to that hell hole you are sadly mistaken. I don’t care if I live or die. Things happened to me in that town.”

“Listen kid. My family was killed by those bastards and the law let them go on technicalities and lack of evidence. I threatened some of them outside of court and they got a restraining order out on me. They know I did it. Now go home!”

“No one knows anything yet except the Icehouse got blown up and the news is saying a cartel shot up a bunch of tweakers on bikes. At least that is what the news is saying.”

“What?”

“You do realize we are only thirty minutes from town don’t you? I know this farm. It belongs to Dr. Sinclair. He is trying to sell this place and has been for some time. He comes, I mean came in the café all the time and told me about his problems. Everyone does, I mean did that. Also, the news is crawling all over town interviewing people and so are FBI, ATB and other official looking people.”

“ATF you mean. How do you know all this?” he demanded.

“I have a cell phone you know.” She showed him a website that posted the pictures of the town. It looked like a tornado of hell passed through it.

“Yeah, your van bomb or whatever it was not only blew up that bar but it also ignited the gas line that runs through the center of town. My coffee shop isn’t there anymore, or the hardware store, or the gas station. I think they think I am dead; I like that idea.”

He couldn’t speak, he didn’t want to. He should have been dead and now this doe eyed girl was talking to him and he couldn’t seem to process all the information correctly. Coming to his senses, he knew he couldn’t let her be a part of this. What to do? He stood up in the tub and nearly fell. Must have gotten a concussion from the blast, he thought. Did someone get a shot at me? Did anyone see me? He wondered. No, it was the gas line that burst that must have put that piece of pipe in my side.

“I must have been too close when the van exploded.” he said to himself out loud.

“Maybe”, Trista answered. “But I think you got shot or something blew up next to you because you were bleeding a lot and I haven’t seen anyone bleed from their ear before. It’s disgusting!”

“I suppose it is. But thank you for keeping me alive, I guess.” he said, still not quite hearing himself talk normally.

“I feel like I have cotton in my ear.”

“You do, silly. I put it there.” She gently pulled it out but he noticed no difference.

“I have a perforated eardrum and…” He stopped talking, then took a breath and continued but Trista interrupted him.

“The way I see it, you can ride into town or call 911, if you don’t feel like riding, spend the rest of your life braiding some dude’s hair in jail or life on death row, or GET THE CHAIR!, or you can ride away with me and lets enjoy life for a while.” She waited for his response not knowing what he would choose. She couldn’t read him at all. This wasn’t the guy she met just a few days earlier, he seemed broken and sick. What have I gotten myself into she wondered? No… this is right. He was right and maybe the town was better off scorched. He just needs some time to clear his head. He is different and I believe in him she told herself.

He thought a moment and tried to stand. He wasn’t wearing anything but a towel and didn’t even ask where his clothes were.

He paused a moment. “Do I have to ask?” he said looking at her as the towel slipped out of his hand. He winced as he tried to pick it up.

“You bled on all your clothes and I washed them in the sink. The water is on in this house, just not the electricity.” I hung your jeans and jacket inside the barn so no one would see. I tried to push your bike in there too but I dropped it on its side and couldn’t stand it back up so I covered it up with a tarp. The mirror is broken and it has a couple holes on the side of the seat. I think someone shot as us as we left.”

“I see.”

“We have to make a decision don’t we?” Just saying that made her tingle with excitement. Is this what alive is supposed to feel like? she wondered.

Zen looked deep into her green eyes and placed his left hand on her face. “I am in serious trouble for sure. You can walk away and go back to your coffee shop. Well, maybe not there but somewhere else. However, you are going down the path to hell if you ride with me and you are too young and sweet to throw away your life with a walking, talking dead man. This isn’t Bonnie and Clyde. This is real life, not MTV and mine is almost over. I am not going to jail, I would rather die first. Yes, you saved me but from what? I have no family. I have just murdered a bunch of people and destroyed your jerkwater town. Do you realize that?”

“Can I say something? “Trista countered. “What you did what was right. Now, maybe causing most of the whole town to go down in flames was a bit overboard but you do realize that that nearly the whole town was either doing meth, selling meth, or making money off it somehow. I think you did the public a service, if you ask me. And those guys weren’t real bikers. They were just using that club they started to move drugs and to intimidate people. They were always trying to get me to party with them and they took over the town like a cancer. Even the cops were taking money from them.”

“Well at least I got that red bearded bastard that took my family!” he shouted at her while hitting the wall and driving his fist through the sheetrock; immediately regretting doing so.

“You mean Thumper?”

“Yeah, that was him. He was the one that started it. How do you know his name?”

“Everybody knows, um, everybody knew his name in town.” she said, looking down at her feet. “Him and his brothers started dealing with some Mexican cartel and they went from being petty drug dealers to really bad people and they were getting rich off the suffering of others. Even my little cousin got a taste of what they were calling “road bumps.” And next thing you know, he was stealing from me. Like stealing 4H ribbons and trophies and was trying to pawn everything to get money for drugs.

He actually tried to fight me when he was tweaking because no one in the next town wanted to buy my second place ribbon. Anyway, I guess Thumper and those guys were always bad but bad people with money are really bad. You know?

“Yeah, I know”, he whispered.

“Well, their daddy used to steal anything he could get his hands on back in the day. Thumper’s real name is Theodore, not Thumper. I mean it was Theodore.”

He could see her voice lower and her face fall as she corrected herself. Still some innocence in there, he thought. Poor kid.

“Yes I know. I spent every waking moment researching everything for the case against him. I pissed off the district attorney and even got cited for harassment in my quest of trying to find out everything about that bastard. I didn’t know he had any siblings though. You mean club brothers right?”

“No, he has two other brothers, like real brothers; one older and one younger. They look like him. They all have long red beards like they want to be in ZZ Top or something. Yeah, a ZZ Top band with meth mouth. Gross.”

“Well I know I killed him because I saw part of his face. I saw his bike with his name on the tank parked out front. I saw his beard and half his head on the floor. Everyone was on stage when the van drove through and everyone that wasn’t on fire or blown to pieces got shot with that Krinkov.”

“Krinkoff?”

“Krinkov. It’s like a short barreled AK-47; I bought it illegally in California of all places along with the steel core hollow points. I even put mercury in the tips and capped them with paraffin. I wasn’t taking any chances. It was a devastating weapon. Now, I know I killed him and I don’t care about his stupid brothers.”
“What are you some kind of ex-cop or something?”

“Just a broken man who lost his family and spent a lot of money and time on the internet planning vengeance.”
She was afraid to say it but she did it anyway. “Did you see him get off the bike?” she asked in the softest voice she had ever spoken.

“No, but I know that was him. I was watching for it and then you came out to where my bike was parked and I…Let me see your phone!“ he growled, grabbing it out of her hand. He tried accessing the internet but the phone buttons were different that his own and he was shaking so she took the phone back and showed him how to work it. He opened the browser and read the articles on the major news sites, making mental calculations before checking the next site. He scanned the list of the dead and was unfazed at pictures of the collateral damage. He skipped over the details when it mentioned the two local women severely burned and the destruction of the public property. The roll of the dead listed their aliases; twenty nine names in all:
Clifford Marsiglio, aka “Pinky” Troy Stolle, aka “Hoosier”
And on and on it read. Under a new paragraph, there were two last names that loosened his bowels; Terry Blevins aka “T-bone” and Timothy Blevins aka “Rusty” but no Theodore Blevins aka “Thumper.”

Then on the last website, he saw a picture of Thumper in handcuffs wearing a green Department of Justice bullet proof vest being escorted into a building. Above the picture in bold letters it read:
Drug Deals Gone Up in Smoke Along With CA Town. Cartel Suspects and Ringleader Arrested. Zen saw the picture and the date of the story was the 14th. No, that can’t be right he thought, because today is the 14th. He looked at his watch. Amazingly, it was still on his wrist there it was, the date was the 14th. He stopped breathing. “No, I saw his head.”

Something inside him spoke audibly for the first time in his life, “No, you saw part of his head. It wasn’t his, it was one of his brothers and he is still out there. “

Trista was looking over his shoulder reading the article and when he stared at her, she could only mouth the words, “I’m so sorry.”

“No Theodore Blevins, no Theodore, no Theodore, No Thumper!” He kept screaming the name and alias over and over while smashing the phone against his head until there was nothing left in his hands but part of the back of the casing of the phone. The rest of the smart phone was either on the floor on embedded in the hamburger that moments ago was the side of his face.

Riding the same bike day after day for many years can be both a blessing and a curse. You get to know the bike well, but sometimes your vision gets a tad blurred. Nicks and scratches start showing up that you just don’t see. You still see the bike the way you did the day you took possession. Somewhere along the line the bike got old and ugly, but you’re too in love to see it. Then one day you look up, vision clear, and you realize something needs to be done. That’s the case with this bike. I love it, but it has gotten a touch ugly over the years.

I like clean, nostalgic bikes with simple paint jobs. While some of the graphics out there are incredible and take a great amount of skill, single and two-tone paint jobs are still my favorite. I considered a few different directions but ultimately decided on a metallic burnt orange for the color. The first order of business was to strip the sheet metal off the bike and take it to the painter.

The original Road King Classic saddlebags were sagging and had some scuffs. I prefer the look of the hard bags, but like the way the Classic bags open. The solution came when I traded the classic bags for two sets of police style bags. They were scuffed up but perfect for what I had in mind. The bags are easy to open with one hand while sitting on the bike. You can’t do that with the standard hard bags.

The problem with the police style bags is the hardware. The hinges look like something you find at Home Depot. The hockey puck on top absolutely had to go. A quick search of the internet and a plan was made. The stock hardware was removed. The indentation on the side of the bags was filled in. Deluxe touring pack hinges from Harley were used to replace the stock Home Depot utility hinge. The face of the saddlebag has a slightly different shape than the touring pack and the hinges are not a perfect fit. Since I was repainting the bike the fit did not pose a problem, but be aware patience is required if you are fitting the hinges to an already painted bag. Holes are relocated and a polished aluminum spacer was made to locate the hinge correctly. Flush mounted pop up hinges were ordered. The stock latch inside the bag was reshaped slightly to establish the proper fit. The strap and lock mounts were recessed into the fiberglass and hidden.

The result is a clean saddlebag that is one of a kind.

The Mustang seat had over 50,000 miles and was still comfortable and in great shape, however, I wanted a solo seat for riding around town with the ability to quickly attach the passenger seat and quick release backrest. I discovered a stock Harley solo seat with matching rear seat on Craigslist for $50. The foam was cut down and reshaped to give a low seating position with memory foam inserted in the centers. A local upholstery shop recovered the seats. The result is a very comfortable one off seat.

I used the reproduction of the 1961-1962 FL tank badges straight from the Harley catalog. They use an adhesive on a bracket that the badge then bolts to. The chrome and white badges offset the color perfectly.

A few minor details and the bike looks better than ever. The Thunderheader exhaust was ceramic coated black with the stock chrome heat shields cut down. The result is a strong, good- looking coating with a significant reduction in the amount of radiating heat. The rear of the bike was cleaned up with the installation of a grab bar eliminator kit incorporating turn signals.

The result is a sharp looking custom ride that can hold it’s own in any company

The Honda is a 1964 S90. A friend had one since he was a kid, and I like it. I found this one on Craig’s list and traded a pistol for it. I am painting it either charcoal grey and silver or olive green and tan, making a café seat, powder coating the rims black, and putting a 140 to 160 cc pit bike or motocross engine in it for a fun little toy to ride around town and to the lake. My youngest daughter will be getting her license next year so she may ride it as well. I ride it around the neighborhood for fun right now and plan to rebuild it over the winter. I had evil thoughts of finding a 250 Harley sprint motor to put in but doesn’t look like it would fit.

The firestorm of social change that was burning across America in the 1960s was flaming its hottest in 1967. “The Summer of Love,” the Vietnam War, daily new waves of sex-drugs-and-rock’n’roll and so many other cultural U-turns were pounding this country and its traditions.

One of those U-turns, however, wasn’t so new. It was a familiar bend in the road that had been traveled before—twenty years or so earlier.

And it didn’t really buck any traditions—it actually reinforced a big one.

Just like the WWII vets—and their attitudes of brotherhood formed in war’s trenches—the veterans of the Vietnam War came home to find some degree of peace in the spirit of a big motorcycle.
And the people who ride them.

The result was another era that saw many of the major motorcycle clubs formed.

The Devils Diciples was one of those, established with twelve originals—all ex-military members.

And forty-four years later, they are celebrating an especially poignant anniversary. In the motorcycle club world, patches and specific designations mean specific things. Using the numbers of corresponding letters of the alphabet to represent a club name is a tradition—in this case, “44” translates to “DD.” This 44th anniversary is important.

Back in the day, these events were an open-heart, open-arms demonstration of the close-knit families that clubs grew into—especially after surviving the horrors of war. This weekend with the Devils Diciples MC proved that brotherhood of that kind is still very much alive and well.

—Bill Hayes
Photo credit-Bill Hayes

I have had the great fortune of riding Harley- Davidsons since the ’70s but have never made it to Mecca or Sturgis, as it is called by many. You know that old tired story, when I had the time I never had the cash and vice versa. Finally, this year the traveling elements fell into place.

Being a month plus away from the harried departure date, I was not going to get to excited just yet and continued to plod along. As the date closed in things started to muddy up, the Lucky Devil Metal Works customer’s bike I was going to haul to the Badlands for the AMD show, and then deliver it to him, stumbled. The owner decided he was not going and would just have the bike picked up in Houston. Okay, no point in wasting the cash. That was my initial thought, however at zero hour another one of Lucky Devils customers Ron Holcomb decided it would be OK to take the newly completed Hydra-Ride and enter it in the Freestyle category under the massive white tent.

The Hydra-Ride is a diesel engine powered two-wheeler, which generally powers a hydraulic pump. Very Cool! Ron decided to build the unique piece to showcase some of the products his company Hydradyne Hydraulics sells and enlisted Lucky Devil Metal Works, or Kent Weeks, the boss, to help make his vision come true with a few changes along the way. And while it didn’t take top honors at AMD it sure got a lot of questions and when I fired it off the day of the load-out, it drew even more attention, too bad I forgot to use the air horn!

Of course my departure from Houston was the same as many with the devil, Kent. Always a cluster-fuck, plus I needed to finish the Butt Stop Bitch Bar for the Little Red Rigid. It took until 3 AM on the 4th. The BSBB was designed to either keep cute young butts from sliding off the back or to act as a mounting platform, so I could strap and carry camera equipment. It handled its designed task flawlessly the entire week. Plus, I still had to finish installing it and complete a few details on Darryl Brigg’s bike, who I picked up in Dallas along the way.

Bikes loaded, cash in hand, I made my way across the toll road to I-45 and pointed the Texas Tahoe north towards Dallas. Yes, I trailed my ride to Sturgis. I could use the excuse that I had to take the Hydra-Ride to the AMD show or that I also had Darryl’s bike, but fact of the matter is I am 50+ and still riding a rigid frame! Now, if my uncle Johnny(as in Mancuso) or if any of you folks want to buy me a 2011 Street Glide, Black, with NO Anti-lock brakes and NO RADIO feel free and I will ride with you next year…maybe? (Side Note – Radios DO NOT belong on motorcycles!)

You should either be going so fast you can’t hear it anyway or sing to yourself, if you are that bored.
Finally on the road another issue appeared one that I will not bore you with, except to say that the Texas Tahoe is close to becoming the Texas Expedition. I am tired of fighting with the Chevy people, who cannot fix a truck, so the entire journey up took about a hour and a half longer than it should have and about a tank and half more fuel as well. Upon arriving in Dallas with the temp reading 113 in the truck, I began to tell Darryl how Kent asked me to take the devil duck on location and get some pictures with it throughout the week, at which point he pulls out Mini-Kent whom would join us on the weeks adventures.

There’s another sidebar here. Kent Weeks, the master builder boss of Lucky Devil would like to be inducted into the Hamsters. In order to do so, he must attend Sturgis two years in a row and be voted on by the likes of Arlen Ness. He builds bikes constantly, including Sin Wu’s Root Beer Float, which was recently featured in American Iron. When Kent builds a bike, it is a hard running masterpiece. He’s a 24/7 shop owner, and if a bike needs work, he sticks with the task until the job’s done. Since he couldn’t make the Sturgis run, the Devil duck was designed to represent the Devil at the Rally. I’m not sure how well it worked?

Now, if you would care to see where he went and the people he met and happen to be on Facebook just check out the Lucky Devil Metal Works page.
We did cruz down the highway on the outskirts of the Badlands that morning, so I got to see a little of it, arriving in Sturgis a little after 1:00 that afternoon and unloaded the bikes and began to set up camp. We then headed downtown to pick up the media packets, however on our journey the LRR front end was making all kinds of racket and shaking on the left side WTF?

This bike just rolled off the table where she received new set of neck bearing and wheel bearing, and I even tried a Springer front end for 14 miles. They are not for me as my riding style dictates that at least one tire needs to be on the ground most of the time. Anyway, back at camp and realized I peeled out of Texas and forgot the center jack at the shop. We dug around for ways to jack the front end off the ground?

Here is a tip for those of you who might need to do this even if you don’t have a trailer. Go borrow some heavy duty ratchet straps, find two trees to secure said straps to and with them running under the neck of your frame ratchet away! Works great Darryl came up with that idea, anyway after removing the wheel and rechecking the bearing it seems that the rotor was bent just a tad, so I guess it got dropped during my 14 miles of Springer testing, or just developed a bad attitude at being taken off?

Either way, I removed the caliper, shoved a beer can between the pads and wire tired it to the lower triple tree. I had no more issues the rest of the week! Granted this did make the journey down Needles Highway in the rain a bit more fun, and I can in No Way imagine how anyone rides a bike with just a 10-inch rear brake, but thank goodness for new rear brake pads and rotor.

Saturday after unloading the bike for the AMD show we made our way out to Spearfish Canyon during our stop at Bridal Veil falls. Darryl mentioned he wanted to make frequent stops to scope out some stuff for next year, and if I wanted to ride on, he would meet me in Savoy. I took off and blazed since there was no one on the road in front of me. I road the LRR up to 70 for the first set of upcoming turns and while I have never been down this road, I have seen videos and know there are no bad turns.

As I came out of the first set of sweeping curves bordered by Jack Pine forests and rolling green fields, there was still no one on the road. I don’t know if this was just dumb luck or Devine Intervention because I was able to run all the way into Savoy and half way back at about 70 without hitting any traffic! This mystic parting of the traffic never happened again on any of the other three rides through Black Hills canyons! The rigid was not happy with the air and was topping out at 70, while I packed extra jets, I was able to get by with some minor adjustments and keep her happy for the rest of the trip.

What amazed me the most was the number of baggers and trikes. Each time I parked I witness the same mix of motorcycle, just different color schemes. And while I know there were other non-factory, custom bikes, it was sort of sad when a 12-year-old-rigid is the most custom bike in the entire row! I also do not understand this trike phenomenon, I can see where there are some folks that might need to ride a trike due to age or a medical issues, but there were bunches of younger people riding these damn things! I already have dibs on the stickers, “I Trailed My Bike To Trike Week.”

I was also doing double duty as Lucky Devil Ambassador for the AMD Show which was different, especially the judging. Some of my initial favorites changed during the load in. I had to change my mind several times, but each builder devoted many hours to their creations, and all were very proud of the bikes they entered. There were some sick rides there! Anyway, I have now been too Mecca. Will I return? Let’s put it this way I am already looking at property in Spearfish Canyon and am currently only six numbers away from signing the papers!

Till Next Time,
–Rigid Frame Richard

THE AIM/NCOM MOTORCYCLE E-NEWS SERVICE is brought to you by Aid to Injured Motorcyclists (A.I.M.) and the National Coalition of Motorcyclists (NCOM), and is sponsored by the Law Offices of Richard M. Lester. If you’ve been involved in any kind of accident, call us at 1-(800) ON-A-BIKE or visit www.ON-A-BIKE.com .

NCOM COAST TO COAST BIKER NEWS
Compiled & Edited by Bill Bish,
National Coalition of Motorcyclists (NCOM)

PRESIDENT OBAMA SIGNS REPEAL OF KIDS’ MOTORCYCLE BAN
President Barack Obama signed a bipartisan consumer safety bill on August 12 that exempts youth-sized motorcycles and all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) from the Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act (CPSIA) of 2008 that bans children’s products that contain lead.

H.R. 2715, introduced by U.S. Representatives Mary Bono Mack (R-CA) and G.K. Butterfield (D-NC), passed near-unanimously in the House 421-2 on Aug. 1 and was approved by unanimous consent by the Senate later that day. The measure excludes kids’ off-road vehicles from the overly-broad CPSIA lead certification rules, which previously prohibited their sale due to lead content of components such as batteries and brakes.

“This law is a win-win for American consumers and the American economy,” said Congresswoman Bono Mack, “and I thank the President for signing this critically important bill into law.”

Be sure to contact your federal legislators and thank them for rectifying the onerous “Lead Law” bike ban, and for supporting the rights of millions of off-road enthusiasts and future motorcyclists.

ABATE OF MICHIGAN REQUESTS YOUR IMMEDIATE ACTION
This urgent Call To Action is on behalf of ABATE of Michigan, requesting the help of all motorcyclists in their fight for freedom.

“Senate Bill 291 passed the Michigan Senate in late June,” writes ABATE President Vince Consiglio. “We are asking all rights activists to send a post card to Michigan’s Governor, Rick Snyder, urging him to support motorcycle helmet choice for adults.”

Consiglio further advises that; “A postcard from a ‘FREE’ state may help him realize that Michigan loses motorcycle money every day of the summer with a mandatory helmet law. Governor Snyder prides himself on being all about business and helping business. Please urge Governor Snyder to support adult choice.” MAIL to: Governor Rick Snyder, State Capital, P.O. Box 30013, Lansing, MI 48909 or call (517) 373-3400 or e-mail Rick.Snyder@michigan.gov.

Michigan is one of 20 states with a mandatory helmet law for all riders, but before the state legislature broke for the summer the Senate voted 24-14 on June 28th to repeal their 40-year old helmet requirement for motorcyclists 21 or older, who have been riding for at least two years or passes a safety test, and have $100,000 in personal injury insurance. A sunset provision would cause the ban on helmetless riding to resume in five years, unless the legislature acts again. The heavily-amended measure now moves to the House of Representatives for further action.

NHTSA (AGAIN) PUSHES HELMET LAWS
NHTSA Administrator David Strickland has testified once again before a Congressional committee urging federal action to get motorcyclists to wear helmets. On July 27, during a reauthorization hearing on the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, Strickland told a subcommittee of the U.S. Senate Committee on Commerce, Science & Transportation that “the most important step we can take to reduce the deaths of motorcyclists on our roads and highways is to assure that all riders wear a DOT compliant helmet.”

He further stated that, “A grant program emphasizing the use of motorcycle helmets would be effective in reducing fatalities.”

Last year, in response to Congressional testimony from Strickland that increased helmet use is the core component of NHTSA’s motorcycle safety plan, U.S. Rep. Jim Sensenbrenner (R-WI) introduced a resolution urging NHTSA to concentrate on motorcycle crash prevention and rider education instead of lobbying for helmet laws.

U.S. MOTORCYCLE MARKET RESEARCH
Research and Markets, a worldwide marketing research resource, has announced the addition of the “Motorcycle Dealers” report to their offering of over 718,000 global marketing research reports, which covers nearly 4,300 motorcycle-related stores in the United States with combined annual revenue of $18 billion.

According to their industry research, no major companies dominate; most companies have a single retail outlet, “The industry is highly fragmented: the 50 largest companies generate just 10 percent of industry sales,” states the report.

Under the “Competitive Landscape” heading, the R&M report says: “Discretionary personal income and interest rates drive demand, since motorcycles are high-ticket purchases and often financed. The profitability of individual companies depends on volume and sales of higher-margin goods like heavyweight motorcycles. Large dealers have advantages in broad inventory selections and negotiating power with manufacturers. Small dealers can compete effectively by providing superior customer service or offering unique services, like bike customization.”

The report further observes that, “Major competitors include private market sellers, other recreational vehicle dealers, service center chains, and independent service shops.”

Other key topics include: Industry Overview, Business Challenges & Trends, Industry Forecast & Opportunities, and Products, Operations & Technology:

For those in the motorcycle industry or starting a motorcycle business, or interested in better understanding the two-wheel marketplace, check them out at www.researchandmarkets.com .

R&M has also conducted numerous other motorcycle-oriented marketing reports, including a Global Industry Guide and a Global Motorcycle Report, which examines market conditions across Western Europe, North America as well as key emerging countries such as China and India.

NEW REPORT REVEALS THAT 1 IN 7 DRIVERS ARE UNINSURED
Summer is the time for road trips, long motorcycle rides and making those daily back-and-forth trips to run household errands. Chances are drivers will not be involved in a vehicle accident during these travels, but everyone likely will be involved in at least one motor vehicle accident in his or her lifetime.

Across the United States, chances are roughly one in seven that a driver is uninsured, according to estimates released in April from the Insurance Research Council. The economic downturn is thought to be a major factor in the increase of uninsured motorists, with approximately 13.8% of U.S. drivers being uninsured in 2009 despite laws in most states requiring drivers to maintain minimum coverage.

In a new study, “Uninsured Motorists, 2011 edition,” the IRC estimates the percentage of uninsured drivers countrywide and in individual states for 2008 and 2009 based on the number of uninsured motorist insurance claims versus the number of bodily injury claims.

In 2009, the five states with the highest uninsured driver estimates were Mississippi, 28%; New Mexico, 26%; Tennessee, 24%; Oklahoma, 24%; and Florida, 24%.

The five states with the lowest uninsured driver estimates were Massachusetts, 4.5%; Maine, 4.5%; New York, 5%; Pennsylvania, 7%; and Vermont, 7%.

The moral? Protect yourself by making sure you’re fully covered, with Uninsured and Underinsured Motorist coverage included in your insurance policy!

SAFEST STATES TO RIDE
According to a statistical analysis from TheStreet.com financial website, the safest state to ride in is North Dakota, with a fatality rate nearly a third the national average, low levels of congestion and high quality road surfaces.

In an article “The Safest States for Motorcycles” in the August 1st Business Section, writer Greg Emerson points out that, “The truth is that motorcycle riding is up. Way up. Between 1996 and 2005, motorcycle registrations increased 61% while vehicle miles traveled of motorcycles grew only 8.6%, according to the Department of Transportation’s Federal Highway Administration. That means a lot of new riders, riding not very far or not very often.”

In an effort to “help keep all those weekend warriors looking to get on a bike and go riding from losing their heads, we looked at the most recent fatality data — from 2009 — to determine which states were the safest for the aspiring Evel Knievels among us. We ranked all 50 states and the District of Columbia to see which ones had the smallest proportion of motorcycle deaths as a proportion of total traffic deaths.”

Half of the states fall below the national average of 15.4%, and half above. Here are the 10 states with the lowest ratio of rider fatalities:

Tenth-safest: Vermont – Motorcyclist fatalities: 68; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 11.8%
Eighth-safest (tie): Virginia – Motorcyclist fatalities: 671; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 11.5%
Eighth-safest (tie): Kentucky – Motorcyclist fatalities: 745; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 11.5%
Seventh-safest: Missouri – Motorcyclist fatalities: 806; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 10.8%
Sixth-safest: Wyoming – Motorcyclist fatalities: 129; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 10.1%
Fifth-safest: Alabama – Motorcyclist fatalities: 776; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 9.8%
Fourth-safest: West Virginia – Motorcyclist fatalities: 334; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 7.5%
Third-safest: Mississippi – Motorcyclist fatalities: 632; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 7.4%
Second-safest: Nebraska – Motorcyclist fatalities: 211; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 7.1%
Safest: North Dakota – Motorcyclist fatalities: 135; Proportion of total vehicle deaths: 5.2%

HELMET AND ACCOUSTICS RESEARCH COULD QUIET THE RIDE
After accelerating, most of the sound that a rider can hear isn’t from the bike engine or other vehicles on the road, but from the air rushing over and around their helmet. Noise levels inside a helmet can reach rock-concert levels when traveling at highway speeds, and a group of engineers and psychologists from two U.K. universities have gathered to study how to minimize helmet noise to protect riders from hearing damage and reduce the potential distraction that noise poses to riders.

Their research paper, which has been accepted for publication by The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, says that riders experience noise from multiple sources. First is the engine noise, which is a relatively insignificant factor once riders accelerate to highway speeds. Audible wind noise can reach volumes as high as 115 decibels or more, roughly equivalent to what power saw operators without ear protection would hear. OSHA recommends limiting such exposure to 15 minutes or less per day. Turbulent air buffeting off the motorcycle windshield is another source of noise, as is air rushing around the chin bar of the helmet.

There’s another type of sound experienced by riders, called body conducted sound. Aboard a motorcycle, this process transmits engine vibrations and the percussive force of the wind through the flesh and bone to the ear. Earplugs don’t stop it, and it can be significant.
Another topic under investigation by the Bath group is how sound impacts attention, and one experiment measured how different volumes of sound impaired a test subject’s peripheral vision.

While riders and others recognize that noise can be a serious health issue, many U.S. jurisdictions prohibit the use of earplugs or other noise-reducing devices. One long road trip could take a rider through numerous changes in local laws.

NIGERIA BANS MOTORCYCLES IN TERROR-STRUCK CITY
Officials in Maiduguri, Nigeria’s seventh largest city and capital of northeastern Borno State, has banned motorbikes in a bid to curb militant activities borne on the backs of these ubiquitous vehicles.

Motorcycles and Okada (motorcycle taxis) are the predominant mode of transportation in the mostly impoverished city, and members of the Motorcycle Transport Union have protested the ban on their livelihood, but the Borno State government is desperate to crack down on Boko Haram, an extremely orthodox Islamist sect that is seeking to overthrow the secular government in favor of a Muslim state. The terrorist group has become known for brazen public attacks conducted while riding motorbikes, and has killed at least 40 people including police officers and politicians in drive-by motorbike attacks.

QUOTABLE QUOTE: “Useless laws weaken the necessary laws.”
Charles de Montesquieu (1689-1755), French philosopher and political thinker

When I was just a pup, one of my earliest memories was riding on the tanks on my dad’s old 80-inch flathead. It was stripped down for speed, and dad used to race the old clay track at Cotati with it. I guess it would be called a “bobber,” but back in the early ‘50s, it was just The Bike.

I also remember my mother throwing 15 fits, each time he peeled out. She didn’t throw any of them fast enough to prevent from taking off, wide open with me hanging on for dear life, both of us laughing like maniacs. Dad truly was “The Terror of Highway 101!”

Dad had a garage in the Napa Valley, and I remember the first time I saw what we’d now call a Chopper rumble past on the way to who-knows-where. It was a cobbled together affair, for sure, but the long springer front end made from Model-A wishbones and the high bars stuck to my young mind like glue.

Back then, I never heard anybody call them bobbers; they were choppers or bar hoppers, with the latter being the most popular term for a cool scoot that you wouldn’t want to ride for 500 miles at a stretch.

I’ve owned a lot of bikes over the ensuing 50 or so years. In fact, I’ve owned at least one of damn near everything, but the chop of my dreams was unfortunately placed on the back burner while raising kids and dealing with other adult responsibilities. The “hot ticket” has also changed over the years from an 80-inch stroker Panhead with a jockey shift to motors well over 100 cid and six-speed trannies. The one thing that didn’t change was the vision in my head.

About fifteen years or so ago, a long-neglected Shovelhead of indistinct lineage came into my possession for a very meager sum of cash. It needed some love, and I needed a scoot, and the rust, dents, and spider webs didn’t matter. I slapped it back together after it languished in a leaky shed for too many years. I rode it with bullet hole decals over the dents until the cash flow improved.

In 2002, I started to rebuild it from the ground up, when my first wife was killed in a traffic accident. The old Shovel gave me something to focus on, and building it became my link to sanity, however tenuous that link was. I obsessed on it, and it turned out very cool. Me and that old Shovel have been through some hard times and long roads, and I made up my mind that I’ll keep it for the rest of my days.

Jump forward to 2011, and the time emerged to yank that old vision out of my aging memory banks and turn it into reality. The old Shovel came apart, and began a third new life, shedding memories both good and bad, and starting fresh like I did.

I started by adding the mandatory hardtail. Next came the 80-spoke wheels, the sprocket/rotor combo, the springer front end, and a bunch of hand-made pieces like the electrical / switch box, the front brake caliper mount, the license plate mount, the intake elbow, and various mounts and brackets.

The front master cylinder and clutch lever clamp just ended flat without the switch housings, so I made tapered fillers to make them flow into the grips. The fender started life as an 11-inch wide blank, and I cut 5 inches out of the middle to give the edges the correct curve, then made the struts out of 3/8-inch cold roll.

The Z bars were a tribute to the ones I used to buy from the old Jammer’s Handbook back in the ‘70s, and fit the flow of the bike better than any others I tried. The solo seat was a must, but I did use shocks under it to soften the bumps out a bit for my bedraggled old body. I also replaced the old 4-speed with a new Rev Tech 5-speed transmission and Barnett clutches to make shifting easier and smoother.

When the time came to choose the paint scheme, I wanted something a bit eye-catching, but not over the top, so I chose the retro scallops. I used House of Kolor for the black and gold base coats, with Alsa Corporation’s “Prisma-coat” over the black, and topped it with House of Kolor clear coat. In the shade, it just looks black and gold, but in the sun, it reflects every color in the spectrum like stars on a high-Sierra night.

After nearly 50 years, my dream scoot has finally become reality, and it’s a true bar-hopper. It’s loud, fast, obnoxious, and totally ill-mannered, so I call it the Bar-Barian. If dad could see it, I think he’d love it. In fact, he’d probably take off on it wide open, laughing like a maniac!

EXTREME SHOVEL TECH SHEET
GENERAL:
OWNER: Buckshot
BIKE’S NAME: Bar-Barian
YEAR: 1974
MODEL: Schizophrenic bar-hopper.
FABRICATION: Buckshot
ASSEMBLY: Buckshot
BUILD TIME: 3 weeks & 2 gallons of Jack Daniel’s.
PAINT / GRAPHICS: Buckshot
Base; House of Color
Prismacoat: ALSA Corp
Clear: Montana

ENGINE:
YEAR: 1974
REBUILDER: Howard Lacy / Buckshot
DISPLACEMENT: 74ci +.030
CASES: Stock H.D.
CAM: Andrews A-grind
IGNITION: Points, as God intended.
INTAKE: Buckshot
CARB: Mikuni

TRANSMISSION:
REV-TECH 5 speed
CLUTCHES: Barnett

FRAME:
H-D with weld-on hardtail
RAKE: Stock
STRETCH: Yeah, every 50 miles.
FORK: 4” over; Demon’s Cycle
OIL TANK: Modified H.D.

WHEELS & BRAKES:
WHEELS: 80 spoke; Demon’s Cycle
REAR BRAKE: Sprocket / rotor combo; Demon’s Cycle
FRONT BRAKE: Ultima
CALIPER MOUNT: Buckshot

ACCESSORIES:
REAR FENDER / STRUTS: Buckshot
FRONT FENDER: Ray Bans
HEADLIGHT: Billet, Demon’s Cycle
TAIL LIGHT: Billet LED
BARS: Z-bars of mystery.
HANDLEBAR SWITCH FILLERS: Buckshot
ELECTRICAL BOX / SWITCH HOUSING: Buckshot
GRIPS / PEGS: Arlen Ness
MIRRORS: Billet
FOOT / HAND CONTROLS: Billet, Demon’s Cycle
TURN SIGNALS: Left hand extended.
SEAT: The ass off an old dead alligator.

SPECIAL THANKS TO:
* Reggie Cake
* Foster @ Foster’s Bike Shop
* Some drunk guy at a swap meet
* Jack Daniel and all his descendants.

As we ride the Earth looking for the next great, undiscovered biking destination, it somehow occurred to us to think outside the yellow lines, way out. Comic Con International, a gargantuan gathering of the TV, film and print sci-fi industry and its following herds of super hero and horror fanatics, was rumored to be a lot like Halloween on meth. So we saddled up and rode out to San Diego, the jewel of southern California and Comic Con headquarters.

Teeming masses of wannabe do-gooders, vile villains, merciless monsters and other dark denizens of graphic novel and twisted imagination were drawn to the historic Gaslamp Quarter like zombies to free government brains. For four freakish days, downtown was transformed into a celebration of all things out of this world, the scary best our country’s finest geek-minds could devise.

She’s Hot, But She’s Not Infected

The event could not be contained by the San Diego Convention Center, spilling out to the street, washing costumed characters and caped crusaders over every avenue and alley. A Super Hero Pub Crawl, complete with secret locations, and a massive Zombie Walk, where hundreds of weirdoes marched in full makeup and red corn syrup through the city, turned this mild metropolis into a wretched city of nerds gone wild and unreal but still smelly undead. Some women’s costumes were so “pre-decayed,” as one zombie put it, shredded to near nudity, that being a member of the walking, mumbling, flesh eating dead didn’t seem so bad, once you got past the boring diet.

Anticipating this tidal wave of make-believe made us wonder out loud, “What kind of bike would you bring to a super hero rally? The action blockbuster, Captain America: The First Avenger, was scheduled for its U.S. debut just as Comic Con was reaching a fevered pitch. Wouldn’t it be cool to get on the 1942 WLA Liberator replica Harley-Davidson made for the movie?

The original was a 750cc V-Twin made to military spec and used mostly for messenger duty. Not exactly the boulevard blaster a super hero might straddle to spread his secret powers in the name of America, mom and apple pie.

Our clandestine operatives tell us the film bike is based on a heavily modified Cross Bones, bringing modern performance cloaked in retro skins to a new level, even for the reigning king of nostalgia cycles. Perhaps the Motor Company should consider some special, limited edition reproductions of their more historic bikes. Every do-gooder and big meanie will want one.

The Harley High Command

After several days of negotiation with Harley’s high command to secure a Captain American olive drab Liberator, with gun scabbard (we supply the gun), none were street ready. But all was not lost. H-D loaned us a 2011 Road Glide Custom to complete our mission.

Flying the color of Superman’s cape, we rumbled around downtown and coastal communities on the lookout for damsels in un-dress. Although we witnessed many specimens in latex from outer space, or wearing high heels, lipstick and little else, none, sadly, needed our capable assistance.

The San Diego experience kicked off with Opening Day at nearby Del Mar Racetrack. Like Derby Day at Churchill Downs except hotter, southern California’s sexiest women don their most revealing finery and fanciest hats and trot themselves out to Del Mar to win the day.

The pre-track party starts at the Brigantine Restaurant, which overlooks the racecourse. Like peacocks on parade, the Del Mar dance begins early, accompanied by bathtubs of socially lubricating beverages.

Low Income Millionaires

The seaside city of Del Mar is about 20 miles north of downtown San Diego. The track’s proximity to the beach gave rise to its tagline, “Where the turf meets the surf.” Financed by entertainment icons Bing Crosby, Pat O’Brien, Jimmy Durante and Oliver Hardy, Del Mar opened in 1937 and quickly became a playground for Hollywood elite and horsemen of every ilk, including iron jockeys.

While those stars have faded, Del Mar still retains a glamorous charm. On Opening Day, it’s a strutting, posing showcase for SoCal’s beautiful people, the stinking rich, old money, no money, wannabe rich, and the unhappy LIMs (Low Income Millionaires), the unfortunate group of once-rich people who struggle to keep up appearances and would sell their mother’s soul for a pre-owned Mercedes SL.

The cape-red Road Glide Custom handled its pro-temp super hero duties with aplomb, galloping about town, its fairing puffed out like Superman’s chest and supplying enough storage space for all the garlic, wooden stakes, silver bullets and anti-zombie juice we would ever need for an unnatural invasion.

Comic Con reconvenes July 12-15. For more information, visit http://www.comic-con.org/cci/cci_reg_2012.php; Del Mar Opening Day 2012 is unofficially scheduled for the third Wednesday in July; visit http://www.dmtc.com/

Accommodations

The 1906 Lodge
It was an entirely new paradigm for me. I have never before wanted to stay in a room more than to sober up and shower. But now, I may be forever ruined for future lodgings. Seventeen unique, gorgeously appointed rooms and suites make this a new, sparkling jewel in what is considered the “Crown City,” Coronado, CA.

Located within walking distance to famed beaches, seaside boutiques and contemporary cafes, the property is certainly not limited to, but especially befitting the biker that appreciates the pristine and shiny. Our Scarlet Red Harley seemed to be right at home, as did we. Only in-suite Coronado memorabilia (scoured from eBay treasure troves) hint at the 1906’s long history.

We could see the turret of the historic Hotel del Coronado from our veranda, and couldn’t help but gloat a little from the vantage point of our cozy lap of luxury. The property is racking up high praise on travel review sites, and deservedly so. I adored every aspect: the staff, gourmet breakfasts, daily wine and cheese in the parlor, spa-ahhh tubs, and bikers will lick their chops over this—a state-of-the-art, secured, underground garage. Now that’s the lush life.

www.1906lodge.com
1060 Adella Ave.
Coronado, CA 92118
866/435.1906

El Cordova Hotel
Swashbuckling, anyone? It’s easy to imagine rollicking swordsmen being in their element here. Traditional Spanish stucco archways, awnings and shutters, red tile roof, and bougainvillea petals floating lazily onto the Spanish tiles. Guests are quickly transported into their own Roman Holiday as they present your keys, and I’m not talking about those tacky plastic key cards.

Are you the type who has some special ride tucked in your garage? You know, a little retro, sporting mileage and the patina of a lovingly maintained machine. These accommodations are like that, clean and classic.

This 40-room inn, built in 1902 as a private residence, features a courtyard-enclosed heated pool, whirlpool, and barbeque area. In-suite kitchenettes are provided in the charming accommodations. Modern amenities, such as the flat screen TVs bring the hacienda up to speed. Thumbs up for my priorities—a really comfortable night’s sleep and a blessedly scaturient shower.

The friendly and efficient staff and excellent location make this boutique hotel a favorite. It’s in the heart of the village, just a short walk to one of the best beaches in America, the historic Hotel del Coronado, and main thoroughfare, Orange Avenue. On property, there are 12 shops and three restaurants.

Ask about the parking options when you reserve a room. Catch a smooth ride down the “Silver Strand” heading to Imperial Beach, otherwise throttle it over the bridge toward downtown San Diego.

www.elcordovahotel.com
1351Orange Ave.
Coronado, CA 92118
619/435.4131

The Italian B&B
San Diego’s Little Italy is a frenetic hub of transportation. By sky, land and sea the conveyances never cease coming and going. For an up-close eyeful of a Boeing 747, for example, just stand on the corner of Kettner Boulevard outside the Harley dealership. Every few minutes, jetliners fly in so low you can see the smile on the pilot’s face. Vespas zip by, trolleys clang and motorcycles rumble down Little Italy’s main drag, India Street.

We packed our earplugs and good humor, and nestled in at the Italian B&B. Restored and reopened in 2010, this four-room inn is located in the heart of Little Italy and just up the hill from the waterfront and near downtown San Diego.

Attracting an international clientele, a Danish couple, two Norwegian youths in for Comic Con, NoCal honeymooners, and our raggedy selves chatted over yet another incredible breakfast. The fun innkeeper, Mary Trimmins, has a formal culinary background, and often shares the kitchen with Gayle, her extern from the San Diego Culinary Institute. My spousal equivalent now looks bewildered in the mornings. Where is the fantastic B&B mystery breakfast to which his taste buds had become accustomed?

The Italian city referenced suites are lovingly appointed, and vary in spaciousness and configuration. Choose your accommodations with your comfort level in mind. Parking on the street is likely, the B&B’s driveway iffy.

www.theitalianbb.com
2054 Columbia St.
San Diego, CA 92101

—By Stasia

THE SMOKE-OUT rocked Rockingham NC again this year. The temps were hot again but the bikes and ladies were hotter! There were Flatheads, Knuckleheads, Panheads, Shovelheads, Evos and even a few Twin Cams. Some of the coolest Triumphs on the planet were also roaming the fields. The metric bobber crowd was also well represented at the massive sprawling Rockingchair race park.

There were Ape Hangers, Z-bars, jockey shifts, tank shifters, and kick starters, sissy bars that touched the sky, fishtail exhaust, rigid frames and chains and all the open belt drives were singing their tune!

I love the SMOKE-OUT, it is my favorite event. You see the bikes we grew up with. You see friends that you have not seen since the previous Smoke-Out. This year I got to hang out with my good friend Bandit and that was a GREAT time in itself. He was drunk most of the time and slurred his words, but that’s fine. I didn’t want to listen to his complaints and coaching on my writing efforts and photography. I’m learning.

For the first time this year, I attended the Mini-Bike races. It was a blast, especially the costumes the racers wear. There were some spectacular crashes but no one got hurt. I plan on entering Vicki next year! The constant events make up the Commander’s mantra. He wants the entertainment to flow like beer at the Superbowl. As soon as the gates open, the bands kick up, then the contests with the HORSE staff, and wild wet T-shirt contests rock every night. There are bike shows every day, painted lady contests, drag racing, mini-bike races, then the action in the camping area at night gets downright crazy.

The bikes at the Smoke-Out are the purest form of motorcycles, bare bones, NO GPS SYSTEMS, IPODS or STEREO speakers, just badass in your face bikes!

This is a gathering of the Chopper/Bobber nation. Ideas are gathered for that next bike build and at the Smoke-Out the ideas and creativity are endless!

If you have never attended the Smoke-Out, put on your list of things to do for next year. You won’t be disappointed!

Thanks to EDGE (da commander) and everyone at THE HORSE BACKSTREET CHOPPERS for another great event!

See you next year! Until next time, RIDE! –STEALTH

Smoke Out Twelve was Sponsored by: