RETURN
By Bandit |
What a lousy day. It was one of those spring days when the snow is almostgone and everything you look at is in shades of gray. The weather fit my moodto a tee. The last thing I wanted to be doing was sitting in this truckhauling gravel and dealing with people who wanted their road fixed butdidn’t have a clue how to go about it. That seemed to be the order of theday though. I saw smoke coming from JR’s garage stove and, knowing that I onlyhad a couple more loads to haul that day, I thought I’d drag my feet a little.I pulled the truck off on the shoulder, set the brakes and walked across thestreet. Hmm, the door was locked. I could hear JR talking with someone inside and wondered what was going on.
“Open the damn door!” I shouted. About a second later, he opened it just wide enough to see that I was the only one there. He didn’t say a word, just waved me in and locked the door behind me. I couldn’t help but notice that he was packin’. Damned strange to be doing that in his own garage.
“What’s up?”
“Oh, just taking care of some stuff for the bank.” Now my curiosity wasreally going. “You want to buy a motorcycle?” he asked.
“Yeah right, as if I can afford a bike now. You know that the ink ain’t even dry on the papers and I’ve got child support due in a week and a half.” Iknew that he was into some odd things, all legal, but odd still the same.
Harley”, he said. “I repossessed it last night and considering the folksthat owned this thing, the bank wants rid of it like yesterday. Thirty fivehundred and it’s yours. Want to have a gander?”
George, his son, walked over to the back corner, pulled a couple sheets of plywood out of the way and there was this tired old scooter. I had to look. Hmm, FL Shovel, bad shape, obviously stripped of a lot of stuff that had made her look good in days gone by. But as I kept looking her over, I realized that there were a lot of good things about her. The basics were there for someone who wanted to build a runner. I got on her and thought, ?Jesus, this is gonna take a lot, even the fuckin’ kickstand is broke.? I stood her up and kicked her througha couple times. Got compression, that’s a start.
“What year?”
“?71.”
“Has anyone checked the numbers?”
“Well, the title matches what is on the frame and cases.”
“Damn you, I really didn’t need to see this.”
“Yeah, I know.” he said. “But you’ve been going through some real shitlately and maybe this will get your mind off it a little.”
“Let me think about it. Mind if I call the bank?”
“Be my guest. Adrian is handling the file. Give her a call. But they needto know right away.”
“OK, I’ll talk to you in a while.”
Funny thing about driving a truck, after a couple million miles ofstaring through a windshield, you find that you have more than enough time to think. Sometimes good, but lately that hadn’t been the case for me. Divorce had reared its ugly head in my house and life as I’d known it for 16 years was suddenly over. There was no joy in Muddville. So here I am, going down the road and all this stuff is going through my head. “Been a while since you rode, dude.Remember the Evil Bitch? Those were good times, even though sometimes therewas two hours of wrenching for a days’ ride. You were pretty happy then,weren’t you? And you’ve been kicking yourself ever since for selling it.”Goddamn convincing argument to be throwing at a guy who was reaching outfor anything that might keep him from going over the edge completely.
“Do it! Get your face in the wind. Remember that acid vision? The girl with no eyes?” That vision had stayed with me for many years. I was 18 and doing my duty for Uncle Sam’s Navy when it happened. Got hooked up with a bunch of guys who were into serious hallucinogens and one of them just happened to have run across a shitload of Mr. Natural acid. He offered to be my tour guide onmy first trip. We were in the barracks watching one of the guys do hishuman flame-thrower routine when I was transported to a different place.I remember the tall grass waving around me on the crest of a hill. The sun was behind me and to my right there were two things of great importance to me: a chrome front end and a woman. She was tall, with long hair. I couldn’t make out the color of her hair or the features of her face, though. But I knew sure as the sun was shining in the sky that she was the one that would make my life complete. The bike was just as important a part of the scene as she was. Then the scene melted away and we were off to watch the sun rise over Lake Michigan, three very fried sailors on a party.
When it happened, I figured it was just another hallucination. But overthe years it kept coming back at the strangest times, and though I didn’t wantto admit it, I knew in my heart that the woman I was married to wasn’t the onein the vision.
“Face it asshole, things have changed and if you don’t get agrip on something, you’re toast. Get back to what you know and go from there. You can always sell it and get your money back. Maybe make a little to boot.”
So there it was, cold hard logic telling me that I needed to dosomething. If I didn’t get out of this circle of eat, work, drink and drug myself to sleep every night, my life was going to be summed up by a name and twodates on a slab of granite. What the fuck, I’ve got plastic. I called the bank and said, “About that Harley, you can start the paperwork. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
If you’ve been there, you can guess the rest. Lots of evenings andweekends in the garage, parts on the kitchen table and catalogs everywhere. Untold hours of staring at her, throwing empties in the garbage andgetting a picture in my mind. Dreams of hot summer nights, parties, longrides to nowhere in particular, visits to the machine shop. Conversationsthat went, “Sure I’ll help you wire this thing, but I ain’t putting my sweatand blood into a harness that’s going on this ugly-ass rusty frame…”There were a lot of pieces from that scooter that went straight in the garbage can with the empties. But there were surprises, too. I pulled the plug onthe primary and got this cold feeling when no oil came out. Saying ?Oh shit, ohshit,? I undid the eight screws and about did a dance when I found the beltdrive…
Looking back and thinking about all the hours I put in on her,replacing or rebuilding everything that was worn out or just plain screwed up, now I realize that I was doing more than fixing up an old motorcycle. I washealing myself too. I needed the garage time as much as having my face in the wind. And I needed that part first. One step and then another.
It was a year and a half before I kicked her over and got to ride for thefirst time in almost 14 years. When I pulled into his driveway, my friend Keith took a long look at me and what I was riding and didn’t say a word. He just turned around, walked into the house and came back out with a beer and the bowl. “You done good, bro. You’ve been gone a long time. Welcome back.”
She wasn’t perfect the first summer, but I got some miles in. The dragpipes weren’t working and I wound up changing the exhaust. The carburetor was junk. I found and rebuilt something better. But that wide glide dual-disk frontend was the one in my dream. Over the winter, I got her up on the bench andredid some things that weren’t quite right, building a stronger bond between us.I mellowed out a little more and discovered that returning to the humanrace wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The girl with no eyes? Nope, I haven’t run across her yet, but I’m in nohurry now. I’m learning patience. She’ll come into my life when the time isright, just like that Shovelhead.
THE FREEING WIND
By Bandit |
She hit the kill switch and, with the V-Twin engine silenced, could hear only the wind sizzling past her ears. She dropped the stand and leaned the Deuce into his resting position. Pocketing the key, she swung her long leg off the bike. She stood motionless for a moment, the wind and the ticking of the bike the only sounds that reached her ears. Not even the noise of the nearby highway seemed inclined to penetrate this canyon.
Leaving the bike, she wandered slowly up the sidewalk, her eyes on therock wall before her. She rested her hands on the top of the 4-foot wallthat was more a visual barrier than anything, designed to keep the idiots from stumbling over the edge and plummeting the hundred feet or so to the Crooked River ambling below. Her eyes traveled down the rock face in front of her, down to the brush lining the river.
She pushed herself up and swung her legs over the wall until she was seated on its wide, smooth top. Staring into the ravine, she wondered what the freefall would feel like if she jumped. She could imagine the wind whistling in her ears as her speed increased with each passing foot. Then silence. She kicked her feet, her booted heels thudding solidly against the rocks. Fumbling in her jacket pocket, she came up with a pack of Lucky filters, slightly mangled, but still serviceable. She pulled one out and placed it between her full lips. Ittook her a moment to find her lighter, too many pockets filled with toomuch shit. She cupped her hand around the tip of the cigarette and flicked the lighter a dozen times before realizing it wasn’t going to get the job done.
“Story of my life,” she grumbled to the wind, “surrounded byinadequacy.”
She started a meticulous, pocket-by-pocket search for fire. Finally,in the last pocket, a pack of matches. She held it up triumphantly, thinking maybe her luck had changed. She flipped it open. One match.
“Shit!” The wind snatched the word from her lips.
She vowed that if she could just light this smoke, she would take itas a sign to carry out her plans. She swung her legs back over the wall, hopped off and crouched in the leeward side of the stone barrier. Cupping her hands around the match, she struck. The flame sputtered then held as she touched it to the tip of the cigarette, inhaling deeply. Drawing the smoke into her lungs, she felt her plans solidify in her mind. She remounted the wall and let her feet dangle over the abyss, staring into space and sucking in smoke, exhaling only to have it snatched from her lips.
With the fingers of her left hand she subconsciously stroked thesupple leather of her jacket, delighting in the feel of the leather as well as the way the leather made her feel. She wore it like armor, protecting her soul from all who would try to corrupt it and all those who would like to subjugate it. The jacket was a representation of all that had changed in her life over the last year, starting with her purchase of the Deuce. She had bought it despite Mike’s loud, emotional objections. She had paid $5,000 down, half her life savings. It was savings she began right out of high school with the dreamof someday marrying the perfect man, being able to buy her perfect home, and living happily ever after. So, here she was, 36, still not married and still not in her perfect home. She was living with Mike, had been for 8 years, living in what he was always happy to remind her was his home. And her life was definitely not happily ever after.
She smoked the Lucky till she tasted filter, then lit a second one off>the cherry. Her discontent had been rising slowly and steadily for months; the desk job, the dismal house, her grim relationship. Her only pleasure came astride her bike. She had only bought the bike a month ago. She hadn’t discussed it with him, just showed up at home with it one afternoon. He had gone ballistic. He ranted and raved, continually accusing her of havingboth a death wish and a desire to send him to an early grave. All hisposturing boiled down to jealousy, plain and simple. He was jealous of anything that would take her attention from his needs and wants. Every ride was cause for a sulk, every dollar spent a reason for complaint. And in a perverse 180 from her normally placating nature, she refused to let him ride it. She kept it locked and the keys on her body at all times. She had found him on several occasions rummaging through her purse, claiming to be looking for Chap Stik, and had seen him sitting in the garage staring at the locked bike. It always brought a glimmer of a smile to her lips.
She continued staring into the crevasse, her eyes roaming along theriver bank below. There was the carcass of a mid-?70s sedan rusting half in the water, shrubby willows growing up through the frame. She continued to smoke and mull her few options while the freeing wind soothed her scattered mind. The hissing wind covered the throbbing sound of an approaching V-Twin, reducing it to more of a feel in her chest than an audible pulse. She turned her head to see if it was anyone she knew.
The blue Shovelhead with silver flames, stretched forks and apehangers belonged to the one person she didn’t mind intruding on her bleak thoughts. She watched the gangly, goateed biker limp his way toward her.
“Hey Shred,” she greeted the best Harley wrench in the county. “Whatthe hell you doing here?”
“Looking for you. Mike came by the shop, sure you were there,bitching about you walking out on him. That true, Katie Girl?”
She smiled and turned her head to look back into the ravine. Shenodded and mumbled, “Yeah, true enough.”
“What?” He climbed up beside her on the wall and pulled out a pack ofWinstons.
“I said, ?true enough.? I guess you could say I walked out.”
She thought over her silent departure. She hadn’t said a word as hefollowed her from room to room, alternately begging her to stay and complaining about her lack of dedication to the relationship. Eight years wasn’t dedication? She was tired of trying, tired of placating, tired of him. She had grabbed her jacket, started the Deuce and listened to the throb of the engine as it drowned out the boring monotone pouring from lips she no longer had any desire to kiss. She hadn’t even looked his way as she buckled her helmet, zipped her jacket and rolled out of the garage. She could see his reflection in her mirror, his mouth still working, his face getting red. She rode for three hours beforeending up at the Wayside staring into the inviting depths of the deep gorge.
“Got plans?”
She did. But none she could share. She shrugged noncommittally and>fumbled another smoke from her dwindling supply. Shred offered her a light.
“You can stay at my place. The couch is comfy. Or…” He let thethought hang.
She knew the “or,” Shred had never hidden his affection for her. He hadnever felt compelled to defer to Mike and had offered his bed on more than oneoccasion.
She smiled. “We’ll see.”
She had no need of a place to stay, not tonight. Not from this dayforth. She looked down at the rocks below.
“Hungry? I could do peanut butter and honey sam’iches…maybe put ona pot of coffee.” He knew her fondness for the sweet sandwich and viciously strong, black coffee.
“Thanks, but I ate not long ago.” It was more like last night, but she had no desire for food, not even her favorites. “How’d you find me here?”
“Remembered you saying you came here when you needed the wind to blowthe chaos from your brain.”
She smiled, surprised he had remembered such a trivial comment mademonths ago. But then the guy could remember parts numbers, paint codes, even the VIN of his bike and hers. So why be surprised that he’d remember something said over coffee at 2 a.m.
They finished their smokes in silence, stubbing them out, fieldstripping the butts and slipping them into their pockets. In unison they swung their legs back over the wall and sat looking at the two bikes parked at the curb. They turned and grinned at each other, hopped off the wall and strolled wordlessly to the bikes. Both knew what was coming. A private ritual. A shared delight.
They thumbed the starters. The Deuce caught on the first try, theolder Shovelhead took an extra shot before she grumbled to life. With another grin, Katie took the lead. In a matter of minutes they were on the old Crooked River Highway throttling up through the gears and playing leap frog through the grasslands. Each pass pushed the speedometers a little higher, until they were cruising at an easy 90. Katie reveled in the buffeting of the freeing wind as it tried to push her from her deep, low seat. She looked at the blue blur in her mirror that was Shred as he kept pace. He had raced a Ducati for several years before a near-fatal accident nearly cost him his leg. But he would never lether outdistance him. She smiled and put on a little more throttle.
They came to the outskirts of Madras and throttled down to legallimits. Katie felt peace deep in her soul. She knew that her fate was sealed, her decision made. Today would be the day. She would make her farewells. But to whom? She scowled. Who did she care enough about to even bother with? Mike? Hell no. Her boss? Not even. Shred? Yeah, Shred. He should be told. He wouldn’t try to stop her, just honor her decision despite his own feelings. When? Now was as good a time as any.
She pulled into a convenient viewpoint and killed the engine. Shred followed. Shred pulled along side and silenced his V-Twin.
“What’s up girl?”
“I gotta say goodbye.”
“Huh? You heading home?” He looked puzzled.
“You could say that. But not to Mike’s.” She looked across thegrasslands to the hazy blue mountains lining the horizon.
“I don’t understand. Where’re you going?”
“I’d tell you if I could.” She brought her gaze back to meet thehazel eyes, seeing concern.
She dropped the jiffystand and swung off the bike. Standing close toher friend, she held his eyes, smiled and leaned down for a long, sweet kiss. His hand settled on her cheek. She broke the contact, smiled again and remounted her bike.
“I gotta go now. You could say I got a date with the devil,” sheteased.
“But wait…” he paused as if seeing the finality in her eyes. “OK,call me if you can. You know where to find me.”
She nodded, slid her wraparounds back over her eyes, started the warmbike and pulled away before either could say anything else. She headed back the way they had come, feeling the bike surge under her, as eager as she was. Winding through the open range, the Crooked River Canyon moved in and out of visual range. Her eyes took in the details of the world around her; the sun glinting off of golden grasses, birds careening through the air, jutting outcroppings of lava rock. She was seeing it as if for the first time,as well as the last. She found herself back at the Wayside, the bikemoving as if under its own intelligence, returning to the scene.
She knew this would be the last time to park here. Her last view ofthe river below. She climbed the rock wall, standing on the flat ledge. Spreading her arms and closing her eyes, she felt the wind whip around her body. She opened her eyes and stared straight down. The car, the willows, the winding river, all the same. She stared long and hard, swallowing against the sudden nervousness rising in her stomach.
She dropped her arms, took a deep breath and whispered to the wind,”Goodbye.”
Turning her back to the wind, she jumped. Landing with a grunt on thedry lawn, she walked slowly back to the loyal bike waiting for her return. She swung back aboard, fired up the loving heart and left the only place in the region that still held any draw for her. Hitting the highway, she turned south. South to where? She had no idea. But she had almost five grand in the bank, a virgin Visa card in her pocket and the freeing wind in her face. She didn’t look back.
The Life And Times Of Von Dutch
By Bandit |
Pinstriping on cars andmotorcycles was a dead art when 15-yr. old Kenny Howard went to work inGeorge Beerup’s motorcycle shop in the mid-forties. The last automobilestriping on an american car was done by General Motors in 1938. Then, inthe mid-fifties, customizers brought it back in style in mostly radicalform believing they were doing something entirely new! Kenny, the motorcyclemechanic was the man who started this “new” vogue under the name “Von Dutch.”
Dutch’sDad was a well known designer, sign painter and goldleaf man in the SouthLA area known as Maywood. The well known Western Exterminator Logo is anexample of his work that lives on today.
Dutch would occasionally bring a bike home from Beerup’sshop borrow his Dad’s brushes to put pinstripes all over it. When Beerupsaw what dutch had accomplished, he couldn’t believe it, and moved himfrom mechanical work to painting and striping. For the next decade, hebuilt a reputation that he really never wanted.
” I’m a mechanic first.” he used to say, “If I hadmy way I’d be a gunsmith! I like to make things out of metal, because metalis forever. When you paint something, how long does it last? A few years,and then it’s gone!”
For the next several years Dutch painted and pinstripednothing but motorcycles, moving from shop to shop, saturating each area.By the mid-fifties he had done thousands of bikes, but very few cars. Stripingcars started as a joke when he was working at Al Titus’ motorcycle shopin Linwood, California. The whole car striping idea started to ‘snowball’and he was there.
He was approached by a guy known as the Crazy Arab, who thought it could be worked into a full-time occupation. Dutch didn’tbelieve it, but he tried it, and for the next three years he worked atit until it just drove him nuts!
When Dutch quit striping in 1958, he was still ingreat demand. Customizers from all over the country had heard of him, andcars came from as far away from the L.A. area as New York to be “Dutched.”When a car owner came to him, he didn’t tell Dutch what he wanted, he justtold him how much ‘time’ he wanted to purchase. The designs were up toDutch, and many of them were created way down deep in the recesses of hiseccentric imagination. He had hundreds of imitators and followers; ShakeyJake, The Barris Brothers, Tweetie, Slimbo, Big Daddy Ed Roth and manyothers.
Dutch On Money
Despitehis genius and popularity, Dutch never made any money from striping. Moneywas something he detested. In this quote from a 1965 article Dutch explainshis thoughts on money.
“I make a point of staying right at the edge of poverty.I don’t have a pair of pants without a hole in them, and the only pairof boots I have are on my feet. I don’t mess around with unnecessary stuff,so I don’t need much money. I believe it’s meant to be that way. There’sa ‘struggle’ you have to go through, and if you make a lot of money itdoesn’t make the ‘struggle’ go away. It just makes it more complicated.If you keep poor, the struggle is simple. “
Every so often he would double his rate just to weedout the undesirables. So many were demanding his services that he justcouldn’t stand it anymore. It didn’t work! No matter what hecharged, they just kept on coming! He hated the commercial aspects of whathe did. He believed that you couldn’t focus on doing good work if you worriedabout the money, and ‘good work’ was everything to Dutch!
So, after about 10 years of hiding out, Dutch surfacedin Arizona, where he made guns and knives, did some custom paint, bodywork,and pinstriping. He and his wife and kids tried. somewhat, to live likea ‘normal’ family…..in a house…with a bar-b-que….and a station wagon.
The Brucker Years
The domestic life lasted until the mid-seventieswhen Dutch dropped everything, and moved back to California to take overthe job vacated by Big Daddy Roth at “Cars of the Stars.” He wouldbe the general fabricator and custodian of the Bruckers Family’s Collectibles.The Bruckers gave Dutch a house to live in and appointed him work hoursof9 to 5. Much to everyone’s amusement, Dutch started calling himself J.L.Bachs, short for Joe Lunch Box.
When ‘Cars of the Stars’ closed up. Dutch moved to Santa Paula, Californiaalong with the Brucker Collection and lived his remaining years right thereat the warehouse, behind a locked enclosure, mostly running everyone off,especially those wearing any kind of uniform or carrying a clipboard. Healso shot at a guy who said he was from Cleveland! Dutch got to be reallyeccentric-amundo!
It was during these years that he turned out somebeautiful knives, all hand-done and brass-etched. He sold about 100 ofthem for $300 each. Today they would easily fetch $3,000! He also builtsome extraordinary motorcycles and lots of other stuff, like (no kidding)a steam-powered TV set. He also built the “Kenford”….1956 pickup witha ’47 Kenworth cab combo!
Forpinstripers, Von Dutch is the one person most responsible for the existenceof the craft. He’s also responsible for other custom touches we’re allfamiliar with as he was also the creator of the motorized rollerskate andputting VW engines in anything but VW’s. He was an expert gunsmith, knife-maker,and fabricator. To those who knew and understood him (not to many) he wasa Great Philosopher.
The FlyingEyeball
Nodiscussion of Von Dutch would be complete without touching on the subjectof his famous Flying Eyeball logo. What’s the story behind it?
According to Von Dutch, the flying eyeball originatedwith the Macedonian and Egyptian cultures about 5000 years ago. It wasa symbol meaning “the eye in the sky knows all and sees all”, or somethinglike that. Dutch got a hold of this symbol and modified it into the flyin’eyeballwe know of today. He always believed in reincarnation, and the eyeball,somehow, was tied to that.There have been numerous “incarnations” of thisdesign over the years. It still remains an icon of the ’50s and ’60s streetrod crowd. Now ya know!
Dutchlived life hard. His bad habits eventually caught up with him, and he developeda stomach abscess. He didn’t like doctors, but towards the end, the paingot so bad, he finally saw a doctor. By then it was too late. Dutch diedon the 19th. of September, 1992, leaving behind his two daughters, Lisaand Lorna.
On a personal note…. The reason I’m in this businessis solely due to Von Dutch. He ‘spider-webbed’ my ’49 Ford Dashboard in1954 and I haven’t been right since.
I striped my first car ….a 1951 Packard…soonafter, then over the course of the next 15 years, I practiced on the sidewhile working at a “Real’ job. In 1969, I started hanging out withDutch to get my mind ‘Right.” He worked on me pretty good, and here weare today.
I guess the ole’ man is turning over in his grave(actually, his ashes were thrown in the Pacific) now that the computeris here! “Progress”….something he hated.
Thisis a picture of Dutch standing next to a sign we made for him about 10years ago. It says “Thanks, Dutch……If it weren’t for you, we’d allbe punchin’ clocks!” In the center is an engine turned panel signed byall the stripers who showed up at the RatFink meet that year. When we gaveit to him, it was the only time I ever saw him teary-eyed and speechless!
Dutchused to like to write me every now and then. Pictured to the right arescans of 2 of the actual envelopes. Click on the photo to see a more detailedview.
My mailman was just about to quit what he thoughtof as a boring job until these letters started showing up. He’s still onthe job today!
I’mnot sure if VonDutch was trying to save a few pennies or if he just didn’tlike our official US stamps. For whatever reason only he knew, Dutch preferredto draw and color his own stamps. Click on the examples at left and seeif you don’t agree that his homemade stamps arn’t much better.
Picturedhere is a fibreglass CORD replica that I had in 1970. It burned up so Ire-designed it, and DUTCH did his thing to it. One of the crowning touchesto this car was a huge engine turned dash panel he made out of an old stopsign. He left the STOP part on the back and engine turned the opposit side.He thought it would be really funny if some guy restoring the car in thefuture, got up behind the dash and saw “STOP!”
Hereare scans of two original Von Dutch business cards. To the far left ishis pinstriping card and next to it is his machinist card. Click on eachimage for a more detailed image.
The bus was a Long Beach, California city bus that was given to Dutch by awoman in the early ’60s. for payment of some work he had done for her.He set up living quarters at the rear, the remainder of the vehicle wasa machine shop, including a bluing tank and an old metal lathe coveredwith Dutch’s pinstriping. The floor was covered with cigarette buts, beercans, and metal shavings. VonDutch was at best, a terrible housekeeper.
Back in the slleping quarters was a TV and about150 manuals on all sorts of machinery, motorcycles, and guns. He had aphotographic mind, so all the words in these books, were in his head. Hecould dictate verbatim, paragraph by paragraph, any part on any subjectin these manuals…..and give you the page number, too. I asked him onvewhy he bothered to keep the books, since he had them all memorized wordfor word. He said “I like to look at the pictures!”
Meet The Author
Bob Burns shared a 38 year friendship with Von Dutch that began in 1954 andended with his death in 1992. Today Bob lives with his wife Dawn in Prescott,Arizona where they own and operate Bob Burns Signs & Pinstriping. Stayedtuned for a future LetterheadProfile on Bob, his family and his work.
In the meantime, drop by hiswebsite. You may also want todrop Bob some e-mail to let himknow how much we all enjoyed sharing his memories and photos of the lifeand times of Von Dutch.
So You Wanna Get A Tatoo?
By Bandit |
I had the pleasure of meeting Andy Deaton about five years ago in a bar in Kailua, Hawaii. He sat down next to me, ordered a beer and began to ask me about my tattoos. I?ve been tattooed since age nineteen and have my collection extended across my back, my left arm (almost fully sleeved), a set of old English bold lettering on my chest. After telling him about my tattoos, who, when, where and why, he let me know that, when I was ready, he would like to sleeve my right arm for me. We chatted about ideas and styles over a few beers and agreed that I should roll by the shop and check out his work, which I did. I was impressed with the quality and range of styles Andy was producing.
Unfortunately, money is always tight and timing not always right. I wound up waiting many moons. I finally decided that a cover up was in order, for the lettering on my chest. I gave Andy artistic freedom and wound up with an awesome oriental dragon that I am stoked with. I have continued to visit Andy (money permitting) and now have an almost finished right sleeve as well.
Andy works out of Gun Point Tattoo and produces killer ink. I was fortunate to sit with Andy and discuss his history and insights into his art:
Ozzy: How did you get started in tattooing?
Andy: My father, Don Deaton, is a tattoo artist and I hung around his shop as a child. Then at eighteen, I went to Oregon to visit my father, wound up tattooing one of my school mates and moved there permanently in 1981, to apprentice with my father, at the old Bert Grimm tattoo shop.
Ozzy: Is tattooing what you?ve always wanted to do?
Andy: No. Actually I wanted to be an architect, but I didn?t want to go to school.So, I wound up following my father?s ways, and what started as a fascination, turned into a great career.
Ozzy: What else have you done, other that tattooing, to pay the bills?
Andy: I built A-frames in California from about 15 until I was 18. And I worked in restaurants off and on.
Ozzy: Have you ever had your own shop?
Andy: Yeah, 1982 I opened Portland Tattoo. It was only open for about a year,when I got an offer to come to Hawaii in 1983.
Ozzy: Wow, 20 years in paradise?
Andy: Yeah, it?ll be 20 years in November.
Ozzy: Must have been a good offer to close your business after a year?
Andy: Well, the girls who owned Skin Deep came to Oregon in ?82 and bought a bunchof art work from me. A good friend of mine moved to Maui, got married, andI did a bunch of work on him, and they saw it and invited me over for a six monthguest spot in their shop. So I did, and never left.
Ozzy: Have you ever given any thought to moving anywhere else?
Andy: No, Oahu is home. It?s a great place to be, with a diverse clientele from all over the world.
Ozzy: What is your favorite style of tattoo?
Andy: I like art that flows, gothic or renaissance, real soft washes, lots of black and gray, and real fluid as opposed to the old school.
Ozzy: Is that your favorite style to tattoo?
Andy: Oh yeah, that and portraits.
Ozzy: Who do you look up to in this industry?
Andy: There?s a guy called the Dutchman out of Westminster in Canada, who I met about 20 years ago. He?s just a phenomenal artist, who never claimed any fame.He just worked hard and put down a lot of ink. He?s probably been my hero in the business for a long time. Horioshi III is another amazing artist whonever stops working. People like that don?t recognize themselves as othershonor them.
Ozzy: Tattooing has seen a boom in the last few years with everyone from athletes and skaters to professional people. Do you think it will last?
Andy: Yeah, I think that once you break the ice it?s hard to go back. You make your statement and then you follow through, and it becomes a story, andthe story never ends. I think people get more excited as they go along. 10 yearsago, half the art you see today, people said it couldn?t be done. Either they didn?twant to take the time to do it, or they didn?t have the skill or confidence. Nowadays, anything?s possible. There?s a lot more input and feedback from the internet, MTV, and probably 20 different magazines. That?s huge exposure, and the more people that are exposed to it the bigger it?s going to get.
Ozzy: Do you think that the general population is more tolerant of tattoos today?
Andy: Absolutely, 20 years ago people getting tattooed only included military, bikers, punksand skinheads. Today it?s scholars, musicians, and athletes. People that the generalpopulation look up to or admire. A larger percent of the mainstream for sure.
Ozzy: What do you like to do other than tattoo people?
Andy: I like to write. I like to draw. I like to build and sculpt, create basically.
Ozzy: Who do you think is really innovative in today?s tattoo world?
Andy: There?s so much talent out there right now. It?s hard to single out any one style. There are a lot of people who claim to be the best and a lot of silentparties out there who are doing the real work. It?s just fun to watch everybodygrow and learn from each other. People who inspire others to do well, and exceed expectations, are the ones to be commended. They are the force behind innovators.
Stop by to see Andy at:
Gun Point Tattoo
438A Uluniu St.
Kailua, Hawaii, 96734
Or call for an appointment at (808)263-8485
“What It Takes”
By Bandit |
This original oil painting is 23 x 30 (33 x 41 framed). To date every painting that Tom has painted has sold immediately. The price, framed and shipped, is $21,000. Dealer price is $14,750. First come, first serve!www.segalfineart.com
Bandit Interviews Willie G.
By Bandit |
For those who don’t knowWilliam G. Davidson is theVice President of Styling at theHarley-Davidson Motor Company. He’s also the head of the newWillie G. Davidson Product Development Center inMilwaukee, Wisconsin.
As Vice President of Styling William G. “Willie G.” Davidson guides the design of all Harley-Davidson motorcycles. For nearly 40 years Willie G. has been responsible for successfully creating the distinctive look of all Harley-Davidson motorcycles.
Willie G. is the son of former Harley-Davidson president, William H. Davidson and the grandson of one of the original founders, William A. Davidson. Each of his three children, Karen, Bill and Michael, take active roles within the Company.
One of Willie G’s early and most notable designs, the classic Super Glide, was introduced in 1971. Following this success Willie G. and his design team developed a family of “custom” motorcycles, including the Lowrider, Caf? Racer, Heritage Softail, Fat Boy and Road King.
A Wisconsin native, Willie G. attended the University of Wisconsin for three years before transferring to and graduating from the Art Center College of Design in Los Angeles. Prior to joining the Company in 1963 Willie G. worked for over five years with Brook Stevens Associates, designing products ranging from furniture to outboard motors.
Willie G. was one of 13 executives who raised more than $75 million to purchase Harley-Davidson from American Machine and Foundry Incorporated (AMF) in 1981. He was one of the company’s owners during Harley-Davidson’s period of private ownership from 1981-1986.
Willie G. is an avid rider and has helped raise million of dollars for the Muscular Dystrophy Association and other national charities through his participation in motorcycle events. His artistic vision and generous dedication to the sport of motorcycling at these and other motorcycle rallies has made him a legend among motorcycle enthusiasts. In 2000 he was inducted into the American Motorcycle Association Hall of Fame. He was also inducted into the Sturgis Hall of Fame in 1993.
I caught up with Willie briefly at the Los Angeles Road Tour location and asked him a couple of question about the design center, custom bikes and the future. Enjoy.
Bandit: The last time I was in Milwaukee, in ’97, you were just opening the design center. How’s it going?
Willie: We are in the midst of a major addition. It was the necessary step to growth, putting everyone under one roof. We’re adding more office space and test space.
Bandit: Do you function constantly in design or do you delve into the engineering aspects?
Willie: Mainly industrial design is our area of expertise. We have engineers in our design center because we must work in sinc with them. A motorcycle is function and beauty, the way it looks and works must come together. There’s a way to building form to enhance function.
We can’t do this sort of thing locked up in a room. We have to get out into the streets and feel the rhythm and see what others are experiencing, so we ride and attend events.
Bandit: How’s the balancing act between tradition looks, new school designs and metric cruises designs.
Willie: You have to pay attention to the market and be sensitive to the air-cooled motorcycle which is our bread and butter. As volume increases and you want to continue your success you must broaden somehow to appeal to different riders whether in Europe or performance riders here such as the V-rod. It’s an addition to the product line not a replacement. We’re excited about it, but it won’t replace any of the air-cooled line.
It’s a balancing act. That’s exactly what we’re doing.
Bandit: What’s new on your plate right now?
Willie: That’s an awkward question because of confidentiality. I’ll just say design is discovery. We’re always looking for a solution. We’re facing numerous projects.
Bandit: From the custom product side you’re doing a tremendous job. Are you having fun with it?
Willie: Yeah. We are all riders and enjoy changing our own bikes. The custom parts line gives us more flexibility. I go to Daytona every year and each year I think I’ve seen it all, then I arrive and stumble upon something completely new which challenges us.
Bandit: From a government standpoint, is there one thing that is coming up that you are particularly concerned about?
Willie: We pay very close attention to that area. We have a team devoted to monitoring government actions. We are fully keyed into what’s happening. I think this is very serious stuff.
Bandit: Are you working on any personal projects at home?
Willie: We’re restoring a beautiful farm which will be terrific for displaying antique motorcycles. I’m also playing with a V-rod and a Deuce.
“For Sale: c1909 California Autocycle. Motor Needs Work.”
By Bandit |
It sounded interesting. When I saw it an hour later I was amazed. Not1909, surely? It was the first time I had seen a motorcycle with woodenrims – although common on early American bicycles, they were rarelyused in Australia.
When I got it home, I was still puzzled. But after considerable headscratching, and the discovery of 1902 patent dates on the engine andcoaster rear hub, I was convinced it was very early indeed.Confirmation came from a line drawing in Victor Page’s classic book”Early Motorcycles: Construction, Operation, Service”. The book itselfdates from around 1914, but the drawing of the Yale (California) whichclosely resembled my new find, was in a section labelled “Some EarlyAmerican Motorcycles Which Show a Wide Diversity of Opinion RegardingEssentials of Design Which are Standardized at the Present Time”.
The machine turned out to be a fascinating one. Although the motor had survived a major disaster at some stage (thus the flywheel on the wrong sideand a non-standard crank), in this it kept illustrious company. WhenGeorge Wyman became the first motorist to cross the continental USunder his own power in 1903, his only major mechanical failure was a broken crank!
The California Motor Company of San Francisco was short-lived.Announced in October 1901 to build a machine designed by Roy Marks, twoyears later in October 1903 an announcement appeared to the effect thatthe Kirk Manufacturing Company and the Snell Cycle Fittings Companywere to merge to for The Consolidated Manufacturing Company, and thatthis company, based in Toledo, Ohio, had acquired the rights to theCalifornia motorcycle.
The new machine, to be manufactured on the old machinery which had beenshipped to Toledo, was to be called the Yale -California. The firstYale motorcycle.
Not a very common machine in Australia, but there are a few similarsurviviors in the US. Although my machine has been mucked around withover the years, the original specs were:
Engine: 1 1/2 hp California, Patented R.C. Marks Sept 30, 1902
Lubrication: Oil in separate cup on top of motor
Ignition: Batteries in box above rear wheel, with “Dow-Port” coil intank
Carburettor: California patented wick carburettor in front of tank
Transmission: Direct belt
Frame: Cycle type, with leading link fork
Wheels: Wooden rims for 28×1 1/2 “singles” type tyres
Brakes: Atherton coaster rear, Duck roller brake at front
Tanks: Single tank for fuel, also holding coil and carburettor.
Builder: California Motor Company, 2212 Folsom St, San Francisco
Original Finish: Black frame and tank? Wheel rims with blue centres
Across America on a motorcycle
I’ve often wondered whether I could repeat it: to cross the continentalUS from San Francisco to New York on a gutless motorcycle with woodenwheels. But there are roads now. When George Wyman did it in 1903 therewere only tracks, and he had to retreat to the railway crossties tomake any progress at all. When he completed his 3800-mile journey onthe afternoon of July 6, 1903 he became the first person to cross thecontinent with a vehicle powered by an internal combustion engine. Thestuff of legends.
Roy Marks
All California motors have cast into the crankcase: R.C. Marks, andeither “Patent applied for” or “Pat’d Sept 30, 1902”. The motor waspatented by one Roy Marks, originally of Toledo, Ohio, then San Diegoand later of San Francisco. When the California Motor Company wasformed in 1901it was announced that “.. the immediate purpose of thecompany is the manufacture of a motor bicycle invented by R.C.Marks…” Although there is a restored machine in San Francisco thatpurports to be a Marks motorcycle, I believe it to be an earlyCalifornia. While Marks may have invented the machine, I don’t believehe was a motorcycle manufacturer.
When the California motorcycle was announced to the public in TheCycling Gazette in January 1902, one of its leading features wasdescribed as a “…carburetor that performs its function so well thatit does not cause the gas to deposit soot on the spark plug, and thatwill use gasoline of any quality.”
A short history of the California Motor CompanyThe first reference I have to the California Motor Company appeared inthe motorcycling press in October 1901 [1]. It’s brief enough that wecan reproduce it here in full:
To Make Motocycles in California
The California Motor Co. has been organised at San Francisco with LewisBill, president; J. W. Leavitt, vice president, and J. F. Bill,secretary and treasurer. While automobiles are in view, the immediatepurpose of the company is the manufacture of a motor bicycle inventedby R. C. Marks, formerly of Toledo, Ohio, who with E. E. Stoddard andH. A. Burgess constitute the firm.
I haven’t had a chance to search for company records, but it’s a fairbet the company itself was formed some time around September 1901.Marks filed the first of two patent applications covering the detailsof his motorcycle on September 7, 1901, and significantly Louis H. Billwas one of the witnesses on the application. (Note the spellingdifference: the patent being more “official”, I favour “Louis” as thecorrect version.) No doubt the new company was keen to protect itsintellectual property. In a slightly later piece [3], Leavitt & Bill(“…well known cycle dealers…”) were said to be the principal ownersof stock in the company, and L. H. Bill was described as “…formerlywith the Thomas company”. The company premises were listed at 2212Folsom St., San Francisco.
From the timing of this announcement, we see that if production ofCalifornia “motocycles” (this spelling was widespread in the early daysof the U.S. industry) did begin in 1901, it was very late in the year.By early 1902 the California publicity machine was in full swing and anumber of articles appeared in the motorcycling press [2-4]. The firstillustration I have appeared in The Motor Age early in February 1902[4], corresponding with the release of the first California catalogue.
By this time, the company was said to be “…making deliveries”.The machine as shown at this early date is very much as outlined inMark’s patent applications, and differs most notable from laterproduction Californias in that the front fork is rigid, and the driveis by round – rather than flat – belt. Accessories include the Duckbrake, and a Garford spring saddle. I’m not sure when the sprung frontfork appeared, but a very original early survivor in the US [5] isfitted with the unbraced fork, but with the sprung rocking links.Advertising through 1903 [6-8] used a photograph showing the bracedfork. Strangely little was said about the spring fork in periodadvertising, especially since in the 1906 Yale-California catalogue themakers claimed: “We were the first to use the spring front fork on amotor cycle”.
An amusing omission from this photo is the glass lubricating cup, thatsat on top of the crank case. Perhaps it was too embarrassing to admitto!
A significant event in 1902 was the granting on September 30 of two USpatents: 710,329 Explosive Engine for Motor-Vehicles (filed September7,1901), and 710,330 Carbureter for Explosive-Engines (filed January 2,1902). Although granted to Roy Marks, it seems likely that thesepatents were “company assets” which protected – and gave value to -their successful product.
1903 was a landmark year for the California Motor Company. It was theyear that they “made it” in the motorcycling world, but also the yearthat they ceased motorcycle manufacture for good.
Undoubtedly the biggest event of the year for the company was GeorgeWyman’s success in crossing the continent on his California motorcycle.The publicity generated by this event was huge: not only did it consumepages of the specialist press (for example The Motorcycle Magazine andThe Bicycling World and Motocycle Review both carried extensive reportsover several issues), but the event captured good coverage innewspapers of the day. California advertising made much of the epicachievement, but perhaps more importantly much of the post-rideeditorial comment read like California advertising copy. In thesepioneering days of motorcycling, the California was was in thespotlight.
But the directors of the company did not spend too much time basking inthe glory. Wyman completed his journey in July, and within three monthsa deal had been struck to sell the manufacturing rights of themotorcycle to the newly-formed Consolidated Manufacturing Company basedin Toledo, Ohio. The details were outlined in an article in the October17, 1903 edition of The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review headed”KIRK AND SNELL UNITE: Long Allied They Become One Company and Engagein Big Deal in Motor Bicycles”.
In part the article reads:The factory of the California Motor Company will be closed, theimportant machinery, etc., shipped to Toledo, and with it will go themen who built the machine that has made such an enviable record in theCoast country. L. H. Bill, however, will remain in San Francisco, wherethe California Motor Company will retain the coast agency.The new motorcycle was to be called the Yale-California, and while thefirst models were very similar to the original California, the machineevolved to become the once-famous Yale.
I’m not sure how much of the California Motor Company lived on in SanFrancisco after October 1903. Certainly L. H. Bill maintained a profilein the press, but when talking up Yale-California motorcycles in June1904 [10] his association was given as “C. E. & B. I. Bill”, and atestimonial in the 1906 Yale-California catalogue was addressed to”Messrs. Leavitt & Bill”. Perhaps someone with access to early SanFrancisco trade directories can help out?
Another puzzle: in one 1903 advertisement [8], the address of theCalifornia Motor Company is given as 305 Larkin St, San Francisco. Thesame address is given in January 1902 [3] for The California Handle BarCompany, manufacturers of a rather novel adjustable handle bar.Presumably another of Mr Bill’s cycle-based interests. Were Larkin andFolsom Streets nearby? Do the factories still exist?
So there we have it. In two hectic years the California Motor Companywas founded, built a motorcycle and a reputation, and then sold out. Ifthe history books are anything to go by, the company has essentiallybeen forgotten, despite producing what should be one of the most famousmotorcycles of all time: Wyman’s trans-continental mount. Hopefully the2003 centenary of Wynan’s ride will jog some memories.
References
The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review, 17 October 1901
The Cycling Gazette, January 1902, p 32
The Motor Age, 9 January 1902, pp 29-31
The Motor Age, 6 February 1902, pp 4-5
The Antique Motorcycle, Vol. 28, No. 1, Spring 1989
The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review, 18 April 1903
The Motor Age, 30 April 1903
The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review, 4 July 1903
The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review, 17 October 1903
The Bicycling World and Motocycle Review, 4 June 1904
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Howard Heilman, Yale enthusiast extraordinaire, how helpedout with many of the original references cited here. Other referenceswere found during a fascinating day spent in the reading room at theLibrary of Congress, Washington DC.
Young Floyd Clymer and the Yale-California
American readers will probably be familiar with the name of FloydClymer, dealer, rider and publisher. In July 1916, riding an 8-valveHarley-Davidson, Clymer set World’s Dirt Track records for one hour(83.71 miles) an 100 miles (1 hour 11 min. 45 sec.), and in 1926 he setthe record for the classic ascent of Pike’s Peak. But Clymer is perhapsbest known for his publishing efforts, among which were his “HistoricalScrapbooks”. First published in the early 1940’s, these were among thefirst publications to deal with what we would now call “vintage”vehicles.
Article and photos courtesy of: http://users.senet.com.au/~mitchell/bikes/california/california.htm
Harley-Davidson Drag Racing
By Bandit |
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Scooter Grubb
The Bikes of Smoke-Out XI
By Bandit |
The Smoke-Out has always been my favorite event to attend and I always mark my calendar well in advance every year. The Smoke-Out is held at the Rockingham Drag Way in Rockingham N.C. 
This year Vicki and I headed down to Rockingham Friday afternoon. We pulled into the parking lot of our hotel just before the skies opened up. By Saturday morning, the rain had moved out and we were headed to the Smoke-Out! [photo 683]
I am like a kid in a candy store at the Smoke-Out. There were too many bikes to see, so you had to pick and choose. Let me tell you about the bikes. These bikes at the Smoke-Out are not for the faint of heart. These bikes are no nonsense bikes, bare bones bikes, bikes that are garaged built. Don’t mistake garage built for low quality, these bikes are top shelf.
These bikes are built with a “less is more attitude.” They are motorcycles that feature kick starters, hand shifters of all varieties, foot clutches, some rear brakes only, no front brakes and solo seats, some covered, some just bare metal, long front ends to short front ends, Z-bars, Ape Hangers and of course rigid frames, no gadgets and very few gauges, Simplicity at it’s best! These are not beginner bikes; these bikes are for hard-core chopper jockeys.
One of the sweetest sounds at the Smoke-Out is the sound of all the open belt primaries, all singing their tune in unison. These bikes live by the creed of “Chains, Flames, and Rigid Frames.” Like I said these bikes are bare bones bikes, so if you plan on bringing anything with you, you had better make sure it fits in your pockets! [photo11686] 
All of Harley-Davidson’s engines are on display in the bikes of the Smoke-Out, from Flatheads to Knuckleheads to Panheads to Shovelheads to Iron Head Sportsters to Evos and even Twin Cams, you see it all at the Smoke-Out. Some of these engines are over 60 years old and that speaks volumes for the builders who keep this old iron on the road and it also tells you what kind of product that the Harley-Davidson Motor Company produces. These engines are as tough as nails, yeah they have been re-built, but the basic engine cases are still intact. 
There are also metric choppers at the Smoke-Out, a lot of 750 Hondas, and a good number of Yamaha XS 650’s. You will also see some of the nicest Triumphs on the planet. I would love to throw my leg over some of the Triumph customs I spotted! 
The Smoke-Out is a gathering of chopper builders, a chopper festival that sends you back in time by just being there. Back to the days when the long front ends and metallic helmets ruled the road. Back to a era when things were simple and less complicated, back to the days when there were no computer-designed bikes, to the days when your chopper notion was in your head, back to the days when we used basic tools to build our dream machines. 
Yes, we rolled back to the days of NO cell phones (for you younger readers, there was a time with no cell phones), back to the days when you had to know the basics to do some work on your bike on the side of the road. This is what makes the Smoke-Out so unique, the simplicity of it all, the simplicity of all the bikes and their riders. 
The chopper jockey at the Smoke-Out is different breed of animal. He or she does not really care about the newest bike offered or the latest trends in bikes. His mechanical mind has a historic perspective, from old school choppers with long front ends, to bobbers with short front ends. He stays true to the old school code of doing things and would never think of having an electric starter. Every time he kicks that bike to life, it is a tribute to riders of a time past. 
Every time he is blasting down a stretch of black top, you see Captain America and Billy from Easyriders bouncing down the highway. Yeah these bikes and riders are a “throw back” to a different time and a different world. I can tell you from experience there is nothing cooler than kick starting a bike and blasting down the asphalt and pushing that foot clutch in and reaching back to slap that jockey shift into a higher gear! 
Nothing comes close to that feeling! I know because I have a rigid frame, jockey shift, kick-start only bike and it is a blast to ride. You might be saying “Who would want to kick start a bike when we have electric starters?” Well to borrow and old saying “If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand!” 
Even if you ride a newer bike and most of us do, you are welcome at the Smoke-Out. It is a great place to see how it used to be and to even learn about the engines that preceded the Twin Cam. It also a great place to see old friends and make new ones. If you are a builder, it is a great place to pick up some ideas and some parts. 
The Smoke-Out is brought to us every year from the fine folks at “THE HORSE” magazine. This is the best chopper magazine on the rack today, grab a copy, and if you have never been to the Smoke-Out, this will give you an idea of what it is all about. 
I am already looking forward to next year; The Smoke -Out is like dying and going to chopper heaven! Yeah, CHOPPERS will always RULE! 
Until next time, RIDE!
–Stealth 
5-Ball Racing, Bonneville 2010, Part 10
By Bandit |
Okay, it’s the first of a drizzling July, and we’re flying at Bonneville like mad dogs. Plans for the Sturgis run were scrapped. We pondered our first Too Broke for Sturgis Run to Salome, Arizona, but our ’53 Lincoln road test to the desert was delayed one too many times. We mailed out the press release: “We were too broke, and burnin’ too much Bonneville daylight to produce the Too Broke for Sturgis Run.” 
But that’s not bad news when our focus should be on speed and developing the first Assalt Weapan Panhead to hit the 200-mph mark. Plus, the excitement level was pumped up a notch, when Bikernet was plugged into the JIMS machine marketing meeting.
“Could Bikernet build a JIMS-powered Bonneville racer for 2011?” asked Jim, the boss.
During the same week, we had a conversation with one of the notorious members of the Chop N Grind Racing Team, who live in Tarantula Gorge outside Amboy, California, in a sulfur mine. I can’t go into this conversation until the executive race committee meets for a slugfest fueled with Jack Daniels, but there’s some exciting news lingering on the horizon. 
Nothing like pure V-twin inspiration to kick up the Bonneville spirit, and the team began spending every waking moment in the shop preparing for September and the Bub Motorcycle Speed Trials. In the last chapter, we ended up with the new Bonneville seat from Saddleman, the Peashooter engine was complete, and frame modified. I purchased an Odyssey battery and was preparing for dyno testing at Bennett’s performance. 
Valerie and her boyfriend rolled up to the headquarters and she climbed aboard the long Assalt Weapan. She didn’t fit. We discussed moving the bars back, the pegs forwards, and I smiled and nodded, like a pussy-whipped husband.
After the cute pro-drag racer departed, I went to work moving the bars back. All mods appeared possible, but then I discovered I needed to widen the stainless bars to allow tank clearance. That put the grips into the wind. Jim Waggaman stopped by with some friends, and he made a sticky comment.
“We designed the fairing to fit the bars.”
His words stuck with me like gnat buzzing a piece of rotting fruit. I couldn’t shake them. Moving the bars looked possible, but I was forced to widen them, which wasn’t impossible, since I now own a TIG welder. But the wind issue bothered me. Everything I was doing with my precious Assalt Weapan was going to slow it down. Plus, the evil time constraint loomed on the horizon. How much time would it take to perfect all modifications? I took another step back and picked up a phone. 
“Ray, what the hell are you doing?” I said to Ray Wheeler, a mad 67-year-old biker, who lives for Bonneville.
“I’m just back from a cross-country, motorcycle run. What’s up?” he said of his current vocation. Ray pulls a truck all over the country picking up motorcycles from owners who are hard up for cash. Most are boxed and sold overseas. Sad days.
“Stop over. I need you to straddle the Assalt Weapan,” I said.
“I’ll be there tomorrow morning,” Ray snapped, and I could sense his ear-to-ear smile.
The next day, Ray straddled the Assalt Weapan and fit like a glove. Our 2010 effort shifted from sexy to senior citizen. What the hell, let’s ride.
I was relieved of one element of pressure, although I’ll miss Valerie’s delightful smile and shapely form. On the other hand, we have a new pilot flying in from Australia, Nicole Brosing, a island tattoo artist/biker, who was the first Miss Bikernet from Sturgis, a couple of years ago. She won the kickstart contest, and knew motorcycle components better than some of the guys. She’s the pilot for the Peashooter, if I finish it in time. 
My list for the Assalt Weapan was trimmed some, but I needed to set up my new Performance Machine brake master cylinder, bleed the brakes, install the new battery, switch out the bars for tuning, remove the front fender, and make a decision about the oil bag. I carefully considered using a remote oil bag to prevent damage to our aerodynamic underbelly oil pan. Plus I needed to build a new chain guard, but fuck it, I shifted to the Peashooter. 
This is unlike any project we have faced before. Nothing fits, unlike the V-twin components we’ve been working with for 40 years. Plus, I was trying to install a metric Ceriani front end from the ’60s. Nothing fit. First, I attacked the axle by dragging the whole tamale to a bearing supply. I thought it would be a breeze. We live in LA. If it exists, you can find it here. Not so fast, kimosabe.
The brother at the bearing supply in Long Beach looked at the standard sealed bearings, at my dinky metric axle and went hunting through hundreds of bearing catalogs. He could find the bearings for the wheel, or the bearings for the axle, but nothing fit both. We made an executive decision to go with a standard heavier duty 5/8 axle for the metric front end. I dug out all my old springer axles, and Sportster axles, and checked my options. 
I machined an axle to fit the bearings perfectly, then bored out the lower legs to accept the new axle. Then I machined the axle spacers and drilled the threaded portion for a cotter key.
Then I shifted to the neck. I ordered 45 neck cups from Paughco, which had to be machined down to fit the Peashooter casting, about .050. I used a JIMS tool to install the cups. I gotta tell you, I was nervous about the machining tolerances. One cup hole in the neck was .002 different from the top hole. I didn’t want to machine them too loose or too tight. Wish I knew what the hell I was doing.
Next, I had to machine the Paughco 45 springer neck bottom to fit the Ceriani lower triple tree. That was easy, but then the neck wouldn’t fit through the cups. In the process of driving them into the neck, they mushroomed just a couple of thousands to the inside, and I was forced to use a brake cylinder hone to clear the way.
Then I tried to mount a set of 7/8 bars and they wouldn’t fit. I dug around for a 13/16 drill bit and augured the hole for clearance. It took some time, but I was getting closer to setting the Peashooter on wheels. But that wasn’t the extent of my fitment obstacles. I needed to figure out how the bike would set and whether we needed to cut the stem down, or machine the Paughco stem nuts. Plus, I needed to bore the stem to fit the original Ceriani damper system in place.
I shifted to the rear of the frame and ground and filed out the axle adjustment slots to fit a .750-inch axle. I decided to use the front 19-inch Renegade wheel; that’s about as aerodynamic as a wheel can get. I had to cut my axle and TIG weld the nut to the head, then machine several spacers.
The next weekend, I rolled to Dixon for an antique meet, and I studied the early axle fasteners and adjusters. I’m still confused. The open slots allow the rider or mechanic to remove the wheel quickly, without removing the axle, but early bikes had large flat circular washers around the axles to prevent rear wheels from escaping. They were connected, I’m not sure how, to the axle adjusters.
I actually think the best option is to leave them open and safety-wire the axles to the frame. Another vintage dilemma solved, I hope. I’m hoping I can attach an ISR sprocket brake to this wheel to solve two issues, braking and sprocket. I dug around the shop, and fortunately, I never throw anything away. I discovered a short chunk of a classic ribbed fender. It fit the contour of the 19-inch Renegade perfectly, and I went to work mounting it and practicing TIG welding. I like working each puddle for maximum penetration and weld strength. I stumbled into another stash of brass hex rod and decided to make fender struts.
Then Dr. Nuttboy called. “I’ve got to escape the home front. Can we work on motorcycles?”
“Hell, yes,” I said.
Ol’ Nuttboy has like three PhDs in various fields, plus he’s a nut. We went to work returning the Assalt Weapan controls to their originally designed configuration. I dug out another set of handlebars and started to attach the Performance Machine master cylinder and the Storz Performance remote cylinder.
Then I tried the bottom-up system of bleeding. I have a bleeder kit stuffed into an oily zip-lock bag. One of the elements is a simple squirt bottle with a tapered top. I filled it semi-full with DOT 5, attached the pointy top and the black nipple. It popped cleanly over the bleeder nipple on the brake caliper. I loosened it and squeezed gently, so I didn’t create too much pressure, explode the junction and make a mess. I pulled on the hand lever to release air with my right hand, while squeezing with my left.
At first, I didn’t think it was working, so I loosened the cap on the master cylinder and fluid spilled out. It worked, and in five minutes, I had pressure and a filled remote reservoir. I capped off everything, bled the caliper a couple of times, and she was good to go.
The good doctor Nuttboy ground the stock chain guard to fit between the frame and the fender, and we initiated a system of grinding, fitting, selecting brackets, tacking, and back and forth, until we had a solid chain guard built and installed. I will ultimately have it powder-coated at Worco in Long Beach. He always has the latest magic flat black finish. Nuttboy and shifter
We went to work refitting the shifter to the original location. We machined a new brass bushing, then went to work on a new linkage. We dug around in the Bikernet scrap metal department for the perfect rod or tubing. I decided on some light stainless tubing, machined some hardened Allens, and pressed them into the tube. linkage
Then I called Kent, from Lucky Devil’s in Houston, a very sharp welder. Because of the carbon deposits in steel, I could use the stainless rod to weld the two pieces together. Then I discovered the large wind grabbing pegs mounted to the shifter and transmission. I scrapped them for some smaller, more aerodynamic Dewey shifter pegs, and then bent the rod to clear the starter bung on the BDL primary.
I kept digging around the shop for something I could use to act as a remote oil bag; then I started to reach out to pals in the industry. Gard Hollinger of LA ChopRods came up with a Moon Eyes tank that mounted easily on the side of the beast. I charged the Odyssey battery and installed it. I didn’t safety-wire everything before the dyno runs, but wish I had.
Last week, I was faced with the Bennett’s dyno run deadline, and I was apprehensive. Mil Blair, the boss of Pegasus Fuel Injection, asked me not to start the bike, because we weren’t sure what Berry Wardlaw, the boss of Accurate Engineering, accomplished on the east coast.
The Odyssey Battery had a problem turning over the big 120-inch Panhead, even with compression releases. Eric Bennett messed with the system, jumped it, and we got it to fire, and then discovered that the charging system wasn’t working. As it turned out, the fuse was blown. I installed a new 15-amp fuse today.
We made five sets of pulls, which took us from 112 hp and 120 pounds of torque to 118 hp and 123 pounds of torque as we made runs to 5000 and 6000 rpms. According to Berry Wardlaw, the master engine builder, the engine and cam timing are capable of 7000 rpm. Mil Blair and Steward Prince, the Pegasus principles, were on hand for tuning and here’s professor Prince’s assessment:
My thoughts on the test…..
·118 hp @5500.Very good.If we could run it to 7000, we would be around 140 hp.More tuning needed.
·Electrical systems sucks.The charging system must function correctly for EFI and the battery and starter have to turn the engine over at least at 300 RPM for reliable starting.
·I know I’m spoiled when it comes to dynos, but that facility was pretty bad.No air circulation means we’re breathing exhaust, plus the room temperature rises after each run, and no fresh air for the engine to breathe either.This is why the power went down after each run, even though we changed nothing. We should have been able to do 15 runs in 2 hours, not 5.
·We need to measure real air/fuel ratio in each exhaust. and what we were using won’t cut it.I suggest calling Daytona Twin tech and asking for a free one.You know Alan Alvarez?If you can get a system, I will install it and weld the bungs into the pipes.
·Looks to me like we have different air/fuel ratios in each cylinder.Could be because the engine sat around for 2 years and an injector got clogged, or because the tank and filter are dirty, or because the injection timing is wrong. We can fix this when we get the wide band.
·Lots of things falling off the bike.Do you need some help changing the nuts to nylocks and re-locking all fasteners?I could come out Wednesday to help.
·No reason to try nitrous until the bike is perfect, but I am working on some electronics to interface with the PFI unit to make it work.
–Stewart Prince
You can tell he’s a college professor, and my report card wasn’t up to snuff. Actually, since the dyno testing, I rebuilt the Spyke starter, fixed the fuse for the charging system, and I will safety-wire or fix the two fasteners that loosened up. Plus, I’ve ordered another battery and starter from Spyke to be on the safe side.We are also looking into adding a Daytona Twin Tech Wego III system to monitor the fuel mixture with 02 sensors in the exhaust system.
We took a couple of degrees out of the timing. I was surprised that the Pegasus system couldn’t accurately tell us where the timing was set. I may replace the wheel bearings with high dollar, slippery ceramic bearings, because I noticed some rust on the races (from the salt). We also discussed Compu-Fire high-speed charging systems. They drop all resistance at 4200 rpm, so no drag. We made another dyno pass at 117 hp and 127 pounds of torque.
Regarding the Pegasus system, it’s amazing for a system that’s as clean as a pin and not a closed-loop unit. It is capable of changing any aspect of tuning, fuel delivery, nitrous, etc. We just needed to know where the timing was set in Alabama.
It was Friday before the 4th of July and we needed to peel out by about 2:30 to miss traffic, so we shut down, loaded the World’s Fastest Panhead and head for a cold beer. I really appreciate Mil and Stewart for their time in Bennett’s smoky dyno room. I also want to thank Eric Bennett for operating his dyno for us. He has tremendous experience at Bonneville with his dad, and he’s riding a performance monster at the Bub meet this year. We also had a problem with the throttle cable stretching and giving us just 90 percent throttle. That last 10 percent could give us seriously erroneous readings, and kick our butts on the salt.
So, we survived Dyno Friday and returned to the headquarters with our tails between our legs. My homework was cut out for me and Dr. Nuttboy, the next time he needs to escape the confines of home.
Here’s my report to Professor Prince:
Hey Mr. Professor, sir.
I have reached out the H-D and Big Boar about batteries. I reached out to Allen Alvarez about the Wego system. I tore the starter apart, cleaned all the fittings/connections, checked it, and put it back together. I’ll fix the fasteners and secure the remote oil bag. I will safety-wire some fasteners for the next dyno run. And there’s a car dyno very nearby. I can hear it running many evenings. I’ll see if we can use it. I have also reached out to Berry Wardlaw for answers about tuning and the cam.
I’ll report back when my homework is complete. Thanks again, for your time. I’ll let you know when the Wego arrives.
The Humble Bikernet Mechanic, Bandit
I switched back to the Peashooter with a vengeance. It was time to fly or fuck off. This last weekend, I faced a daunting list of Peashooter projects from building the super short single exhaust, making a magneto spark plug wire with the help of LowBrow vintage wire, finish the fender struts, mount a seat, and grapple with the gas tank. 
I’ve never walked the sheet metal plank, or studied with the masters, although I’ve skimmed through a couple of Wolfgang books and came close to building an English wheel once. Gard Hollinger offered to let me use his English wheel, and I will take him up on that offer when I make my final aerodynamic heat shield before we head to Bonneville in September.
I dug all over the shop for tanks and discovered a Sporty tank. It belonged to Mark Lonsdale, who spends most of his time training security troops in Afghanistan. We had performed a flush-mounted gas cap tech on it for Easyriders, 12 years ago. When I held it up to the frame, it seemed to fit the line perfectly. I just needed to cut out the bottom, replace the bottom, add rubber-mounted bungs, the petcock bung, and I would be good to go. Plus, I needed to move that custom application cap over three inches. This is going to be fun.
Some days, we stumble into the shop and fly through projects like shit through a goose. Other days, I can make a simple 5-minute bracket, fuck it up, make another one, do it all wrong, scrap it, start over, and burn through an entire day unsuccessfully. This was almost one of those days. I cut the pipe elements several times, marked them carefully and tacked them in place.
Tacking is a factor of confidence. If I’m over-confident or in a hurry and go too far, I risk ruining the entire product. I started to tack the pipe elements together and got carried away. Of course, I placed the puzzle piece with the mounting bracket welded to it, into the mix upside down. If I had truly tacked it, then tested it, I could have popped it loose, turned it over and been golden. No fuckin’ way.
After tossing a section of the pipe across the shop, I started over.
It’s all good, though. The next pipe was a better product, with a more refined mounting system. Next, I mounted the M-88 Linkert carb. In this case, nothing I did went according to plan. I’m not sure if Billy Lane supplied me with the carb when he shipped the engine, but I ended up scavenging the entire choke system off another Linkert. carbs
For some reason, this float bowl was turned so that the float valve was accessible without removing the bowl, under a brass cap. I was fortunate to find the cap through the Wheels Through Time Museum gang, but it needed a seal brass or thick fiber washer. I dug around the shop until I found a perfect sealing fiber washer, except it was too small by a hair.
I used at least four grinding tools and a good hour carefully increasing the ID of this washer. Then I had to form a three-hole carb gasket out of a 4-hole Linkert unit. I spent at least two hours mounting this carb. The choke arm hit the frame, so I had to hit my parts carb again.
When you work by yourself in a shop, it’s always a good ideal to walk away from time to time. I always return with a fresh prospective. The seat operation was a damn good example. I had a solo seat pan and wanted to attach it low and as far back as possible. The seat post was operational due to Mackie’s efforts, but I pulled it. I made a bracket for the rear with minimalist suspension, but still some rubber mounts. Then I was going to run a brass lever up to the original pivot location. That pivot tab wrapped around the frame, and it was my sole stumbling block to shaping the gas tank because it wrapped completely around the frame and protruded 3/16s into the tank area.
So I mounted the seat at the rear and walked away. Later that night, I returned to the shop and discovered my folly. I disbanded the notion of running the pivot to the original position and discovered a much tighter location, which allowed me to remove the original and the only obstacle to completing the tank project. Yippee, goddamnit! Hopefully, by the end of this coming weekend, the 10th of July, most elements of the Peashooter will be fabricated. I can’t wait.
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