Having beenup for two days with Athena and Don at Vagabonds, (my pit crew for the race,) Ihad promised myself that I would leave with the ceremonial group and then finda place to rest, just up the road. At the first checkpoint, some twelve hourslater, I would roll into Destination Daytona and see my brother Cochise. “BigBen’s forty five minutes ahead of you,” he yelled. So I ran inside to get readyto roll on.

The secondleg would be a little further in length and we wouldn’t stop again until NorthWestern Mississippi. Along the road that night it was like Dawn Of The Dead.Bodies were scattered everywhere, some sleeping in gas stations, some walkingaround like zombies. I was still feeling pretty good, and other than smallpower naps here and there, I kept running. It was into day two when I saw someof the uglier aspects of what happens when people are competing for money. Roadsigns were being torn down, riders refused to help other riders, some evenpassing by when one would go down. I started to question that aspect of theevent and by the time I reached the second checkpoint I had decided that Iwould take my name out of the running for the money. We were on the ride of alifetime, and passing by so many treasures with complete disregard just wasn’tme. I couldn’t imagine a prize at the end being worth it anyway.

That night Islept at the checkpoint—a little bit anyway—before hitting the road again. Itwas somewhere in the Ozark Mountains where I began to have some greathallucinations.  Now if these had been prearranged by the purchase of somemind-altering substance from my younger years, they may not have struck such achord with me. As they came naturally, it was a whole different story. Theshort of that tale is that I sat down at a gas station and passed out on thephone while talking to my boy Curt back home. A few hours later I would beawaken by a police officer who told me I had to get moving. No big deal as I’vebeen there before, but this time, it seemed odd. He told me that he had beengetting complaints that my snoring was bothering the neighbors.

I wouldspend the next seven or eight days seeing the most beautiful and historicallysignificant places in our southern United States. National forests and parks,battlefields and monuments, all laid out before us along the trail of the HokaHey. We traveled through Arkansas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico through Arizonawhere we traveled the southern rim of the Grand Canyon. Then we went up intoWyoming for a view of Custer’s last stand and into South Dakota. There we wouldnot only pass Wounded Knee, but would also have the great privilege of meetingthe 96 -year-old chief of the Lakota Nation, Oliver Red Cloud. I brought him acan of tobacco and we had some time to talk about his life and pray for theHoka Hey Challenge riders, while seated on his front porch. 

From therewe headed up across Montana and into Canada. Hey, no one was more surprisedthan me to get across the border, but we did. I began interviewing riders as Iwent. One thing seemed to be constant: few riders were concerned with the moneyany longer. There were great stories of personal growth and deep reflectionthat seemed to be a sideline of the Hoka Hey at first, but later took a muchdeeper meaning in their minds. It seemed that as the ride got a lot harder—withthe added two thousand miles, the confusing directions, blistering heat andbone-chilling cold—all of these elements added up to the perfect ingredients forwhat many of us were looking for. More than a race, it was a chance to test ourresolve. If we could make this trip, keep our word and stay the course, wewould somehow end up better off on the other side. I saw men wrestling withtheir emotions and identity at every turn. The reached out to each other withmechanical help and food, the time we spent emphasized the brotherhood of thisroad. It was a revelation that crossed the common boundaries of race andnationality, it was the type of thing you see with men who have been throughgreat conflicts with each other it was poetry of the human condition.

Across theYukon I was so damn tired I ran off the road in my sleep several times, butmanaged to keep it on two wheels. I thought about my need for sleep, but everyfew miles I would see huge bears that were less concerned by my presence than Iwas of theirs. The sun never really set again and it seemed like an eternitybefore I reached Fairbanks and the final checkpoint at Harley-Davidson’snorthernmost outpost. It was past midnight there and with no one around Idecided to push on. I would have to navigate the Denali pass through Anchoragebefore spending four hours going down the Kenai Peninsula and reachingHomer.  I tried to focus but my mind was a mess. There’s only one road toHomer and I managed to get lost on it three times that afternoon. I was loosingit.

I’ve beenhome a few days now and I hear all this chatter coming from the Internet aboutthe Challenge. The only thing I can offer is this. For the lessons I learnedfrom this run, for those I saw other men and women receive, for the effect ithad on our people and for the impact I believe the many stories will have onhumanity in our time, this was the most righteous thing I have ever been a partof. As for the money at the end, after watching Jim and his wife, theirpersonal connection to each rider and their story, I can’t believe they ever setout to cheat anyone. If anything, they gave us this beautiful journey withoutever waving a big flag saying what it was we would get in the end. For mymoney, I would do the Hoka Hey again and again. But hey, I’m just andever-lovin’ scooter tramp.

Most people drive cars, but I choose to ride amotorcycle. My name will mean nothing to them. The problem is that my life alsomeans nothing to them. I look over as I’m riding, and watch people illegallytalking on the phone, texting, reading, eating, and doing anything andeverything but paying attention. I’ve had them change lanes into me, turn leftin front of me, and rear-end me at stop lights. They’ve killed and injured myfriends with their careless disregard for those of us who ride, yet it hasn’tcaused them one moment of grief or regret. If one of them carelessly took mylife tomorrow, they would not even bother to read my name in the tiny report inthe “Local” section of The Bee.

Our state legislators have forced us to wearhelmets in the name of safety, yet it was not their concern for us, but thepolitical contributions from insurance companies pushed this law through. Itwas all about the money. Now, they want to pass another law and severelyrestrict one of the three things that keep us alive in today’s unpredictabletraffic: Those three indisputable factors are our sight, our hearing(restricted by helmets), and our ability to attract the attention of driversaround us. Unless drivers are sufficiently forewarned of our presence, theywill not notice a motorcycle, and our invisibility to them is the biggestthreat to our safety. In most cases of accidents involving cars versusmotorcycles (85 percent the fault of the motorist), usually involving the deathof the motorcyclist, the investigating officer hears, “but officer, I didn’t seethe motorcycle!”

Do I consider this the fault of motorists ingeneral? To some degree, yes, but in a larger sense, it is because society hasbecome so busy with our complicated and technologically enhanced lives that wefail to take sufficient notice of what transpires around us. This is no longerthe “simpler times” when we could usually depend on other drivers to see andobey stop signs, or stay in their lane, and self preservation must become ournumber one priority. Those who have never ridden a motorcycle may find thishard to accept, but motorcycles have been part of America’s heritage for morethan one hundred years, and as most exceed 40 miles per gallon, they are also afactor in reducing our “carbon footprint.”

Do I have loud pipes on my motorcycle? Absolutely,for the same reason that a police officer wears a bulletproof vest. They bothsave lives. Do my loud pipes annoy other drivers? I’m sure they do at times,but their inattention both annoys and endangers me, and at least when they’resufficiently annoyed, they will look for the source, and I get to live anotherday. I do, however, make it a point not to make unnecessary noise inresidential areas, and most other riders do the same.

When you sit in your living room watchingtelevision and are momentarily inconvenienced by the sound of a loudmotorcycle, remember: The rider is alive, and it’s thanks in part to the soundyou find so offensive. Think about us raising our families, and playing withour grandchildren, then ask yourselves if our lives aren’t worth missing a fewseconds of your favorite show.

My life only matters to me, my family, and a smallgroup of friends. It doesn’t matter to the guy eating his hamburger in hisLexus at 75 miles per hour, the woman looking into the back seat, scolding herkids in the car that’s dangerously close to my rear fender, or to the young manwho whips his sports car into my lane so close I have to hit the brakes toavoid a collision. Do they see me? No. Do they look when they hear me? Yes.That could be the difference between playing with my grandchildren and beingjust another unread name in the obituaries.

–Buckshot
Madera, Califa

What could be better, than to ride to an event and have the gods of the industry make the mods to your machine right before you very eyes. The crew at Baker came up with the plan, to start installing American Make Baker components at major events all over the country. It’s not a completely new program; tire guys have been doing it for years. But this Baker program is beneficial for everyone. It allows Baker staff to work with their customers directly. It allows the customer to interface directly with the manufacturer, no middleman. It also allows dealers to work with Baker to learn about new products and installation questions can be answered on the spot. What could be better?

Here’s what the Baker team says about this system:

Don’t think about your ride to the event – think about the ride home. Think about how nice it would be to ride back with a few-hundred less, bike rattling, fuel sucking, bolt-loosening, ass-numbing, motor RPMs. Forget about the screaming that your engine did on the way out. Your smiling mill will run purely in the sweet spot all the way back home.

There’s so much more to the Baker on-sight system of installs. They offer way more that just complete transmission upgrades. Here’s the vast list:

– DD6
– DD7
– Oil Pans
– Clutches
– Function Formed FL Oil Spouts
– Sprocket and pulley changes
– 12 step program: we diagnose and repair most broken trannies on the road as well

Each product is priced at a package deal including:
– All parts – BAKER
– All fluids – Spectro
– All gaskets – Cometic
– All labor – By our fully licensed Official Install Team
– All tax
– All exclusive unbeatable BAKER warranties
– Full test ride and speedometer recalibration (if applicable)

I’ll let Trish explain the process, “The customer drops their bike off in the morning and depending on how many we have on the lifts that day, and what jobs we’re doing: they are generally on the road by early to mid afternoon again.

“We run two lifts nonstop all day with a team of mechanics who own a shop in the Detroit area, not far from BAKER. They are all licensed and not only know the ins and outs of the tranny but know the entire bike – so they are able to identify a lot more than just a trans tech.

“We are installing around the country at most major rallies: Daytona Bike Week, Panama City Thunder Beach Rally, Sturgis Rally, Biketoberfest, Panama City Fall Rally, and more local functions as well.

“It really gives the customer peace of mind. Your bike is down for part of a day – you have the chance to go walk and enjoy the rally, bar-hop, eat, whatever – and return at the end of it to a whole new motorcycle.”

So, forget about that old 5-speed and return home with the award-winning BAKER Direct Drive 6-Speed to keep up with the new Cruise Drive equipped Harley-Davidsons. During a healthy afternoon of bar-hopping in downtown Sturgis you can be all set. Get a BAKER DD6 installed while you eat, drink, and celebrate your all-new ride home with a more-relaxed engine, a quieter transmission, a more-efficient motorcycle. Read more on why the DD6 is perfect for the long ride home at www.bakerdrivetrain.com/DD6

The DD6 and DD7 give customers an added gear, and a smoother, more efficient ride, with a 450-500 RPM drop in final gear. The Baker Oil Pan provides a temperature drop and also carries an extra quart of oil – and can be added to a transmission upgrade for a really inexpensive price! The FL oil spout screws in to prevent blowing out under pressure and has a really sleek, slim look.

And our upgraded clutches: the 9-Plate Street Performance and the King Kong Klutch are both easy to pull and provide better performance with more friction coated plates (20 big ones in the King Kong Klutch!).

I spoke to Evan from Detroit for any additional tips. “We have bag stands and plenty of room to set parts aside during installs, so a rider doesn’t need to think about anything but getting here. Anytime we perform a transmission upgrade, it’s a good time to change belts, install a chrome inner primary, and taller tranny belt sprockets, etc. If it has anything to do with our operation, just bring the part and we’ll take care of it.”

If a customer wants to install the upgraded touring oil bag, which is a natural for long distance bikes, it’s also a perfect opportunity to improve handling with a True Track system, which is built into the cast Baker larger capacity oil pan.

For 2010 Baker will be located near the Sturgis Community Center at 5th and Lazelle, right on the corner, next to the Harley-Davidson display. Feel free to mention Bikernet when you drop in for an appointment.

Baker DD6

The BAKER DD6 is the ultimate transmission for serious touring, bagger, Softail, or Dyna riders. The ones who really put the miles on appreciate the silent smoothness with our helical highway gears and direct drive engineering. All steps have been taken to dampen vibration so you, your motor, and the rest of the bike can go the long haul for years to come. Owning an American made BAKER DD6 will give you peace of mind in your travels. You’ll know that you have the premium drivetrain transmission that strictly is built to endure. You’ll have comfort in knowing that your investment is also supported passionately by BAKER Drivetrain with our hefty 5-year/50,000 warranty. No worries. Ride on. Now get the hell out there, ride hard and far, and know that you’re in good company with the award-winning DD6™ from the drivetrain authority. We’ll take you farther.

We are Bagger DrivetrainWe’re just going to get straight to the point: all 1999-2006 baggers ought to have a BAKER DD6 transmission. It’s specifically designed with these bikes in mind. Harley acknowledged the need for a 6-speed with the release of their Cruise Drive a few years ago. There are millions of bikes of this vintage on the fast-moving modern highways that can have a brand new existence with the installation of our Direct Drive 6-Speed.

Our DD6 is finessed for touring model bikes, especially for the later Twin Cam powertrains, as the DD6 mitigates noise amplified in the hollow space between the motor and the tranny. It is the perfect blend of gear ratio, gear type, noise reduction advancements, shift system technology, bearing upgrades and ease of installation. Since the release of the BAKER DD6 in 2003, there have been thousands of satisfied customers world-wide with American touring Big Twins who will attest that it is the premium transmission of choice.

We’ll sell you our normal BAKER Overdrive 6-Speed (OD6) and you’ll enjoy it, but we’d be doing you a disservice as the Drivetrain Authority if we don’t convince you that the DD6 is the best value for your buck. Comparing the cost of time, labor, and additional accessories and factoring in our 5 year warranty, proven dependability, the number of years on the road and our reputation the choice will be clear.

What you get with the DD6:
* Pre-assembled gearset, ready to easily install. Install on a Saturday and ride on Sunday!
* Helical 4th, 5th and 6th, for a smooth and quiet ride in your cruising gears.
* 28-tooth compensating sprocket included. Necessary to maintain 1st – 5th stock gearing.

Note: For better get-up-and-go, a 27-tooth compensating sprocket is available as a no-cost option.

* Overdrive is obtained through the primary, so this ratio reduces strain on the starter with 14% more torque. The lower RPM in the primary drive reduces resonant noise found in Twin Cam transmission cases at higher primary RPM’s.
* Roller detent shift drum, with fixed spindle, eliminates shimming and misalignment.
* Finding neutral is very easy with a redundant neutral detent. It also makes installation simpler and less risky to screw up.
* Inner primary race/spacer included.
* 3-point contact shift forks, hard chrome plated for extended life.
* Shifter pawl assembly with improved geometry for a perfect response. Includes a built in overshift protection for smooth, precise shifting.
* Primary chain included with kit.
* 1st, 2nd, and 3rd gears are straight cut to prevent lateral tension in those high torque, short-used gear ranges.
* Stiff, precise billet aluminum bearing door that offers more bearing-protecting lateral rigidity than any other helical gearset available.
* Proprietary fork rod made to bearing grade specifications which eliminates hang-ups.

What you get from the DD6:

* The feel of a new bike: The end-all,proven and perfected helical gear design for smooth and silent operation in the cruising gears (4th-6th).
* The option to ride hard: Conventional gear shape for strength in the high-torque ranges (1st-3rd) so you can get on it and wick that throttle!
* Optimized use of horsepower: 99% efficient in 6th gear with a 400-500 rpm reduction depending on application.
* Certain and positive shifting: Fixed spindle shift drum for smooth, low inertia, drum indexing. Anti-overshift ratchet pawl prevents mis-shifts.
* Confidence in the ride: Full width BAKER ground gears finished on diamondcoated tooling are strong and dependable.
* A good feeling about your investment: 5 year / 50,000 mile BAKER limited warranty keeps you worry free!
* An American soul: It’s made in the USA! It’s designed here too. You’ll have a leg up on those riders with cheap, foreign junk.
* Easy installation: No grinding to the case required (with very, very rare exceptions). Many competitors’ 6-speed builder’s kits do require grinding.
* No exhaust clearance issues: The trap door is the same width as stock.

Applications and Fitment

Softail
FXST: Softail Standard FXSTB: Night Train
FXSTBI: Night Train EFI
FXSTC: Softail Custom
FXSTD: Softail Deuce
FXSTS: Springer Softail
FXWG: Wide Glide
FLST: Heritage Softail
FLSTC: Heritage Classic
FLSTF: Fat Boy
FLSTFI: 15th anniversary Fat Boy
FLSTN: Nostalgia and 2005 Softail Deluxe
FLSTS: Heritage Springer
FLSTSC: Springer Softail Classic

Dyna
FX: Superglide, Kick start
FXB: Sturgis Belt (80,81&82)
FXD: Dyna Super Glide
FXDB: Dyna Sturgis (1991)
FXDC: Dyna Super Glide Custom
FXDG: Dyna Glide/Sturgis
FXDL: Dyna Low Rider
FXDS-CON: Dyna Convertible
FXDWG: Dyna Wide Glide
FXDX: Dyna Super Glide Sport
FXDXT: Super Glide T-Sport
FXE: Superglide Electric Start
FXEF: Fatbob

FLT
FL: 4-Speed Dresser
FLH: 4-Speed Electra Glide
FLHS: FLT with windshield and less goodies S = Sport
FLHPI: Road King police model
FLHR: Road King
FLHRCI: Road King Classic
FLHS: Electra Glide Sport
FLHT: Electra Glide Standard
FLHTC: Electra Glide Classic
FLHTCSE: Screamin Eagle Electra Glide
FLHTPI: Electra glide police model
FLHTCUI: Ultra Classic Electra Glide
FLHTCUSE: Screamin Eagle Ultra Classic
FLT: Rubber Mount Dresser
FLTC: Rubber Mount Dresser Classic
FLTCU: Rubber Mount Dresser Classic Ultra
FLTR: Road Glide
FLTRI: Road Glide EFI
FLTRSEI: Screamin Eagle Road Glide

FXR
FXR: Rubber Mount Super Glide
FXRDG – Disc Glide
FXRP – Police or pursuit – Defender
FXRS: FXR Sport
FXRS-CON: FXR Sport Convertible
FXRS-SP: Low Rider Sport Edition
FXRT: FXR Touring

If you don’t see your specific bike on the list, call and ask. You never know. We have our ways. Transmissions on some of the bikes listed may not perfectly drop in without modification.

DD6 features and advantages

* Chrome Trap Door with Engraved DD6 Logo
* Anti-Overshift Ratchet Pawl
* 28-tooth compensating sprocket yelds 14% more starter system torque
* Longer primary chain included.
* Fixed spindle shift drum for smooth, low inertia, drum indexing
* Full width BAKER BAKER Ground Gears

DD6 Gear Ratios: Top Gear RPM : 5-Speed vs. DD6

65 mph: from 2945 to 2528
70 mph: from 3172 to 2723
75 mph: from 3398 to 2917
80 mph: from 3625 to 3112

Calculated data based on a 24/37 primary, a 32/70 secondary, and a 25” rear tire. Standard Ratios (w/o 28T Comp Sprocket) 3.77, 2.56, 1.87, 1.44, 1.15, 1.00

NOTE: 28-tooth comp sprocket supplied with DD6. Gear Ratio 3.45 1st Gear (effectively 2.94)

DD7: Direct drive 7-speed transmission

The DD7 includes a unique Function-Formed Top Cover

The Baker DD7, Direct Drive 7-Speed is being developed as a direct replacement of the Cruise Drive Harley-Davidson factory 6-speed to improve it in many ways besides just adding another gear.

Stay in the best power range: Many complain that the factory 1st gear is too tall and these bikes feel bogged-down at the stoplight. The DD7 has a shorter 1st gear for improved get-up-and-go.

Because of the shorter first gear and following gear ratios, testers report that the bike feels like motor work has been done. The shift quality is unheard of as well.

The Harley-Davidson factory 6-speed ratios are: 1st (3.34), 2nd (2.30), 3rd (1.71), 4th (1.41), 5th (1.18), 6th (1.00).

The Baker DD7 transmission will have the following ratios: 1st (3.76), 2nd (2.75), 3rd (2.06), 4th (1.55), 5th (1.27), 6th (1.10), 7th (1.00).

Shift smoother: In transmission design low mainshaft weight is always desirable for smooth and quiet shifts. The factory mainshaft is a one-piece design that includes 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th gears. The audible shift clunk in the factory 6-speed is caused by the heavy rotating weight and the resultant high inertia of the 1-piece forged mainshaft. The DD7 mainshaft is light weight and only includes the small 1st gear as an integral part to keep weight down. The shift clunk is absolutely minimized.

Shift smoother yet: Shift smoothness in the factory 6-speed is a definite improvement over the 5-speed. The DD7 is a big improvement over the factory 6-speed because it incorporates a new linear roller ball detent as part of the supplied billet top cover. This linear roller ball detent is similar to the technology first used in Baker TorqueBox transmissions. In the Baker DD7, the shift drum is designed to help the rider find neutral every time, like with all other Baker transmissions.

Ride quieter: The factory 6-speed has straight cut 1st and 5th gears. This yields gear noise in 5th which is a gear that riders spend much time in.The DD7 has straight cut gears in 2nd and 3rd. Gears 1, 4-7 are helical. All gears (1-7) have diamond ground tooth profiles.

Additional features include:

* The DD7 Shift System has design cues based on our experience in the drivetrain world.
• Ease of Finding Neutral
• Smooth Shifting
• No Clunks or jerky shifts

* Utilizes ball bearing linear detent in the top cover that was originally designed for the automotive OEM (similar to the Torque Box)

* The DD7 Builder’s kits will come ready to slide in the bike, no case modifications, shimming of the gearset or adjustments required.

* 7th Main Drive Gear, Main Drive Gear Bearing, Main Drive Seal,ncluded in Builder’s kit, to replace 6th main.

* ARP 12pt Bolts for Door, Top Cover and Stock Side Cover

* Re-uses stock shifter pawl. Includes new Main drive gear bearing and seal, door gasket, side cover gasket, and top cover gasket.
* BAKER Re-Cal Box and Leads Included.
* Utilizes F6F Door Bearing Retainer Plate.
* DD7 Door Bearings are 28% Wider Than Stock .
* Trap Door is available in Winkle Black at no additional cost.

 If you want to take advantage of this opportunity call the Baker hotline, quick, and set an appointment: Toll Free Phone Number is (877) 640-2004. Tell ’em Bikernet Sent Ya.

Kingman, AZ – In order to make an extended stop inKingman, AZ you don’t have to attend, as I did a couple of months ago, theLaughlin River Run on the Nevada side of the Colorado river. But it helps.Firstly, one is normally traveling through Kingman and not to Kingman.

Beyond “King” – a town thatloudly touts old-time, plus-sized film star Andy Devine as a celebrated son –is the grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the edgy vibe of Phoenix. Even artsyfartsy affectations of Albuquerque, NM are a bigger draw. So, except for some“vintage” motels surviving from the early days when motorized travel became thenational rage, there’s not too much reason to linger here. As a result, Kingmanis often relegated to an eat-here-and-get-gas stop. That’s probably not fair,but that’s just the way it is. No offense, Kingmanites.

However, during the annualLaughlin River Run, many of the motorcycle riders attending that celebratedevent apparently can’t wait to get out of the host Nevada town (the “why” ofthat is better left until another time). Even lowly Bullhead City, AZ drawsriders looking for something, anything, to entertain them. In that light,Kingman looks like a beckoning motorcycling Mecca of unimaginable allure; or soyou’d think judging by the number of bikes boogying east during the springtimeLaughlin event.

The River Run organizersseem to know this and obligingly schedule a major poker run to leave Nevada onSaturday morning and make tracks for Kingman. This year, the first road stop onthat run was at the Powerhouse Visitor Center in “olde” downtown Kingman, rightoff historic Route 66 (which doubles as Andy Devine Ave.). The center is home toa museum devoted to the Mother Road, as many call old Rt. 66. This exhibitalone does make stopping in Kingman well worthwhile.

Upon arrival we saw thatthe center’s parking lot was filled with the poker runners’ rides. To draw acard, they would have to maneuver through a hotrod car show that sparkled underthe bright Arizona skies. What we didn’t know was that, like the Arizonaprospectors of old, we were about to strike it rich. The difference is ourdiscovery was to be a cache of chopper bike gold.

Choppergold

As metalflake terrific asthe rod show was, it was a row of what looked to be custom motorcycles alongone edge of the lot that caught our eye. Even from a distance, it was apparentthat these long, low-slung custom motorcycles sported the extended front ends,wild paint, king and queen seats, tiny “prism” tanks, molded hard tail frames,and one-off sissy bars, all features that came to define the classic choppermade popular several decades ago.

A closer inspection thisday revealed that many of these confections, some with 20-inch over (or more)extended front ends — naturally, sans fenders or front brakes — were poweredby metric engines, particularly the venerable Honda in-line 750 power plant.Zowie, Honda choppers!

 

Not every power plant wasmetric — at least one of the bikes had an H-D Sportster engine — but wewondered if this marked some type of retro revival of the crazy-cool,days-gone-by bike styling of the 1960s, ’70s and early ’80s? All that wasmissing were guys in bell-bottom jeans with mutton chop sideburns.

But an even closerinspection showed that, holy crap, these weren’t tribute bikes, these were the bikes of that golden era of custombuilds, the ones that graced the old bike rag covers, like StreetChopper, Hot Bike, and Easyriders. These were the chops that inspiredthe work of the legendary artist/illustrator, David Mann. This was chopper goldand we were standing at the entrance to the mine.

Nor were these just anyrag-tag assembly of choppers. From their crushed velvet-upholstered seats ondown, they were the spawn of one legendary San Bernardino bike shop, Denver’sChoppers and its late, visionary owner, Denver Mullins (who reportedlypreferred the metric engines for their bullet-proof reliability and muscularperformance). These bad chops were straight out of Berdoo and are livingchopper history. The mystery – at least for us — was how the hell did they cometo be in Kingman, AZ and all at once?

Objects ofobsession

Luckily, we couldn’t staybaffled for long. That’s because the moving force behind the preservation ofthis batch of bikes, Kayelynn Johnson (AKA KayJohn) was standing nearby. So toowere his two principal cohorts in this shared obsession, Jim Stephens (AKAChopperjim) and Kenny Scott. They were happy to discuss the bikes and pose forsome photos.

Later, aided with Internetaccess and armed with email addresses the trio had provided, we were able topiece together at least some of the story behind these remarkable bikes. Thecaveat for what follows is that some of this history — spiced, perhaps, with adose of myth and biker legend — is a bit clouded by time and the times (it wasthe 1960s and ’70s after all), so rabid chopperholics will have to wait for thedefinitive word until KayJohn and Chopperjim publish a long-awaited book onDenver’s Choppers.

What is very clear inKayJohn’s mind is the day some 18 years ago when, while delivering some autoparts he had painted for a customer in Northern Arizona, he first spied aDenver’s Chopper under a tarp in the customer’s garage. It was love, or atleast lust, at first peek under that dusty covering. After some haggling, hesoon carted the bike home.

Ironically, he wasn’treally aware of what he had; he just liked the bike the way it was. Later, acustomer would show him some back issues of bike magazines with Denver’s buildsin them. An obsession was born. Without fussing too much with the originalpaint, he tuned the CB 750 Honda engine, slapped some new rubber on the rims,and replaced a couple of minor missing items. It remains, he says, the bestexample of an un-restored Denver’s Chopper that he and others have seen.

Next, his buddy Jim, who,up until then, hadn’t even owned a motorcycle, went after and found his ownDenver’s Chopper. In the years that followed, there were more bikes discovered– with names like Exorcist’s Delight and My Dream — and additional friendsbought on board. Collectively, the group now has seven DC builds.

Back in theday

Luckily for thoseinterested in preserving or learning about the early history of the Californiachopper bike scene (and the legendary Denver’s Chopper builds), many of thebest examples of that era’s bikes were documented in the enthusiasts’ magazinesof the day. Many of those gems either came right out of the Denver’s Choppersshop (or its successor shop, Berdoo Choppers) or sported parts, paint or otheritems from the men who worked there.

Fortunate too is the factthat folks like Denver’s partner Butch Araiza, painter Mike “Mafua” Craig, andbuilder Freddie Hernandez – to name only a few — survived on the scene longafter Denver’s death in a drag boat accident in October, 1992. Theirrecollections have helped fill in many of the blanks in telling the Denver’sChopper story. Helpful too has been input from Denver’s widow and his daughter.(Mondo Porras, who did some work for Denver way back and was involved in thepair’s boat drag racing adventures, purchased some of the original shop’s stockafter Denver’s death, and now has a motorcycle shop in the Las Vegas area.)

Today, after restoringseveral of the Denver’s Chopper’s bikes, KayJohn and friends are still hungryfor more. It’s estimated that some 2,000 bikes were built in whole or part (orused components such as the frame or extended front end) during the Berdooshop’s heyday. Bandit built one, and it was featured on the cover ofEasyriders in the ’70s.

At least one discussionthread on the Internet (go to www.JockeyJournal.com) contains a gold mine ofinformation about these special scoots. Lastly, KayJohn and his buddies havehad business cards printed up that ask questions like: “Do you have a Denver’sChopper or know someone who does?” If so, please, they ask, please send anemail to kayjohn1960@hotmail.com. You too can share a wonderful longbike obsession. It’s the best reason we can think of to make a trip to KingmanAZ. Maybe it is a motorcycle Mecca after all.

What a day, actually, what a week! Here’s a pic to start things off with a BANG!

A fire in the pits is always a serious matter…..and I tie into this one, later. The young 13 yr old lad Nick Bowie (in front of the cooler, his dad Doug is the bald guy) was running / driving the  truck to spin the rollers to start the bike at the time of the fire. We were on the track at the time, very stressful situation. He handled the situation and was unharmed. Deans son Martin was a few yards away also….no one was hurt. Other racers jumped in with extinguishers and literally saved the day….yes that is the scorched truck gas tank fill cover…..and not pictured is the (2) 5 gal steel drums of oxygenated race gas on the tailgate….we got lucky….fire crew was on the spot!

The week started with me still wrenching on Donavon Gravlees stocker for the 350GP class. We got the motor built and in, and I was tidying things up. I had my motor sitting there, Dean had gotten the cam timing process down (thanx homie) close to done. I bought new nuts for the main studs, and started checking bolt torques Thursday….POP!….Crap!…there are 2 bolts holding the head to the jugs, just under the sparkplugs, and one let go. Bad part is I would likely have to pull all the hard work with the cam timing apart, to try a Heli-coil. I shelved the idea. No sense in rushing in and making a bad situation worse, so I decided to focus on Donavon’s bike, but tonight it was time to Party.

The High Museum of Art here in Atlanta had a show running called “The Allure of the Automobile”. Very prestigious cars. Well, as a change of pace they invited the Fuller Hot Rods crew to display some bikes and kinda party in the lobby….with my motor wows, the timing was perfect….I headed downtown to meet with the crew, knock back a few cold ones, and take in the sights (both human and mechanical).

Bryan had produced a short film about his crew. Very well done. Each member got their few minutes of glory, gave their history, some of their work….I even made the show with a slide of me racing at Talladega…my boy Dean, yea, We were on the big screen in a world renown  museum, who’d-a-thunk that up?!

Great evening….Thanx Fuller, you’re OK by me!

So, Donavon arrived from Birmingham, Al on Friday afternoon. I had already given the bike a couple heat cycles to the rings and pistons that Dean had donated and installed  to the effort, no smoke, ran well. I had it ready for Donavon to try.

He hopped on it, and took it for a run.  Blasting, then silence, not good. He comes back riding the bike, with half the exhaust in his hand! It had come free, and he RAN IT OVER!  Then his seat came loose, but we got things straightened out. He headed to the track about 9pm Friday, I was heading up in the morning.

He graciously offered me a ride for Saturday, which I accepted, but I was cautious because the race he offered me was BEFORE his. What if I crash and he can’t race? WHICH HAPPENED! 

More later.

Since Donavon had never been to Road Atlanta before, he was going to run both vintage practice sessions, and I would try to sneak in a session with the modern lightweight bikes. Well, there were teething issues, we got them fixed, but I missed my practice session.

This is gonna be great, I’ve turned 3 laps since Feb, haven’t been on the track since, was on a borrowed bike, and no practice….things were looking up! Let’s run ‘em boys!

Donavons 2^nd practice goes like clockwork. He is happy….I am happy, and ready to race.

I’m gridded in the back of the pack (Row 7, middle) due to late entry and no points (I usually run the modified class with Dean, this was stock bike) Dean was gridded on the front row, right where the points leader should be! POLE position baby!

The green flag drops, and I dump the clutch, the front wheel raises a little, and the SEAT slides backwards  and I almost slip off while doing a wheelie surrounded by numerous bikes! Yee-haw!!  We were going full bore into turn 1. I steadily clawed my way thru the field. The bike was fast, the motor was running strong, I had straightaway power, which is good on this fast track.

Here’s where things get interesting.

Lap 1, I get past 3 bikes down the back straight. The 3^rd bike, a friend Brad on an old Harley Sprint, is hanging on. We cross start finish, and charge uphill into turn 1. At the top of the hill is Rich Odalowski, the V2 National Champ on an SR500, slowing and intermittently throwing up his hand, signaling a problem. He was numerous bike lengths ahead of us, but I knew Brad and I would catch him in the tricky “downhill esses”.

Wisely, Rich drops out of the racing line and to the right. I hold the racing line continuing to lead Brad, until an attempt to pass me….

Brad throws his bike to my inside (left), goes off the track and onto the angled curbing.

He gets alongside me, as the curb deflects his bike right into me, as I maintain my racing line…..BAM! COLLISION! It was like getting cold-cocked from the blind side! Donavon’s bike is knocked out from under me!  Me and the bike are skidding across the track at about 70mp. I’m thinking “WTF? Great move, just great!”

The crash is about 60% thru the video. There is a warm up lap (You will see Dean 418 and me 798 exiting the pits) then the start, and the crash is on lap 2. You will see the pack of 3 in the esses, Rich slowing and me in the middle…..

Naturally, I was not enthused….come to find out later, Brad had no problem with his actions  which I found disappointing since we have been friends for awhile. To each their own I guess.

The wreck causes a red flag, all bikes back to the pits. Then for a total restart.

Well, this brings me back to the bike that burnt. It was Rich O, the bike that was slowing in front of me when the wreck occurred. The red flag had given him time to get back in and try to fix it. It was a carb (FUEL) issue and he is working on his bike in the pits.

We grid up, and all of a sudden the officials are running into the grid frantically, waiving, hollering, sending us off the track, shutdown. I then look over and see the plume of smoke rising like a cloud from the pits!!!!! FIRE IN THE PITS FIRE!!!!… I say to myself “Hey, that’s over near us???” I know Dean was thinking the same thing, with his young son Martin sitting over there. And so was Doug with Nick.

 Turns out Rich on the SR500 thought he had fixed the problem and was trying to start his bike. Doug’s 13 yr old son Nick was driving the rollers when the flames erupted. You’ve seen the pic, but here is another. Old Rich has had a rough time lately, and it shows here.

To make a long story short, I made the restart, got past several bikes, including the rider that took me out, and finished 4^th. I’d have done better, but a pipe was knocked free in the wreck, and I couldn’t wind it out. Not bad for being smacked down at 70MPH fifteen minutes earlier. Jamie Brenton finished ahead of me, with a job well done. Jamie is just starting out, and coming along well. You may remember his name from Deans Nashville report.

After the race, I was kinda waiting for Brad to show up and give his side of taking me out. He didn’t show. So I went over there, and asked his side. He acted as if it was nothing. I held my tongue, (difficult) cuz I knew there was video.  I had my opinion, but wanted backup. He never asked what I thought happened, so I moved on. 

After my race, we were frantic in the pits, getting things buttoned up for Donavon. The boys fixed the exhaust, so the bike should and did run like a top.

Donavon did well in the 350GP race, finishing 4^th. He got held up by a 2 stroke guy not in his class. The rhythms of the bikes are totally different; 4 strokes (us) are hot in the corners where the 2 strokes are slow, then the 2 strokes just open up the power on the straight-aways and the cycle repeats.

Dean again went on to double VICTORY in V1 and V2, turning a fast lap of 1:59….OUTSTANDING Time, and here is Deans results / standing for the year…..LOTS of # 1’s!

Dean Middleton 418 Points standings for 2010 Season

What a frikkin day. I’m still sore and scraped up. Bruises are turning nice colors. Deans son Martin also crashed a pit bike racing with Doug’s son Nick. Nick told Doug, “He’s cool dad, when he crashes he doesn’t cry like the other kids”. Like father like son I guess!

To add to things, Race day was Dean’s daughter Chloe’s 4^th Birthday, and she graciously let her Dad race, as long as she got her party on Sunday! So in return, she got a new bike with free lessons!  She was up and running in no time. Future Flat Rat? I think so…

Anyhow, there we have it. Did I mention the “Thrashing, Crashing, Fires, and Victory!!”

Thanx to all our sponsors, every little bit helps.

Bikernet.com, Avon Tires, Sikolene, Racetech, Sprocket Specialties, Fuller HotRods, and of course our families and friends for their support.

Charlie Young / Dean Middleton

Flat Rat Racing

WERA Vintage and AHRMA

Honorable mention Donavon Gravlee.

And thanks to Jack Houman and Keith Bennett for the video!

Couple shots of the “Impaler”, soon to show up on Speed TV’s 2 Guys garage.

The story of this bike begins at the AMD European Championship 2007 in Mainz. It was here that I met Peder Johansson of Hogtech once again. Peder is one of the top Swedish Chopper/frame builders with 25 years of experience in the business. I respect him especially for his versatility and craftsmanship, as next to his famous Longfork choppers, he also did streetracers, dragster frames and built the Kaminari project with BMW designer Ola Stenegard (check www.hogtech.com).

We met many times since we first started bullshitting about V-twin tech, bike building and life in general at the Rosmalen Bikeshow in 2003, but this time something was different. Peder looked exhausted and worried, when we started talking, he told me about the backlash of the fire he had in his house and workshop (a collapsing wall also ruined 3 customers’ bikes and his own ride), the trouble with the insurance company and all the dumb hard work of rebuilding the house, shop, and business. He told me it was hard to find the time, energy, and passion to do some new stuff.

Throughout the weekend we talked (drinked) more and more, and spoke about the love for the motorcycles and what inspired and influenced our taste. We both where big drag race fans, and especially the 60’s and 70’s American Funnycars, Top fuelers and Indy 500 racers made our hearts skip a beat. We talked about the many details like the chassis, the Halibrand wheels and brakes, and how cool it could be to make a bike inspired by these racers.

Love It When a Plan Comes Together!

On the four hour drive back to The Netherlands, the vision of the bike slowly formed in my mind, and at home I sat down with a piece of paper and drew till 5:00 in the morning. The next day I emailed the drawing (drawing #1), and got an enthusiastic reply from Peder. Ok!

Now, the design was there, but how to make it happen? How to find a customer, or should we maybe sell it as a promotional bike? As I got some good contacts in the industry through the years, I started calling around. The most serious reply I got was from Brett Smith of S&S cycles. He loved it and would put it through to his marketing people. Two weeks later I received a phone call and was told that although they loved the idea, they were very busy with something really big that took all of their budget and they really couldn’t talk about it anyway because it was still a secret (S&S 50th anniversary). 15 months later they had sold 50 engines and got 50 free promotion bikes. Best marketing stunt ever! For us it went silent…..

Then by coincidence, one of Peders customers, Johan“Lexi”Lexhagen, saw the original design and told Peder he wanted something like that! It started basically with him wanting to put a compressor on the “bobber with a springer” he originally had in mind. As I was at that moment (re)building those compressors, I would build one for him and take it to Nortellje 2007. When I delivered the compressor we started talking more, and I found out “Lexi” was not only a great guy, but also had motor oil in his veins and a big V-twin for a heart This was another serious motorcycle freak who was not afraid to think out of the box!

All this time I was still bugging Peder about what we did in Holland to V-twin engines to make them fast, vibration free, and really reliable (see www.perfecttwinperformance.com). So when Lexi took over Peders FHP engine (which had a little problem) for his project, he decided he wanted it to be rebuilt by Joop van Amelsvoord at Joop’s ‘HD Service Centre’ in Delft, Holland. It was a good excuse for the Hogtech crew (Peder and sidekick Andreas) plus one (Lexi), to travel down south and have a Master class in V-Twin engine re-building. This resulted in two days of amazement for the boys, because by taking apart this engine step by step, it was shown clearly what was basically wrong with it all.

This all lead to a healthy cooperation between Hogtech, Joop and Supercycles (which took over Joops knowledge and equipment when Joop retired) as they also did the engine for the Hogtech S&S bike and several other customers’ bikes. At one of the drinking/smoking sessions during this visit, Lexi also decided he wanted me to do the design of the complete bike. It had to be like the original design, but then totally different! And he wanted to ride it daily in the streets. So when they left, it was back to the drawing board for me. I came with a more street bike design (see drawing #2), with a swingarm and rear suspension. Lexi loved it, but he wanted a hardtail and it also had to be more like the original design. And this is how we got to the bike (drawing #3) you see now.

Work To Be Done.

A few months later the 1800 cc knucklehead was finished, custom made parts were fitted, everything was measured, realigned and fitted to the smallest possible tolerances, outtake valves where raised, and in general the engine was bombproof and ready for the blower. Peder came down again and picked up the Knuckle when he dropped his S&S project engine at Supercycles (Joop had retired but still worked with Supercycles).

The next step for me was to take my drawings to Mark “Duckman” van der Kwaak of DBBP who did the additional CAD (computer aided design) engineering to make certain all frame tubes would be thick enough and the bike would still be able to handle well. Then a real size drawing of the frame and girder fork was emailed to Peder, who had it print out 1:1 and started bending and welding tubes of steel as only he can.

With the CAD we also had made a 3D rendering of the dummy gastank, which we virtually cut up in sleeves (see photo #4). Then cut these out of Styrofoam, glued together and sanded/filed away until I got the right model. Now master metalworker Aad Heemskerk had a mould he could work with. He finished his steel sculpture with a subtle stainless grill which was half sunk (by frenching) into the sheet metal.

Meanwhile the finished frame and front fork were brought to Holland by Lexi, and we went to Hyperpro to get the girder working with a custom made front shock. Aad and me got some classic risers and a handlebar on and now it was looking like something that you could sit on and aim in any direction.

It was June 2008 and I brought the bike back to Sweden, just in time to present the bike in the Nortellje Custombike Show at the Hogtech booth. The reactions of the audience where fantastic, and it was here the plan of going to Bonneville started, as at the beginning of the day a visitor asked if we would run the bike at the salt lake. Peder and I looked at each other and said, “Uh, yeah…maybe? At the end of the day, Inge ,of the Swedish bike mag MCM, came to us and said, “Great, I heard everywhere you are going to ride this bike on Bonneville.” So this is how legends are born. Needless to say Lexi sat around the bike all day and looked like a kid in a candy store.

Trouble In Paradise

During the beginning of the project Lexi felt a lot of fatigue and was shortly after diagnosed with the not that well known disease MS (With multiple sclerosis, the brain and spinal cord, two major components of the central nervous system, are damaged by one’s own immune system. This is an autoimmune disease. The body’s immune system, which normally targets and destroys substances foreign to the body such as bacteria, mistakenly attacks normal tissues. It’s chronic and there is no cure for it. Symptoms vary from person to person and can change over time in the same person.)

So in the beginning it did not seem to be such a big problem except for the exhaustion and headaches. But after that sundrenched day in Nortellje 2008 things went bad quickly. 2008/2009 was year of pain, hospitalization and operations to his back for Lexi. As there was no chance that he could ride a bike without pain anymore, and due to the fact that his wife gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, priorities had shifted, which meant that the bike had to go!

Nervously (what if a crazy Swede buys this bike and put a long fork in it!) I started to look for customers/ sponsors again, but after a lot of polite rejections I realized that when a BIG recession has just started, it’s a difficult time to sell silly things like this project. So Lexi made Peder an offer he couldn’t refuse and the bike stayed in Eskilstuna. In the summer of ’09 our Italian friends from Chop’s 76 made my designs of the ribbed brakeplates (to make the brakes look like the 60’s Indy racers) reality and Peder hammered out a gas tank and a rear fender from some sheet metal (as our budget was too tight to get the original design done by Aad). The dangerous looking exhaust was also put on ice, and Peder fabricated something from what he had laying around. He also spoked a 17” chrome front wheel instead of the 18”alu Borrani to keep in style with the vintage top fuelers. But with the priority on Hogtech’s other projects the work on this bike was stopped for some time.

Until Rosmalen Nov 2009 when we met again and decided to get the bike ready for AMD European Championship 2010. As everything had to happen in the free hours at night, the build did not evolve as quickly as wanted. So we thought we skipped the paint for now (also nice for showing the craftsmanship that went into the metal) and just get it running. Pull some big burn outs on the Phoenixhalle parking lot with this bare metal madness machine and put it white hot in the show!

The schedule was tight and everything looked cool, until Tuesday night before the show Peder called me, and tells me everything is good to go, but what kind of oil is needed for the compressor?

As I totally forgot about this minor detail (this is very special oil, which is only available in the US) our dream to have the bike running in Mainz was scattered as the guys had to leave Sweden on Thursday morning. “What the hell” we thought and we put it in the show anyway, any attention to this project can only be good and maybe we find a customer/sponsor this way. To our surprise the unfinished bike got 9th in the competition, and got a lot of positive reactions from other motorfreaks like Cole Foster, Ken Factory, Andy from Flying Choppers, Fred Krugger, Stellan Egeland, Tobias from TGS, Walz, Ola Stenegard, Bertrand Odyssey, Fred Dub. We are going to show it running in Nortellje 2010 and our plans to run it on Bonneville got more and more concrete, but first there is still a lot of unfinished business to be done……

INDY INSPIRED TECHSHEET

Builder Hogtech & Paul Funk
Location Eskilstuna
Country Sweden
Website/ E-mail www.hogtech.com, info@hogtech.com / www.perfecttwinperformance.com , www.paulfunkdesign.com, paulfunkdesign@hotmail.com

Bike Name Brickyardkiller
Year / Model 2010
Engine Make / Size FHP/S&S/ Supercycles 1800 cc Knuckle
Transmission Type Revtech 5 speed
Frame Make / Type Hogtech/ Paul Funk Design
Front End Hogtech/Hyperpro/ Paul Funk Design

Additional Info: Bike design inspired by 1960’s Indy 500/dragracing, Engine totally re-engineered (blue printed: every engine part measured, re-aligned, straightened & machined to fit with the lowest possible tolerances of free play ) by Joop van Amelsvoord and PF at Supercycles.

Paul Funk customized Eaton m45 compressor with Edelbrock Two Throat Carb, Engine assembled with 90% fluid gasket material, Special remachined S&S HVHP oil pump with 1 to 5 gear ratio. S&S flywheels, S&S/ PTP Supreme con rods(machined for centrifugal piston lubrication system), restrictor free S&S crankshaft with JIMS crank pin and custom con rod/crank pin bearings, Ross racing pistons with twin cam wrist pins, Power Seal Nikasil cylinders. Heads welded in PTP/ Supercycles style bathtub combustion chamber & Singh groove, Kibblewhite custom valves (smaller in, bigger and higher positioned out), ported & flowed, Supercycles cam, Kibblewhite extra strong cylinder studs, Crane time savers, Fuel pump in lower custom Gas tank by Hogtech. Custom Hyperpro front shock, custom brakeplates by Chop ’76, BDL Belt, PF customized Robban primary cover, Barnett Kevlar clutch, Saddle by PF and just too many hand made brackets and parts by Peder.

Dummy Gastank and risers made by Aad Heemskerk, Additional CAD engineering by DBBP.

Big thanks to Johan Lexhagen for starting and believing in this project and Kaid Cousineau at Eaton and Charlie Karling for their help and advice

 

Beyond the first bridge the Old Ridge Route steepened. Valley farmland was left behind. Tall oaks became the road’s borders. Power poles with broken lines, a reminder the area was once inhabited, became fewer and farther between each other. All barns and houses were deserted. It was if the people, like pieces in some giant chess game, had been removed, leaving only the board. Maybe one of the players had been losing and decided to end the game; can’t lose if you don’t play.

We’d ridden for an hour when Larry stopped on a turnoff overlooking the foothills. Taking a small screwdriver from his bag he proceeded to adjust his bike’s carburetor.

“Radial engine’s carburetor has a diaphragm that contracts or expands to atmospheric pressure, leans or richens itself the higher or lower we ride in elevation just like it did when it was part of the crop duster I salvaged it from. Checking now to make sure everything’s working, won’t be but a minute. Speaking of which, you might want to check out your Wide Glide; and while you’re at it, ask the imp how far it is to the second bridge.”

Walking around to the front of my bike I made a point of not looking directly into the imp’s eyes, “How much further to the second bridge?”

“About three maybe four more miles,” said the imp as he tried to roll his left eye around to see me. “Startin’ to get cold; gonna get a lot colder the higher we go, maybe too cold to go on.”

“Rumor is an imp’s head is made of grease, should give us at least an hour’s worth of light,” said Larry who’d walked up behind me. “Light enough to find wood for a fire when it gets dark.”

Twisting his head around to look at Larry, an act I would have thought impossible, the imp responded, “Just stating the obvious. No need to make threats. Next bridge is high enough up on the ridge to be icy this time of year, but there are other ways to get there.”

I had to ask even though Ma had warned us not to get off the Old Ridge Route, “There’s another way to get to the Styx Diner?”

For the first time the imp smiled. I wished he hadn’t. Rows of sharp teeth filled in a grin that told me he’d up to that point not known where we were going.

“Styx Diner is it?” said the imp. “Didn’t tell me you folks were heading to the Styx Diner; Charon never told me that was part of the deal. Hell, if you’d told me that I wouldn’t have put up such a ruckus. There’s a shortcut, may’ve mentioned it before, an alternative to crossing the bridges. Be happy to show you.”

“We’ll stick to our original plan,” replied Larry, “and besides, if you haven’t noticed, we don’t trust you.”

“Just trying to be of help,” grumbled the imp.

Larry was right, neither of us trusted the imp; let alone his idea of taking another route to the Styx Diner. Ma n’ Pa had been adamant about following the Ridge Route, catching up with Hilts and meeting Charon at both the first and last bridges. Our guide’s motives were, I’ve no doubt, to either escape or lead us into a trap.

“Let’s chuck the imp; catch up to Hilts, take our chances.”

“Not yet, he may still be of use,” replied Larry.

The imp was right about one thing; as cold as it was at our present elevation, riding higher made it more so. Parts of the road, many sheltered by overhangs, didn’t make it warmer. Larry and I would speed through those shadowy sections where temperatures dropped as much as ten degrees, then slow down for sunlit ones. On the sunlit stretches we’d take our time, savoring the heat from above and what radiated up from the road below. This little dance between being cold or colder came to an end just beyond the last turn. Fifty yards ahead was the second bridge.

WHAT TANGLED WEBS WE WEAVE Fifty yards ahead was the second bridge

Larger than any we’d seen, it reached across a dark canyon. Tall columns rose from far below holding two arches that in turn gave support to a series of smaller columns that in turn supported the road above.

Relieved to see no obstacles, I said, “Maybe Ma was mistaken, looks clear to the other side; maybe Hilts already crossed?”

“Look closer, across the bridge, strung from guardrail to guardrail, beginning near the middle there are webs; you can see the strands.”

“Can’t see anything, can’t compete with your eyes— I say we….my God!

“See them now?” said Larry.

What Larry was pointing at, and what I’d missed seeing until the light hit them at the right angle, were three huge webs with strands so nearly invisible most people would have ridden into them.

“Black Widows weave webs like these,” continued Larry. “Erratic, not symmetrical; they’re designed for one thing and we almost became that one thing.”

“At the far end of the bridge, near the last buttress, looks to be a sleeping bag hanging about five feet from the ground?”

“Looks like but isn’t; it’s gotta be Hilts,” replied Larry.

Captured, cocooned; Hilts hung like a sack of ripening fruit. His nearness to the end of the bridge said he’d almost made it across.

“Your sleeping bag just moved.”

“Moved?”

“He’s still alive,” answered Larry, “and if we’re going to save him it’s got to be now.”

“Too late,” interrupted the imp. “Guardians gotta be paid and your friend’s payment. Think of him as bridge toll. You two get to cross but he gets stuck with the check. Gotta leave the bikes, toll’s just for your passage, nothing else; no personal items. Leave ‘em with me. Better hurry while the guardians are busy taking care of business.”

Still talking, the imp’s head had twisted completely around my head-lamp, allowing me to see for the first time that its neck had grown legs that looked like tentacles and in seconds it would have the strength to free itself. Had the Raggedy Man parasite that infected Andy and then hid in the wrecked cars looked like this?

Before I could think of an answer Larry grabbed the imp’s head, ripped it free from the front of my bike and stuffed it into a burlap bag.

“This isn’t,” yelled the imp, “part of the deal. Charon’s goin’ to hear about it!”

“Not from you,” said Larry as he lit the bag on fire.

“I’ve a deal!” screamed the imp.

“That you broke by not telling us about the webs,” yelled Larry starting his bike, spinning his rear tire and looking over at me. “You ready?”

Picture an Old School chopper built around a V-twin cut from a radial aircraft motor, revved to its max, its rear tire sending clouds of smoke into the air and held in place by an Old School chopper builder holding a burning burlap bag with an imp’s screaming head inside. Picture my Wide Glide joining in, spinning its rear tire, its engine near redlined. Our own rebel yells were drowned out.

Had my ancestors felt the same before they’d charged down a hill in Scotland at an English army, probably, and did they likely have an English tax collector’s head in a bag and did they know they’d lose the battle, probably, and did we know when we released our front brakes and roared out over the bridge into the awaiting webs we’d most likely never rescue Hilts let alone make it to the other side, probably.

Larry hit the first web; wobbled, then broke free, the flaming bag having burnt a path. I followed, feeling the strands grab at my bike’s wheels. What momentum Larry had brought with him wasn’t enough to break through the second web. He stopped, his chopper held upright, stuck in a standing position. I skidded up beside him. Something black and about the size of a basketball hoop moved from the left part of the bridge towards Larry. Larry waited until it was next to him before he swung the bag around, setting fire to it. The imp’s screams had stopped, replaced by the crackle of burning burlap.

Handing me the bag, “Burn the rest of the web off, hurry; these little critters,” pointing at the scorched spider, “you can bet have friends.”

Before I could move I felt a tap on my neck followed by a firmer more persistent touch, as if someone was trying to cut in on a dance. But it wasn’t the prom and so I swung the bag over my shoulder hoping I wouldn’t catch my hair on fire. Spinning around found me looking down at an even larger spider writhing on the ground.

“Two down one to go,” said Larry as I freed him, “and from the size of the web you can bet it’ll be big.”

“Big” didn’t do the spider justice. As large as a coffee table, it scuttled over the side of the bridge and headed straight for us. At the same time our burlap bag burnt through, dropping the imp’s cooked head at our feet. Our fire was out.

Now free, Larry started his bike, “Keep it away with your guitar; work it around behind me. It’s trailing web from its spinnerets, see if you can get the strands to cross over my back wheel.”

My guitar in front, pointed at multiple eyes that never stopped staring, I kept the monster at bay. Not really a weapon, the Fender must’ve appeared to the spider as a sword. Back to back with Larry, I made three circles before the web dragged across the chopper’s tire.

Yelling, “Get clear,” Larry released the clutch.

Had Pratt and Whitney known their engines were being used to reel a giant spider ass-first into whirling wire spokes they would’ve issued a disclaimer. Amazingly, the spider’s resistance was lugging Larry’s V-twin down. Was it the accumulation of wound-up web, the spider’s determination not to be pulled or a combination of both? The engine was slowing. Soon it would stall. But it didn’t because Larry pulled in the clutch, revving his engine to maximum power, and I jumped in front of the spider. At the same time the spider reared on its hind legs to strike, Larry popped the clutch pulling it backwards into his spinning rear wheel. Gopher into a rotary lawn mower, Jimmy Hoffa into a wood chipper, whatever the mental picture the effect was the same.

“Get Hilts,” said Larry looking back at what was left of the spider. “Take one of these rags, dip it into your gas tank, burn his cocoon free from where it’s hanging then drag it into those trees away from the bridge. There’s an open space off to the side. I’m going to clear the rest of the webs off the bridge.”

“What if there are more spiders?”

“Pretty sure this was the last; three webs, three spiders. If there are others, setting fire to the webs should discourage them.”

Burning the cocoon free was easy; dragging it into the trees, which turned out to be the beginning of a bamboo forest, was harder. Behind me the bridge glowed in crisscrossed lines of orange. Larry must have set every strand ablaze, making me think I’d be wise to start a fire in the clearing in case there were spiders in the forest.

“Good idea,” said Larry, coming up to look at my newly started fire. “Cocoon’s tough, problem is how to burn it off without cooking Hilts; maybe if I melt the strands?”

Holding his knife over the fire until it glowed; Larry then began melting through strands. Except it wasn’t Hilts we freed.

“Name’s Aaron,” said the tall stranger whose face, but for his lips and eyes, looked to have skin the color and texture of tarpaper. “Can’t tell you how grateful I am; few more minutes and I would’ve been dead.”

“We were expecting to see our friend when we opened the cocoon; but glad we could help. Didn’t happen to see a tall guy ride through here on a motorcycle?”

“See him, I met him; found him tangled up in the webs in the same place you found me. Guy would’ve been dinner had I not freed him before the spiders came back. Spiders like to bite you, cocoon you, then go away; after you tire yourself struggling they’ll come back, lay their eggs or have you for dinner.

“Your friend, once free, just jumped on his bike then skedaddled up the road. Got bit from behind by a spider, should’ve never turned my back on the bridge.”

“You were coming down the Ridge Route, down the mountain?” I asked.

“Yep, couldn’t stop what was happening at the Styx Diner; so came to warn others, maybe get some help,” answered Aaron, already starting to walk across the bridge.

“We are the help,” answered Larry looking at me a little awkwardly, “or at least we’re here to help the help. The fellow you set free, we’re pretty sure, is heading to the diner. We’ve been trying to catch up with him since we left Ma n’ Pa’s.”

Aaron stopped abruptly, “Ma n’ Pa, they’re the folks I’m headed down the mountain to warn.”

“Then we won’t detain you; oh, and tell Charon when you get to the next bridge,” continued Larry, after kicking what looked like a cooked coconut over the side of the bridge, “the guide he gave us won’t need his body back.”

Aaron watched the coconut Larry and I knew really wasn’t a coconut disappear into the canyon below, “Was that what I think it was?”

“Our guide, or what’s left of him,” answered Larry, “he was supposed to lead us across; instead he led us into a trap. Now we’ll have to make it on our own.”

Aaron pointed into the bamboo forest, “Just so you’ll know; you don’t have to cross the third bridge to get to the Styx Diner. There’s a much shorter way, an alternate road and it begins on the other side of this grove.”

I knew the answer before asking and at the same time I noticed Aaron didn’t have a shadow, “You ever use the alternate road?”

“Nope, too dangerous,” replied Aaron, pointing into the forest a second time. “Forest’s shadows don’t take kindly to travelers on foot, however the two of you on your motorcycles shouldn’t have any trouble, especially in the daytime. Bamboo grows right to the edge, hangs over in spots most all the way; road’s surface seems to resist anything growing on it. Oh, and one more thing, when you get to where the forest ends, there’s a fork, be sure to go right; it leads to an old house. Knock at the gate; owner’s a friend of mine and will let you cross his land. From there you’ll be able to catch a road that bypasses the third bridge.”

Larry stared for a long time at the wall of bamboo then walked over to where Aaron was standing, “We’re in a bind; we’ve no choice if we’re going to catch Hilts before dark, so we’re going to take your shortcut knowing you’ve warned us it’s dangerous. Anything else we should know?”

Aaron looked over the edge of the bridge where the cooked coconut he now knew was the imp’s burnt head had fallen, “Everything I’ve told you is the truth, especially the part about taking the right fork to my friend’s house and avoiding the forest’s shadows. If you want I’ll ride,” pointing at my bike, “on the back with you.”

“No need,” Larry said, seemingly satisfied with Aaron’s answer. “Better get going, neither of us wants to be caught on the road at night. Oh, and be sure to stop at the first bridge; you’ll be safe with Charon, he’ll heal your injuries in the river Styx.”

Larry waited until Aaron was out of sight before turning to me, “He’s lying. Hilts wasn’t caught, he avoided the webs by riding his Road Warrior across the top of the bridge’s guardrail. Should’ve seen the tracks sooner; my fault I wasn’t looking in the right place. This whole rescue was a charade with our imp guide and Aaron having starring roles. Our guide played the Siren and Aaron the Trojan Horse; both were part of a plan to lure us into the webs. Knowing it isn’t of value now; if we’re to catch up with Hilts and fast, we’ve got to take Aaron’s shortcut.”

Larry’s acute vision came to our rescue again by finding a path wide enough for us to navigate down to the alternate road. Ten minutes and a lot of scratches later we were both parked on its shoulder. Giant bamboo arched over us providing a cathedral of interlacing limbs. Ground level shadows mirrored those arches in shades of gray, showcasing what we suspected; nothing was able to grow on the surface either. Neither this road, or the bridges or the Ridge Route, starting from the Crossroads, had the slightest blemish.

“This road’s fused like the Ridge Route and the bridges; and if you knew Aaron was lying why’d you let him go?” I said reaching down and running my hand across seamless pavement.

“This’ll only be a shortcut if we don’t waste time, which we would’ve fighting Aaron; who if you didn’t notice, looked pretty damn strong and had the eyes of a spider,” Larry answered, riding his chopper up and onto the road, “so let’s get going. Charon will deal with him.”

Flickering sunlight shining through the upper branches quilted our way with silhouettes of what was above, giving us off-and-on glimpses of what was ahead. Trusting there were no surprises we were soon beyond what would’ve been considered a safe speed. Blind leading the blind might have best characterized our ride except for the fact that Larry’s acute senses seemed to know what was behind each turn.

Built to be ridden, his chopper set a fast pace. Fall too far to the rear and you’d lose sight of it, lose sight of it and you’d lose the confidence to go fast enough to catch up. So I’d hang my Wide Glide’s front tire thirty feet from Larry’s back tire knowing if I fell behind I’d be left behind.

Stalk to stalk and growing to the edge of the road, the bamboo always surrounded us. At times I’d glance to the side and see roads leading to clusters of old houses and abandoned buildings. We rode that way for an hour until we came to the fork.

MEET MR. FEMUS

Giant cactus grew beside the adobe wall The right part of the fork began next to an adobe wall. Giant cactus grew beside it. Behind the wall was a rundown house with a turret roof; between the house and the wall were rows of neglected fruit trees. The bamboo forest ended abruptly where the wall began. Sunflowers bordered the beginning of the left fork.

Larry looked first at the right fork that went through a locked gate and then back at the left fork, “The left fork, after about two miles, goes straight up the mountain in the granddaddy of hill climbs. Not quite as steep as Utah’s Widowmaker, but much longer; and with no turnouts or places to stop, a stall or missed shift will give you a one-way ticket back to the bottom. The good news is,” continued Larry, “I can see the third bridge. The right fork, the one Aaron told us to take, doesn’t even go towards the bridge. In fact, every little voice in my head’s telling me it’s the wrong way. If he lied about the spiders, odds are he lied to us about taking the right fork. I say we take the left fork.”

Idling over to within a foot from the wall, “House looks lived in; can’t hurt to say hello. Could be the owner might have information we could use,” inching my front tire closer. “May even have some fresh water?”

“Don’t touch the—”

Larry’s warning came at the same time my tire touched the gate and the temperature dropped as if we’d stepped inside a meat locker, and at the same time the smell of a meat locker blew over the wall and our bikes quit running.

“Should we make a run for it?”

“Too late,” replied Larry jumping off his chopper. “Whatever’s on the other side is already here.”

The gate moved slowly outward.

“You fellas weren’t goin’ to leave without sayin’ hello were you?” said the deep voice belonging to the giant hand working the gate’s latch. “Don’t get visitors anymore; that is unless they’ve been sent by Aaron. You two sent here by my friend Aaron?”

At the sight of the gate moving outward Pa’s face, actually his electric blue eyes, flashed before me and I found myself pulling my guitar around from where it hung on my back.

Taller than Charon and with a body that more than matched the giant hand, he smiled, “Would’ve been impolite not to greet visitors, especially ones,” turning to look at me, “that knock. Name’s Paul Femus and this is my place.”

His smile highlighted he was wearing sunglasses with thick coke-bottle lenses set so close together they joined in the middle, and when he turned to look at Larry I’d have sworn the two lenses were really one large lens.

“Name on the gate says Paul E. Femus,” said Larry. “What’s the E stand for?”

Dressed in stained overalls, Femus bowed. “My bad; Paul E. Femus, and the E is for else.”

“Else?”

“Yeah, like you two,” and Femus moved fast for being a Cyclops, “should’ve chosen somewhere else to stop.”

Had his glasses not fallen off revealing his one eye and making him miss grabbing me, I wouldn’t have been able to roll backwards off the Wide Glide in time or know he was a Cyclops.

Scrambling to my feet I remembered Pa saying I’d know when to play and so I played the G chord, but it sounded dead, as I knew it would without power; but when I struck it a second time followed by an F then an A my guitar began to sound as if it had just been plugged in, which should’ve been impossible as there were no nearby electrical outlets. Femus staggered.

“Keep playing!” shouted Larry. “He can’t stand it.”

I’ve been booed off stage before but never because of bad playing. Usually it was because I was opening for a big band and the audience was impatient. And so I let go with a series of chords and watched Femus grab his throat and heard Larry’s chopper roar to life. Whatever spell Femus used to stop our engines had been broken by the sound of my guitar.

Bleeding from his nose and eye and holding onto both sides of the gate, Femus choked, “How’d you know to play? Pa! Bet it was Pa that told you, or Ma. Ma knows most everything.”

Jumping off his bike, Larry shouted, “Keep it up, walk forward; get him to go back inside.”

Femus seemed to gather strength and was actually pulling himself upright when I switched from playing random chords, pointed the guitar at him and put together a long riff.

Femus let go of the gate. He tried once more to stand but jerkily stumbled backwards.

Slamming the gate shut and pounding a screwdriver through the latch with a stone, Larry shouted, “Get on your bike, I’ll follow!”

“You go. Gate won’t hold him if I stop playing.”

Larry started to argue then ran for his bike. He’d ridden about a hundred feet away and I’d gotten on my bike when my guitar went dead and the gate buckled outward.

Femus seemed taller and was looking swiftly from side to side with a nearsighted squint; so maybe if I didn’t move? But I couldn’t stop myself from moving, throwing my guitar over my shoulder and starting my bike in one motion. Praying it wouldn’t stall I popped the clutch. With the front brake locked my rear tire swung around spraying grass and dirt towards Femus.

“Not goin’ to say goodbye?” bellowed Femus, at the same time lunging forward.

Everything happened in slow motion: Femus reaching, reminiscent of Raggedy Man reaching, my bike unable to get traction; but then it did get traction when I backed enough off the throttle for the rear wheel to get a grip on the road.

“Tell Ma,” shouted Femus from behind me, his voice receding, “that it’s over for her and Pa, things are changin’. Tell ‘em we’ve taken the diner and that we’re comin’ for ‘em.”

Riding virtually straight up the mountain had now become our only chance of reaching the third bridge. Larry’s description of it being the granddaddy of hill climbs wasn’t an exaggeration; no turnoffs made it a deal breaker. There’d be no second chance, no prisoners.

“I’ll lead,” said Larry stopping after we’d ridden about a mile. “Stay to my right; if I fall don’t stop, won’t help either of us and you’ll just end up falling yourself. Bikes have enough power; problem is can they keep traction. So stay balanced, not so far to the front that you spin, not so far to the rear that you’ll go over backwards. We’ve nearly a mile more before we get to the base; carry as much speed as you can.”

From then on things happened fast. Using the tremendous torque of his Pratt and Whitney twin, Larry was able to short-shift quickly up through the gears and was already a football field ahead of me when we hit the foot of the grade. So abrupt was the change in direction my bike completely compressed its front shocks.

Forward, or was it upward; at this point direction was relative. Seconds into the climb and already hundreds of feet above the valley I dropped into fourth. Larry shifted moments later.

Bamboo forest covered the valley floor like green carpet and where Femus lived it looked like a piece had been cut out. I could only glance down for a second; I had to shift again.

The end of the third bridge was hidden in fog

It’d be close but we were going to make it. In fact the road backed off a few degrees of climb the last quarter mile, and then Larry disappeared over the top. Moments later I did too, thankful I’d stayed to his right. Momentum carried us across the Ridge Route; a turnout on the other side provided room for a safe stop. Larry was already off his bike when I skidded up beside him.

“We made it,” said Larry, “no thanks to Aaron’s near-fatal advice. Third bridge’s about fifty yards away and easily the largest I’ve seen. Can’t see the other end as it curves off into the mist, though it looks clear. Can’t see any obstacles or barriers; just a curtain of gray fog covering the last part.”

Snow down to just a few hundred feet over our heads and rocky slopes so steep they’d block the sun for most of the day explained the freezing cold; and where water ran across the road it warned of ice in the evening. We’d arrived at the right time. Our decision to take Aaron’s shortcut, even though it was a trap, might have saved us from sliding over a cliff in the dark.

“Hilts better get here soon,” said Larry, “or this road will be frozen. Where there’s water there’ll be ice within the hour. Temperature’s already dropping; Pa’s ponchos won’t be enough, we need to start a fire. Could be some wood under the bridge; rain washes debris into the canyon, maybe some of it got stuck there.”

Bits of brush jammed under the end of the bridge stuck out indicating dry wood underneath. But as I approached the pile I realized it looked more stacked than washed there from runoffs; in fact it was more than stacked, it was the side of a large hut, and so I swung my guitar around in front of me.

“Back off slowly, don’t turn around, don’t run,” Larry said from behind me. “Whatever’s inside the hut is huge.”

Pointing my Fender at the wood, I got ready to play.

“Don’t! Unless you’re gonna really play; chords by themselves will just piss it off. What we’re going to need is a fire between us and the bridge, but we’ve nothing to burn. Trees and brush around here are gone.”

“Unless,” I replied, “we can get gas out of my tank.”

Larry moved quickly, closing valves and undoing fuel lines below the Wide Glide’s tank while I worked as fast as I could unpacking an empty gallon plastic bag I carry for water. A deep growl from beneath the bridge hurried our work.

“The culvert,” said Larry, at the same time nodding towards the bridge and draining gas from my tank into the plastic bag, “runs towards the bridge, past the brush and into the canyon below. If you’ve enough gas it’ll flow in the same direction.”

“But not from here,” I added. “Got to get closer or the gas will soak into the ground before it gets to the wood. My gas so I’ll go. I’ll get as close to the bridge as I can before I pour.”

I waited for Larry to object or at least come up with a better plan but he didn’t so I started walking. Nearly full, the gallon bag made a sloshing noise as I walked. Halfway to the brush I looked back at Larry, who was giving me a thumbs-up, so I opened the spout and poured the gas into the culvert; but it flowed faster than I would have thought. So I lit a match, threw it into the gas and ran to my bike as the fire followed the trail of burning fuel to the bridge; but the fire also followed the trail of fuel that had leaked from the bag. And so I threw the bag, but it slipped and landed on Larry’s chopper and the fire followed it; and the bag, Larry’s bike and the hut burst into flames at the same time, but not before the hut’s owner jumped clear.

“What’ve you done?” yelled Hilts from behind us, who in our hurry to start the fire we had not heard arrive. “None of this was supposed to happen, and I blame myself. Should’ve listened to Charon and waited for you two.”

Easily eight feet in height, the hut’s owner walked towards us. The good news, it wasn’t a Cyclops; the bad news, it could’ve passed for any troll I’d seen illustrated in a Grimm’s Fairy Tale. With feet that would’ve made NBA players feel like midgets and tree-trunk legs and arms, and hands the size of snow shovels, the troll came to a stop in front of us. His hut and Larry’s bike were burning bright enough to cast his evening shadow over our heads and down the road.

“I can’t believe it,” said the troll with the same deep voice I’d mistaken for a growl. “And Hilts, I blame you for not being with them to stop this from happening.”

The troll was right; I’d acted too quickly and as a result ended up burning Larry’s chopper, the hut and almost the troll to ashes. What could I say; maybe if I hadn’t been in such a hurry?

“We’ll rebuild your home,” said Larry, walking around me to look straight up at the troll, “even if it means delaying what we’ve come to do. My chopper’s gone, an accident, but of more importance is the fact no one was injured.”

“A selfless act,” said the troll, having to step back to look down at Larry, “and your friend,” turning to stare at me, “will he also agree to rebuild my home?”

Walking over to stand beside Larry, “Yes,” I replied.

“What do you think,” said Hilts, and when he said that we both turned to face him. “Did they pass your test? They’re impulsive, but selflessness is a virtue you admire.”

“That and honesty,” answered Ma from behind us and from where the troll had stood moments before, “and yes, they’ve passed the test; they’ve earned the right to cross the third bridge as did you, despite your impatience.”

“Me?” said Hilts.

“Yes,” replied Ma. “Traveling here then becoming the troll left me vulnerable; you could’ve taken advantage yet didn’t. Pa and I were fairly certain you’d escaped the city you created without being infected; disoriented, but not infected. After what happened to Andy we had to be sure. You understand?”

“I understand,” said Hilts.

“All of this was a test?” interrupted Larry. “The spiders and Femus; they were all tests?”

“Fighting spiders and burning the hut and your bike wouldn’t have happened,” Ma answered looking sternly at Hilts, “if someone hadn’t been in too much of a hurry; nor were you two supposed to meet Femus,”

Larry telling Ma how Charon’s guide betrayed us by not warning us about the spider webs, and how Aaron’s rescue led to following a shortcut that was really a trap leading to Femus, made Ma look sternly at Hilts again.

“Aaron’s the name Elvis sometimes uses when traveling,” said Ma. “What did he look like?”

“Had shiny button-black spider eyes,” I replied. “His skin looked like tarpaper, and he didn’t have a shadow.”

“Wasn’t Elvis, Elvis would’ve had a shadow and never put you in danger. Charon will find out who or what he is,” answered Ma. “Bathing him in the river Styx will not only heal Aaron’s injuries, if they really were injuries, but reveal his true identity. Most likely Aaron wasn’t human;” continued Ma, “you were smart not to have had a confrontation. Regarding the spiders, you two were never meant to face them alone. Femus, however, is another story. Quite a few years ago Pa and I made an agreement with him. We agreed to give him his own house in an isolated part of our Borderland if he behaved himself and was good to what few travelers stopped. Blinded long ago, he was able to learn by touch where everything was in his compound. In fact, the gardens behind his gate were quite beautiful.”

“Well he’s not blind anymore, nearsighted maybe but not blind; and whatever he’s doing behind his gate isn’t gardening,” I said. “Place smelled more like a slaughterhouse than a garden.”

Ma seemed saddened. “I’m sorry to hear that; Femus once loved growing things almost as much as Pa.”

Thoughts of gardens with vegetables and fruits ripening in a warm afternoon sun underlined how cold it was getting. Dusk had come and gone so quickly only the outline of mountains seen against a near-black sky marked its passage. The hut and chopper were embers casting just enough light to see where we’d ridden up the side of the mountain and onto the Ridge Route and where a huge figure was now pulling itself up and over the edge of the road.

“Ma, watch out!”

That Femus was able to follow us here from the valley seemed incredible; that he immobilized Ma with a shout seemed impossible.

Ma could move her eyes but nothing else. Larry, however, became the opposite of immobile and in one motion threw his knife. Femus was nearly across the road and running directly at us when the blade struck his shoulder, twisting his body enough to make him run past Ma.

Pulling the knife out, “Good aim for a guy missing a finger; you’ll be last. You can watch me rip your friends apart.”

“You’ll have to get by me first,” said a voice from behind.

Still wearing my wool watch cap, sunglasses, and leather jacket and looking much thinner than when Larry and I first saw him on the elevated highway, Hilts walked slowly around to stand in front of us. As if seen through water, he appeared warped and washed away. Contrasting his faintness were two Colt 45s hanging holstered from his waist. So real were the big single action revolvers they stood out in opaque relief next to his lean body. It was as if he were transferring what little life force he had left into creating them. Time slowed. I could see everything, the hand-rubbed leather holsters, the coiled snakes carved into the worn handles, and Hilts’ face. But it wasn’t his face; it was Shane’s or Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti-western face, and I could have sworn just before Femus charged it smiled, they smiled.

Femus was fast and nearly upon us when Hilts, or whatever Hilts had become, moved. In a blur the Colt went from being in his holster to being in his right hand. Fire leapt from its barrel, followed by smoke, followed by more fire and smoke. Trigger held; he fanned the hammer successively in an almost continuous roar until all rounds were gone, and there were six holes stitched across Femus’ throat like a black pearl necklace. Femus stumbled to a stop so close he could’ve reached down and swatted us but didn’t. He raised his head to bellow, but couldn’t. Instead he blew blood out the holes in his neck; only it wasn’t blood, it was a thin tar. And then Hilts drew his left-hand Colt and emptied it into the roof of Femus’ mouth.

“He won’t die,” I yelled.

“Because he’s already dead,” shouted Ma, now able to move.

And then Ma did the strangest thing, she reached out and Femus looked down, nodded knowingly as if seeing her for the first time and touched her hand. An arc, just a small snap of blue jumped between Ma and Femus. Femus collapsed, twitched once and was still; and then something hidden in the mist far enough away so as not to be seen screamed as if one of its limbs had been cut off. Following the scream, the mist boiled up with increased intensity from the depths of whatever the bridge had been built to cross, sending out tendrils of gray, first encircling columns then out onto the land.

“He’s been dead for a long time,” said Ma looking down at Femus, then back at where the scream had come from. “Whatever screamed was controlling Femus’ body like a puppet and used it to shout an immobilizing spell over me, luckily for only a short time. This isn’t Femus. It’s his body, animated by some perverted puppeteer, but it’s not Femus. The Femus I knew was, with Pa’s help, learning to live within his garden compound. My guess is someone or something promised him the eyesight he’d lost long ago and in return turned Femus into a slave, worked him to death, and then made him a zombie.”

Stars came out to mock us with million-degree heat we’d never feel, only see as lines of dots; a reminder we’d need a fire to survive the night’s numbing cold.

Femus was disappearing, rapidly decomposing, his huge skeleton beginning to push through the skin, and yet Ma with no sign of revulsion reached over and closed the giant eye. She was silent for nearly a minute and only when the skull showed did she rise to her feet.

“We’re not about revenge,” said Ma staring with compassion at what was left of the Cyclops. “We’re about stopping the destruction of this Borderland, maybe all Borderlands.” “I’m sorry, didn’t know, had to stop him,” said Hilts collapsing beside us.

Creating the Colts, then becoming the archetypal gunfighter had taken what life force he had left.

Ma rushed to his side, “He would’ve wanted you to stop him from hurting others. What you shot wasn’t Femus, it was his body but it wasn’t Femus; you had no choice, he would’ve understood. Hilts will disappear completely if I don’t get him bathed in the river Styx. Hand me his other half, the part you found at the first bridge.”

Larry untied the rolled up celluloid cutout that had been used as a decoy to fool Charon and gave it to Ma. Ma unrolled it then knelt over what was left of Hilts. If you hadn’t known where to look you wouldn’t have seen him. Already the revolvers were gone and his body an outline. Ma laid the cutout over him. For a moment nothing happened, then the cutout’s eyes moved and I realized it had absorbed what was left of Hilts.

“I’ll become vulnerable again changing forms,” said Ma, changing into a huge harpy eagle, “but I’ve no choice. I’ve got to get Hilts back to Charon. You two go on. Spend the night, leave in the morning. Make sure you’re across the bridge before any direct sunlight shines on it. Getting to the Styx Diner will be the hardest part of your journey and I was hoping you could’ve made the journey with Hilts. There’s enough wood nearby so you won’t freeze. You’ve passed the bridge’s selfless-act test and it’s given you permission to cross;” Ma then looked at Larry, “take Hilts’ Road Warrior, he’d have wanted you to have it.”

Larry finished rolling Hilts back into a tube then placed him between Ma’s talons. Grasping the cylinder tightly, Ma hopped to the edge of the road then looked back, “Don’t let your fire go out. Whatever was controlling Femus may still be out there. The bridge will protect you from anything coming from its side, but you’re vulnerable from the road. Keep yourselves between the bridge and your fire and you should be OK.”

Ma then spread her wings and dove into darkness. http://indianlarry.com/store/product.php?productid=16283

THE AIM/NCOM MOTORCYCLE E-NEWS SERVICE is brought to you by Aid to Injured Motorcyclists (A.I.M.) and the National Coalition of Motorcyclists (NCOM), and is sponsored by the Law Offices of Richard M. Lester. For more information, call us at 1-(800) ON-A-BIKE or visit us on our website at www.ON-A-BIKE.com.

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

RALLY RESCINDS DISCRIMINATORY NO-COLORS POLICY Following a “Call to Action” issued by the U.S. Defenders, a politically active arm of the Confederation of Clubs, a major motorcycle rally in the red hills of Oklahoma has rescinded a “No Colors” policy that would have prohibited entry to anyone wearing a patch, including HOG, ABATE and any club.

The Hawg Lakes Motorcycle Rally published a no colors policy on their fliers, ads and website that quickly stirred an uproar across the country, due largely to an e-mail “Call to Action” conducted by the U.S. Defenders and the Oklahoma Confederation of Clubs.

Brook “Xman” Bullock, State Secretary of ABATE of Oklahoma and Oklahoma Defender Rep, sent out a nationwide call to action to “Please take your money and support to BIKER FRIENDLY rallies and events, not 2010 Hawg Lakes. Pass the Word.” According to the e-mail; “2R” (ABATE of Oklahoma State Coordinator) personally talked on the phone with Hawg Lakes and “the guy in charge said he was absolutely unwilling to change his policy. ABATE, HOG, BACA, and not any Club, no colors of any kind will be allowed.”

Mark “Bus” Buskirk, Oklahoma Commander, U.S. Defenders wrote “Hawg Lakes Rally on July 29th will not allow you to wear your club colors on their property. So we the motorcycling community need to not go. They are stomping on our rights of freedom of speech.”

Within days, the Call to Action was called off when Tiger Mike Revere, ABATE of Oklahoma Liaison to the OK Confederation of Clubs and member of the National Coalition of Motorcyclists board of directors, reported that; “The Hawg Lakes event has RESCINDED its No-Colors Ban — Score one for our side!!”

MYRTLE BEACH SUED AGAIN OVER NOISE LAW As Myrtle Beach prepares to adjust some of the 14 ordinances passed in 2008 to quell the May motorcycle rallies, including their city-wide helmet law and four other ordinances being invalidated by the state’s high court, it faces yet another legal challenge that could require even more changes.

Some residents and other motorcycle enthusiasts are suing the city again, this time hoping the Horry County Circuit Court will overturn the city’s noise ordinance.

Under the final version of the noise ordinance amendment, which gained final approval in March 2009, no vehicles except emergency vehicles can be louder than 89 decibels when measured from 20 inches away from the exhaust pipe, at a 45-degree angle, while the vehicle is idling. Bikers also must have an EPA issued sticker that state their bike meets federal noise reduction laws according to the municipal ordinance, but not South Carolina state law.

On June 15th, Virginia-based Aid to Injured Motorcyclists (A.I.M.) attorney Tom McGrath filed suit in Horry County Circuit Court on behalf of local motel owner William O’Day, Horry County ABATE, and others who feel the city overstepped their authority in enacting muffler regulations that conflict with existing state law.

McGrath’s challenge to the city’s helmet ordinance prevailed in the S.C. Supreme Court, with all five justices unanimously agreeing that the state has already covered the issue of who has to wear motorcycle helmets and that the city could not make its own rules because there must be a uniform traffic code.

The noise ordinance wasn’t included in the case the high court recently ruled on, he said, because the focus was on the helmet law. “They were issuing tickets left and right [under the helmet law],” he said. “No one we know had gotten a ticket under the noise ordinance. It’s still sitting there, and the city has bought decibel meters, so we assume they are planning to use them. We felt we shouldn’t let the ordinance stay on the books.”

McGrath said he felt it best to give the Circuit Court the first chance to make the decision in this case. “Let’s see if the judge will follow the Supreme Court’s opinion,” he told the Sun News.

Meanwhile, the city of Myrtle Beach has mailed out refunds to those who paid fines when they received tickets for not wearing motorcycle helmets. The city repaid nearly $14,000 in fines for 141 tickets it issued when the improper helmet law was in effect.

MICHIGAN’S REJEUVENATED HELMET LAW REPEAL EFFORTS HB 4747 to repeal the helmet law was passed by the Michigan House of Representatives in March, and now awaits action in the Senate. Even though similar legislation has been approved by the state legislature the past two sessions, only to be vetoed by outgoing Governor Jennifer Granholm (D) both times, two out of the three gubernatorial contenders to replace her support giving adult motorcyclists freedom of choice.

Herb Rials who lobbies for ABATE of Michigan claims to have the support of every candidate for governor minus one, he told FOX News in Detroit.

According to the legislative analysis of HB 4747, proponents of voiding the 40-year old helmet law argue it is a civil rights issue. “Wearing a helmet, or not wearing one, they say, should be a matter of personal choice and not a legal mandate.” Supporters of repeal legislation, which includes ABATE, the Michigan Confederation of Clubs and both Democratic gubernatorial hopefuls, also argue that removing the helmet requirement would increase motorcycle traffic in Michigan and thereby stimulate the state’s sagging economy.

“Our outdated helmet law is a barrier to motorcycle tourism,” argues ABATE’s Jim Rhoades. “Michigan is the only Great Lakes state with a mandatory helmet law. Surveys repeatedly show that an overwhelming majority of motorcyclists in neighboring states refuse to visit Michigan because of this law.”

According to a study done by Michigan Consultants in Lansing, Michigan is losing millions of tourism dollars and approximately $1.2 billion in overall economic benefit because of this law.

So if the House and Senate vote next year to kill the helmet law as they have in years past, there’s a good chance that a governor’s signature, not a veto, will be attached to the measure.

CONGRESSIONAL RESOLUTION REINFORCES NHTSA LOBBYING BAN In response to statements made by NHTSA Administrator David Strickland that the core component of the federal agency’s motorcycle safety plan is to increase helmet use, five members of Congress have introduced a resolution urging the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) to concentrate on motorcycle crash prevention and rider education instead of lobbying state legislators to enact mandatory helmet laws.

Introduced on July 1st by U.S. Rep. Jim Sensenbrenner (R-WI), H. Res 1498 “supports efforts to retain the ban on the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration’s ability to lobby state legislatures using federal tax dollars and urging NHTSA to focus on crash prevention and rider education”.

Since 1996, NHTSA has been prohibited by federal law from testifying before state legislatures in support of helmet laws unless specifically invited to do so, and H. Res 1498 reinforces Congressional intent.

COULD A HELMET BE BAD FOR A BIKER’S HEALTH? Most countries around the world require motorcyclists to wear a crash helmet for their own safety, but could it actually be harming their health and affecting their riding? That is what academics are investigating in a new research project.

A team of Bath University researchers will take on-road measurements to find how noise is transmitted from a helmet and how it affects the riders hearing and ability to concentrate.

Dr. Michael Carley of the university’s Department of Mechanical Engineering said: “The noise inside the helmet at the legal speed of 70 mph is higher than the legal limit for noise at work – more than enough to cause serious hearing damage. The issue isn’t noisy engines or loud exhausts as you may think. The noise is simply from the airflow over the helmet.

“Ear plugs won’t help much either as the noise is transferred into the inner ear from the rider’s bones. This has been known for 20 years yet little research has been done on the noise and its effects.”

The laboratory study will be split into two parts; the first will examine how noise is transmitted through the whole system of the helmet including the head. The second part will determine if noise reduces performance.

Dr. Nigel Holt from the Department of Psychology at Bath Spa University said: “It is known that noise can affect perception and cognition but, so far, nobody has tried to examine how noise in motorcycling affects the performance of riders.”

Riding a motorcycle requires great attention and concentration; anything that reduces performance may lead to more accidents.

Dr. Holt added: “This isn’t about putting people off riding or wearing helmets; it’s about finding ways to reduce this damage so that riders can have a better riding experience. We hope the research will provide information which can be used in setting standards for helmets and to help improve helmet and motorcycle design.”

DEBT CRISIS IMPACTS GLOBAL MOTORCYCLE SALES Yamaha Motor Co., the world’s second-largest motorcycle maker, said sales in North America and Europe may fall twice as much as forecast, as a spreading debt crisis dampens demand.

“From May, there has been a sudden impact from the Greek crisis,” Chief Executive Officer Hiroyuki Yanagi told the Washington Post. Combined sales in North America and Europe may decline as much as 20% this year, compared with an earlier estimate for a drop of about 10%, he said in an interview from Tokyo.

The company last year posted its first loss since the year ended April 1984 as sales tumbled 45% in North America and 25% in Europe, though sales in Asia excluding Japan may exceed a 14% growth forecast, so Yamaha expects to break even this year says Yanagi.

Honda Motor Co., the world’s largest motorcycle maker, said in an April presentation it expects its two-wheeler sales in North America and Europe to drop less than 1% to 385,000 units in the fiscal year ending March 31.

AUSTRALIAN POLICE SEEK TO DISMANTLE OUTLAW CLUBS As police in New South Wales move to have the Supreme Court declare the Hells Angels MC a “criminal organization” and subject to new laws that would dismantle the club and disallow members from ever associating with one another, representatives of the United Motorcycle Council met in Sydney recently to discuss their response and warn others that the same state law could be used against other clubs and groups in society.

Authorities announced in early July that the “Hells Angels MC in NSW” would be the first target of the Crimes (Criminal Organizations Control) Act 2009, passed by State Parliament in April last year, which allows the court to declare criminal organizations and control members under orders determined by the court.

The UMC, comprised of 17 motorcycle clubs — from rival “bikie gangs” to religious and family clubs – is raising funds in anticipation of a legal challenge to the ban. Mark “Ferret” Maroney, UMC chairman and member of the Vietnam Veterans MC, said; “These laws are unjust, they’re unnecessary and they go against the rule of law…where people are being discriminated against by the clothes they wear and their lifestyle.”

Similar legislation in South Australia has been ruled illegal, but is subject to a High Court appeal.

MACHO MUNICIPALITIES Think you’re a manly man? Maybe…but do you live in the manliest city? From the research experts behind the popular “Best Places to Live” studies, the Combos “America’s Manliest Cities” study ranks 50 major metropolitan areas, using manly criteria like the number of home improvement stores, steak houses, pickup trucks and motorcycles per capita.

Charlotte took the top spot this year, beating out Nashville as last year’s winner. Portland, Oregon ranked last in this year’s study.

AMERICA’S MANLIEST CITIES: 1. Charlotte, NC; 2. Columbus, OH; 3. Kansas City, MO; 4. Nashville, TN; 5. Baltimore, MD; 6. Milwaukee, WI; 7. Chicago, IL; 8. Indianapolis, IN; 9. Washington, D.C.; 10. Philadelphia, PA.

QUOTABLE QUOTE: “The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing.” Albert Einstein (1879-1955) Scientist, humanist

 

In the motorcycle world, there is a common bond among us. We need to stick together. It’s dangerous out there. The two-wheeled passion runs deep and is thick as 60-weight. When a brother needs help with a project, we step up. Here’s a perfect example of two-wheeled zeal. Motorcycle rights effort in the U.S. is one of the strongest grass roots movements in the country. The brothers and sister aren’t paid, but they fight daily to maintain our freedoms. This bike build is another example of the crazed monks from the motorcycle mountain worshiping together to form a world class motorcycle. All it takes for a brother to seek out inspirational notions from motorcycle mentors, is to pick up a phone, or drop an e-mail to another prophet. We always stop and take the time to share concepts, notions and resources. Bikers stick together or projects like the Brawler wouldn’t become a reality.

Dar Holdsworth of Darwin Motorcycles, a.k.a. Brass Balls Bobbers and Choppers, was looking down the road and thinking of possibly adding a bagger to his lineup of bikes. He brought his idea to our own Chris Callen. Chris was quick to add his opinion that the lifetime of the bagger products, although in high swing right now, was somewhat short, had already been satisfied by many companies in the aftermarket world and that baggers are also like a last stop in the natural evolution of a motorcyclist. He explained to Dar that with that in mind, it might be cooler to build something more in the middle of the road; a bike that handles well and can also be ridden in comfort on long trips, something like an old FXR. Dar agreed that this was a possibility and told Chris that he always aspired to build a sport bike platform and that the FXR may fit that category.

As the design process began, sketches were passed back and forth and a few other people got involved. Keith R Ball, or Bandit, of www.bikernet.com, and Roadside Marty were also consulted on the design concepts.

“FXRs were probably the best bikes H-D every made,” Bandit said, “That’s why their touring bikes continue to use that tight configuration. We just need to give it attitude.”

All having different visions, Bandit would draw up tight stretched versions for today’s rider, and say it had to be more ergononmic. Roadside threw his sketches into the mix and Chris came back with the need for a steep rake with mid controls. Dar’s ten-year-old son, Will, even put his two cents in with a drawing of his own. Before long there was an impressive body of work sitting right before him. Dar used all of these ideas and designed a steep rake of 27 degrees but added an extended swingarm to give it a little length as well. He used sport bike inverted forks and an FXR style 2-shock design.Mids and tracker style bars were thrown in and the rider position became a natural fit for any cafe cycle nut. In spite of all the progress with the design, the bike needed a name and his son Will finally came up with it: The Brawler. It was perfect for a bike that was fought over by design ideas from different generations and geographic locations; it had an instant sense of aggression and was sure to be a favorite of angry young men everywhere.

This bike looks great on the kickstand and has a real classic nature. The combination of Raptor handlebars with motocross grips along with the mid controls mentioned above, gives it a racy look. The gas tank is inverted, in the Bonneville tradition, so your knees can tuck in behind the fat tank for sport bike type wind resistance and added comfort. The solo seat has a slight rise in the back to match the camel hump fender which again enhances rider comfort and also adds support when you twist it up, in keeping with the ’50s café style. The inverted forks and extended swingarm give the bike a long stance like a dragger sport bike custom and also lends itself to the beneficial handling characteristics.

The Brawler fits me well, but there is still plenty of room between the handlebars and controls for a much taller rider. With a twist of the ignition switch, tucked neatly under the left side panel, the 96-inch rubber mounted S&S engine fired up and sounded great with a custom 2-into-1 D&D exhaust. There was very little engine vibration at idle which is not common with a rubber mount and struck me as odd. When you pick the bike up off the stand, it almost balanced itself. The geometry of this frame had me excited from that moment on. I found I was able to handle slow maneuvers and easy to do figure eights.I was completely amazed with the control of this Chopper guys frame and tire combination. Slow speed manuverablitiy was a breeze. Itfelt light, agile and was best balanced motorcycle I’ve ever ridden.

Needless to say, in town it’s a dream to ride. The extended swingarm maked it easy to launch the bike from light to light; it was also quick to stop.There was no vibration on the highway which is the essential design of rubber mounted chassis, so it didn’t expect any.I seemed to sense even less vibration on the Brawler compared to other rubber-isolated models I’ve ridden. I’m still not sure how Dar accomplished this but it was a comfortable surprise. Technology continues to improve touring bike handling and Dar was taking advantage of the lastest developments. You can cut lines on the highway at high speeds and maintain complete control. The bike stayed stable and didn’t dive into the hardest corners, which by the way are hard to find in Oklahoma City. I did manage to find some outside Dar’s shop and we set upon putting it through its paces. The foot pegs were ground at about a 45 degree angle and can be used as feelers. They fold up so you can push the lean angle even further.

I really enjoyed the Brawler by Darwin Motorcycles, the builders of Brass Balls Bobbers. The price starts around $24,000 and you can use the “Build-A-Bike” tab available on the Darwin Motorcycle Web site to add options and make your Brawler unique.

Dar is proud to say he goes out of his way to use only the finest American made parts available on each build, plus he makes a point to use hometown businesses for powder coating, frames, and local machine shops for manufacturing components they can’t make in-house. Every motorcycle is hand-built from start to finish in his Darwin Motorcycle Oklahoma City facility.Dar is the boss, yet he works on many of his motorcycle personally and inspecte every motorcycle build in the Darwin shop, and his high standards of quality are what make his line of motorcycles world class award winners and show stoppers. Stay tuned to Cycle Source and Bikernet as we are already scheduled to ride the upgrade of this model with a much larger engine during Sturgis. Hang on for the next hot rod chapter.

Bikernet.com Extreme Darwin Motorcycle Tech Chart

Regular Stuff

Owner: Dar Holdsworth
Bike Name: Brawler GT
City/State: Oklahoma City, OK

Builder: Dar, Tim, Bryan
City/state: Oklahoma City, OK
Company Info: Darwin Motorcycles
Address: 401 S. Blackwelder Ave. OKC, OK 73108
Phone: 405-270-0995
Web site: www.DarwinMotorcycles.com
E-mail:evolve@DarwinMotorcycles.com
Fabrication: Darwin Motorcycles
Manufacturing: Darwin Motorcycles
Welding: Darwin Motorcycles
Machining: Darwin Motorcycles

Engine 111” S&S

Year:2010
Make: Darwin Motorcycles
Model: Brawler GT
Displacement: 111”
Builder or Rebuilder: S&S
Cases: S&S
Case finish: black w/machined fins
Barrels: S&S
Bore: 4-1/8”
Pistons: S&S
Lower end: S&S
Stroke: 4-1/8”
Rods: S&S
Heads: S&S
Head finish: Brushed
Valves and springs: S&S
Pushrods: S&S
Cams: S&S
Lifters: S&S
Carburetion: S&S
Air cleaner: Todd’s Moto Speed
Exhaust: D&D performance ceramic
Mufflers: D&D performance carbon

Transmission

Year: 2010
Make: Baker FLT
Gear configuration: 6
Final drive: Chain
Primary: Evil
Clutch: Evil
Kicker: no

Frame

Year: 2010
Make: Chopper Guys for Darwin
Style or Model: Brawler (FXR inspired)
Stretch: 0
Rake: 28 degrees
Modifications: no tabs

Front End

Make: MeanStreet
Model: 56mm inverted narrow
Year: 2010
Length: 28

Sheet metal

Tanks: Satia Kraus and Tim Davis
Fenders: Tim Davis and Dar
Panels: Kyle Hix
Oil tank: under tranny

Paint
Molding:none
Base coat: black
Graphics: Liquid Illusions
Type: Liquid Illusions
Frame: powder coated
Molding: none
Base coat: wrinkle black
Pinstriping: Liquid Illusions

Wheels

Front
Make: Brass Balls Signature by Leroy Thompson
Size: 19”
Brake calipers: Brass Balls Signature by Wilwood
Brake rotor(s): Wilwood
Tire: Metzeler ME 880 120mm

Rear
Make: Brass Balls Signature by Leroy Thompson
Size: 18”
Brake calipers: Brass Balls Signature Sprotor by Wilwood
Brake rotor: Wilwood sprotor
Pulley: sprotor
Tire: Metzeler ME 880 180mm

Controls

Foot controls: Mids
Finish: brushed
Master cylinder: Wilwood
Handlebar controls: ISR
Finish: Satin
Clutch Cable: Motion pro
Brake Lines
Shifting: smooth
Kickstand: Darwin Motorcycles

Electrical

Ignition: Crane
Ignition switch: Pollack
Coils: Crane
Regulator: Cycle Electric
Charging: Cycle Electric
Wiring: Darwin Motorcycles
Harness: Wire Plus
Headlight: Martini Light
Taillight: Martini Light
Accessory lights:
Electrical accessories:
Battery: Interstate

What’s Left

Seat: Kyle Hix
Mirror(s): Joker Bar Ends
Gas caps: Darwin Motorcycles
Handlebars: Pro Taper
Grips: Pro Taper
Pegs: Leroy Thompson MotoX
Oil cooler: none
Fasteners: Gardner Wescott

Specialty items: Gauge machined into Trees Custom made side panels Extended swing arm.

Comments: My new favorite bike Roadside named the bike.

Credits: Thanks to Keith R. Ball, Chris Callen and Marty (Roadside) Davis for their encouragement and inspiration on this bike.

SMOKE OUT PARTY BIKERNET SIDE BAR:

The story of the Brawler GT’s 3,000 mile shake down run is all about the elements and El Flaco, the Brass Balls Chop Off bike. On the way out to Smoke Out East, El Flaco, the lil’ Ironhead Sportster, stumbled on a daily basis. The Brawler GT hauled ass through 100 degree heat days to torrential rains, mountain passes to the track at V.I.R. It has surpassed expectations. It ran like a Rolex?

The following are excerpts from the trip posted on Facebook.

Tonight at 6pm. Brass Balls/Horse Smoke out party. Food drink music good people & Fun. 401 S. Blackwelder Ave. Oklahoma City, Ok

Blown base gasket on the chop off iron head. Making repairs and back on the road to the smoke out tonight.

8:30 AM, already at our 3rd gas stop. Making up lost ground from yesterday. See you at the Smoke Out

The EL FLACO bike ate it’s ignition system on the side of I-40

Special thanks to the crew at Bumpas Harley- Davidson for the use of their trailer, tools and lift.

Chris from Bumpas Harley-Davidson took us to his house, and his Shovel was the donor bike for the ignition system in EL Flaco, our chop off bike.

Ryan, service manager from Bumpas Harley-Davidson, came back after they closed just to make sure are doing good. We are fixing EL FLACO in the parking lot of Bumpas Harley-Davidson

Changing out a headlight and having dinner so we can keep going tonight.

Always chasing the long road riders? We caught up with them at 4:50 this morning. Got a couple hours sleep. The sun has risen on a new day.

Dead battery… 45 miles from Smoke Out. We will persevere.

Special thanks to Jesse at Old Skool Kustoms in Marshville, NC. Saved us with a new battery for the chop-off bike. Jesse is good people.

The Brawler, on the other hand coasted through without a problem. Yipee For quick easy access to our sponsors click on their banners for more info:

The Myrtle Beach rally was over now and it was time to continue the northward journey. For the few days since rally’s end I’d been relaxing into this touresty beach town. Before leaving, however, it seemed a good idea to address the problem of my failing cell phone.

I walked into the Verizon place.

A tech there actually replaced the old view-screen with a used one. It worked. Meanwhile, the young receptionist babbled on about a new plan she was selling. I wasn’t buying. In a moment she looked left then right, assumed a sly smile, moved her face closer and in a low tone said, “You know, I also sell timeshares. Would you like to attend a presentation? They’ll pay you $100 cash.”

She was cute. “Don’t think so,” I smiled, “I’ve been to a few of those things and they’ve never given up what they promised. Always got some chicken-shit way out. Besides, hard-sell salespeople always piss me off. I tell ’em ’bout it too. Last girl suckered me into one of those things…well…they fired her right there. No lie.”

“This is different,” she persisted, “There’s no hard sell, and I promise they’ll write you a check on the spot. Here’s my card. Call me if they screw you and I’ll pay it myself. Promise. Anyway, you know where I work. What do you say?”

“What do I gotta do? How long will it take?”

“Just listen to a presentation, then take a tour of the display units. Hour and a half, tops.”

I did the math. A hundred bucks to keep my mouth shut for an hour and a half. I’d tackled harder jobs than this. “When?” I said.

“I can get you in today at 1:00pm if you like. That alright?”

“Sign me up. But remember what I said about the last girl.”

“It’ll be fine,” she smiled, “Here’s the address,” she held out a piece of paper.

It was 1:00 when, dressed in my best tee-shirt, I walked into the timeshares building. After taking my name the receptionist said to wait a few minutes then motioned to a table covered with coffee pot, danish, brownies, muffins, apples, bananas, etc.

Before long a rep came to very cordially escort me and five couples to a room next door. At one wall hung a white, pull-down projector screen that sat before a handful of small round tables positioned near, but not beside, each other. Each had four seats. With coffee in one hand and muffin in the other, I took the far table to myself while the others found their own. Once settled we all faced the attractive, middle-aged blond who stood with pointer in one hand and remote, projector-clicker in the other. The projector came to life. The show began: “I’m so glad that all of you could make it today. My name is…blah…blah…blah…” She then shook. And she danced. She was a comedian—and we laughed. She talked of good times and family—we felt. She stressed the importance of finance and investment (especially in her company) to the welfare of our children and our future—the room became serious. She jiggled some more.

Coffee mug in hand, muffin crumbs running down my shirt, I sat in awe of this poor, underrated woman. What a performance, I thought, Such extraordinary theatrical talent. Timeshares. What a waist. This girl should be in Hollywood!

On the final note real tears streaked pink cheeks as she brought light to all the wonderful things timeshares had allowed her to do for her mother. Phenomenal! The perfect snow-job! I almost stood for the well-earned ovation, but fortunately caught myself in time. Truly, I’d enjoyed the show.

But it was over now and we filed out. I was soon introduced to the young man who would drive me to the timeshare “display models”. With the usual “friendly act” so common to salespeople, he escorted me to his little car. Once inside I looked him in the eye and said, “Look man, I know you probably work for commission and I’m really sorry you got me. I’m probably the last person on earth who’ll ever buy a timeshare. Hell, I don’t even have a house. So, since you’re working for free now why don’t you just give me the basic ‘quick tour’ and we can both be on our way.”

He saw I was serious. “You sure?”

“Beyond doubt.”

We buzzed quickly out to look at the high-class, high-dollar, apartments while he talked only of fishing and his girlfriend. Not once were timeshares mentioned.

Back at the office—just as the cell girl had promised—they wrote a $100 check redeemable at a nearby bank. Then, as a bonus, I was given a coupon for one of the gambling ships that disembarked from a harbor some 25-miles north. It said that I would receive $40 in chips for a $20 cash investment. What a deal. The ship would leave at 5pm, spend 4-hours on the water, then return to the same dock. For gambling, you see, is only legal in this state at 3 or more miles offshore. The note promised that no other money would be necessary and that the ship-line would include a complementary buffet. Free dinner and a boat ride.

I love ships. I’ve ridden aboard many; although this would be the first time my bike had not accompanied in the cargo hold below. Oh well, it would only be four hours. The decision was made.

To the harbor I went.

Although the mid-sized ship was not as rundown as some of the rust-buckets I’d boarded in Third World Countries, it was certainly not in showroom condition. And so we were shuffled aboard. After climbing the stairs to pass three gambling decks filled with slot machines (no photos allowed), I reached the top which opened into a large and window lined room. The forward section offered a bar that catered to the many tables and chairs sitting before it. Beyond these, glass doors opened onto a large, outside deck filled with more tables and chairs. At one of these I sat to face aft.

The ship was soon underway. For some time we traveled down a channel and I watched beautiful forests pass on either side as huge props churned a foamy wake into the water below. I was certainly getting my money’s worth.

Inside the glass-lined barroom, warmers were soon ignited and the food began to arrive. Before long passengers lined up and I strolled inside to fall in among them. Talk was friendly as we approached the buffet and the food looked pretty good too. Tables were soon filled with munching gamblers and the room broke into idle chatter.

By the time chow-call had ended the ship was some distance out to sea. Just past the three-mile mark all stopped and the gambling decks were opened for business. Everyone quickly hustled below leaving the top deck empty—except for myself of course. I cruised out to the rear deck and regained my former seat. Although the air was warm this day, the sea was a little rough. But no nausea plagued my stomach and the time seemed extraordinarily pleasant. I lit the cigar brought along for just this occasion and relaxed farther into the chair. The sun dropped slowly into hazy clouds then to turn the sky’s edge a fluorescent crimson for quite some time before finally settling into the horizon with breathtaking beauty. A truly amazing sunset. Stars began to show themselves in the clear sky above.

In a while I ambled downstairs to purchase the $40 in chips for a $20 cash investment, then returned to the topside deck.

In time, long-faced gamblers began to shuffle upstairs and I listened to, among other topics, how much they’d lost. Soon we had quite a little party going on.

A loudspeaker announced the closing of gambling decks then stated that chips must be cashed in immediately. I shuffled downstairs, collected the $40, then returned to again sit among my new acquaintances in the bar.

The ship began its return journey. A second buffet was served leaving me thoroughly stuffed by the time we pulled into port. After goodbye handshakes were exchanged with those I’d met, I disembarked to regain the motorcycle that waited patiently in the parking lot.

And so ended the great gambling ship adventure.

Within half an hour I was snuggled into a very private, roadside camp for the night. Looking up through tall trees to the distant stars above, I was moved to recount the day’s events. First the timeshares deal, then the gambling boat ride. Each a fun and interesting event unto itself; and paying me a grand total of $120 all told (minus the cost of one cigar). It had been like getting paid to spend the day at Disneyland. What a trip.

But tomorrow I’d ride into North Carolina to spend time with the guys at Easy Eddy’s motorcycle shop. From there I’d go wherever the road led next.

With that I nodded off to sleep.

Ride long and prosper my friends.
Scooter Tramp Scott.