Kevin Aslop with the cast of “Sons of Anarchy” in 2010.


Last years “Ride the Mountain” event hosted by Big Bear Choppers was so much fun with the cast of the “Sons of Anarchy”
in attendance, that when Big Bear Choppers owners, Mona and Kevin Aslop asked if Bean’re and I could lead the ride up the
mountain this year from Quaid Harley Davidson, I was most honored.

I had however just recently moved my rusty old chopper to our new Colorado Chateau, so I was without a bike at short notice
for the event. Mona hooked me up with a former customer of theirs, who had a classy custom Big Bear Chopper built, but then
was never able to consumate the relationship! So I got to be the recipient of this awesome virgin sled, to give it it’s first real ride
on that winding road up to Big Bear, and it was a whole new experience for me as well! Like a virgin, only different.

 Me on the bad ass Big Bear Chopper.

Me, Bean’re and Qian arrived at Quaid Harley Davidson in Loma Linda bright and early so I could try out the new bike, and
know that our day would go smoothly, and it’s a good thing we did. Me and the flamed pearl white chopper got along just fine.
It was both Qian and Bean’re that had tire challenges early that morning. Qian decided to ride hers back home to deal with
her problem at a later date, and Bean’re………….well it’s a good thing one of the riders that day noticed this small problem
before it became any larger!

 Bean’res small tire issue.

Qian & Bean’re deciding what to do about their tire dilemas.

 Getting Bean’s back tire off was a little more time & work than one might guess!

The staff at Quaid Harley Davidson were very accommodating helping me with my chopper, and getting Bean’re back on the
road as swiftly as possible! And the riders that came out to “Ride the Mountain” with us that day were very understanding.
A lot of them decided to go on ahead of us, but there were a few patient new friends that knew it was all part of the sport of
riding……….especially if you’re Bean’re, and you ride from state to state just to enjoy a day ride with friends! Bean rode in
from Arizona, and then had to head off to the east coast as soon as we were done!

 Our new rider friends patiently waiting!

Qian making friends before she decided to head on home.

 Bean’re putting his bike back together!

As soon as we got Bean’re the best new used tire in the pile, we hit the road. I leaned that big old big chopper thru those
turns a little leary at first, but by the time we got there, it felt like silk. The bike has SO much power, and it just glided thru
those turns. The bike’s owner, Nate is a big 6’6″ man, so with my legs extended to their full capacity, my toes pointed, and
my arms fully stretched, I fell in love with that beautiful bike! The open belt and chain were things to be aware of, and I did
learn that making a u-turn is something you need to plan well in advance! Other than that, easy as 1-2-3! If I could afford it,
it would already be sitting in my garage! With a rattle can of flat black and a bucket of Morton Salt I could rust that puppy
out in no time! If YOU can afford it, that bike is for sale for less than what it cost to build. Anyone interested can look at all of
the details on Facebook under F’nClassy BbcSled, on the info page under basic information. The person to contact for more info on the bike is Micheal Forbes at BBC: 909-878-4340. Thanks a mountain for the awesome loan Nate!

 Me on the BBC at Big Bear Lake.

 Big Bear Choppers makes one fine machine.

 Me & Bean’re at the BBC tent next to Kevin Aslops cool chopper. He’s says next year I can ride that one!

Once in Big Bear, the whole town is buzzing with bikes. The event actually takes place at the base of Snow Summit ski
area, which is a scenically beautiful location for any event. The Chalets are open with picnic tables everywhere, the chair
lifts are operating so you can ride to the top and enjoy the veiws, and the parking lot is full of vendors, bikes, and there’s
a big grassy knoll for the band stand and bike show. Big Bear Choppers keeps their high class shop open for visits, and
is only a few blocks away from the event and well worth the visit. The thing I like the most about this great run
is that the ride in itself is spectacular. The ride up, the ride around the lake, the cozy mountain town full of quaint
antique shops, and options on ways to come down the mountain so that your ride down is totally different but
every bit as beautiful as the ride up!

 Inside the Big Bear Chopper show room.

 Crowd enjoying the sunshine at the base Chalet of Snow Summit.

Group shot having fun at the top of the mountain.

The first person I ran into at the event was Grace McKean, who is a 77 year old Motorcycle enthusiast who is still riding
the 51′ Harley Davidson 45 Flathead she bought when she was 17 years old. Grace’s full story is so amazing, that it cannot
be contained in a paragraph, or even one long column. You can find my full story on the Amazing Grace at:
www.womenridersnow.com this month! It was a special treat as always to get to spend time with Grace. Her stories have
been a true source of inspiration to me. Both Kevin Aslop and my longtime friend Kiwi Mike keep Grace’s four bikes safely
on the road.

 Me, Bean’re, and my special friend Grace McKean.

 Bean’re, me, Grace & Mona enjoying a Subway sandwich feast in the VIP room.

Kiwi Mike & family at their booth. Their son Ross, me, Kiwi Mike, his wife Carolyn & Bean’re.

We talked Grace into taking a ride up the chair lift to enjoy the summit veiws. “I’m not going to look down!” was her only
comment while getting on the lift, and Bean’re kept her so entertained I don’t think she even thought about it again! It was a
perfect southern California day, so the veiws from the chair lift and the top of the mountain were spectacular! The lift remains
open in the summertime so that mountain bikers and day hikers can enjoy the mountain as well. Mountain bikers can pay an
all day fee of $20 and take their bikes up the lift as well, and ride down the steep mountain trails as many times as they want.

Me, Grace & Bean’re taking the chair lift up the mountain.

 The veiw of Big Bear Lake from the chair lift.

 Group shot from the Chalet at the top of the lift.

We hung out up on top of the mountain a little too long, and missed the announcements of the winners of the bike show,
which had several categories to accommodate all of the different styles of bikes. Grace’s bike took first in Classic Class, and
she missed them calling out her name. So we found Kevin back in the VIP room, and he presented her with her trophy there.

 Some of the bikes in the bike show.

 Grace on her 51′ Harley Davidson 45 Flathead in front of the Big Bear Choppers shop.

Kevin giving Grace her trophy for best in Classic Class.

My cheeky Chap girlfriends hung out by the stage and showed off their tatoos and their other best work. A slew of really hip
local kids hung out backstage with Kevin and Mona. I’m not exactly sure how many of those kids actually belong to them,
but I know at least one of them does! And it was apparent to see that a lot of families and kids really look up to and enjoy
hanging out around the Big Bear Choppers scene. It appeared that everybody, even the guy being hauled away in the cop
car seemed to be having a great time!

 My Cheeky Chap girlfriends watching the band.

Kevin & Mona Aslop with the hip local kids.

Mona & all the kids! The pretty little girl in the middle is definitely theirs, but they kind of all look like they could be sibblings!

Even this guy seems to be enjoying the ride!

The bands played into the late afternoon, and everyone enjoyed kicking back in the sun and listening. Bean’re lost his heart,
AND his hat to yet another beautiful singer! Rosie of “Rosie and the Cobra’s” rocked the stage. Bean’re and I stayed until the sun
was almost setting. We said our thank you and goodbyes to our gracious hosts, and headed out. On our way out of town Bean’re
saw his ultimate fantasy. No, not Rosie. It was a purple Gremlin almost as unique as his………….pink? chopper! Okay, technically
it’s purple, but in the setting sun, it sure does come alive with………fushia! On the way back down that mountain side, I rode that
Big Bear Chopper like I owned it, and I really didn’t want to give it back!

 Rosie of “Rosie & the Cobra’s” looking picture perfect in Bean’res trademark hat!

 Bean’re packing up the bike for the trip back home.

Saying thak you & goodbye to our gracious BBC hosts.

 Bean’re spotted this object of his dreams! A classic car to match his already classic act!

I want to thank all of my friends who make it possible for me to still ride in California since I’ve moved to Colorado! The very next
day Gevin borrowed me her pink? Suzuki Intruder 1400 so that I could ride the Malibu Hills with her and my friends Claudia & Jake
in from New York City! And I rode that pink Suzuki like I owned that too! And I parked it in front of Neptunes Net with pride! It’s
awesome to ride a $50,000 chopper, but what really matters is spending the day in the wind with the friends you love, right?

 Jake, Gevin, Claudia, me & Kyle.

 Me owning my pink Suzuki!

Thank you Kevin & Mona for your hospitality and generousity!
You can learn more about Big Bear Choppers and their bikes at: www.Bigbearchoppers.com

or me at: www.BetsyHuelskamp.com

AUTHOR’S NOTE: For a year or more, I’ve wanted to build a low budget British-style “Café Racer” because it looked like fun, and I’ve always liked that style. A couple of weeks ago, I dragged home the rattiest, nastiest, most bedraggled piece of… Anyway, it was an old ’81 Yamaha XS 1100, and it was pretty humble. Less than two weeks later, it’s about done, and here are the results, before and after. I only have about $400 in it, including the price of the bike! Oh, yeah… It WAS fun and it’s Scary fast.

What do ya get when ya cross-breed old Japanese technology with old British looks? Nawww, not John an’ Yoko; ya get a cheepo “Café Racer” that looks like the ‘60s, an’ rides like the ‘80s. Let me tell ya, nostalgia ain’t what it used ta be!!

For quite a while, I’ve wanted ta build a café racer, but the old Triumphs, BSAs, Nortons, and the like are too damn pricey for this ol’ road mutt, so I did what any unscrupulous wretch would do, an’ took advantage of somebody else’s bad luck. Here in Madtown, ya got ta have current registration an’ a driver’s license, an’ if ya don’t, they haul whatever dog you’re drivin’ to the pound.

I called the tow yards, found an old 1981 Yamaha XS 1100 for the princely sum of $300, an’ hauled it home. It ran okay, but it was the ugliest, most pathetic excuse for two wheeled transportation you’ve ever seen. The luggage rack was part of a shoppin’ cart, an’ had a car battery in a “Little Oscar” lunch pail strapped on the back with wire run down to the fuse box. Acid had leaked down, rusted everything metal, an’ ate everything plastic. I know you’re askin’ yourself why the hell did ya buy it, then, ya idiot? Well, I bought it because it was cheap, an’ a challenge. And because I could.

I started by strippin’ off over 100 pounds of crap that it obviously didn’t need, an’ just left the engine an’ drive train in the rollin’ chassis. I cut the rear frame horns an’ signals off, an’ tossed them an’ the old backrest, tail light, an’ mufflers in the scrap heap along with the center stand an’ rear foot pegs. I cleaned the pipes up an’ welded on a set of shorty mufflers, like the ones from Mr. Lucky’s Bandit is using on Danny’s SX project build. I had these layin’ around since the ‘70s, then shot ‘em with black header paint.

I was gonna make a fiberglass tail section for it, but used half of the old back fender instead, an’ fabbed a steel seat pan onto it. I pressure washed the engine an’ detailed it with Duplicolor wheel paint that’s tough as a hockey puck, an’ cleaned the varnish outta the float bowls. I stripped the stock tank to bare metal, and repaired the cracks in the side covers, then painted the whole thing with two-stage urethane I had left over from another build.

Yeah, that’s a tombstone taillight alright. It was off a Panhead I had a few years back. The only new stuff I used was the handlebars, grips, an’ those cute little Lockhart turn signals. When all’s said an done, I’m in it about $400, including the price of the bike. Now all I’ve gotta do is put it on Craig’s List, an’ go drag another one home!

–Buckshot

This year’s ROT Rally in Austin was a new experience for me, the Humble Roving Texas Reporter, because I hadn’t actually been to the rally before. Riding my newly modified V-Rod bagger, I was set to see the Austin Rally with a few home boys and hang with some friends for the weekend. As is the usual for a road trip, everything took a shit in a hand basket the day I was leaving.

Our refrigerator died the day I was leaving so I told my wife, “Just go to Lowe’s and grab a new one.” Like I was John Rockefeller, right? Unfortunately, I have the last name White, not Rock, so she had to apply for credit and that didn’t go so well since I don’t pay bills lately until they turn pink..

Because I had just finished painting the bags and installing them the night before, I didn’t trust them yet. I packed lightly as I planned on being gone only a day and a half.

Friday morning as I am cinching everything down on the bike getting ready to leave, one of my travel buddies calls.

“Hey, go ahead without me, my primary’s got a leak and my bike’s bleeding to death. I’m not gonna make it.” So , as is the usual case on a run, at least 10 people start with good intentions, but only three of us actually make the trip.

As I am waiting for the guys to show up at my crib, I get another phone call. “Hello Mr. White, this is Comcast cable. We need an immediate payment or we will shut the cable off today.” With that my TV went black and my son gave me his usual look of disappointment. Oh well, screw it, I pay it giving them my credit card number without much thought. Yeah, that would come back to bite me.

My other two riding partners show up at my house an hour after we were planning on leaving, so along with the refrigerator, the news of another dropout,  paying the late cable bill, and the uncertainty of my saddlebag engineering, I was on edge. I needed to get on the road.

When Kevin and Michael, the famous kicking Taekwondo madmen, showed up at my door, I was ready to roll. Because these two are brothers, one being a 3^rd degree blackbelt and the other a Master 6^th degree, I don’t say shit about them being late. Yeah, I’m a big puss….but I will offer to punch any of you reading this square in the mouth if you feel squirrely.

Ok, so we take off on a hot as hell June morning at 10:20 am and head for Austin, Texas. Kevin’s leading the way on his blacked out Night Train with Michael and I trailing on our GSXR and V-Rod.

The trip was uneventful and VERY SLOW as it took us till 2:30 before we were actually in Austin. Luckily the monotonous ride was broken by my new Cycle Sounds speakers and Ipod. Although it was a bit muffled by wind at times, it still beat the sound of only the wind and motor. Ok, and as for all you computer tough guys who wanna trash me for having tunes on my bike:

Why is it that every down on his luck, old school yadda yadda yadda that thinks he’s set all the rules for riding finds it necessary to expound upon the world his opinion about bikes, bikers, rules of the road, etc; as gospel of biking? Who says you can’t have tunes on a bike, or ride in shorts, or wear a freaking full face helmet? I just don’t get it. You ride your bike and I’ll ride mine. If you wanna ride a 30 year old Shovel, or a 20 Year old Evo, then cool, I like it! I can respect the older iron as much as the next guy. I like all bikes, foreign and domestic, new, old, exotic, I don’t care. I was just in a situation to buy a newer bike and I chose the one I chose for me! I don’t remember asking you if it was ok to sign the paperwork, or getting money from you for the payments, maintenance, etc. You wanna trailer your bagger, that’s your business, not mine. Yeah, I may snicker inside, but I’m no one to tell you what you can and can’t do. Hell, you may be trailering your bike to the rally, partying for a day before going on to some other business where you need a truck…who knows. But all these negative, self righteous dudes who always want to criticize others bikes just doesn’t make sense to me.

No, it’s not always older bikers who say something or talk the talk on a forum, but now we have The Horse 25 year old faithful who believe they are the only true bikers in the world and wanna look at you crazy because of their 25 year old rickety machine with apehangers is somehow deemed more worthy than my 3 year old V-Rod with bags and speakers. To all of you, I say get a life and worry about your own piece of shit and stop ripping on my bike or my idea of riding. It is my pleasure to do whatever I want, not what you deem cool or un-cool. Oh, and the best part is, NOBODY HAS EVER SAID A NEGATIVE WORD TO ME AT A RALLY OR EVENT. I always see and hear about it in articles, forum posts, or bullshit blogs where they have the buffer of the keyboard. Here’s an idea, if you don’t like someone’s ride, or style, or God forbid speakers….than don’t ride with them. Otherwise shut the fuck up and ride your bike! At every gas station, restaurant, bar, I meet righteous people and they always have positive comments…and that’s what’s cool and fun about bikes. You can build relationships at the gas pump just by admiring the others’ bike. But seriously, all this negativity about how some guys don’t get it while you find yourself an authority is rather petty and trite. Sigh…ok, off of my soapbox.

So the trip was ok, and we stopped for grub just outside Austin before heading into the expo. Now if you haven’t been to ROT, it is two separate events. You have the rally at the expo and than you have Austin, Texas and all it has to offer. The rally is int eh Austin Expo Center where you pay $70 to get in. Once you pay, you get a wristband and have access to the rally, expo center, vendor areas, and the camping areas. The camping is where the really crazy “biker parties” happen. I for one have never seen so many golf carts with topless women in my life, but before you get all excited, most of these broads had titties as brown and worn as the leather chaps that were for sale. I mean seriously, it looked like a pirate convention out there as I saw sooooo many people who really need to wear more clothes. I would definitely rate ROT as an adult only experience. Don’t get me wrong, I did see some hot ass women as well, but the majority really scared me and I was a bit disturbed by some of the images I was exposed to. Well, not really, but it was funny and alarming all in the same moment.

So for $70 bucks, you get to walk around looking at the vendors’ spaces, watching the sideshow at “the Trail of Tears”, and basically buy $6 beer. The “Trail of Tear” is where most of the nudity takes place as it becomes a parade of debauchery and hedonism…heaven for some, but I have to pass. The rest of the Expo was really pretty lame. From what I heard, it was less participation from vendors this year than years past, but the attendance was up. I spent most of the afternoon “walking the beat”. You see, when you go to a rally and you are kinda broke, walking around looking at stuff is pointless. I had just enough cash for gas, food, and maybe a few drinks. I found out after paying my cable bill, I actually had less than 100 bucks. So, after the $70 charge to get into the rally, I was basically hosed. While we met up with other friends at the rally, I was miserable. They were all spending money getting their neon lights, new seats, rally t-shirts, and drinking ….water. To make matters worse, my little party crew had no intention of going to the city, namely 6^th street, whish was the whole reason I came to Austin. These guys were actually talking about going to watch a movie fer crying out loud! This is all before 7 pm, when my wife called yanging about the washer a dryer going to shit as well as the fridge, so I “needed to come home in the morning”. Needless to say, she was less than thrilled when I told her I’d be home Sunday, as planned, and hung up the phone. I felt pissed off and scared at the same time, as I am sure my nuts were particularly unsafe for a few days after I get home….just remember to hide all the knives. So with less than 30 bucks to my name, I said my farewells to my riding group and I set off for an unknown destination in my states’ capitol city.

I arrived in Austin, by myself, at just after 10 pm. I missed the damn parade, my feet hurt to high hell, and I have 30 bucks! At this point I had NO idea even where I was going to sleep, so I did what any self respecting man would do, found a bar. Luckily, 6^th street is famous for parties and because of the rally, the police shut down the road except for bikes and bikers. It seemed the whole street was overrun with my people! To make things even better, my Sturgis partner Mike was here somewhere, so things were looking up.

I ended up finding Mike and a few of our friends in some bar called Dirty Dawg, where we drank the night away. By 1:30, we were leaving the bar and decided on a few impromptu drag races through the tattered outskirts of Austin on our way back to the hotel. We all know my bike’s the quickest, so I was cruising behind Mike and Brian as they jostled their way into the night screaming from light to light. It was funny because they were making a lot of noise, but neither was going anywhere too incredibly fast. I sat back chuckling feeling superior as hell in my radical V-rod when I hit a pothole, curb, or for all I know a small Volkswagen. The length of time my bike and I were in the air was definitely long enough for me to think, “Shit, this is gonna hurt like hell.” As the bike crashed down I heard my helmet pop off the sissy bar I had it perched on and the fullface shield and assembly skattered into a million pieces on the road. Another day on the road.

When we got to the hotel and parked our bikes in the bushes, I noticed my right saddlebag was sitting cock eyed and the lid was cracked. It seems the 10 foot jump caused some trauma to the fiberglass. I grabbed some electrical tape and attached the lid with two “x” pattern butterfly bandages. It held the rest of the trip.

Saturday morning I was wide awake at 7 am and Brian and Mike were snoring like grizzly bears. After brushing my teeth, changing clothes, and packing my gear, I decided the boys had slept long enough and we needed to get some grub. 7:12 am and I was waking them up with my rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. Less than pleased, they respected our country’s song and agreed we needed to get on the road…..I still chuckle about it today.

Once we got to breakfast, I realized my 30 bucks had dwindled to $7. Mike of course told me not to worry as he had me covered and we ate breakfast in peace while they tried to sober up. I have recently cut back my drinking to nil, as I have had an incident of waking up in the middle of the road with a smashed helmet, road rashed bike, and one hell of a cloudy memory for a week. The worst part of it was I don’t remember riding it before or after the wreck, but I woke up in my car at 4 am, and my bike in the driveway….yep, time to call it quits on the drinking. Then again, that’s another story.

It seemed we arrived in perfect time at the restaurant as we noticed when we were leaving the line to get in had grown to wrapping out the door. The outside temperature was already over 90 ºF, so waiting outside a restaurant seemed like a miserable option to me. I was glad we were heading back to the hotel for showers and coordinating a day of riding.

Austin, Texas has some of the most incredible roads you could ever hope to ride, and we decicded to take a few crazy favorite local routes with names like, “The Twisted Sisters”, Luckenbach, and Marble Falls. The scenery was incredible, but the God Awful heat was miserable, causing us to stop more than we cared. More than once in an effort to quench the heat I would emerge from a gas station bathroom completely drenched after dousing myself with water from the sink. It mattered not, within 15 miles I’d be bone-dry again.

Mike and Brian decided they were heading for a swim and more partying, but because I was a broke-dick, I didn’t want to live on their dime anymore and headed to an Uncle’s house locally. He was having a bar-be-que party so having me over was an easy fix.

In the morning, I decided to head to the gas station and see if my 7 dollars would give me enough gas to get home before I had to start using a credit card I prayed wasn’t maxed out. I only carry one credit card with a paltry $300 limit for emergencies. Coincidentally, my wife finds the term emergency to be a bit more routine than I do, so there seems to always be a $10-15 available credit. What are ya gonna do, right?

Pulling into the station, I notice the exodus has begun as bikers are everywhere filling their tanks, bingeing crap down, eating burritos and taquitos, generally bullshit before the road. The line for the pumps looks to be about 10 minutes or more, so I get in line and decide to check on Mike to see if he started home yet. After leaving him a voice-mail and moving three spots closer to fill up, I see Mike and Brian cresting the hill heading into what appears to be the last gas stop before the ride home. Needless to say, I let them in with me to fill up and I didn’t have to touch my $7 stash or hit up the usually over-the-limit card.

Riding home with Mike and Brian, I had to smile looking back on another successful road trip. With all the usual miscommunications, mishaps, and unexpected events, it was still a success. I was able to get away for a few days and ride my bike with my bros. We could race on the roads and generally cut up without reproach from our wives for acting like juveniles or having to hear our bosses grip about the amount of work we needed to get done. Even with the usual monetary drought on my part, the trip was an amazing success and I was glad to be heading home. The trip turned into a mini-Sturgis for me and I was glad to make it as I wont be making the trip to The Mecca this year. Overall, The Rally itself kinda blew. Just a giant extravaganza of leather titties, flashy baggers, and extraordinary amount of ATV’s. I am sure I’ll do it again, but we will have to wait and see.

The V-Rod bagger project was a success in that with the fairing and speakers I wasn’t beat to shit and had some tunes to play while I rode. If nothing else, with the wind drowning out some of the sound quality, the music would jar my memory enough that I could hear the song with my mind even if it might have been drowned out from my ear. Overall the faring and speakers worked fine. The bags, well they allowed me to pack all my stuff without having to use any bungees on the trip. They were sleek, and I had quite a few people talking to me about the bike, but in the end, they came off the bike. The V-Rod is an amazing bike that I truly enjoy riding, but it is what it is. I felt like I had taken a Corvette and added a dually rear end and a boat trailer to it. The bike was still fast as hell, but I couldn’t get over the look. Now she’s stripped back down to almost stock form and even is stripped of the front fender. I was doing a weekend cleaning and started removing parts to get at the grime when before I realized it, I had stripped the V-Rod lower than I had ever imagined and I LIKED IT! Now I’m looking at a solo fender, side mount license plate, and slamming the back end. I wonder how it would look with mini apes?

Until next time…..

Editor’s Note: I’m under the gun writing a couple of stories regarding Victory motorcycles and our ride from New Orleans to North Carolina, a 1000 miles on the Long Road to the Smoke Out 12. I asked Caleb Owens if he would sketch out a handful of notes to help me launch his killer bike feature. He did a bang-up job of writing his own feature. It helped a lot and meant I could deliver this classic chop to you sooner.

This is my first real attempt outside the BS1 at a “show” quality bike. I’ve never been much for the “show” thing, I love riding my bikes so much that the idea of sitting at a show all day looking at my bike makes me anxious. I’ve done this once already with this bike and it’s not easy. Make no mistake, this is no different than any other bike I’ve built–It WILL be ridden!

I’ve had this motor for a long time and ran it in the Gran Sancho. Once the motor was ready for a rebuild I decide while I had it apart, to polish the heads and cases, and so it began. The ’66 was ready for a rebuild too, so that basic chassis would end up on this bike. The motor is an OEM ’56 lower end with original flywheels and rods. The top end is original ’48 jugs and heads.

I scored the early Cycle Engineering rocker covers at the LBC swapmeet. The NOS super B with accelerator pump came from a stash of parts scored on a Santa Cruz visit. I’ve had the new Morris mag for a while and ran the same mag on a few bikes now. I went through it and popped in a new coil and points.

The idea for the 23-inch wheel on the front was sort of a goof. First time I saw one on a chopper was my good friend Warren Lane in Miami. I liked the look, but it didn’t really speak to me. While building the BS1 back in ’09 we narrowed a big twin springer and had the big 23 on the forks. I slapped it on my Shovel for a goof and thought it just worked. I’ve since narrowed a few springers. Narrowing a big twin isn’t anything new. The old timers did it, although very rare, back in the ’60s and ’70s. I hadn’t seen it done in recent years, so I stepped up in ’09. I’ve seen a lot of this mod recently, so I think it’s run it’s course, at least for me.

The narrowed springer needed a narrow rim. This 23 is a speedway rim 36 hole laced to an early chopper spool hub. It just needed a rear 18 to balance the stance better.

When it comes to customs bikes, or most things, my aesthetic tendencies are “organic.” I tend to be drawn to things where the pieces work in combination to make a bigger statement. Flashy paint is great, but if that is all I see then it loses my interest. Contrast is a big one for me too. Complete chrome or polish just gets lost in a wash.

The intent of this bike was to be a little deceptive. At a distance it looks like another black and shiny bike, but at close inspection you find things you could easily miss if you didn’t take your time. Kind of like riding.

The tank is an old Wassell, of course. I ran this on the first version of the my ’66. It was narrowed in the rear, tunneled and Frisco mounted.

Another intention was to keep things as stock as possible but to modify each part in a creative but functional way. All the small parts are hand made via free form machining and plain old elbow grease.

The tank mounts, brake and clutch pedal, shifter arm and motor mount, started as round stock. I used two or three different mill bits to get the blood grooves. I then used heat to bend them to where they needed to be. This process sometimes takes several attempts to get it right.

The original rocker clutch was chopped and lowered a couple inches. I machined a small tab for a heel rest where the original spring clipped to.
The handle bars took probably 10+ hours to make. I cut the ears off the top clamp. Machined two DOM pieces to accept the new 1-inch bars I bent. The sleeves that accept the bars are tapered to mimic the stock look. The cross bar was made in a similar manner. The top stem nut is also hand made.

The engraving was done by gun smith Mark Cooper. Mark was fantastic. I outlined exactly what I was looking for, traditional, subtle and balanced. He did an incredible job.

The pegs are original Andersons that were milled down, drilled, the engraved. Crodersons T. Markus came through with another pro paint job. Straight, super tight gloss back with a little class.
Sometime ago I did a tank for my brother and we explored this idea of etching the clear coat, kind of like etching glass. The results were really sharp, so when it came time for the Panhead I threw the idea by T about doing something a little more complex. He was nervous but the results are superb deceivingly simple, yet complex. Each design was custom made for each part of the bike. No clip art here.

The shifter knob is something special. My pal Brett brought me some scrap pieces of wood to play with. I took a piece of Walnut and turned it on the lathe. I performed some hand work leaving a nice ¼-inch groove at the top. I took an old photo of my Dad, post WWII and glazed it in. Now the old man is riding with me. I think the old man would have loved this bike.

The pipes are a set of Paughco up sweeps I modified to turn up inside the frame. I used a Biltwell pipe kit for the extra pieces. The taillight is a microphone from 1948. I didn’t have to do much work to it. I layed in two LED grids and cut out an old lens to fit.The air cleaner cover is a 40/50’s era cover for an Ice Crusher–Ice o Mat.

JD stepped in and helped me pull the seat together. It’s buffalo hide covering 1-inch of memory foam, just enough to support my fat ass. Although maybe not obvious, I have thousands of hours in the build. The response to the bike has been overwhelming. The bike took 1st for Clubs choice at a recent HA event in SFV, and if that wasn’t cool enough, at Born Free 3 it took 1st for the invited builders section of the show. The fact that 25 or so other builders I admire voted, this 1st is still amazing to me. I will be showing the bike through the summer including a recent invite to The Brooklyn Invitational. More importantly, I’ll be riding it as much as I can before the new owner begins to enjoy it.

Cro Customs Inc.
www.crocustoms.com
310-923-2613

Bikernet.com Extreme Siksika Cro Tech Chart

Regular Stuff

Owner: Anonymous

Bike Name: Siksika

City/State: Culver City, CA

Builder: Cro Customs Inc.

City/state: Culver City, CA

Company Info: www.crocustoms.com
Address: by apt. only
Phone:310-923-2614

Web site: www.crocustoms.com
E-mail: cro@crocustoms.com

Fabrication: Cro Customs

Manufacturing: Cro

Welding: Cro

Machining: Cro

Engine

Year: 1956

Make: Harley Davidson

Model: FL

Displacement: 74 and a little

Builder or Rebuilder: Cro

Cases: 1956 HD

Case finish: Polished

Barrels: 1948 HD

Bore: 10 over

Pistons: Wiseco forged

Barrel finish: Black Powder Coat

Lower end: OEM HD

Stroke: Stock

Rods: OEM HD

Heads: 1948 HD

Head finish: Polished

Valves and springs: STD

Pushrods: HD

Cams: Andrews A/B

Lifters: Hydrolic

Carburetion: NOS S&S Super B with accelerator pump.

Air cleaner: 50s era Ice O Mat top, custom mounted and engraved

Exhaust: modified Paughco upsweeps

Mufflers: rolled up car window

Transmission

Year: 1949

Make: Harley-Davidson

Gear configuration: Andrews gears, jockey top.

Final drive: chain

Primary: 1 1/2 belt

Clutch: BDL pro

Kicker: Yes, usually one of two kicks cold, one kick warm.

Frame

Year: 55-57

Builder: H-D

Style or Model: Straight Leg

Stretch: only the ladies

Rake: only in fall

Modifications: “cleaned and molded”

Front End

Make: H-D / repop

Model: offset Big Twin

Year: ’48,’49 maybe.

Length: shortened a tad.

Mods: narrowed 2 and some inches.

Sheet metal

Tanks: Chopped, narrowed, frisco’d Wassell

Fenders: Bates rear

Oil tank: H-D horseshoe

Paint

Sheet metal: T.Markus

Molding: A little

Base coat: Gloss Black

Graphics: Customs ghost etching.

Frame: Black powder coat

Molding: here and there.

Base coat: dark

Wheels

Front

Make: speedway rim

Size: 1.6 x 23

Brake calipers: none

Brake rotor(s): none

Tire: Cheng Shin

Rear

Make: Akront

Size: 1.85 x 18

Brake rotor: Mechanical Drum

Tire: Firestone

Controls

Foot controls: Modified HD

Finish: Chrome

Master cylinder: none

Shifting: jockey

Kickstand: modified H-D

Electrical

Ignition: Morris Magneto

Ignition switch: kill on Mag

Regulator: Cycle Electric on genny

Charging: genny

Wiring: Cro

Harness: 3 or 4 wires

Headlight: old Packard

Taillight: 1948 Webster microphone.

Switches: toggle for lights

Battery: none

What’s Left

Seat: Cro/JD Hand stitched Buffalo hide.

Mirror(s): lookn over shoulder

Gas caps: Old swap meet find

Handlebars: Cro

Grips: NOS 1″ Triumph

Pegs: Modified Andersons.

Oil filter: none

Oil cooler: The wind

Oil lines: Cro

Fuel filter: I need one.

Fuel Lines: rubber

Throttle: Internal

Throttle cables: Cro

Fasteners: Here and there,

Specialty items: Hard turned walnut shifter knob, glazed with old photo of my Dad.

Continued from Here 

                                           

                ACT ONE/SCENE #3 WE MEET KATE

 IN ACT ONE/SCENE #2 Lorenzo Lamas and Branscombe Richmond have finally made it to Spanky’s Café. Nearly frozen by the sudden drop in temperature after the sun sets, they’re rescued by Kate when she throws them a lit highway flare giving them an illuminated path to the café’s door.

         Since leaving Talbot (Talbot left them at noon to drive a tanker truck filled with diesel fuel back to Hanover’s facility) they’ve spent the rest of the day riding northwest at top speed towards a location west of Bridgeport California near the entrance to the Hoover Wilderness. It’s where Hanover, by triangulating the AM signal, was able to find the location of Spanky’s Café and where KWOP Kate was broadcasting.

         Lorenzo and Branscombe have also learned that while daytime’s shadows are normal; nighttime’s shadows have another layer of shadow that piggybacks itself on top of the normal shadow. This layer of shadow is far below freezing in temperature but when subjected to light it retreats, flowing back off the normal shadow.

         It was literally a photo finish as to whether they’d survive the ordeal and it cost them their bikes, but they’ve made it to Spanky’s. Kate has helped them into the café and has seated them in front of a fireplace with a warm fire. Branscombe and Lorenzo immediately fall into an exhausted sleep. It won’t be until late the next morning they’ll awaken thawed enough to say thank you.  

            “We are no other than a moving row

            Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go

            Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held

            In Midnight by the Master of the Show…”

                  By: Omar Khayyam…RUBAIYAT

FADE IN: We’d made it thanks to Branscombe’s drill sergeant training and the fire we made by burning the Indian Chief and the Dyna Wide Glide. Both motorcycles had served us well but had to be sacrificed, ultimately burned for the light to fight the freezing darkness. They deserved a better fate then becoming just burnt offerings.

         At the end of our ride our rescuer had been Kate, the woman broadcasting the KWOP signal from Spanky’s Café. Tall with blond hair turning to a salt n’ pepper gray; she looked to be in her late forties, the quintessential Frederick Remington painting of the pioneer woman. After being seated in a pair of soft leather chairs in front of a warm fireplace, Branscombe and I fell into an exhausted sleep. It was now near noon of the next day and we were just awakening. Kate was quietly sitting in another chair just off to our side. Had she been there all night? My guess was she had more than her folded hands under the raggedy wool blanket that was covering her lap.

         “Sorry to cut it so close but I was down to my last highway flare,” Kate sounded the same as she did on the radio and her raggedy wool blanket had somehow shifted to where it was pointing at us, “otherwise I would’ve have thrown it sooner. Having said that, I’d appreciate you two keeping your hands where I can see them, making no sudden moves and staying in your chairs until we get to know one another a little better. Coffee’s going to take awhile anyway.”

         “Coffee sounds good;” I made a point of stretching slowly at the same time keeping my hands in full view; sudden moves weren’t on my agenda.

         Branscombe made a point of stretching so slowly I thought he was doing Tai Ch, “Coffee can never be rushed and besides it’ll take the rest of the morning for us thaw out; my name’s Branscombe.”

         “Name’s Kate,” Kate said, at the same time she stood up to the whistle of boiling water, “and I wish the coffee were fresh. I sold my last sack and I haven’t ground any more.”

         When the blue porcelain pot behind the counter whistled Kate was deliberate in her walk across the floor to take it off the burner. She was also quite deliberate about holding something next to her and on the side away from us. It wasn’t until she turned the corner at the end and went behind the counter that she laid it on top and I could see it was a .44 magnum Ruger Redhawk.

         “Your stuff’s on the couch in the corner. Last night you boys went out like lights as soon as your butts hit those chairs. I went through your stuff when you were asleep. Interestingly neither one of you had any identification, no driver’s license or credit cards; so who are you?”

         “We’re federal investigators from…”

         I interrupted Branscombe, “We’re federal prisoners that were released from a minimum security facility north of Las Vegas to find you. We heard your broadcast a few nights ago and were able to triangulate its location by…”

         “I know,” interrupted Kate, “I was just talking with Hanover. He told me what’s happened across the country; he said if you were honest in your answers I should trust you.”

         “Hey, we’re called trusties for a reason,” Branscombe’s attempt at humor seemed unappreciated by Kate who’d just moved her hand a little closer to the Ruger.

         “Before you shoot us at least hear what we’ve got to say,” I’d gotten up from the chair, careful to keep my hands in sight, and walked to the end of the counter opposite the end where Kate was standing.

         It took awhile but I told her everything that had happened at Hanover’s solar energy facility including them finding one of their staff dead looking like a Slim Jim piece of jerky. Branscombe then told her what had happened when he’d touched the edge of nighttime’s shadow and how we raced to get here before the sun set.

         “Hanover also said you were armed; I didn’t find any weapons,” Kate had taken her eyes off Branscombe and was looking directly at me.

         “Mine’s behind my back,” I said being careful to keep my hands on the counter, “tucked in my belt.”

         “Mine’s in my hand, but is going back behind my back,” said Branscombe as he tucked his recently drawn Colt Delta behind his back.

         Before Kate could respond I countered, “Coffee’s getting cold and I figure if we were all going to shoot each other we would’ve done it by now.”

         Branscombe had gotten up and had walked over to where Kate was standing, “Got any sugar to go with that coffee?”

         Kate put the Ruger behind the counter like it was a misplaced menu and came back holding a large crock pot full of honey.

         “God, do you know how long,” Branscombe was drooling, “it’s been since I’ve tasted honey?”

         “I’ve a theory,” said Kate, “about what’s happened since the EMP attack, but first I’ve something to show you. It’s out back.”

         “…that’ll wait until we’ve had breakfast, admittedly a late breakfast,” Branscombe said, having already gone behind the counter, rolled up his sleeves and put on an apron. “How do you want your eggs?”

         Branscombe was breaking eggs before anyone could answer and from the looks of it everyone was going to have scrambled.

         “Make mine scrambled,” said Kate trying not to grin.

         “Mine too,” I laughed, and then asked seriously. “Did Hanover when he was talking with you happen to mention if Bishop and Murphy made it back; did Talbot make it back with the diesel tanker?”

         “Talbot did make it back with the tanker;” Kate was equally serious, “but Bishop and Murphy haven’t been heard from since their last transmission. Hanover also said he and Doc Niven have a theory about what may have happened when the EMPs went off.” Kate paused to pour us more coffee, then continued, “I’ve a theory too.”

         “What’s your theory based on;” I asked, “no offence intended, but you’re a disk jockey, a restaurant owner?”

         “My theory’s based upon over twenty years of heading up a top secret government laboratory studying what the effects of Earth’s magnetic lines of force and gravity have on time…and no offense taken.”

         “Kate, you’re saying you were actually the head of a top secret laboratory studying what the effects of the Earth’s magnetic lines of force have on time?”

         “Yes; the laboratory’s about fifty miles from here and located over the largest quartz deposit ever found on this planet, and that’s Doctor Kate to you…just kidding. I gave up titles five years ago when I bought this place and moved away from research that had to be filtered through bureaucracy.”

         Branscombe had just dished us up a generous portion of scrambled eggs when he said, “You’re a bit young for early retirement; how’d you manage it? Government pensions are meager on their best days.”

         “They are meager, but supplemented by the royalties from my father’s patents it was enough to buy this combination café and radio station.

         “So what is,” I was careful to not again get egg, pun intended, on my face when I asked, “your theory?”

         “The Sierra Nevada mountain range is,” answered Kate, “home to the world’s largest vein of quartz. Quartz can under the right circumstances make the perfect capacitor.”

         “And the EMPs,” Branscombe interjected, “would’ve been the perfect source of electrical energy.”

         “Monstrously perfect sources, so much so the EMPs changed the molecular alignment of a large section of the quartz; that section could now not only store electrical charges but induce them in the atmosphere.”

         “That would explain,” I said, “the sudden lightning storms in and around the Sierras. Hanover said there was one the night his staff member died; he said it came on suddenly and without warning and lasted only a few minutes.”

         “That would also explain,” Branscombe added, “why your broadcast was suddenly cut off.”

         “This huge vein of quartz, once the polarity of its molecules were aligned by the EMPs,” continued Kate, “became in essence a three hundred mile long crystal acting as a gigantic capacitor.

         “By using electrical storms as a source of energy this three hundred mile capacitor could when it was fully charged be triggered to discharge by the next electrical storm. In essence, once this three hundred mile long crystal reached its storage limit it could be discharged by the next lightning strike. By inducing or creating an environment for electrical storms the crystal was able to replenish its charge. In essence it defines the term perpetual motion.”

         “So what’s the problem? So we have a few more storms,” I interjected, “in the mountains; the farmers could use the snow pack.” 

         “Probably no problem, except that…”

         “Except what;” Branscombe interrupted, “what’s the punch line?”

         “…except that,” continued Kate, “the crystal’s discharges, while they’re incredibly powerful, have yet to reach their full potential.”

         “…and when they do,” It was my turn to interrupt, “what happens?”

         “As of now these discharges are only for a short time and at a resonant frequency sympathetic to the magnetic lines of force surrounding Earth. Gravitational waves are also sympathetic to Earth’s magnetic lines of force so when the discharges occur they’re both temporarily knocked out of phase. It’s when the two are discordant and in the process of harmonizing that rifts or pathways into alternate realities are opened. So far these rifts are open only for a few minutes, but I’ve been measuring them and they’re staying open longer as more of the three hundred mile long crystal is aligned. As the capacitor grows, the rifts stay open longer.”

         “How long before the crystal is completely aligned?”

         Branscombe may have been a sergeant in the Marine Corp but it was by choice and not because he hadn’t gone to college. He’d earned a full scholarship to the University of Hawaii in physics and was a month from graduating with honors when he was activated to go to Bosnia. He could’ve accepted a commission, stayed in school and gotten his degree but chose instead to go with his unit. I wasn’t surprised he was able to not only follow Kate’s theory but ask questions about it.

         “To appreciate what I’m about to tell you,” Kate had turned to look out the window, “you must accept as fact the Universe not only believes in, practices, but is the embodiment of Feng Shui and it will do whatever it must to maintain equilibrium. To put it bluntly, the Universe will never allow discordant, inharmonious conditions to exist.”

         “Are you saying it’s conscious?”

         Kate looked at me as if I’d spoken the obvious, “so much so it created…”

         Before Kate could finish we were interrupted by the kettledrum booming of something pounding on metal.

         “And that my honored guests,” Kate was already walking out the backdoor of the café, “is the surprise I wanted to show you. Follow me; oh, and someone hand me that pot of coffee.”

         I was closest someone so I grabbed the pot, handed it to Kate and then followed the two of them outside. Late morning sunlight had traced silhouettes of Sugar Pine branches on our path using their shadows for paint. These were daytime shadows and of no threat.

         The path led down a small incline then up the other side, ending at an archway leading into the ruins of what was left of a stone building. Attached to the archway was a large metal door still on its hinges and shut. Amend that to almost shut; whatever was doing the pounding was on the other side and had already pushed it open a couple of inches.

         Kate was reading our minds, “Put away your guns; stand near me and stay clear of the door.”

       Kate had trapped someone’s shadow behind the door

         “Kate honey,” it was my grandmother’s voice coming from behind the door promising freshly baked chocolate chip cookies if I’d just let her out, “is that you? Honey, I could’ve caught my death in here last night. If you and your two friends could just give me a hand…”

         “Don’t!”

         I’d already walked over and grabbed the edge of the door and was in the process of letting my grandmother out when Kate yelled her warning.

         “Ah, my favorite grandson, now if you could just…” came from behind the door and I could even smell freshly baked cookies mixed with the universal smell all grandmothers have, “…give me your hand, together we could open…”

         Kate’s pot of hot coffee hit the door the same time my grandmother’s hand reached out to touch mine. Except my grandmother’s hand was about size of a small shovel and had fingers that looked like spider legs. Something big enough to match the size of the suddenly withdrawn hand moved swiftly back from the other side of the door at the same time Kate’s coffee splattered against and through its opening. I was splashed a little but not burned.

         “Ouch! That hurt,” came from the side the hand was on, but from the voice of a woman teacher I didn’t like in high school. “Kate, you know I wouldn’t have hurt him.”

         “You promised,” answered Kate, “you were going to behave yourself. Trying to grab strangers doesn’t seem like good behavior to me; I thought we had a deal?”

         “We do; it’s just that I haven’t hugged anyone for awhile and,” and it was my grandmother’s voice again mixed with the smell of chocolate chip cookies, “I just wanted to give my favorite grandson a hug.”

         “Who’s,” I asked, “in there; or should I say…?”

         “You mean what’s in there?” Branscombe interjected.

         “It’s someone’s shadow; last night you two inadvertently became the bait that captured him,” Kate answered as if she’d just told us it was a local PTA member.

         A mental image of Hanover’s staff member being found looking like beef jerky made me wonder if maybe he’d gotten a big hug from his granny and what about Kate’s judgment in making deals with shadows. And why was it so afraid of Kate’s coffee; it recoiled from it like it was acid? What coffee splashed on me was relatively cool. The fact that Branscombe and I had inadvertently become the bait that trapped it behind this metal door demanded answers, at least to what kind of deal Kate had made with it.

         “What kind of deal,” Branscombe asked the question before I could, “did you make with this thing?”

         “He’s agreed to quit giving people hugs; he’s also agreed to return to the world he came from if in return I agree to allow him to…”

         “…if you agree to do what for him in return?”

         “…if I agree to let him become my shadow after we get to his world; his host, the person that cast him, was lost trying to get here. After the EMPs opened a portal to our world his host discovered he could get here by following a road that parallels the portal and ends behind this metal door.”

         Behind the metal door were the ruins of a stone building; behind the ruins were hills. There was no road or even a path, nothing but the beginnings of a steep slope.

         “That’s impossible;” I felt I should point out what was obvious, “there’s nothing behind this door but ruins, and nothing behind these ruins but hills.”

         Kate continued as if I’d simply not looked carefully enough, “The portal follows a road four miles long and it stays open for two minutes. The shadow’s host didn’t make it through in time before it closed, his shadow did. When he arrived here he changed into the creature you saw behind the door. He wants only to return to his own world.”

         “Can’t he wait for a storm then follow the road back?”

         “Because he’ll need a host once he gets there; everyone in his world, as in ours, has a shadow. Without a host he’ll become what he is now, only there.”

         Remembering back to when the shovel size hand reached for me, “Does this shadow thing look anything like what would’ve belonged to the hand that reached for me from behind the door?”

         “Only in our world which ends ten feet into the ruins; after that we’re in the portal and he’ll simply become my shadow.”

         Branscombe looked first at me then towards Kate, “You use the word ‘we’re’ as if somehow Lorenzo and I are part of this deal. But pretend for a moment we do agree to go with you; out of curiosity, how were you planning to travel four miles in two minutes. Assuming there really is a road behind this door, the door’s too narrow for a car and our bikes are ashes. Neither of them would’ve been fast enough. Lorenzo’s Wide Glide might’ve squeaked out the required speed but that would’ve been on its best day and not with you as a passenger. My Indian was only good for about 110 mph.”

         Kate laughed, “You’ll go because you’re as curious as I am to visit an alternate reality. Neither of you would’ve agreed to Hanover’s offer for just the erasing of your records; you agreed because you wanted to know what’d happened. Well now’s your chance. In answer to your second question, two motorcycles were left in my barn about a month ago. Both riders arrived at dusk right after the sun set. I didn’t hear them coming until they were only about a hundred yards from the café. It wasn’t until the next morning I found out why I hadn’t been able to hear them until they were nearly here.”

         “Maybe,” I said, “they were trying to conserve gas and coasted the last mile?”

         “Kate looked at me as if I were her worst student, “Good guess but no cigar. The next morning I discovered that their tire tracks came from the other side of the metal door and ended in front of the café. Somehow the two of them, without the benefit of an electrical storm, were able to ride through the portal, open the door and arrive here right after sunset.”

         “So what,” I wanted to be Kate’s best student, “happened after they arrived; what did they look like?”

             If I had to describe them I’d say the tall lanky one looked like a rough around the edges version of the actor Randolph Scott. The other one, the one called Larry, looked like the actor Jackie Earle Haley. They were met a few minutes later by a man driving a ’40 Ford sedan; he came by way of the road you two came on. The two riders then asked me if they could store their motorcycles; I didn’t see any harm so I took them out to the barn to show them where.

         “When we returned to the café they had a bowl of my stew. They were polite but in a hurry and stayed only long enough after they’d eaten to buy a bag of my blended coffee. One of them, the one called Larry, said it was just for my special blend they’d traveled here. I don’t know if it’s all that special; all I know is that my customers like it and that I’ve been mixing it for myself long before I bought this café. My stew’s good, if I do say so, but they acted as if they’d discovered the Holy Grail when they found I had one more bag. The ingredients to make more of it are stored in the kitchen; I just need to make time to mix them together.”

         “Did the driver,” it was Branscombe’s turn to ask a question, “of the ’40 Ford go with the three of you to the barn; did he ever get out of his car?”

         “No; he just sat in the driver’s seat with this big smile on his face waiting for the two to finish their stew. Speaking of big, this guy was huge. His head had to have touched the roof of the car…and…and I know this sounds impossible, but when he smiled at me with his ‘it’s all going to be ok smile’ I could’ve sworn bubbles floated out of his mouth.

         “Like the bubbles,” it was Branscombe’s turn again, “coming out of someone who’s underwater?”

         “Like,” and I could tell Kate didn’t want to believe what she’d seen, “the front seat area of the Ford had been sealed to hold in water like an aquarium. When they left Larry and the one that looked like Randolph Scott made a point of opening only the back doors getting into the car; I never saw anyone open the front doors.”

         “Did the two riders,” Branscombe wasn’t taking turns any longer, “say anything else?”

         “Not that much, just that they liked the stew and wished they didn’t have to rush off. Oh, and the one called Larry commented on the dreamcatcher hanging behind the counter and asked if I’d made it. When I told him it was a design my grandmother had taught me and that she’d also taught me the recipe for the coffee blend, he just smiled like my answer to his question answered another question he’d been wondering about for a long time. The other one, the tall one, seemed to be in more of a hurry and said the driver was on a tight schedule and that if they were to get over Sonora Pass before it got too cold they needed to leave now.”

         “Did they say,” I was going to ask my question before Branscombe could ask another, “where they had to be and why they were in such a hurry?”

         “They said they had to be in Mariposa before dawn, the chocolate factory near Mariposa, which didn’t make sense. The only chocolate factory in that area is the old 1800s Ghirardelli chocolate factory in the tiny gold rush town of Hornitos and it’s nothing but a collapsed stone building similar to the one here; the place has been in ruins for over a hundred years. As to why they were in such a hurry; they just said the driver was on the clock.”

         Kate was right about curiosity being the real reason Branscombe and I had agreed to Hanover’s offer. Speaking of curiosity, I was curious to see what kind of motorcycles had been left in Kate’s garage. They’d have to be ones that could, if my math was correct, reach speeds that would cover four miles in two minutes. Not only that, they’d have to be able to do it with two aboard. 

         Kate continued our walk which led us to a large barn. Weathered in color and right out of a Kansas prairie painting, it was surrounded by dozens of old farm trucks dating back to the 1920s. Adjoining the barn in the rear and covered with an extended roof was an equally large patio.

         Both bikes were on the patio parked next to old trucks that in turn had been parked next to small trees in cement containers. The bikes were a model I’d never seen before on the street or in the shops.

         “Lorenzo, these were the bikes I was telling you about. When they first came out in ’08 they were critiqued in cycle magazines for being more ‘Go’ than ‘Show’. In fact more than a few of the magazines called them ugly; one magazine editor even used the word grotesque.”

         “Hey, I can live with ugly if they’ll get us up to speeds high enough, amend that to high enough for the three of us, to travel four miles in two minutes. I’ll take a built for ‘Go’ bike over a built for ‘Show’ bike anytime. What’s it called?”

         “The Raider,” answered Branscombe, “and like the Yamaha Road Warrior it ‘never’, if you read the technical reviews, was designed to be a Harley wannabe. In fact Tatsuya Watanabe, the man who designed the Warrior, was a key advisor in its design. With dual front brakes, an aluminum frame, radial tires, and a monstrously modern 113ci V-twin engine with four valves per cylinder; the Raider is by definition anti-Harley. It’s definitely not, and may they rest in peace, your Wide Glide or my Indian. I’ve no way of telling but except for their SuperTrapps they both appear stock.”

         “Will stock be fast enough?”

         In prison Branscombe was known as the ‘man’ not to mess with; ironically he was also known as the ‘man’ to see if you had a technical question…sort of like a geeky godfather. He seemed pretty sure when he answered, “Stock statistics put the Raider at near 125 mph; with these SuperTrapps my guess is their top speed will be an easy 130 mph, probably higher.”

         “But can they do that with two aboard and can they get up to those speeds quickly enough?”

         “Yes, but we’ll need an edge; I’ll disconnect their rev limiters. Like I said, the reviews, even the ones that said the Raider was ugly, gave it an A+ in power; we can’t risk any of that power being choked off by the EPA.”   

IN ACT 1/SCENE #3 Lorenzo and Branscombe have agreed to help Kate in her search for answers. Shadows of lost people looking to find other people to attach themselves to, a three hundred mile long crystal turned capacitor that can when discharged punch passageways into alternate realities; what could be better mysteries. Their first problem, a mystery in its own right, is can the two bikes Kate’s given them to use get to the speeds required to travel four miles in two minutes? It’s the time needed to cross the passageway.

         Cool won’t cut it and as much as Lorenzo and Branscombe miss their Harley Wide Glide and Indian Chief they now need something monstrously metric with power up the kazoo. Kate’s given them two Yamaha Raiders, bikes Lorenzo has never seen or heard of before. Branscombe swears they have more than enough if unleashed and will work on remapping their computer chips so they can run at maximum without being choked off by a rev limiter. At the same time Branscombe’s working on the remaps, Lorenzo will be checking to see each bike is fueled and as mechanically perfect as it can be. Kate’s headed back to the café to gather the things she says will be essential once they get to the alternate reality, the world the shadow behind the door has agreed to take them to if Kate agrees to let him be her shadow once she gets there.

       There was the Door to which I found no Key:

      There was the Veil through which I could not see:

            Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE

     There was…and then no more of ME and THEE

                By: Omar Khayyam…RUBAIYAT

FADE IN: Branscombe and I have agreed to accompany Kate on her adventure. Probably not the most prudent decision but one in retrospect we’d make again. The question before us was would the motorcycles Kate’s given us be fast enough to travel the four mile passageway in two minutes. Two minutes would be all the time the passageway between the alternate realities, our two worlds, would remain open.

         “So when,” I asked, “is the crystal going to discharge; what’s your forecast?”

         “Based on the time between past discharges and by the look of the growing cloud formations west of here,” answered Kate, “I’d say we’ve two hours.”

         “That’ll give me more than enough time to see if the chips have been remapped and if not I’ll do the remap myself providing you’ve the right tools.”

         Kate grabbed Branscombe’s arm at the same time she pointed down the hill towards the café, “The instruments you’ll need to download and read the data are in the studio adjoining the café. When you’re ready let me know if you want my help; in the mean time I’m going to go put together the stuff we’ll need for our journey.”

         Branscombe had done his home work and without any trouble unplugged the chip assembly from each bike. He then took it to the workroom adjoining the café. Fueling, adjusting drive belts and making sure tire pressures were correct was my job and I was able to finish at almost the same time Branscombe and Kate returned; Kate was carrying  a fully stuffed backpack. The two hours were nearly gone and the approaching storm was on schedule and overhead.

         “You two go get the bikes and meet me at the metal door; I need to, unfortunately, get ready to do one more necessary thing.”

         Branscombe and I watched Kate walk down the path then stop a few feet from the metal door.

         “Kate’s got the lead on this;” I said, “let’s just hope she knows what she’s doing and has all her bases covered.”

         With the chips installed the bikes started without hesitation. Seconds later we’d ridden them the short distance down the path to where Kate was standing.    

           “Don’t bother getting off.” Kate was now our leader. “I’ll open the door and follow you inside. Once inside it’ll appear we’re in a tunnel that ends ten feet in front of us; it’s in fact the beginning of a four mile stretch of road that parallels the passageway and will lead us to the alternate reality. Don’t confront the shadow; he’ll try to make eye contact, resist the temptation. Oh, I almost forgot; all ships, your motorcycles in our case, must be christened before they’re launched and so with the authority vested in me…I do…”

         Kate had brought with her a gallon milk carton filled with her special blend of coffee and without hesitation poured it over the three of us soaking us to our skins. Thankfully it was at room temperature. Immediately after the christening we heard the thunder.

         “That lightning,” Kate had already pried open the metal door and was ushering Branscombe and I to ride our bikes through the opening, “will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and induce the crystal to discharge; we’ve seconds to get inside and get ready before the passageway opens and our two minute window begins.”

         Raiders are enigmas, longer and with more rake than either my Softail or the Wide Glide, mine oddly seemed lighter and more balanced; maybe it was because of its aluminum frame? There was no question it had more power, whether it would be enough was another question.

         From daylight to near blackness, we passed through the doorway; it was hard not to look for the shadow. A glimpse of it grinning at us made me wish I’d followed Kate’s advice.

         “Get ready;” Kate was standing behind Branscombe, “you’ll know the crystal’s discharged when the road appears before you. And if you haven’t already guessed the shadow hates the taste of my coffee.”

         “Does his friend, the one in the corner, hate it too?”

         Kate answered, “I wondered when your better half would make his grand entrance,” and then blew a hole through the bottom of her backpack with her .44 magnum. Had we been the bait to lure that thing out of hiding; she’d been pointing her backpack at the corner since she’d closed the door behind us. Almost as deafening as the noise of the pistol was the noise that followed. What followed was the sound of the crystal discharging. At the same time the crystal discharged a road appeared at the end of tunnel. It was incredible, like someone had turned on some type of holographic or 3-D movie and was projecting it against the tunnel wall. Nearly as incredible was Kate’s Annie Oakley shot in near darkness. Behind us was what Kate had called the better half slumped in the corner; it had a hole through the center of its forehead that matched the hole in her packpack and it didn’t look the better for it.

         The shadow was fading away like smoke, “How… did you know my host was here, in here with me…how?

         Kate’s answer was to jump on the back of Branscombe’s bike, grab him around the waist and shout, “Punch it!”

         To fifty, and I’m being generous, my Wide Glide might’ve held its own with the Raider; from fifty onward the Raider was, except for the Road Warrior, like no other V-twin I’d ever ridden. Top speed became a relative term when we began to encountered dips and rises in the otherwise perfectly straight road. Branscombe, just ahead of me and to my left with Kate clinging tightly to him, would become airborne on some of them; only the severest dips were slowing him down.

         Fourth and fifth gears are the Raider’s trump cards with fifth being as high as sixth in other bikes. My speedometer at one time read over 130 mph and I had no doubt there was more. Whether that speed was accurate, I couldn’t be sure; the stock 210mm rear tires had been exchanged for 240mm. Squeezing the 240mm onto the stock rims had made them taller and gave them a guesstimate width of around 225mm; it had also given them a more rounded less flat profile. In corners that meant a bit more lean angle and contact with the road.

         Once or twice I glanced at the gray land paralleling us then no more; it was too depressing. It reminded me of a picture I once saw of Hiroshima taken right after the atom bomb had been dropped; this was a panoramic print of that picture but with more devastation. Caught in the whirlpools of dust devils were clouds of ash that swirled around the skeletons of buildings that extended out as far as the horizon. Was this one of our alternate realities? For a moment I felt like Charles Dickens’ Ebenezer Scrooge being shown the future by the third Christmas ghost.

         More than ninety seconds through our two minute ride the undulations disappeared and our road leveled. Suddenly things were less gray, less desolate then suddenly we were surrounded by grassland; we’d crossed some type of border so fast we didn’t even know it. Speaking of fast, Kate’s added weight wasn’t slowing Branscombe; his speed was increasing. Could he have programmed vitamins into his remap?

         Would the Raiders have come close to 140 mph? We’d never find out; looming ahead was an elevated highway. To reach it the end our road had become a sweeping on-ramp. Down to our final fifteen seconds, Branscombe wasn’t slowing. Maybe it was to compensate for the 100 foot rise in elevation to reach the highway or maybe it was because we were nearly out of time. Whatever the reason, we’d be testing the limits of the Raider’s radial tires in fifth gear and full out. There’d be no room for mistakes…no prisoners…

         Our bikes were leaned so far over their pegs were dragging the blacktop pretending they were my brother running around our backyard with a Fourth of July sparkler. At the inside of the curve I looked back; I could’ve been looking at farmland in Anywhere U.S.A. Looking forward again I was able to see Branscombe’s Raider thread the needle between a truck and the guardrail. Had the truck an extra coat of paint it would’ve hit them; it was coming straight for us. Our on-ramp was an off-ramp and our two minutes ended just as we entered the freeway at 120 mph …the wrong way.   

Miles rode just 80,000 miles short of 2 million miles in his lifetime on the six different motorcycles he owned. Nearly one million were done on one bike, his 94 FLTCU Ultra Classic. He holds the record of third place for the most miles ever ridden on a Harley.

Miles lost his fight with cancer yesterday, June 29. But he lived his life HIS WAY every day that he was here. Quite unlike anyone I have ever known, Miles had his own way of thinking, riding, and living that

leaves a legacy of a nomad not to be forgotten. I tried to wrap my own mind around the math itself. I ride a round trip most summers from California to Sturgis, to Minnesota, then home. That 5,000 mile loop woops my ass, and I don’t want to look at a motorcycle for a month! Miles told me he rode approximately 50,000-70,000 miles a year every year of his adult life. Miles would have been 63 on July 29th. I’m tired just thinking about all of those miles!

He never owned a car, and he never owned a house. Not only did he not get married, but he never even went to a wedding! Just didn’t believe in it. He never had a credit card. He never had a bank account, and he never had or even wanted a real job. He never had a phone until this last year, and he never had a physical address. If you asked him where he was from, he would tell you the last place he rode in from.

His drivers license was from his home town in Michigan where he was born and raised and still has a brother and a niece. He was a lifelong member of the Road Agents MC, which is where his name Squire originated. The name “Miles” was respectfully given to him by Willie G Davidson, and he was proud of and lived up to that name.

Miles had an incredible memory for statistics and could tell you when he got each of the six bikes he owned, approximately how many miles he got out of each of them, how many oil changes, tires, transmissions and rebuilds each bike needed. He knew how many times he had been to each rally, and had just been to Sturgis for the 30th time. He recounted every accident like it was yesterday, and insisted none of them were ever his fault, except maybe the mule he ran into in Arizona. He killed that burro, and had to be air lifted out of there by helicopter. He told me that every accident just happened to occur in a state where there was a helmet law. I asked him if he felt that was a message to wear a helmet all of the time. He said, “Hell no! It’s a message not to ride in states with helmet laws!” I asked him what his favorite road in the country was, and he said any road he gets to ride on without a helmet.

Miles knew what he believed in, and he firmly stood by those beliefs. He didn’t much care for hair cuts, so when he was drafted into the army he vowed he would never cut his hair again once he was out. Miles was in Okanowa and Thailand in the Military Police five days short of two years. The last time they cut his hair was April 10, 1970, and he never cut his hair since. He has become known as much for his trademark braid and beard as his many traveled miles. He lost part of his beard once in 20 below weather while he was riding it turned into a big icicle that actually broke before he could thaw it out! But he never cut it intentionally again. When I saw Miles after he had been going through chemo, and he had lost much of his mane and beard, I barely noticed the loss of his trademark. What I did notice was how his blue eyes still had that incredible sparkle.

I hear that Miles was a great Chef and that he made a mean Kale soup! I knew that there was so much more to this man than his list of statistics and tales of crazy times. As it often is in the world of motorcycles, you can know someone from the motorcycle world, but from a distance. There are thousands of bikers in Sturgis, and thousands of biker friends on Facebook. And if you have been riding for 20, 30, 40 years like Miles has, you know who he is, but what do you know about him? I can’t even tell you when or where I first met Miles. I have just known him for years. Our pictures together go way back, we’ve traveled in the same circles, gone on the same rides, and as much as I knew him, I really didn’t really know him at all.

Miles rode with me and my little sister and a group of friends last August in the Malibu Hills. We took pictures in the Malibu Hills, and I never knew anything was even wrong with him. It wasn’t until this past November at the Love Ride that he told me what he was battling cancer. It was then that I realized that this was a man with such a story to tell and share, and that people would be inspired by all that he has experienced. He was being treated at VA hospitals, and couldn’t drive his motorcycle. He didn’t have a car, and his only family was back in Detroit. He had many friends who loved and cared about him, but told me the hospitals were dirty and he had to wait so long for everything, and he felt very frustrated and alone.

I hated to think of this man who had lived such an incredible life, alone like that. I just wanted to listen to his stories. I wanted to know how he felt, and who he had loved, and what he had learned and what it all meant to him now. We started having more frequent visits and phone conversations, and I tried to dig into the man between the miles.

I have seen him in pictures with Willie G.Davidson & family, Cheech & Chong, Steven Tyler, Robert Patrick, Dan Haggerty, ZZ Top, Larry Hagman, Jay Leno, Peter Fonda, and Dennis Hopper. He was good friends with Oliver Shokouh, owner of Glendale Harley Davidson and founder of the Love Ride. Miles was a permanent fixture at the Love Rides and Toy Rides hosted by Glendale Harley over the years. If you asked Miles how he was able to afford his nomadic lifestyle all of those years you would get a variety of different answers. He was a retired, professional rider……..he did odd jobs, he was a gigolo, and then he would laugh. He said, “I might be easy………I’m expensive………but I can be bought!” and he laughed some more. He said he only needed money for three things, gas, oil, and insurance.

When I could get Miles to stop telling me statistics long enough to ask him something serious, I almost never got a serious answer. I asked him if he had ever been in love with a woman, and he paused awhile as if the memory was so far back. He told me he was with one woman for nine years, but that he had never told her that he loved her. I asked, but did you love her? He said, “I don’t know, I guess. Yes. I loved my bikes!

And for all of us who love our bikes, and the lifestyle, and the open road……..Miles truly lived what we all love. I wish I knew more, I wish I had more time with him. But I can say, that I am happy to have gotten the time that I did have. His story will be told, and whenever you see his name, read the stories his friends will have to say. His story should be told and heard! Miles was one a kind.

“I purchased this hog in October 2007. At the time ofthe purchase, I’d never even owned a motorcycle. Although I rodesmaller motorcycles in college, I knew that I didn’t have the physicalskills or mental ability to put this monster on the ground. So I signedup for a motorcycle safety training course at Modesto Junior College.Best decision I ever made. The skills and abilities I learned throughthe course have kept others and me from serious harm on a number ofoccasions. I seriously recommend a motorcycle safety training course toany rider that hasn’t taken one. Believe me when I say the benefitswon’t be yours alone, but also those on the ground with you.

I made too many modifications on this bike to possibly list. Butone of the favorite features on my hog is the air ride shocks system.When I take all of the air out of the shocks, the saddlebags sit just aninch off the ground. I enjoy riding it just as much as I enjoy lookingat it.

I find I’m more comfortable riding with friends than alone,because you never know when you’re going to need assistance. I rideexclusively with three other riders, and we call ourselves “Dem Dudes.”We are scheduled to attend the National Bike Week in Las Vegas on Aug.3-7. This will be my first major road trip and I’m really lookingforward to it.

I want to thank you for featuring my hog in your July 2011 Reader’s Ride Blog. It’s an honor and a privilege.”

SPECIFICATIONS – Terence West’s Winning Entry

GENERAL

Year:  2007

Make:  Harley Davidson

Model:  FLTR

ENGINE

Year:  2007

Make:  H-D

Model/Size:  96ci Twin Cam

Cases:  H-D

Flywheels:  H-D

Cams:  H-D

Cylinders:  H-D

Pistons:  H-D

Heads:  H-D

Throttle Body:  H-D

Air Cleaner:  Arlen Ness Billet Sucker

Exhaust:  Bad Dad

Ignition:  H-D

EFI Controller:  H-D

TRANSMISSION

Year:  2007

Make:  H-D

Type:  6-Speed

PRIMARY

Make:  H-D

Model:  H-D

Clutch:  H-D

FRAME

Year:  2007

Make:  H-D

Type:  Swingarm

Rake:  Stock

Stretch:  Stock

FRONT SUSPENSION

Triple Trees:  H-D

Fork Tubes:  H-D

Lower Legs:  H-D Chrome

REAR SUSPENSION

Swingarm:  H-D

Shocks:  Legend Air Suspension

FRONT WHEEL, TIRE & BRAKES

Wheel Make/Size:  Arlen Ness Evil 7, 21-inch x 3.5-inch

Tire Make/Size:  Avon Venom 120/70-21

Rotors:  Arlen Ness Evil 7

Calipers:  H-D

REAR WHEEL, TIRE & BRAKES

Wheel Make/Size:  Arlen Ness Evil 7, 16-inch x 3.5-inch

Tire Make/Size:  Avon Venom 150/80-16

Rotor:  H-D

Caliper:  H-D

ACCESSORIES

Handlebars:  Paul Yaffe Monkey Bars

Hand Controls:  H-D Chrome

Grips:  H-D Stealth

Mirrors:  H-D Billet Low-Profile Slotted Stem

Foot Controls:  H-D Bullet Style Shifters/Rear Brake Arm

Pegs:  H-D Stealth

Front Fender:  Bad Dad

Rear Fender:  Arlen Ness Stretched

Saddlebags:  Arlen Ness Stretched

Gas Tank:  H-D

Oil Tank:  H-D

Headlight:  H-D

Taillight:  Arlen Ness Taillight/Turn Signal/License Plate Kit

Arlen Ness Bolt-on Taillight Mounting Pocket

Seat:  Arlen Ness “Danny Gray” Signature

ADDITIONAL COMMENTS:

All chrome covers are from Kuryakyn.

Audio: By Autohaus in Hayward, Calif. – Terence isrunning two sets of Alpine component speakers in the inner-fairing, fourtweeters and four 6.50 Mids. Each saddlebag houses one Memphis 6×9 andone Alpine 8-inch sub-woofer. He’s running an Alpine PDX 4.100 to powerthe component speakers and the 6×9. An Alpine PDX 4.150 powers the twoAlpine 8-inch subs. His head unit is an Alpine IDA X305S with PandoraInternet Radio.

Baker kicked off a new program recently, and it’s a program that can be delivered to a shop near you. It’s their Whistle Stop Tour seminar series. They come to a shop near you and afford local riders and mechanics the opportunity to discuss anything from gearing and overdrive transmissions, to new Baker Products.

In case you didn’t know Bert and Lisa were successful GM Engineers, but unfortunately Bert was also a biker, and you know how the sordid story goes. He convinced Lisa in 1998 to toss hotshot careers to the wind and work on custom motorcycles.

So why would Bert run around the country showing off his products at H-D dealers and shops? Because he wanted to get outta dodge and see the country, natch. Or after all those bullshit years with Bert, Lisa said, “Hit the road pal, and don’t come back without taking care of biz.”

The Baker staff also did their homework and discovered that today’s Harley rider is more educated than ever before, and since there are constantly expanding choices available in the industry, they needed to reach the customer directly. Baker’s products don’t void the factory warranty, they have a world wide dealer network to make parts and service available to anyone, anywhere. Plus all Baker components come with a 5-year/50,000 hassle-free warranty.

So we asked Bert, James, and Trish a handful of helpful questions about their Whistle Stop Tour and what makes it click or tick. The Baker Crew is headed to Canada this weekend in July of 2011 for their final seminar of this year. Then it’s off to the Badlands to perform installs. “We will be at 9th and Lazelle on Lawayne from Mystery Design Trikes lot,” James Simonelli said. “It is closer to the interstate than we usually are. Looking forward to
seeing you there.” If you have questions, don’t hesitate to drop by their booth.

See a list of their past and current Whistle Stop Tour Locations at the end of the questions. Don’t hesitate to reach out to Baker if you know of a shop that needs to be added and keep Bert on the road and outta the shop.

What’s the most asked question?
Probably the most asked question is “Why do I need a six speed or how easy is one to install.” Our easy litmus test for anyone considering a 6-speed is this. Have you every gotten onto the highway, accelerate up to speed, and you go to shift into 5th. But you find you are already in 5th. This means you were looking for that next gear.

Which Baker Product draws the most attention?
Hands down the reverse kits draw the most attention, especially when demo-ed. We bring a 1999 Road King along and show the easy ergonomics to operating our reverse system. Guys are just slack-jawed seeing a bike go backwards under its own power.
When our demonstration audience is a bunch seasoned bikers or hard core Bandit types, we usually do a reverse burnout to demonstrate that our reverse system is robust.

Did one Whistle Stop location stand out for well-read performance attendees with sharp well thought out questions? Why do you think this group was more on the ball?

The best questions came from the folks at Dudley Perkins H-D in San Francisco CA; they were a very performance oriented group. Other standouts are Hal’s H-D in New Berlin WI, and Rolling Thunder Cycle in Hempstead NY.

But performance-minded attendees are not our only target with the tour. Seminar attendees also include people who ride their American bike but never read the magazines, Blogs, or go to major rallies; we call them recreational enthusiasts. They are difficult to reach through conventional advertising means but the tour brings our company and products directly to them.

Do you ever feel that you might be giving the customer too many gearing or overdrive options?

There’s no such thing as “too many options”; it allows us to get things really dialed in. Between the options available and our tech support, we can custom tailor a ratio combination to the specific needs of the bike and rider. But it definitely involves a 1-on-1 consultation to determine the right combination.

Have you created a road map for gearing options for various models and performance packages such as:
Stock Evo
Performance Evo
Stock Twin Cam
Performance Twin cam

There is no established road map because there are many qualitative and quantitative variables to get gearing right for a given application. In general, for stock to mild Evo and Twin Cam we recommend the DD6 (Direct Drive 6-speed). It’s our smoothest shifting and quietest 6-speed. For Performance Evo and Twin Cam, we generally recommend the OD6 (overdrive 6-speed) because it stands up to abuse a little better.

The best combo for 80% of the riders out there is a DD6 or OD6 with stock 1st gear and standard 6th gear. This will yield a bike that feels just like stock in 1st through 5th gear, and gives a 400-500 rpm reduction in 6th gear.

For lighter sportier bikes (FXRs and Dynas, rigid customs & some Softails) with higher horsepower than stock, I recommend a 2.94 first gear with standard overdrive. This allows more mph in first gear and takes advantage of the increased horsepower and torque. It also works well on very high hp (120+) dressers. I caution dresser riders that tow a trailer or ride heavily loaded and 2 up against using the taller first gear. It will decrease low speed maneuverability.

And the same group with the goals altered:
Street racing or Touring

High hp street racers will really appreciate the R ratio gears. The combination of a taller first and second (2.82 / 2.08) can keep a big high output engine in the “happy zone” where it can make peak torque. This yields the best E.T. in the quarter mile. When the R ratio is combined with a .80 “deep” overdrive, you can gear the bike to pull like a bear in the lower gears, and still have a cruising gear for the highway.

Lots of guys with touring bikes think they want the .80 overdrive, but we caution them. It takes a LOT hp to push a fairing through the wind at high speeds with a deep overdrive. This is best suited to “Cannonball Run” type situations or specially prepped bikes. Please consult our tech support before ordering this.

What’s the most asked question about the Oil Pan upgrade?
How much will it lower my oil temperature?
How hard is it to install?
When will the 09-later pan be available?

Answer is this (scoop for BikerNet!!!). In ’09 the FL oil pan changed due to the cross over pipe that runs below the rear of the frame. The new +1.5 quart oil pan for 09-later FL will be available in August.

What’s the most significant benefit to the oil pan?
The BAKER pan has a 5 quart capacity; 1 more quart than stock. Engine oil temperature reduction is the benefit for sure; it reduces engine oil temperature by 15-30 degrees. However, some people with 110 C.I. or bigger motors use our oil pan and keep the stock 4 quart fill to allow a bigger air volume inside the pan area (versus stock). The increased air volume in the pan reduces oil blow-by into the air cleaner and therefore reduces that oily mess on the right side of the motor and the right pant leg.

How many guys ask about Kicker systems? What do they ask?

The techs at the shops usually hit us up hard on kickers. Kickers are more popular amongst the cool kids who do this for a living rather than retail customers. The most common question is what else needs to be changed and will it work with my existing pipes.

Will you add locations to the Whistle Stop tour next year?

Yes. We encourage dealerships, with strong technically minded customers, to contact us now about our fall seminar schedule. Our tour destination has some flexibility at this point but within a month our schedule will be booked.
The Spring Tour finished out on June 11. This spring we visited Chicago, Michigan, Pittsburg, L.A., Texas, NY five boroughs area and places in between.

This country is so huge we could run around touring for the next 10 years and not visit all the significant shop.

How will the presentation change?
The seminar presentation format is pretty well dialed. The seminar, which lasts for about an hour, only addresses a fraction of our available drivetrain offerings. But we answer questions on all of our products, and other manufacturer’s products, in the Q&A at the end of the seminar.

If we talked about our whole line of components, the seminar would run on for 4 hours and we would have to serve cocktails. Future presentations will include newly developed components which are the foundation of BAKER Drivetrain.

If you could reach riders who plan to attend a Whistle Stop presentation, what would you tell them about the tour or about being prepared?

I would tell them to have their questions ready and never be afraid to ask anything. There is no such thing as a “dumb question.” Transmissions and drivetrains are mysterious ‘black boxes’ to many people but we own the mysterious keys to the big twin drivetrain and we have answers.

BAKER Drivetrain is traveling anywhere and everywhere that a participating dealer will host us, to provide educational seminars pertaining to the BAKER product line and Drivetrain FAQ’s and Mythbusting answers directly from Bert Baker and his team of knowledgeable sales and tech folks. Who better to get your drivetrain info from, other than the Drivetrain Authority!?

 Seminar Dates:

4/9/2011
Wildfire Harley Davidson
Villa Park, Illinois

4/23/2011
Kegel Harley-Davidson
Rockford, Illinois

4/30/2011
Hal’s H-D
1925 S. Moorland Rd
New Berlin, WI. 53151
262-860-2060

Whistle Stop Tour 2011- East Coast Edition:
Beginning of May – Stay tuned for times, locations and Participating Dealers!

5/07/2011
Indian Motorcycle of New Jersey
5/28/2011
Classy Chassis & Cycles

Test Ride Day
6/04/2011
Hammond H-D

01/15/11
Calumet Harley-Davidson
10350 Calumet
Munser IN 46321
219-934-6366

Chicago Harley-Davidson Glenview
2929 Patroit Blvd
Glenview IL 60026
847-418-2929

01/29/11
Hal’s H-D
1925 S. Moorland Rd
New Berlin, WI. 53151
262-860-2060

Suburban H-D
139 North Main Street
Theinsville, WI. 53092
262-242-2464

02/05/11
BAKER Backs You Up
Lisa Baker leads a seminar about dealer connections, and our widely successful Try It Before You Buy It Program
Cincinnati V-Twin Expo
Drivetrain Mythbusters

Sit in with the Drivetrain Authority himself, Bert Baker for a seminar on common Drivetrain FAQ’s, Myths, Facts and otherwise useful Tranny Trivia

Three Rivers H-D
Glenshaw, PA

Hot Metal H-D
Pittsburgh, PA

02/17/11
City Limits H-D
Palatine, IL – Free Performance Seminar

02/26/11
Conrad’s H-D

Seminole H-D
Sanford, FL

03/07/11
Miller’s
Daytona, FL

Whistle Stop Tour 2011 West Coast Edition:

 Check out the list of tour dates and locations on the Baker Web Site to find out when the BAKER Crew will be in a town near you!

Editor’s Note: Our 5-Ball factory racer was feature in Heavy Duty Magazine in Australia recently. It’s the largest selling custom bike mag Down Under. The story and the photos were handled by the amazing Smilin’ Doc Robinson, the longtime tech editor. I’ve left the story alone for your viewing pleasure. Enjoy.–Bandit

Many interesting and colourful characters populate the biker world and Keith “Bandit” Ball walks tall among them. And not only because he tops out at six-foot five inches. Lifetime biker, author, longtime Easyriders’ editor, custom bike builder, salt racer, founder of the premier web site Bikernet.com, Bandit is all this and more.

Get him settled in the comfortable lounge seat in his Los Angeles abode, pour him a stiff whisky, and sit back as he shares tales of the road, some that would make your hair curl, others that are genuinely side-splitting and always among them, lessons to be learned about life.

I figured that the best way to introduce this build to HEAVY DUTY readers is to give it to you in Bandit’s own words: “For decades guys have built vintage- looking scooters with late model drive-trains. Hell, I built another one at Strokers Dallas in the ’90s. Before I dreamed of it, Arlen Ness built a ’20s vintage scooter and sidecar around a Sportster engine.

Randy Simpson built vintage kit bikes. Don Hotop built some of the finest vintage-styled customs and recently I saw a ’20s styled bike at the SEMA show in Las Vegas built by the Shadley Brothers for House of Kolors. Beautiful piece. So I ain’t the first by a long shot. But there is something in the air recently about respecting the old iron and bringing it back to life. Some of it has to do with restrictions, and building older bikes is unrestricted. Some of it has to do with nostalgia and some is just a wild departure from the last project. I’m excited every year about this learning process.”

I asked Keith to sum up the vision that drove this build: “Well I built it in the teens vintage style, but with my height and long limbs I had to scale it up a bit. It’s built for long miles, with floorboards, a sprung seat, rubber grips, tall gearing and a spare gas tank. Every custom motorcycle build is an adventure. It takes me from one crazed time in my wild life to another. Fortunately, I’m not spilling my guts about another woman I lost during a knuckle-busting build. But this build did represent turning points. I’m rapidly closing in on my mid-sixties and about ready to sign up for Social Security. It also represented our stinky economy.”

Bandit is such an industry icon and it is not surprising that many of the leading lights of the motorcycle aftermarket were involved in this build, blokes like Ron Paugh of Paughco, leading manufacturer of custom parts and accessories for the past forty-three years, Rick Krost of US Choppers, Chica, who needs no introduction, Gard Hollinger of LA Choprods and HEAVY DUTY photographer Glenn Priddle who made the sweet seat.

Here’s Bandit again: “The key to the success of this project is the drive train. I sought a Crazy Horse V-Plus, 100-inch engine for several reasons. It has a classic design, renewed performance, cool looks and a left-side carb. I coupled it to a JIMS 5-speed transmission with a Baker kicker unit and Baker N1 shifting drum, so I can run the tank shifter and find neutral without a problem. The rocker clutch system I put together from old H-D parts while I fabricated the tank shifter.”

When he hasn’t got a fast motorcycle between his legs, or a whiskey in one hand and a beautiful redhead in the other, Bandit is happiest welding, soldering, wrenching, milling and turning metal in his secret and damn well-equipped lair beneath Bikernet HQ. His other love is writing, usually upstairs in his 1923 shop, behind his glass-topped Panhead-motor desk, rattling his computer keyboard, churning out another fiction book, a book for motorbooks, magazine articles (sometimes for HEAVY DUTY), or news, or one of dozens of tech articles for Bikernet.com.

And for those of you who are truly interested in the real guts of bike building, let me recommend reading the whole story of this build on the Bikernet.com web site. It runs over some eleven parts and is well illustrated with photographs showing each and every step of this build.

If you only read one part of the full story, make it Part 6 where you’ll see the immense amount of work that went into the rear fender fully detailed as master metal shaper Chica gets to work. But once again, I strongly recommend you read the whole thing as a salutary lesson on just what goes into a ground up build. Without the space limitations of a magazine Bandit is able to show and tell stuff that you won’t find elsewhere. To find it, go to Bikernet.com and click the Free Departments button and select Techs and Bike Builds and scroll backward through the various articles until you find Part One and take it from there.

I really dig this bike in every aspect; the concept of honouring old iron in this way, the marriage of old school looks with a nod here and there to practicality and safety, given that brakes back in the first two decades of the twentieth century were mighty primitive to say the least. I love that shifter in all its brassy mechanical glory, the vintage touches like the chain oilers and the leather strap holding down the battery and the cool fuel tank mounted up top to extend the bike’s range.

Having examined it closely, both during construction and in its completed state, I can attest that the fit and finish all over is excellent and detail touches like the pin striping are icing on the cake. Keith thanks Sin Wu for her part in this build and reckons this woman is a keeper, and I can understand that. This bike is a beauty and will look just as cool in fifty years from now. Way to go Bandit, I’ve seen several of your other builds but with this one you’ve climbed a pinnacle. HEAVY DUTY is proud to feature it in our pages.

BIKERNET EXTREME GUTS&BOLTS TECH CHART

ENGINE
Type: Crazy Horse Power Plus 100
Capacity: 100ci
Cases: Stock
Crank Stock
Bore: 3.874″
Stroke: 4.25c
Heads: Stock
Ignition: Thunderheart
Carburetion: S&S Super E
Manifold: Stock
Air cleaner: powder coated by Worco
Exhaust: Bandit built
Muffler: Stainless Scorpion from John Reed
Estimated power: 80hp

TRANSMISSION
Year: 2006
Type: JIMS
Number of gears: 5
Gearchange: Bandit built
Baker N1 Shift Drum
Clutch: BDL
Primary drive: BDL Classic powder coated by Worco
Rear Drive: Exile chain

SUSPENSION
Front: Paughco narrow tapered leg springer
Triple Trees: steel from Paughco
Mods: 2″ under length
Rear: Rigid U.S. Chopper design

WHEELS
Front: Black Bike dimpled 23″
Tyre: Avon
Brake calipers: GMA by BDL
Brake rotor: H-D
Brake lines: John Reed
Rear: Black Bike dimpled 23″
Tyre: Avon
Brake caliper: Exile
Brake rotor: Exile Sprotor

FRAME
Type: US Choppers vintage rigid
Make: Factory Racer by Paugho
Year: 2009
Rake: 30 degrees
Seat: Glenn Priddle

CONTROLS
Handlebars: Narrowed Flanders
Grips/levers: H-D, BDL/GMA
Risers: DPPB bronze dogbones
Master cylinder: GMA front
Mirror: Lowbrow
Headlight: pinstriped by George the Wild Brush
Footpegs/forward controls: Paughco vintage footboards
Rear brake master cylinder: H-D
Speedo/tacho/oil pressure: Biker’s Choice Vintage Sportster
Taillight: powder coated by Worco

Other modifications: rocker clutch system made with old H-D parts, Phil’s Speed Shop wiring harness and ignition system, alternator charging system by Spyke

GUARDS/TINWORK
Front guard: missing
Rear guard: Chica
Fuel tank: Paughco
Trim: gone
Oil tank: Paughco
Other modifications: Vintage H-D tool box and brake linkage by Paughco, Reserve gas tank by Mike Pullin

COMMENTS: This bike was built in the teens vintage style, but built for long miles with footboards, sprung seat, rubber grips, tall gearing, and spare gas tank. The plan was to ride to Sturgis, but I never got out of Dodge. Now the plan is to ride it to Arizona for the too broke for Sturgis run to Salome, a little sun burnt town in the middle of nowhere. But it has a very cool or western saloon on the edge of town.

Partners in Crime:

I was going to be merciful for my first movie review for Bikernet, until I found a copy of one version of the cover art for this clunker. A busty woman in a torn T-shirt with a shotgun, pants unsnapped at the waist, a couple of scoots raging towards the viewer with a gun raised in defiance and across the bottom of the cover in bold letters: Anarchy Is Their Middle Name.

Now I watched this loser DVD from beginning to bitter end and I truly don’t remember the Sons of Anarchy being present in any scene. In an effort to drum up some sort of audience the producers pulled the cheap shot of trying to hook up a confused and desperate waste of time with a popular and entertaining television show.

The plot has holes in it big enough to drive a truck through, and at one point about five minutes is spent destroying a Cadillac between two semi trucks. Two ‘bikers’ (Casper Van Dien as Mike and Patrick Muldoon as Alex) who look like a couple of slumming cops playing biker for the weekend are on their way to Sturgis. On the way to Sturgis they try to rescue an old man being mugged who winds up getting knifed while being held by one of the bikers (gee thanks for helping guys); one of the RUBS finds out his father was not killed in Nam but was killed on a bike run (his mom, played by Theresa Russell who looks to be about old enough to be his sister lied to him). There is a crazy bad guy played by William Forsythe who is after a video tape the two yupsters are carrying with his two goons chasing the boys across the movie.

Okay there are a couple of good scenes; one of the guys picks up a ‘lil spinner hitchhiker who gets bare naked for a brief time and hired goon Branscome Richmond gets bested in a hilarious scene with the Natives at a desert trading post. Oh yeah, the whole jagged plot line is held together by none other than our own Bandit who interviews one of the bikers about his role in exposing the criminal conduct of Congressman Clayton while on the set of a movie, somewhere.
Arrgh, it makes my head hurt to even try to remember the lackluster details from pile o’ crud. All in all, if you can see this for free it might not be too bad, the soundtrack occasionally takes off and the bikes look good.
There is so much wrong with this movie please. Oh yeah, I don’t think these goofy bastards ever do get to Sturgis, but at the end of the movie there are some random shots of the Black Hills Rally.

Editor’s note: I appreciate Kevin’s candid review. And yes, I’m in this B-Biker movie, but there’s a sidebar to this effort. Mike Jones made this movie. He wrote it, dreamed it could be a reality, and raised substantial monies to fund it. At one point they ran out of money and the big name producer and director hit the road. It took Mike another three years to raise the funds to finish it. Sure it’s not Easyriders, but a rider poured his soul into making a movie and he finished the painful project. For that reason alone, I will no-doubt watch it again.–Bandit