From fabrication, engines, ground up restoration, and custom paint, Savage Cycles does it all. A lot of sacrifices have been made by the crew at Savage Cycles in order to succeed in a business full of challenges, and obstacles. However, Sean Snyder, president of Savage Cycles, and his partners Mike Dixon and Jeremy Gordon managed to keep their eyes on the prize, and move forward. While engine builder Jack Rafferty keeps building quality machinery on the East Coast.

“What makes us extremely unique is that we have people and equipment in place to do everything in house, which enables us to keep costs down while being able to build quality bikes,” Snyder said. “This opportunity and facility allows us the capability to keep up in a competitive custom market.”

Savage Cycles was the next logical step in an evolution from Savage Grafix, and officially became a business of its own in 2002. Working as a team for 15 years and counting, Savage Cycles brought their paint and fabrication skills from the street rod/custom car scene to the motorcycle world in a big way.

It wasn't until Snyder and his wife, Lorrie, vacationed in Myrtle Beach, during Bike Week that the blood started pumping, and the itch to start bike building was sparked.

We returned home to Maryland, came up with a concept for a bike, and built our first custom bike, from there Savage Cycles was born.

“I knew I could always do this, but it was scary in the beginning, because I didn't know what to expect,” Snyder said. “For almost four years we worked hard at proving ourselves. Building bikes is one thing, but being able to build bikes that leave people talking is another. We just believed we could do it and went after our dream.”

Snyder, a mason by trade, felt he had the right people in place to make, what was once a hobby, into a full-blown business. Everyone involved at Savage Cycles made sacrifices. Dixon was a building contractor. Gordon is considered one of the best fabricators and welders in the region on his own. Everyone took pay cuts to pursue this dream, but Snyder said the sacrifices were ultimately well worth it.

“When we started out, everyone knew we would have to give up something in our personal lives in order to succeed in the custom bike business,” Snyder said. “We are doing something we love and making a living doing it. Not too many people can actually say that.”

Savage Cycles recently moved into a lavish 6,000 square- foot facility, with the intentions of staying small. “We’re concerned about personal attention for each customer,” Snyder said. “We also pride ourselves in every custom detail.”

Savage Cycles prides themselves in knowing they handle all fabrication and paint in house. The shop builds their own frames, handlebars, exhaust, custom components, and sheet metal. They handle all the body work and lay on all the custom paint. The staff forms the seat pans in the shop. Besides one-off choppers, the crew manufactures their own line of production customs ranging from the Violator, Head Hunter, Jackal, and King Chaos.

They also provide products from Big Bear Choppers.

In addition to assembling Big Bear bikes, they add their custom touch to ensure each bike is a show winner. All wiring is run internally through the frame and handlebars. This makes for a much cleaner look. It can be a pain, but well worth it. They weld spacers to front fenders to protect the paint. Nothing sucks worse than having your paint chip off around the “floating” spacers. They install chrome wheel bushings and spacers. It's the little things that make a difference.

They install weld-on mid-mount kickstands, not the bolt on front mount. It's a much cleaner look. “Quality is everything is this business, and I think we definitely put out quality in everything we do,” Snyder said. “You can't ask for much more than that.”

Here in Southwest Texas the weather stays warm enough to warrant us bikers to ride year round. It is not uncommon to wear shorts on Christmas while playing horseshoes with the family in the backyard. Because of this, we are able to also celebrate our lifestyle later than others in the country.

Last year, due to hurricanes Katrina and Rita, our annual Lone Star Rally was rescheduled for November. Biketoberfest used to be the last rally of the year, which usually happens in the middle of October in Daytona, Florida. Well, we now have a rally two weeks after Biketoberfest. My wife and I have attended every year, and it always yields crazy bikes and great times to remember.

Last year I became friends with Kent Weeks and Holly, the owners of Lucky Devil Metalworks, here in Houston, Texas. Kent has a unique style that is noticeable immediately upon any bikes he does fabrication on. It is almost eerie how you can see his trademark craftsmanship on bikes from 20 feet away.

My wife and I were walking the Strand one evening while we checked out the bikes, bullshitted with friends, and generally got wasted. You know, a party! While we wandered down the vendor booths checking things out, I saw this copper/ gold bike with bars to the stars.

I immediately drug my wife by the arm over to take a few pictures of this beauty. Much to my dismay, the sumbitch’s batteries had died, so I missed the opportunity to take a few shots. I was pissed to high heaven, but managed to talk with the guys at the booth for a few moments.

I asked if Kent had anything to do with the bike and the guy claimed the bike belonged to the owner, he didn’t remember ever hearing Kent’s name. The owner was nowhere to be found, so I eventually lost interest and continued drinking myself into a blurred state of euphoria while the rally winded down. I never thought twice about the bike again until a month ago.

I received an e-mail from Kent that said he was sending me a disk from Darryl Briggs containing a photo shoot. Needless to say, I was shocked to open the folder on the disk and see none other than the gold bike with the apehangers on them! I immediately called Kent and asked him about the bike. He laughed at my story and gave me some information. Unfortunately, he was extremely busy getting ready for next month’s Texas National Bike Show, so he basically sent me on my way to read the November ’04 issue of BIKER magazine.

I discovered the bike was actually a co-creation between Kent, a former mechanic at Big Dog of Houston named Sam Baker, Mike Dirksen, and the owner Mike Arnold.

Mike (the owner) wanted an old school ride with today’s reliability. Mike bought a Panzer motor and had Sam do a few S&S upgrades. The motor gets her gas through an S&S carb.

The gearbox is a five speed, kick-only model, and the power is sent from the motor to the transmission via a Primo belt drive. Paughco provided a large chunk of the parts to give her the whole classic look such as the frame, bars, front end, and gas tank, among others. But having three guys, a case of beer, and a bucket of parts does not a top custom make. Enter Kent Weeks.

Kent went in and hand fabricated many of the custom one- off pieces on this bike, making her truly custom. The oil tank, fender, motor mount, and sissy bar are the big obvious Kent Week Lucky Devil touches. He was instrumental in the assembly of the final bike and coached the trio through the build.

While the bike is a beauty and commands your attention; try to take your eyes off this model, Davina. With a body like a high school sprinter and raven hair that evokes thoughts of Kate Beckinsale in Underworld, this woman can haunt your dreams. Darryl was definitely a lucky man to spend an afternoon photographing these two beauties.

Spend a few minutes and ogle the curvy features and impeccable lines. Notice how the colors blend together, causing an almost picture perfect blend of tone and function. Daydream about riding her all day long and having her in the palms of your hands so you can baby her, wash her, and take care of her for the rest of your life. Oh yeah, don’t forget to check out the bike as well. Until next time, Ride Hard!

Click to see more from Lucky Devil

SPEC SHEET

Owner: Mike Arnold

City: Houston, Texas

GENERAL:

Fabrication: Lucky Devil Metalworks

Year/ Make: 2004 Special Construction

Model: It’s a Chopper, Baby!

Assembly: Mike Arnold and Sam Baker

Time: 6 Months

Chroming: Hands Off Polishing

ENGINE:

Year/Model: 2004 Panzer

Rebuilder: Sam Baker

Ignition: Dyna S

Displacement: 83-cubic-inches

Lower end: S&S

Cases/ Pistons: S&S

Heads: STD

Cams: S&S

Lifters: S&S

Carb: S&S

Air Cleaner: Carl’s Speed Shop

Pipes: Lucky Devil Metalworks

TRANSMISSION:

Year: 2004

Style: 5-speed, kickstart-only

Engine Sprocket: 56-teeth

Trans. Sprocket: 25-teeth

Wheel Sprocket: 96-teeth

PAINTING:

Molding/Painter: Eternal designs

Color: Orange Flake

Type: House of Kolor and PPG

Special Paint: Jeff Suchma

FRAME:

Year: 2004

Builder: Paughco

Type: Rigid Wishbone

Rake: 38 degrees

Stretch: 2 Inches

ACCESSORIES:

Bars/ Risers: Paughco

Handlebar Controls:: Performance Machine

Fender:: Lucky Devil

Headlight:: CCI

Tailight:: Dietz

Speedo:: What speedo? None.

Pegs:: Performance Machine

Foot Controls:: Nylox

Electrics:: 12-volt

Gas Tank:: Paughco Mustang

Oil Tank:: Lucky Devil

Oil System:: S&S

Primary: – Primo Belt Drive

Seat: – old chopper

Grips: – Arlen Ness

FORKS:

Type:: Springer

Extension:: None

Builder:: Paughco

WHEELS:

FRONT:

Size: 21 inch

Rim Width: ‘round 2 inch

Tire: Rubber

Brake: Performance Machine

REAR:

Size: 16 inch

Rim Width: ‘round 5 inch

Tire: Rubber

Brake: Performance Machine

MODEL:

Davina

PHOTOGRAPHY:

Darryl Briggs

Click to see more from Lucky Devil

Here in Southwest Texas the weather stays warm enough to warrant us bikers to ride year round. It is not uncommon to wear shorts on Christmas while playing horseshoes with the family in the backyard. Because of this, we are able to also celebrate our lifestyle later than others in the country.

Last year, due to hurricanes Katrina and Rita, our annual Lone Star Rally was rescheduled for November. Biketoberfest used to be the last rally of the year, which usually happens in the middle of October in Daytona, Florida. Well, we now have a rally two weeks after Biketoberfest. My wife and I have attended every year, and it always yields crazy bikes and great times to remember.

Last year I became friends with Kent Weeks and Holly, the owners of Lucky Devil Metalworks, here in Houston, Texas. Kent has a unique style that is noticeable immediately upon any bikes he does fabrication on. It is almost eerie how you can see his trademark craftsmanship on bikes from 20 feet away.

My wife and I were walking the Strand one evening while we checked out the bikes, bullshitted with friends, and generally got wasted. You know, a party! While we wandered down the vendor booths checking things out, I saw this copper/ gold bike with bars to the stars.

I immediately drug my wife by the arm over to take a few pictures of this beauty. Much to my dismay, the sumbitch’s batteries had died, so I missed the opportunity to take a few shots. I was pissed to high heaven, but managed to talk with the guys at the booth for a few moments.

I asked if Kent had anything to do with the bike and the guy claimed the bike belonged to the owner, he didn’t remember ever hearing Kent’s name. The owner was nowhere to be found, so I eventually lost interest and continued drinking myself into a blurred state of euphoria while the rally winded down. I never thought twice about the bike again until a month ago.

I received an e-mail from Kent that said he was sending me a disk from Darryl Briggs containing a photo shoot. Needless to say, I was shocked to open the folder on the disk and see none other than the gold bike with the apehangers on them! I immediately called Kent and asked him about the bike. He laughed at my story and gave me some information. Unfortunately, he was extremely busy getting ready for next month’s Texas National Bike Show, so he basically sent me on my way to read the November ’04 issue of BIKER magazine.

I discovered the bike was actually a co-creation between Kent, a former mechanic at Big Dog of Houston named Sam Baker, Mike Dirksen, and the owner Mike Arnold.

Mike (the owner) wanted an old school ride with today’s reliability. Mike bought a Panzer motor and had Sam do a few S&S upgrades. The motor gets her gas through an S&S carb.

The gearbox is a five speed, kick-only model, and the power is sent from the motor to the transmission via a Primo belt drive. Paughco provided a large chunk of the parts to give her the whole classic look such as the frame, bars, front end, and gas tank, among others. But having three guys, a case of beer, and a bucket of parts does not a top custom make. Enter Kent Weeks.

Kent went in and hand fabricated many of the custom one- off pieces on this bike, making her truly custom. The oil tank, fender, motor mount, and sissy bar are the big obvious Kent Week Lucky Devil touches. He was instrumental in the assembly of the final bike and coached the trio through the build.

While the bike is a beauty and commands your attention; try to take your eyes off this model, Davina. With a body like a high school sprinter and raven hair that evokes thoughts of Kate Beckinsale in Underworld, this woman can haunt your dreams. Darryl was definitely a lucky man to spend an afternoon photographing these two beauties.

Spend a few minutes and ogle the curvy features and impeccable lines. Notice how the colors blend together, causing an almost picture perfect blend of tone and function. Daydream about riding her all day long and having her in the palms of your hands so you can baby her, wash her, and take care of her for the rest of your life. Oh yeah, don’t forget to check out the bike as well. Until next time, Ride Hard!

Click to see more from Lucky Devil

SPEC SHEET

Owner: Mike Arnold

City: Houston, Texas

GENERAL:

Fabrication: Lucky Devil Metalworks

Year/ Make: 2004 Special Construction

Model: It’s a Chopper, Baby!

Assembly: Mike Arnold and Sam Baker

Time: 6 Months

Chroming: Hands Off Polishing

ENGINE:

Year/Model: 2004 Panzer

Rebuilder: Sam Baker

Ignition: Dyna S

Displacement: 83-cubic-inches

Lower end: S&S

Cases/ Pistons: S&S

Heads: STD

Cams: S&S

Lifters: S&S

Carb: S&S

Air Cleaner: Carl’s Speed Shop

Pipes: Lucky Devil Metalworks

TRANSMISSION:

Year: 2004

Style: 5-speed, kickstart-only

Engine Sprocket: 56-teeth

Trans. Sprocket: 25-teeth

Wheel Sprocket: 96-teeth

PAINTING:

Molding/Painter: Eternal designs

Color: Orange Flake

Type: House of Kolor and PPG

Special Paint: Jeff Suchma

FRAME:

Year: 2004

Builder: Paughco

Type: Rigid Wishbone

Rake: 38 degrees

Stretch: 2 Inches

ACCESSORIES:

Bars/ Risers: Paughco

Handlebar Controls:: Performance Machine

Fender:: Lucky Devil

Headlight:: CCI

Tailight:: Dietz

Speedo:: What speedo? None.

Pegs:: Performance Machine

Foot Controls:: Nylox

Electrics:: 12-volt

Gas Tank:: Paughco Mustang

Oil Tank:: Lucky Devil

Oil System:: S&S

Primary: – Primo Belt Drive

Seat: – old chopper

Grips: – Arlen Ness

FORKS:

Type:: Springer

Extension:: None

Builder:: Paughco

WHEELS:

FRONT:

Size: 21 inch

Rim Width: ‘round 2 inch

Tire: Rubber

Brake: Performance Machine

REAR:

Size: 16 inch

Rim Width: ‘round 5 inch

Tire: Rubber

Brake: Performance Machine

MODEL:

Davina

PHOTOGRAPHY:

Darryl Briggs

Click to see more from Lucky Devil

We’re running through strange times. Wars, terrorists, club wars, gang wars, religious wars and television. Nothing’s sacred. It’s on TV before the dust settles. Everyone jumps at a chance to shine on the tube, and some run from it like the black plaque. I remember when bikers hid from society and the law. Now they line up to be featured on anything.

What am I getting at. I don’t have the slightest. Oh yeah, I do—sorta. Tom Foster, the guy who built this hot rod, pure pro street reminds me of some of the guys I once rode with in the early ‘70s. They weren’t in a club, just a handful of scurvy riders who took reds, built hot rod customs and slide into the night like deamons wielding glistening swords. They partied all night, and if they didn’t make it to work the next day, fuck it.

Tom Rides with a group of young builders, although he’s not that young anymore. He peels through the streets of Long Beach with the Roland Sands Design crew. They all build bikes that are dead sharp, haul ass and corner like the curves on a hot babe. That brings up the shapely cutie, Nikki Zeno, who stuck her ass into every Peter Linney shot here, so we can’t see the bike. Fortunately, we featured this bike in Hot Bike a year ago with photography by the Black Widow, Ernie Lopez. So hopefully you caught the details there.

I like this babe and wouldn’t mind spending the weekend with her in Las Vegas under ceiling mirrors, but she’s not topless, she’s not here and she’s in the way, goddamnit. The RSD crew is made up of Roland, Tom, Brett, Jaes, Ed from Performance Machine and cousin Lindal, who also works for PM. I’ll try to explain the tech aspects of this bike, since Foster doesn’t do computers and has experienced recent health problems and maybe under the knife as I rattle the keys.

This bike is built into a classic Marc Rowe Pro Street, dropped engine frame. To my feeble way of thinking, Pro Street is all about handling, rubber-mounted performance. I don’t cotton to Softails called Pro Streets, but what the hell do I know?

“It was the last frame Jesse James bought before he started manufacturing his Diablo and CFL frame line,” Tom said. Marc Rowe is a master frame builder, who rattled wrenches with me on the 50th Anniversary of Monster Garage. Zippers handled the heads, Storz built the performance upside down front end and Matt Hotch made the seat pan for Bitchin Rich. Steve Poole made the pipes and Roland Sands worked with him on all the PM components.

Nikki, on the other hand, grabbed the show here with every slinky line she’s capable of mustering, and I suppose that’s okay, ‘cause this lifestyle is all about fun, sex, coolness, freedom, the open road and the best parts of life.

Since I worked at the anti-girl HOT BIKE, I began to wonder what’s wrong with guys who can’t stand the sight of a woman in a magazine. What’s up with that? Women, to me, are the flowers of humanity. Like a beautiful blossom or sunset and woman can be just as dazzling. What would life be without women. I’d hate to consider it. Let’s not, goddamnit. No time to lose. Let’s enjoy every minute of our freedom, the open road, the flash of a beautiful motorcycle and the awesome touch of a woman. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Sorry, no topless shots. This might help.

We’re running through strange times. Wars, terrorists, club wars, gang wars, religious wars and television. Nothing’s sacred. It’s on TV before the dust settles. Everyone jumps at a chance to shine on the tube, and some run from it like the black plaque. I remember when bikers hid from society and the law. Now they line up to be featured on anything.

What am I getting at. I don’t have the slightest. Oh yeah, I do—sorta. Tom Foster, the guy who built this hot rod, pure pro street reminds me of some of the guys I once rode with in the early ‘70s. They weren’t in a club, just a handful of scurvy riders who took reds, built hot rod customs and slide into the night like deamons wielding glistening swords. They partied all night, and if they didn’t make it to work the next day, fuck it.

Tom Rides with a group of young builders, although he’s not that young anymore. He peels through the streets of Long Beach with the Roland Sands Design crew. They all build bikes that are dead sharp, haul ass and corner like the curves on a hot babe. That brings up the shapely cutie, Nikki Zeno, who stuck her ass into every Peter Linney shot here, so we can’t see the bike. Fortunately, we featured this bike in Hot Bike a year ago with photography by the Black Widow, Ernie Lopez. So hopefully you caught the details there.

I like this babe and wouldn’t mind spending the weekend with her in Las Vegas under ceiling mirrors, but she’s not topless, she’s not here and she’s in the way, goddamnit. The RSD crew is made up of Roland, Tom, Brett, Jaes, Ed from Performance Machine and cousin Lindal, who also works for PM. I’ll try to explain the tech aspects of this bike, since Foster doesn’t do computers and has experienced recent health problems and maybe under the knife as I rattle the keys.

This bike is built into a classic Marc Rowe Pro Street, dropped engine frame. To my feeble way of thinking, Pro Street is all about handling, rubber-mounted performance. I don’t cotton to Softails called Pro Streets, but what the hell do I know?

“It was the last frame Jesse James bought before he started manufacturing his Diablo and CFL frame line,” Tom said. Marc Rowe is a master frame builder, who rattled wrenches with me on the 50th Anniversary of Monster Garage. Zippers handled the heads, Storz built the performance upside down front end and Matt Hotch made the seat pan for Bitchin Rich. Steve Poole made the pipes and Roland Sands worked with him on all the PM components.

Nikki, on the other hand, grabbed the show here with every slinky line she’s capable of mustering, and I suppose that’s okay, ‘cause this lifestyle is all about fun, sex, coolness, freedom, the open road and the best parts of life.

Since I worked at the anti-girl HOT BIKE, I began to wonder what’s wrong with guys who can’t stand the sight of a woman in a magazine. What’s up with that? Women, to me, are the flowers of humanity. Like a beautiful blossom or sunset and woman can be just as dazzling. What would life be without women. I’d hate to consider it. Let’s not, goddamnit. No time to lose. Let’s enjoy every minute of our freedom, the open road, the flash of a beautiful motorcycle and the awesome touch of a woman. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Sorry, no topless shots. This might help.

As I was catching up on Bikernet.com news one morning I saw where Bandit had sent me an encrypted assignment in one of the articles. Buried at the end of his article about the LA Calendar Bike Show, he mentioned that he had found a couple of sic choppers that happened to be from Phoenix and that he would contact Scooter (me) to see if he (I) could shoot them. I felt like Mr. Phelps from the old “Mission Impossible” … You know … he always found a tape recorder in the men’s room of an old service station that asked him “… If you decide to accept this mission …”. Anyway, I got the message and decided to accept the mission.

I first reviewed the web site for SSinster Choppers, www.Ssinisterchoppers.com to see what I was working with so that I could find the appropriate model. John Shope, the owner of Ssinister, has a knack for building very edgy chops so I needed an equally edgy model. The search was on and you are the beneficiaries of that effort. Chainsaw Chelsea of www.GodsGirls.com fortunately answered my call and was quick to agree to participate in the shoot. Check her on Gods Girls. I knew we could work together when I read about her sexual fantasy, which is “I like to punch dudes in the face while I’m fucking them … No joke”. I kid you not, just look at her profile. But make no mistake Chainsaw has got her shit together and it will be my pleasure to work with her again for your benefit.

I got the OK from Mark to shoot at his bar, the Hideaway. (Thanks Mark and I will see you on the salt). We all arrived at the Hideaway Bar (www.hideaway-usa.com) somewhere in Cave Creek, Arizona, on a Saturday morning in July. We started at 8am as Arizona in July can get real ugly and this weekend was not going to be any different. But that did not deter Chelsea. She was on time and ready.

As we set up the first bike to shoot the topless shots before the bar opened we all noticed that there were about 20 day laborers waiting to be picked up right in front of the bar. I asked Chelsea if she was OK with all these guys rubbernecking to get a look and her response was “let’s give’em something to think about for the rest of the day.” I have to believe that it was an unexpected treat for them. I love working with professionals. And so it began.

John Shope starting building bikes when he was 18 years old. He worked on his own bike and for friends. Given his creativeness and the quality of his work he could very easily be a bike tour headliner right now were it not for a 12 ½ period when he became a guest of the federal government.

You see someone found a semi truck of a green leafy substance in John’s possession.

As they determined that a semi load was slightly over the personal use limit and John refused to roll on his partners. The feds decided to play hardball. John got 15 years on the inside and served 12 ½ years of it. There may be a few guys who owe John big time.

John had been building bikes in Portland for several years and a few months ago decided that he had had it with helmet laws and 320 days of year of rain and headed for the Arizona desert where he and his wife Sara and their son Colton now live. His bikes are simply outstanding and John is developing his own celebrity clientele.

John’s hot wife and cop bike for sale. No, not the wife, goddamnit. I wish.

The Cop Bike belongs to pro golfer Pat Perez. His current project is a Captain Morgan bike which should be done soon and you will no doubt see it here on the pages of Bikernet. If John sells the Cop Bike, Pat plans to buy the Copperhead, so basically both bikes are for sale.

I will continue to watch the site for my next clandestine assignment.

–Scooter

Ssinister Choppers
Scottsdale, AZ
Phone: (602) 309 – 3352?
E-mail: John Shope – Owner JS@ssinisterchoppers.com

Copperhead Spec Chart

Owner: John Shope
Builder: Owner, Ssinister Choppers
Website: Ssinisterchoppers.com
Build time: Three months

Engine

Year/size: 2006, 96-incher
Type: Shovelhead
Builder: S&S and Ssinister
Pistons: Wisco
Heads: STD
Valves: STD
Cam: RedShift
Lifters: Hydraulic
Carb: S&S Super G
Ignition: Morris Dual Magnetos
Exhaust: Ssinister, dual flame thrower
Finish: Bass Boat Copper

Transmission

Builder: Baker
Type: 6-speed
Clutch: Primo
Primary Drive: Primo
Final Drive: 630 O-ring chain
Finish: powder coating

Frame

Builder: Diamond Chassis modified by Ssinister
Type: Rigid
Rake: 46 degrees
Stretch: 4 out, 4 up
Molding: Ssinister
Finish: Bass Boat Copper

Front end

Builder: Three guys
Type: Springer
Finish: Powder

Wheels

Front
Size: 21 by 2.5-inch
Type: 80-spoke
Caliper: Hog Hauler
Rotors: who cares

Rear
Size: 10.5 by 18
Type: 60-spoke
Tire: Metzler
Caliper: Three guys sproter

Finish

Color: Copper flake
Painter: Ben’s Custom Paint in Oregon
Graphics: Ben
Molding: Ben
Powder coating: Class Act, Del Gibbons

Accessories

Front fender: Why?
Rear fender: Ssinister modified with Gil Bag in fender
Gas Tank: Ssinister
Oil Tank: in fender
Dash: Yeah, right
Handlebars: Ssinister Choppers
Risers: None
Hand controls: PM
Foot controls: PM
Mirrors: PM
Footpegs: Ssinister
Headlight: Headwinds
Taillight: ’59 Cadillac
License mount: Ssinster
Seat: Ssinister and Jebs seats
Starter: Terry Components

Another Ssinister creation.

I’m posed with the Ssinster Cop Bike Next—hold on.–Chelsea

Marko

“Watch out,” Bandit?s gravely voice warned over the phone. “It’s the season.”

Marko hung up the Cantina hot line in wonderment. He only spoke to Bandit on rare occasions or during an emergency. Marko handled security, Bandit ordered inventory and he checked in the shit when it arrived. Marko could never figure out how Bandit knew toilet paper was low, or that the Chinaman needed cilantro for his salsa.

It seemed ironic to Marko, the master of security, close quarters combat, surveillance and communications. Bandit was once his number 1 student for a few years, but that was the extent of his training. Marko trained consistently for 30 years, studied mountain rescue, high altitude jumps, deep water diving, marksmanship with a variety of weapons, etc. He was a noted author of training and security manuals and worked for two years in Iraq, training security forces. Yet he still couldn’t figure Bandit out.

The Cantina was cooking. The staff got along and the lesbians didn’t fight. Even drug use around the Cantina diminished. The drunks settled into a reasonable routine and there?d been no barroom brawls for two months. Marko fished after hours on the oiled wharf behind the Cantina and he met a couple of girls who took care of him without constant demands. Life sparkled on the water at sunset. Hell, even his stretched FXR was running like a champ.

Bandit’s warning alerted his senses as he moved around the Cantina on this Friday night. But all seemed well as he watched a group of local riders enjoying Margaritas and the Chinaman’s special of Salmon tacos and shrimp quesadillas. It was a good group, including longshoremen and hardworking construction workers. Jerry Streamer was one of the crew, a stocky biker with a recently finished bobber. Bandit had helped with a couple of aspects of the build and recommended an engraver from Canada, Heather New.

The little old Shovelhead looked tight and killer with the brass engraved jockey shift knob, engraved brass Knucklehead footboards and Bandit-built air cleaner, also engraved. It was generally blacked out, with gold leaf scallops, very little chrome and lots of flat black powder. He didn’t drink but sat with his brothers and shot the shit. His every feature was round, from his nearly shaved head, strange long mustache, young man’s potbelly and puffy cheeks.

“These motherfuckers ain’t got nothin’ on me,” Jerry said joking with a longshoreman who prided himself in his union job.

Jerry’s cell phones rang constantly. “Hello,” he said and grimaced as one ol’ lady, Carla, lit into him with a vengeance. He set his cell phone on the thick oak table so the brothers could hear.

“You’re no good, you sonuvabitch,? she screeched. ?Bring me some money or I’ll turn you in for child abuse,” she screamed relentlessly.

He hung up on her, but she continued to call back, text him and belabor him with the phone messages. He had a phone with a voice ring that shouted, “Where you at,” in a black dialect.

“Why can’t I get a break?” he said to no one in particular, and shut the phone down. He was barely 33 and stumbled into one offspring with one woman and two with another.

Another phone rang immediately and the ring sounded like a sweet melody. It was ex number two and he answered it quickly. “Hello?”

“Hey,” the voice came over the phone like pancake batter poured out of a pitcher. It was smooth.

“What’s up?” Jerry asked.

“I’m buying little Charlie’s school clothes,” She said calmly. “Can you throw me a couple of extra bucks?”

“Of course,” Jerry said. “I’ll bring you one hundred tomorrow. Will that work?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll talk at you tomorrow.”

Jerry hung up and immediately his other phone screamed at him, “Where you at?”

“Yeah?” he answered it without thinking.

“Who are you seeing,” Carla screamed? “Some two-bit whore, I bet. You don’t have money for your kids, but you have it for the broads. I’ll have your bank account frozen again, you sonuvabitch.”

“I paid you child support,” he said, struggling to remain calm in front of his pals.

“I don’t give a shit,” she snapped. “I’m thinking about calling child protection and telling them you molested your son,” she snapped.

She wasn’t bad-looking for a psycho who hadn’t worked in four years, worked three lawsuits, (including one against Jesse James, her last job) and lived off of welfare, handouts, and television soap operas.

Tina

Just then Tina stepped up to Jerry. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Her voice was like a morphine shot to a wounded man. It had a silken nature and was as sincere as a nun counseling a raped woman.

“Who the hell was that?” ex number one barked.

“The waitress,” Jerry said.

“Fuck you, you liar,” she snapped. “You sonuvabitch!”

The phone went dead.

“Brother,” Larry said, “You’ve got a case on your hands.”

“I’ll take a Corona,” Jerry said to the waitress, “with lime.”

“I didn’t think you drank,” Freddy, the longshoreman said as he tossed down the backwash in his Bud and signaled Tina for another.

“I don’t normally,” Jerry said. “But there’s only so much a man can take.”

Jerry’s phone rattled against the table top again. “Where you at?”

Like a fool he answered it.

“You’re an idiot,” she squealed. “I’m calling child services, freezing your accounts, you faggot. You’ll never see your kids again.”

“Pound sand,” Jerry said. “I pay you right on time each month. Get a life.” He was about to hang up when Tina approached with his drink.

“Here you go sweetness,” she said like soft melting butter sliding off a sizzling stack of hot pancakes.

“That does it, you sonuvabitch,” Carla said and threw her cell phone against the kitchen wall.

Jerry looked at his cell phone, raised his eyebrows slightly and flipped it shut.

“What’s up?” Indian John asked through his surgically removed vocal cords, while pulling on his long gray goatee.

“Fuckin’ woman,” Jerry said and sipped his Corona.

“Somethin’s naggin’ you, mate” Glenn said and pulled on his Bud. Glenn was a short, thin Australian rider with long sideburns and a trimmed mustache

The phone didn’t ring. Five minutes passed and it still didn’t ring, then it did and Jerry jumped.

“Hello?” he said with trepidation.

Glenn took another slug from his beer and leaned close to Indian John.

“He’s nervous,” he said. “I don’t get it, the way that broad treats Jerry. He needs to put some distance there. Cut a dusty trail for a while.”

John started to say something through all his hair, beard and mustache, but he was interrupted by squealing tires in the parking lot.

Frankie

A five-year-old SUV skidded into the parking lot past motorcycles to the awning at the front of the building and screeched to a stop, leaving the acrid odor of burning rubber in its wake. Frankie, the Cantina?s janitor, scrambled to the car as the driver door snapped open and squeaked against the steel hinges.

Carla heaved herself out of the driver’s seat in a dead run for the door, knocking scrawny Frankie back. He stumbled and fell to the adobe tiles at the entrance, busting his lip against the raise bricks.

Carla wasn’t bad looking, but on the heavy side and worn from three childbirths and two abortions. She wasn’t careful. She threw open the distressed oak door leading into the Cantina dining area and turned immediately toward the sprawling bar.

Jerry spotted her through the massive stucco archway and his eyes grew like saucers. Indian John recognized abject fear and pushed away from the table. All hell was about to break loose.

“Hit the deck,” he warned.

?Say what, mate?? Glenn asked quizzically.

Two other riders, Bad Brad and Slim Pickens, sat up and looked around. Carla was coming full steam and reaching in her purse to yank out a stainless .32 Browning semi-auto with ivory handles. Her tan Hispanic hand blistered against the cold surface and her index finger grabbed at the trigger.

The first round went off in her purse and yanked the contents out of her hand, spilling make-up, cell phones, tissues, lipstick and a crack pipe on the deck. Shit scattered and shattered.

Tina stood behind Jerry bent slightly at the waist in the process of delivering his next Corona. As she set it on the thick carved wooded table, her ample ivory tits jiggled tauntingly in their soft cotton, south-of-the-border haltertop. Over half of their heavenly orbs were revealed as Carla attempted to gather her composure, from the first blast, and take aim. She didn’t know whether to point the shaking weapon at Jerry, or the object of her rage, or both.

The gun went off again prematurely and split Indian John’s rum-filled insulated coffee canister, which he carried constantly. He liked the spun stainless container, ’cause it looked like a coffee urn and he could carry it on his bike.

Bad Brad had history with Carla and Jerry and hated all no- count, baby-makin’ broads. Brad was bad, taught martial arts and sparred with the best of them. He jumped to his feet, grabbed a barstool, and prepared for the worst.

Carla was startled by the unplanned discharges, and tried to aim again, still confused. Tina dropped her tray and Glenn reached for her wrist to yank her to safety. Jerry didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. He was trapped behind the heavy table. He knew Tina was at his back; he could smell her fragrance, sensed her delightful bubbly nature and questioned whether to stand and protect her or dive under the table.

Carla raised the weapon level with Jerry’s eyes, just 6 inches beneath Tina’s ample cleavage. Her eyes focused on a spot in the center of Jerry’s forehead. She knew she had four hollow point rounds left and a plan formed as she squeezed the trigger. She could execute her ex and lift the weapon 7 lucky inches and take out the broad.

The blue steel trigger moved back in fluid motion and the firing pin was released to stamp the back of the next round and set into motion a loud but precise explosion.

Carla realized her hand was hanging in the air sans the weapon, but she could swear the gun fired. With bullwhip-like accuracy Marko stepped up behind her and relieved her of the weapon with a deft upward wrist motion. The gun fired and the small caliber bullet slammed into a foot-thick rough-hewn beam in the Cantina ceiling.

As quickly as he relieved Carla of the weapon, he returned the ivory handle to the bridge of her nose and shattered the cartilage. Suddenly the weapon was covered in Carla’s blood and she staggered in his arms, but he held her fast.

“What the hell!” Jerry shouted. “She didn’t do anything to you!” He leaped to his feet and started to scramble around the table.

Bad Brad dropped his stool and grabbed Jerry. “What gives? She came here to kill you.”

“I don’t care,” Jerry said pushing against Brad’s iron grip. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Fuck it,” Brad snapped, spun Jerry around and broke his nose with a single palm-heel strike. “Let’s get rid of both of them.”

Brad drug Jerry outside to the SUV and shoved him in the driver’s seat. Marko and Slim loaded Carla in the back.

“You love her so much,” Marko said, “Get her the fuck out of here before the cops show up. I’ll stow your bike. Come and get it when you’re ready, but you’re not welcome in the Cantina until you can control your women and your feelings. Later.”

Marko returned to the bar and picked up the hotline phone.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said to Bandit.

As I was catching up on Bikernet.com news one morning I saw where Bandit had sent me an encrypted assignment in one of the articles. Buried at the end of his article about the LA Calendar Bike Show, he mentioned that he had found a couple of sic choppers that happened to be from Phoenix and that he would contact Scooter (me) to see if he (I) could shoot them. I felt like Mr. Phelps from the old “Mission Impossible” … You know … he always found a tape recorder in the men’s room of an old service station that asked him “… If you decide to accept this mission …”. Anyway, I got the message and decided to accept the mission.

I first reviewed the web site for SSinster Choppers, www.Ssinisterchoppers.com to see what I was working with so that I could find the appropriate model. John Shope, the owner of Ssinister, has a knack for building very edgy chops so I needed an equally edgy model. The search was on and you are the beneficiaries of that effort. Chainsaw Chelsea of www.GodsGirls.com fortunately answered my call and was quick to agree to participate in the shoot. Check her on Gods Girls. I knew we could work together when I read about her sexual fantasy, which is “I like to punch dudes in the face while I’m fucking them … No joke”. I kid you not, just look at her profile. But make no mistake Chainsaw has got her shit together and it will be my pleasure to work with her again for your benefit.

I got the OK from Mark to shoot at his bar, the Hideaway. (Thanks Mark and I will see you on the salt). We all arrived at the Hideaway Bar (www.hideaway-usa.com) somewhere in Cave Creek, Arizona, on a Saturday morning in July. We started at 8am as Arizona in July can get real ugly and this weekend was not going to be any different. But that did not deter Chelsea. She was on time and ready.

As we set up the first bike to shoot the topless shots before the bar opened we all noticed that there were about 20 day laborers waiting to be picked up right in front of the bar. I asked Chelsea if she was OK with all these guys rubbernecking to get a look and her response was “let’s give’em something to think about for the rest of the day.” I have to believe that it was an unexpected treat for them. I love working with professionals. And so it began.

John Shope starting building bikes when he was 18 years old. He worked on his own bike and for friends. Given his creativeness and the quality of his work he could very easily be a bike tour headliner right now were it not for a 12 ½ period when he became a guest of the federal government.

You see someone found a semi truck of a green leafy substance in John’s possession.

As they determined that a semi load was slightly over the personal use limit and John refused to roll on his partners. The feds decided to play hardball. John got 15 years on the inside and served 12 ½ years of it. There may be a few guys who owe John big time.

John had been building bikes in Portland for several years and a few months ago decided that he had had it with helmet laws and 320 days of year of rain and headed for the Arizona desert where he and his wife Sara and their son Colton now live. His bikes are simply outstanding and John is developing his own celebrity clientele.

John’s hot wife and cop bike for sale. No, not the wife, goddamnit. I wish.

The Cop Bike belongs to pro golfer Pat Perez. His current project is a Captain Morgan bike which should be done soon and you will no doubt see it here on the pages of Bikernet. If John sells the Cop Bike, Pat plans to buy the Copperhead, so basically both bikes are for sale.

I will continue to watch the site for my next clandestine assignment.

–Scooter

Ssinister Choppers
Scottsdale, AZ
Phone: (602) 309 – 3352?
E-mail: John Shope – Owner JS@ssinisterchoppers.com

Copperhead Spec Chart

Owner: John Shope
Builder: Owner, Ssinister Choppers
Website: Ssinisterchoppers.com
Build time: Three months

Engine

Year/size: 2006, 96-incher
Type: Shovelhead
Builder: S&S and Ssinister
Pistons: Wisco
Heads: STD
Valves: STD
Cam: RedShift
Lifters: Hydraulic
Carb: S&S Super G
Ignition: Morris Dual Magnetos
Exhaust: Ssinister, dual flame thrower
Finish: Bass Boat Copper

Transmission

Builder: Baker
Type: 6-speed
Clutch: Primo
Primary Drive: Primo
Final Drive: 630 O-ring chain
Finish: powder coating

Frame

Builder: Diamond Chassis modified by Ssinister
Type: Rigid
Rake: 46 degrees
Stretch: 4 out, 4 up
Molding: Ssinister
Finish: Bass Boat Copper

Front end

Builder: Three guys
Type: Springer
Finish: Powder

Wheels

Front
Size: 21 by 2.5-inch
Type: 80-spoke
Caliper: Hog Hauler
Rotors: who cares

Rear
Size: 10.5 by 18
Type: 60-spoke
Tire: Metzler
Caliper: Three guys sproter

Finish

Color: Copper flake
Painter: Ben’s Custom Paint in Oregon
Graphics: Ben
Molding: Ben
Powder coating: Class Act, Del Gibbons

Accessories

Front fender: Why?
Rear fender: Ssinister modified with Gil Bag in fender
Gas Tank: Ssinister
Oil Tank: in fender
Dash: Yeah, right
Handlebars: Ssinister Choppers
Risers: None
Hand controls: PM
Foot controls: PM
Mirrors: PM
Footpegs: Ssinister
Headlight: Headwinds
Taillight: ’59 Cadillac
License mount: Ssinster
Seat: Ssinister and Jebs seats
Starter: Terry Components

Another Ssinister creation.

I’m posed with the Ssinster Cop Bike Next—hold on.–Chelsea

Marko

“Watch out,” Bandit?s gravely voice warned over the phone. “It’s the season.”

Marko hung up the Cantina hot line in wonderment. He only spoke to Bandit on rare occasions or during an emergency. Marko handled security, Bandit ordered inventory and he checked in the shit when it arrived. Marko could never figure out how Bandit knew toilet paper was low, or that the Chinaman needed cilantro for his salsa.

It seemed ironic to Marko, the master of security, close quarters combat, surveillance and communications. Bandit was once his number 1 student for a few years, but that was the extent of his training. Marko trained consistently for 30 years, studied mountain rescue, high altitude jumps, deep water diving, marksmanship with a variety of weapons, etc. He was a noted author of training and security manuals and worked for two years in Iraq, training security forces. Yet he still couldn’t figure Bandit out.

The Cantina was cooking. The staff got along and the lesbians didn’t fight. Even drug use around the Cantina diminished. The drunks settled into a reasonable routine and there?d been no barroom brawls for two months. Marko fished after hours on the oiled wharf behind the Cantina and he met a couple of girls who took care of him without constant demands. Life sparkled on the water at sunset. Hell, even his stretched FXR was running like a champ.

Bandit’s warning alerted his senses as he moved around the Cantina on this Friday night. But all seemed well as he watched a group of local riders enjoying Margaritas and the Chinaman’s special of Salmon tacos and shrimp quesadillas. It was a good group, including longshoremen and hardworking construction workers. Jerry Streamer was one of the crew, a stocky biker with a recently finished bobber. Bandit had helped with a couple of aspects of the build and recommended an engraver from Canada, Heather New.

The little old Shovelhead looked tight and killer with the brass engraved jockey shift knob, engraved brass Knucklehead footboards and Bandit-built air cleaner, also engraved. It was generally blacked out, with gold leaf scallops, very little chrome and lots of flat black powder. He didn’t drink but sat with his brothers and shot the shit. His every feature was round, from his nearly shaved head, strange long mustache, young man’s potbelly and puffy cheeks.

“These motherfuckers ain’t got nothin’ on me,” Jerry said joking with a longshoreman who prided himself in his union job.

Jerry’s cell phones rang constantly. “Hello,” he said and grimaced as one ol’ lady, Carla, lit into him with a vengeance. He set his cell phone on the thick oak table so the brothers could hear.

“You’re no good, you sonuvabitch,? she screeched. ?Bring me some money or I’ll turn you in for child abuse,” she screamed relentlessly.

He hung up on her, but she continued to call back, text him and belabor him with the phone messages. He had a phone with a voice ring that shouted, “Where you at,” in a black dialect.

“Why can’t I get a break?” he said to no one in particular, and shut the phone down. He was barely 33 and stumbled into one offspring with one woman and two with another.

Another phone rang immediately and the ring sounded like a sweet melody. It was ex number two and he answered it quickly. “Hello?”

“Hey,” the voice came over the phone like pancake batter poured out of a pitcher. It was smooth.

“What’s up?” Jerry asked.

“I’m buying little Charlie’s school clothes,” She said calmly. “Can you throw me a couple of extra bucks?”

“Of course,” Jerry said. “I’ll bring you one hundred tomorrow. Will that work?”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I’ll talk at you tomorrow.”

Jerry hung up and immediately his other phone screamed at him, “Where you at?”

“Yeah?” he answered it without thinking.

“Who are you seeing,” Carla screamed? “Some two-bit whore, I bet. You don’t have money for your kids, but you have it for the broads. I’ll have your bank account frozen again, you sonuvabitch.”

“I paid you child support,” he said, struggling to remain calm in front of his pals.

“I don’t give a shit,” she snapped. “I’m thinking about calling child protection and telling them you molested your son,” she snapped.

She wasn’t bad-looking for a psycho who hadn’t worked in four years, worked three lawsuits, (including one against Jesse James, her last job) and lived off of welfare, handouts, and television soap operas.

Tina

Just then Tina stepped up to Jerry. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

Her voice was like a morphine shot to a wounded man. It had a silken nature and was as sincere as a nun counseling a raped woman.

“Who the hell was that?” ex number one barked.

“The waitress,” Jerry said.

“Fuck you, you liar,” she snapped. “You sonuvabitch!”

The phone went dead.

“Brother,” Larry said, “You’ve got a case on your hands.”

“I’ll take a Corona,” Jerry said to the waitress, “with lime.”

“I didn’t think you drank,” Freddy, the longshoreman said as he tossed down the backwash in his Bud and signaled Tina for another.

“I don’t normally,” Jerry said. “But there’s only so much a man can take.”

Jerry’s phone rattled against the table top again. “Where you at?”

Like a fool he answered it.

“You’re an idiot,” she squealed. “I’m calling child services, freezing your accounts, you faggot. You’ll never see your kids again.”

“Pound sand,” Jerry said. “I pay you right on time each month. Get a life.” He was about to hang up when Tina approached with his drink.

“Here you go sweetness,” she said like soft melting butter sliding off a sizzling stack of hot pancakes.

“That does it, you sonuvabitch,” Carla said and threw her cell phone against the kitchen wall.

Jerry looked at his cell phone, raised his eyebrows slightly and flipped it shut.

“What’s up?” Indian John asked through his surgically removed vocal cords, while pulling on his long gray goatee.

“Fuckin’ woman,” Jerry said and sipped his Corona.

“Somethin’s naggin’ you, mate” Glenn said and pulled on his Bud. Glenn was a short, thin Australian rider with long sideburns and a trimmed mustache

The phone didn’t ring. Five minutes passed and it still didn’t ring, then it did and Jerry jumped.

“Hello?” he said with trepidation.

Glenn took another slug from his beer and leaned close to Indian John.

“He’s nervous,” he said. “I don’t get it, the way that broad treats Jerry. He needs to put some distance there. Cut a dusty trail for a while.”

John started to say something through all his hair, beard and mustache, but he was interrupted by squealing tires in the parking lot.

Frankie

A five-year-old SUV skidded into the parking lot past motorcycles to the awning at the front of the building and screeched to a stop, leaving the acrid odor of burning rubber in its wake. Frankie, the Cantina?s janitor, scrambled to the car as the driver door snapped open and squeaked against the steel hinges.

Carla heaved herself out of the driver’s seat in a dead run for the door, knocking scrawny Frankie back. He stumbled and fell to the adobe tiles at the entrance, busting his lip against the raise bricks.

Carla wasn’t bad looking, but on the heavy side and worn from three childbirths and two abortions. She wasn’t careful. She threw open the distressed oak door leading into the Cantina dining area and turned immediately toward the sprawling bar.

Jerry spotted her through the massive stucco archway and his eyes grew like saucers. Indian John recognized abject fear and pushed away from the table. All hell was about to break loose.

“Hit the deck,” he warned.

?Say what, mate?? Glenn asked quizzically.

Two other riders, Bad Brad and Slim Pickens, sat up and looked around. Carla was coming full steam and reaching in her purse to yank out a stainless .32 Browning semi-auto with ivory handles. Her tan Hispanic hand blistered against the cold surface and her index finger grabbed at the trigger.

The first round went off in her purse and yanked the contents out of her hand, spilling make-up, cell phones, tissues, lipstick and a crack pipe on the deck. Shit scattered and shattered.

Tina stood behind Jerry bent slightly at the waist in the process of delivering his next Corona. As she set it on the thick carved wooded table, her ample ivory tits jiggled tauntingly in their soft cotton, south-of-the-border haltertop. Over half of their heavenly orbs were revealed as Carla attempted to gather her composure, from the first blast, and take aim. She didn’t know whether to point the shaking weapon at Jerry, or the object of her rage, or both.

The gun went off again prematurely and split Indian John’s rum-filled insulated coffee canister, which he carried constantly. He liked the spun stainless container, ’cause it looked like a coffee urn and he could carry it on his bike.

Bad Brad had history with Carla and Jerry and hated all no- count, baby-makin’ broads. Brad was bad, taught martial arts and sparred with the best of them. He jumped to his feet, grabbed a barstool, and prepared for the worst.

Carla was startled by the unplanned discharges, and tried to aim again, still confused. Tina dropped her tray and Glenn reached for her wrist to yank her to safety. Jerry didn’t know whether to shit or go blind. He was trapped behind the heavy table. He knew Tina was at his back; he could smell her fragrance, sensed her delightful bubbly nature and questioned whether to stand and protect her or dive under the table.

Carla raised the weapon level with Jerry’s eyes, just 6 inches beneath Tina’s ample cleavage. Her eyes focused on a spot in the center of Jerry’s forehead. She knew she had four hollow point rounds left and a plan formed as she squeezed the trigger. She could execute her ex and lift the weapon 7 lucky inches and take out the broad.

The blue steel trigger moved back in fluid motion and the firing pin was released to stamp the back of the next round and set into motion a loud but precise explosion.

Carla realized her hand was hanging in the air sans the weapon, but she could swear the gun fired. With bullwhip-like accuracy Marko stepped up behind her and relieved her of the weapon with a deft upward wrist motion. The gun fired and the small caliber bullet slammed into a foot-thick rough-hewn beam in the Cantina ceiling.

As quickly as he relieved Carla of the weapon, he returned the ivory handle to the bridge of her nose and shattered the cartilage. Suddenly the weapon was covered in Carla’s blood and she staggered in his arms, but he held her fast.

“What the hell!” Jerry shouted. “She didn’t do anything to you!” He leaped to his feet and started to scramble around the table.

Bad Brad dropped his stool and grabbed Jerry. “What gives? She came here to kill you.”

“I don’t care,” Jerry said pushing against Brad’s iron grip. “She didn’t mean it.”

“Fuck it,” Brad snapped, spun Jerry around and broke his nose with a single palm-heel strike. “Let’s get rid of both of them.”

Brad drug Jerry outside to the SUV and shoved him in the driver’s seat. Marko and Slim loaded Carla in the back.

“You love her so much,” Marko said, “Get her the fuck out of here before the cops show up. I’ll stow your bike. Come and get it when you’re ready, but you’re not welcome in the Cantina until you can control your women and your feelings. Later.”

Marko returned to the bar and picked up the hotline phone.

“Thanks for the warning,” he said to Bandit.

If this feature doesn’t light your fire, well then your wood’s all wet!

Have you ever seen a pictorial on a bike or a girl and hated the fact that it was chopped down to just two or three pictures? Sometimes there are bikes that are so beautiful; a whole magazine full of pictures couldn’t do it justice. Then there are those very rare occasions where there’s a girl whose image burns onto your retina where it stays for days. Even rarer, and more frustrating, is when you have the combination of the two; extremely bad-ass bike and smoking hot girl, all wrapped up into one very short, hardly photographed, bike feature with just a snippet of information. Well the staff at

Bikernet has declared war on the short bike feature that pictures just one or two well placed photos of a bike and sometimes a beautiful girl.

The girl and the bike. Does anything seem more perfect? The added plus is they’re both redheads.

Oooh, nice. Keep taking it off baby. This is great, I ain’t even digging in my pockets for dollars!

The Girls of Bikernet section is about giving our paying customers something more, something tantalizing, something real.

Here’s the latest in the addition to our ever growing library of beautiful women draped all over extremely hot bikes. This edition features Jessica, a cauldron hot bike that started life as a 1995 H-D Bad Boy down in Houston, Texas.

Here is the bike in it’s original state. Well, this is actually where the bike was after Frank had modified it with new paint and bolt on accessories. He wanted to take it to the next step, and that’s where the Devil stepped in.

I have heard that Houston is hot as hell before, but that may be closer to the truth than people realize. You see, Houston is the home of Lucky Devil Metalworks.

This is Kent Weeks, aka, The Lucky Devil. You can almost feel the piercing evil from his eyes puncture your soul.

The lead guy, none other than the Devil himself, Kent Weeks, assisted by his evil temptress, Holly. The shop is always guarded by the pit bull from Hell. This is where this bike was born, in the devil’s torture chamber. Here’s the story of the birth of this beautiful bike.

Bike, what bike?

Once again, we have obtained world-class photos from Darryl Briggs, who shot the bike for a photo shoot with the beautiful model Billie. You may have recognized Billie from a pictorial or two, but you ain’t ever seen her like this. Check it out!

The finished machine sitting low and mean!

That’s right, she’s looking right at you. Keep scrolling down for the largest photo shoot ever published by our mag.

This bike started life in Milwaukee as a 1995 Harley- Davidson Bad Boy. You remember the Softail Springer set up with the blacked out forks and 21” front wheel, right? Well this bike was one hot ticket when it came out and can still be seen going for a decent price on e-bay. The bike basically kicked ass straight out of the box. Frank Markevich, the owner, liked the bike in stock form for a while. As it turned out, there was one problem, however. Frank is a stretched out 6’8” tall.

Speaking of stretching out, this chick is the kind that you can lay in bed and have fun all day long!

As many who are familiar with H-D knows, these bikes are built more to tailor to the normal sized earthlings, like me, who are 5’9 or 10”. Like any good man, Frank scoured the P&A catalog in search for that something that would set his bike apart and make it his own. Now he wasn’t just searching for a bolt on derby cover or shiny new levers.

Frank was in search of a means to make a bike actually fit him. He wanted to ride in a ride a normal relaxed posture, rather than the circus bear riding a tricycle pose he had become so accustomed to. The only problem was where to begin?

You have to love a girl in blue jean shorts. Is it just me or is it getting hot in her? All this talk of Houston, hell, The Devil, and now a smoking hot chick next to a custom bike. I do believe it can’t get much better than this.

Like the scenario in a Bugs Bunny cartoon where the devil sits on one shoulder and an angel sits on another trying to convince the character to do their will, Frank had lots of things to wrestle with. Maybe he should ditch the whole “motorsickle” thing and go trade the bike in on a big truck, or even a boat. Maybe he should just sell it and try his hand at surfing. Lucky for Frank, the Devil on his left shoulder happened to be Kent Weeks, or The Lucky Devil.

After kicking the shit out of the estrogen laden angel trying to whisper sweet bullshit into Frank’s right ear, Kent started planning the foundation for the bike you see here.

Two fine profiles.

Franks biggest concern with his stocker was that it plain did not fit him. No shit man, your fucking 6’8” tall! So, the Devil based the start of the build around making it fit Franks elongated frame and began tossing around the ideas Frank had in mind for a face lift as well.

Hello Momma.

The hair color of choice…RED! You just have to love it! I can almost smell the strawberry aroma of a beautiful redheaded beauty.

The plan called for a stretched out, raked chopper; but Frank still wanted to incorporate a Springer front end. This led to the development of the Lucky Devil’s Custom Springer Rockers. Frank wanted it to handle right while still being stretched and raked. With the help of the laws of geometry, the devil came up with a configuration that keeps the trail at a nice 4 ½” and still offers stability at high speeds. From what we hear, Frank has been putting this bike to the test over the past four years, so I believe the testing data has been accumulated and the results are in; this set-up works! The rockers are now available online at www.luckydevilmetalworks.com. They require an additional 2” fork length using the Paughco chart and are designed to run at a 40 degree rake on Paughco Springers. After the lower pivot bolts and bushings are replaced, they will also work on CCI and DNA style Springers.

The custom rockers from lucky devil Metalworks. You can find these little bad boys on his website.

Hello!

Ok, so once the frame work was finished and the rockers done, it was time to move onto the sheet metal. The gas tank started life as an old Mustang tank. The Devil gently stretched it out like he was pulling the soul from another deviant. He added custom, flush tank mounts, an electric petcock, and the final touch was a Hot Match flush gas cap. Rumor has it this cap originated in New York from a builder named Mike Pugliese (a relative genius bike builder who has generated bikes with engineering wonders such as “the friction drive”), but he let Matt Hotch use it and the young lad took off with it claiming it for his own at the U.S. Patent Office. I guess all’s fair in love, war, and business. Who knows for sure, but it turns into some real “he said, she said” bullshit.

The next step was the rear fender. If you look closely at the pictures, you will notice the rear fender is mounted directly to the swing arm. The look almost replicates a rigid at first glance.

Lookin Fine, Compact, and just plain Bad!!

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Since the rear fender is welded AND molded to the swing arm, the seat pocket needed to be able to flex like the palm of your hand folding up to hold onto a hand full of change. The seat is actually constructed of two pans and allowed to move a little. The seat pocket is also two parts and the rear section slides behind the front seat pocket. ADS American Drag Seats www.americandragseats.com , Kevin Sockwell covered the seat with black Ostrich, and he did it while Big Eric and Frank waited.

Once the seat section and rear fender were complete, the rear fender struts needed to be constructed. The decision was made to run struts on the left side only to keep it clean on the right. The Devil then added a built in chain guard.

The clean lines can only be imitated by the best. The metal work on this bike is world-class.

Once this was done, it was certain the project beckoned for The Devil’s signature single side mount front fender to match with a cool-as-hell devil’s tail strut on the bottom of the fender.

Next on the build was the oil tank, which turned out to be a problem of epic proportions. The one they were waiting on was backordered, (hmmm, I’m sure this sounds familiar to any of the builders out there), and they checked all their sources to no avail. The oil tank just wasn’t available. Finally after scouring the earth for all possible chances to find the devilish oil pan, Kent, Big Eric, and Frank all headed down for a bite at the local Chinese buffet.

The sight I dream about. A hottie layed across the gas tank just begging for a RIDE.

it gets even better the second time around.

For some reason I picture characters from the movie, Big Trouble in Little China, to be working at this restaurant. Anyways, while in line for their food, The Devil notices one of the feisty restaurant concubines changing out the soup containers. As she set the containers on the counter, the Devil and his minions all began to have the same evil epiphany… these would make the perfect oil bag. Two stainless cylinders from a restaurant supply store were all they needed! The next day two were snatched up, the rims were cut off, and they were welded together to make one fine looking oil bag.

Then a battery box was added along with stainless bungs for mounting, oil line connections, and a filler neck. Next on the fab list was the air dam, which was constructed to allow for the placement of the foot pegs to be extended. Well, that and the Devil thinks it looks cool as hell as well. Who are we to argue?

The air dam is Damn Fine! The grill gives the bike a hot rod style reminiscent of the 50’s style cars that terrorized the streets.

This is the pin up I want.

Once the mounts were fabbed up for the PM foot controls and pegs, a set of Evo/Pan style pipes were constructed to go along with the Panhead style rocker tops and cam cover. The devil then stomped his hoofed feet erratically around the shop making the bars and grips to fit Frank’s abnormally long frame. Hey, the guy was just looking forward to being able to ride without his knees in his chest and his elbows behind his back!

This is a profile of championship form. Goddamn I love the fact that God created two things;#1 Women, and #2 Harleys.

Now once all the fab work got done, she was stripped down and raped unmercifully…oh, wait, I mean stripped and readied for paint and chrome. I got my stories mixed up. All the parts for chrome and polishing were sent to Kent’s good friend Bradley and the crew in Dallas at Hands Off Polishing. (RIP Bradley) This shop is known for bad ass polishing and has recently re-opened the chrome shop. They are ready to rock, so send your shit to them if you want high quality chrome work for a great price! Give them a call @ 972-487-8220.

I can hear the zipper. Ziiip!

Paintwork was commissioned to the talented Houston painter, Pygmy. www.paintbypygmy.com The bike needed special care and a paintjob that would last. Since such effort was taken to keep the right side clean, Frank, Pygmy, and The Devil all decided to add just a small touch of flames to the right side of the bike and a complete set of flames down the left side. Pygmy did a bad ass job laying down a four layered candy fade job and flames.

Once the painted parts and chrome returned to the shop, it was time for final assembly! The guys were very pleased with the results and took the finished bike to the Easyriders Bike Show in Dallas, Texas. They were rewarded with a trophy and a feature in Easyriders magazine.

The well deserved award at a National level show. While they would have liked to place higher, Lucky devil metalworks was proud just to be in the show. I have a feeling we will be seeing much more from this group over the next few years as they seem to be here to stay.

Billie, the model, was also recently named one of the ten best Babes used in a pictorial this year! She’s a hottie, right? What’s better than a beautiful redhead with a smoking hot body?

It doesn’t get no better than that!

While the Devil says it’s still possible to blast a bike together in a short time frame, he still prefers to take his time to enjoy the build process with his clients (just a little). If you are tired of seeing pretenders and bike assemblers fumble junk together and calling it a custom bike, come check out the Devil here in Houston. He would be glad to help you with your dream bike. And hey, if you’re having problems with the financial side, you can always go on trade…I believe he has made a few deals involving people’s souls in the past.

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The devil takes pride in a job well done. The end result is a very happy customer for life. They are now joined as brothers who will be doing business together a long time! This industry isn’t about TV and fame, it’s about brotherhood. You can see it embodied in this pic here.

Owner: Frank Markevich

City: Houston

General:

Designer: Frank Markevich/ Kent Weeks

Fabrication: Kent Weeks/ Lucky Devil

The top of a world class custom. This bike embodies what a custom is all about. The best part for me is the fact that it started as a production Harley-Davidson motorcycle. It was chopped and customized the old fashioned way. Then again, maybe that’s why it’s so bad ass!

Year/Make: 1995 Harley-Davidson

Model: Bad Boy

Assembly: The Devil

Time: 8 Months

Chroming: Hands Off Polishing (R.I.P. Bradley)

The custom look with the shop signature on the belt. The devil’s in the details!

Engine

Year: 1995 Harley-Davidson

Rebuilder: Lucky Devil

Displacement: 80 Cubic Inches

Heads: H-D/Hands Off Polishing

Cam: Andrews

Lifters: JIMS

Carb: S&S

Pipes: Lucky Devil

Transmission

Year/ Make: 1995 Harley-Davidson

Modifications: Kicker w/ Electric start still available

Shifting: 5-Speed

Paint

Pygmy’s work shines through with quality and imagination that is only possessed by the world’s most dedicated craftsmen. The paint on this bike is flawless.

Painter: Paintbypygmy.com

Color: Custom Kandy red

Type: House of Kolor

The coolest Bad Boy I have ever seen.

Frame

Year/Make: 1995 Harley-Davidson

Type: Softail

Rake: 40 degrees

Stretch: 4-inch

Shocks- Progressive Suspension Airtail

The man and his bike. You can tell by the picture of him sitting on a raked out bike that he is one tall dude. Even our beloved Bandit would be looking up at this guy!

Accessories

Handlebars: Lucky Devil

Handlebar Controls: Performance Machine

Fenders: H-D/Lucky Devil

You can see the bad ass craftsmanship in each component of this bike.

Headlight: CCI

Tailight- Ness

Speedo: Mini-Tach

Pegs: Performance Machine

Foot Controls: Performance Machine

Gas Tank: Mustang/Lucky Devil

Oil Tank: Lucky Devil

The custom oil bag made from soup dishes. Notice the starter switch directly under it? That’s right, this baby kicks with your leg or your finger. I know it get’s really hard to kick a bike over at two in the morning when your leaving a place like One Eyed Jacks and don’t want to draw attention from the fuzz.

Seat: Lucky Devil/ADS Customs

Mirrors: Eclipse

Grips: Lucky Devil

Front End

The Paughco Springer siiting where it should; on the front end of a custom bike that actually gets ridden!

Type: Springer, 9 Over

Builder: Paughco

Rockers: Lucky Devil

The left side of the rockers. Look at the custom spacer between the axle and the rocker. Every detail was customized specifically for this bike.

Wheels

Make: American Wire Wheel

The custom front fender on the infamous springer front end. A lot of guys try to duplicate the custom front fenders on a springer, but very few actually build one that works. El bandito tried to make one for his Sturgis shovel last year and failed miserably even with Kent coaching him with phone calls and connect-the-dot drawings. It just goes to show the level of craftsmanship it takes to make a world class bike from top to bottom.

Size: 21 x 3, 18 x 5.5

Tires: Avon, 90/90-21, 200-18

Brakes: Exile, Performance Machine

Photography: Darryl Briggs / www.darrylbriggs.com

Beauty and the Beast. You pic which is what.

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