Discovered the simple joy of my Sony PSP 3 — the so very popular PlayStation Portable made by Sony. That product was so good but they discontinued it as demand slowed in NA and EU (the last factory for it in Japan closed). I guess, people want to just sit in front of a big screen with the big console instead.


This game on screen is ‘Assassin’s Creed – Bloodlines (2009)’. Well, whaddya know, there are 3 rules they follow:
1. Never hurt an innocent person,
2. Always be discreet and
3. Never compromise the Brotherhood.

Outlaw stuff inspired from real-life Knights Templar and “haššašin”. Etymology of the word ‘assassin’ is from ‘hashish-users’ — it supposedly helped relieve pain & continue missions.

The popularity of the game inspired expensive comics and collectible novels. Of course, the Hollywood movie adaptation ‘Killed’ the enthusiasm I believe. Anyways, they had already flooded the market with a dozen games instead of managing their hen that laid golden eggs. Media!!!


So what’s the “Creed” in the “”Assassin’s Creed” series?
Creed of the Assassins : “nothing is true; everything is permitted”.

When I was a kid, the only comic books available to me were Archie comic series and He-Man cartoons on TV. There were also plenty of The Phantom and Mandrake the Magician comic strips in newspapers – both created by Lee Falk.



While adults can understand the timeline and culture when words and concepts were used in print, I guess it was obvious that ‘modern’ children, despite ‘Google’, may not fully comprehend the unwelcome-in-school novels such as The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain or the landmark To Kill a Mockingbird by author Harper Lee.



Both Flash and Rip Kirby were created by the legendary ‘artist’ cartoonist Alex Raymond.



Well, before I put you to sleep, check out Spotify. Something that’s been around a while. I can’t recommend it more than anything for flashbacks. I found songs dating back to the 1920s on it. Incredible stuff, all on a mobile app. It had lyrics for most of the songs I was interested in….not just strange random alphabets youth call lyrics today. Educative for a new generation?

Being part of the Hamsters for 30+ years and building custom bikes, I never thought of owning a Trike. One night 10 years ago, as we were admiring all the custom one-of-a-kind bikes at Sturgis, a buddy says to me, “You know what the next big thing is going to be……. Trikes”. I’m like what? And he says, “Think about it. We are all getting older.” Well guess what… I bought a Trike.

Because of a major bike accident a few years ago, I’ve lost my ability to close or grip with my right hand. It’s become a major problem to hold up a heavy bagger, and I fell over too many times. I decided I can’t risk this anymore with my wife on the back, so I started looking at trikes to solve these issues. I still have my Chopper that I built and don’t have the same problem riding it, but I’m not packing my wife…

So bottom line, I bought a 2017 M8 Tri-Glide and I’m really starting to enjoy the benefits of three wheels on the ground. First you have to get used to not putting your feet down. Then spend time riding through some twisty roads steering the trike like a snowmobile.

It took a while to get accustomed to the unique handling of the three-wheeler, but now I travel as fast through corners as I ever did on a Harley 2- wheeler. This is a key issue. The stock trikes don’t handle well. My trike handling is quite good, because of the upgrades to the suspension. The rear OEM shocks were replaced with Legends shocks and the front end was modified with Legends gas canisters. Also, a Legend lift kit was installed which raised the rear an inch. These upgrades are vastly better than the stock setup for ride quality and handling.

When considering rear suspension on trikes, the big issue is adjustability and length of travel. The stock air ride shocks are short and when adjusted for two passengers reduces the travel significantly. Some people are using longer coil over like 13-14-inch without the lift kit with good results, but the lift kit and standard-length shocks are more the norm. Lots of forums to read up on this stuff.

I can understand why new trike guys ride ‘em for six months and sell them disillusioned. They are seeking a fun and stable alternative to 2-wheelers. If stock trikes don’t do the trick, the search continues.

I’ve been working with and dialing in my trike for months, and now it handles and rides comfortably. I might keep it. It offers a safe platform to travel two- up with lots of gear for long distance touring.

Would I prefer 2 wheels…. Of course, but not being afraid of tipping over while traveling or putting my feet down on slippery shit or gravel with my wife on the back is worth it!

We all come to a point where we have to assess our ability to ride safely and be able to continue staying in the wind. I know we all want to maintain our outlaw image but want to keep riding. Harley has done a pretty good job with these tri-glides and I’m glad to have one.

I’m planning to ride mine to Sturgis next year and have a feeling I’ll be bumping into other ex-outlaws on trikes feeling free in the wind.

–DaCat

You might hear from DaCat in the near future to discuss trike passenger issues, M-8 engine and oil pump issues and the new 6-quart oil capacity.—Bandit

Sources:

Legends Suspension
www.legendsuspensions.com

Hamster Charity Effort

5-Ball Garage

Bandit’s Cantina

Do you know what I can do? I can “present the case” that the American-Government decrees regarding “human-caused global warming” is “the establishment of religion” by the government and is thus in violation of the Constitution.

I know what you’re saying, “Aren’t you a doddering delirious old man who was once a Mouseketeer with Annette and dropped from the epitome of pop culture in America down to the very bottom of it later in life by writing vulgar, borderline-felonious-crap for the early Easyriders Magazine, universally condemned as the most inept, most socially-unredeeming, most vagrant-targeted publication in American history?

Well, yeah. What’s your point. Where are you going with this. Tell you what, why don’t you pipe down for a minute and let me have my say. Write your own article if you’re so damn smart, meanwhile give it a rest, ok? And let me get-on with this. Ok? Well, I don’t hear you sayin’ nuthin’ so I guess it’s ok. Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude but really, you need to back off just a tad. Ok, ok, relax.

Where the hell was I? OH yeah: declaring the global warming edicts as the establishing of a religion. This ain’t allowed!

Amendment I

“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.”

The first ten words of this Bill of Rights thing that everyone declares is very spiffy, says, in the language vernacular of the day, that DC can’t create a fucking religion and then issue “commandments” regarding it that everyone has to fucking obey.

Ok, so here’s where this is going: “Human Caused Global Warming” is a religion. And there are commandments being issued by the creators of this religion that have to be obeyed under penalty of the usual penalties governments inflict for disobedience: confiscation, incarceration, and murder.

So, let’s define what a religion is and then we can see why Human Caused Global Warming IS one.

1: A religion is something that can’t be proved. It’s a conviction or a belief or a delusion or a whim or a suspicion or a hunch or a tale or a legend or a supposition that cannot ever be subjected to analysis, experiment, results, conclusions, findings, testing, and retesting. Human Caused Global Warming is one of these things.

2: A religion’s assertions cannot be tested for accuracy or even be tested for actually being in existence. There is no actual evidence that humans, much less gasoline in particular, are altering the climate and the effects of climate: the weather. PLUS!!!! there is no way to even hunt down any evidence of anything created by humans that would result in the clear conclusion that this action or this behavior or this particular practice was conclusively and repeatedly demonstrating on demand that it was producing something as astoundingly mammoth as an effect on the atmosphere of a planet 25,000 miles in circumference buried under a dynamic global violent meteor-vaporizing blanket of gasses 100,000 feet high both of which are being eternally blasted by so many thermonuclear explosions per second that they are creating a sphere of multi-million-degree fire nearly one million miles in diameter which if we were any closer to it we would all fucking die. The actions of you driving to work do not affect these three monstrosities. Rather these three monstrosities affect you. UNLESS you are a high priest of human-caused global warming, of course. Then you are running things. In between visits to Epstein Island.

In other words, saying that humans affect weather and climate is something straight out of voodoo land from the bowels of Tanganyika circa 25,000 BC.

3: A religion has a “powerful being” that is capable of overriding the laws of Nature, and this entity is either one that resides not on the earth but “out there” somewhere where Pelosi and Gavin Newsom live, or if he or she or it does reside on the earth it lives in the very rocks or IS the very rocks or the trees or is the globe of Earth itself, like Gaia is.

The supreme entity of a religion can also be us. Such that we are the all-powerful beings who by our powerful and divinely awesome majesty can…..control the weather. And move the stars around. These religions are referred to, at least in the Christian realm, as pagan if not satanic in that the member of the religion is also the deity of the religion, and these religions are referred to in the “secular” realm as humanistic or “enlightened.” Kabbala, Masonry, Rosicrucianism, Scientology unless I miss my guess, and most cults, all have the membership as being of deity level in abilities and performance and overall nature and capacity to do truly marvelous things, even if relentlessly unemployed.

4: Human Caused Global Warming is a religion of claimed, not-to-be-questioned, foregone actual untestable reality evident only to people in high places in politics, or adepts, as opposed to those living in the underling world like ourselves, none of whom high-placed people are meteorologists and most of whom have the scientific training and intellectual adroitness of Al Gore, Greta Thunberg and A. Ocasio-Cortez and company. Human Caused Global Warming cannot be proved or disproved by any amount of testing in that the premise exceeds all known current levels of human ability to test its accuracy on a global or even on a township scale. The entire planet would have to be the laboratory in order to test the assertion. In other words we’re powerful enough to alter earth’s climate and weather but we’re not powerful enough to prove that we’re doing it. This sort of quandary of whirling doubletalk is the kind of merry-go-round that lunatics and/or con-men operate with, both of whom routinely create religions when not just stealing hubcaps.

5: Congress, in addition to creating a religion out of – oh the irony! – thin air, is forcing the citizenry to obey the religion’s rules and edicts and commandments.

6: This (item 5) is what is known as “respecting the establishment of religion.” Ordering people to obey edicts and to follow the directives of edict-hurlers for the purpose of maintaining the behavioral norms and protocols of a religion….is unconstitutional. Not only does it violate the Bill of Rights, it violates the first fucking ten words of the Bill of Rights. Apparently, this has happened before and the Constitution Assembly Committee made that item the first no-no of the day. Tell that to the alleged “Supreme” Court.

Those meatheads are about as aware of the Constitution as they are aware that they are supposed to wear clothing under their robes. There’s a reason people want to become judges. And it’s not the prestige. It’s the absolute total groinal freedom which that robe allows. Shoes on the feet and the bottoms of pantlegs sewn onto the hem of the sith robe and it’s day after day of Sex Organ Fandango while boredly listening to applicants pleading for justice to someone sitting a-high-up a million miles away playing with himself. Those robes are there for a reason. And it’s a gross one.

So there ya have it!……the global warming bullshit all wrapped up and tied with a bright ribbon of Established Religion, all brought to your attention by a hack on Bikernet.com. I guess you’ll have a little more respect for this site now that you have used it as a guidepost to launch your own personal counterattack against the Greta Thunbergs and Gavin Newsoms of the world who are determined to send you back to pre-industrial Ur of the Chaldees, going to work on burro-back and having your air conditioner confiscated as a heretical violation of the Atmospheric Religious Brotherhood of the Annointed Sky Monitors.

So, remember: human-caused global warming is a DC-created religion, the rules of which you are required to follow, in disobedience to and with flagrant disregard for the first ten words of the Bill of Rights. Imagine what this Congress-established religion is going to do to the rest of the Bill of Rights once it gets some momentum going.

–J.J. Solari

This bike was built in classic form by Steve Hannah a 20-year Paughco employee and lifetime biker. The Redhead and I hauled ass to Carson City, Nevada with the briefcase, purchased, loaded and blasted back to the Black Hills of South Dakota.

I usually mess with any purchase unless it’s a restored antique. But this puppy was well built, classic and had chopper class. I took off the gas tank and extended the rear tabs. Then I took the tank to Greg Robles in Sturgis for a classic scallop paint job. I discovered he lived next door to Buck Lovell, former Hot Bike Editor and a master western and motorcycle photographer.

While Greg performed classic magic, I replaced the traditional Anderson pegs with standard Harley rubber pegs for rigid frame rider comfort. I didn’t want to mess with the classic chop styling, but I’m not a fan of fishtail straight pipes, although they looked too cool.

I considered a handmade two-into-one with a 19-inch long, 2.5-inch diameter Paughco muffler. I ordered some parts and pieces from Paughco including a chain guard. Chain guards are a must.

I tinkered, but struggled with the pipes. The fishtails were slip on with clamps. I loosened the clamps, but they didn’t come off.

I discovered long 5/16 bolts sticking up into the pipes, maybe to create a little back pressure. Whatever, I thought they had to come out. I was forced to make this super-long ½-inch open-end wrench.

The bike also didn’t have a front brake and fortunately, because of an AMCA gathering I met Charlie of RustyOldParts. He turned me onto an almost complete front brake system with drum, backing plate, shoes and most of the small bits.

Mike Kane introduced me to Capitol Brake and Clutch in Sacramento, CA. They mount shoes and form them to your brake drum. Mechanical brakes can work like champs with this procedure. I sent them my drum, shoes and backing plate. They blasted and cleaned the parts did their magic and returned them in less than a week for very little.

I dug through my drawers and boxes for a handlebar lever. I looked online. I found the perfect product at J&P, lever, cable and adjusting rod kit, but they were no longer in stock. I reached out to Barnett for the cable and they were coming to Sturgis for the rally and Chance and his guys make the cables right at their booth behind the magnificent Barnett rig. I stopped by and they knocked one out.

In my shit, I found a lever that matched the clutch lever on the highbars. I dug around and found the lever axle and the cable pivot post. Hell, I found three of them. Each one was slightly different from the others. Unfortunately, I lacked the lever clamp that encircled the bars and mated with the lever housing. I thought for sure I had one or two, but recently I completed two other builds, both patina Panheads. They could be long gone.

The front brake on the springer was nearly complete except for the cable clamp that swings on the brake backing plate lever and operates the cam. I reached out to Charlie again and he recently returned from Davenport with a small stash of new/old parts for his bikes and inventory.

He bought some handlebar levers and one had the clamp I needed. He sold me the clamp and a cable junction for the brake. I prayed the clamp would not be for 7/8s bars. It was perfect. I cleaned the 10/24 threads in the lever and found the fasteners.

I ran into one issue with the Barnet cable end for the lever. The issue was probably the lever casting. It was designed for a clutch cable with a larger diameter cable and end, but I made a shim to tighten up the fit into the lever housing, bada bing.

 

I installed the front brake and wheel, searched for a massive washer to fit between the rocker and the front brake retaining spring. I found one with the correct I.D. and O.D. which I had forever and somehow it was power coated black—amazing.

Steve painted everything that wasn’t polished or chrome, satin black, perfect. I painted the backing plate accordingly and the drum silver to sorta match the rear chromed drum. I got the drum lugs and chromed anchor bar from J&P Cycles and the anchor pin from Charlie. The front brake was nearly complete.

 

The front cable adjustment clamp is not correct, but it is chrome. The alignment with the adjustment tool is not perfect, but it will do. I would like to solder the end of the cable after I cut it to length. The cable is stainless and can be a pain to solder. I thought about dipping the end into liquid electrical tape to prevent fraying. I tried it out. Let me know what you think.

The brake seems to be working like a champ. Where’s my list: Mufflers, oil filter, chain guard. Okay, the mufflers arrived yesterday, but I needed to modify them and work out mounting. I’ve installed oil filters on two bikes, and Randy Cramer turned me onto an odd filter housing I’ve never seen before. It’s meant to mount to a frame rail, maybe. The fasteners are metric like motorcycle battery cable fasteners.

 

I grappled with mounting it, so I can still kick over the bike, not to close to pipes and not too close to other stuff, like primary chain adjustment fasteners. Finally, something surfaced and I built a bracket and it seems to work. I need to work on oil lines next and wondered if I could take these apart and use the ends. Randy Cramer, from Dakota V-Twin said, “No.” Looks like I needed to cut them.

 

 

The new shorter Paughco Mufflers arrived and I slash cut them and mounted them. I’m still not completely happy with the mounting. I could have slipped them onto the pipes, tightened the stainless straps and called it quits, but if I wasn’t going to chrome them, I wanted to add some detail.

I was going to run two chrome straps, the the bracket became a clearance issue. Then it dawned on me to run just one strap and that sorta worked and gave the pipes extra support.

I may ride it around later today and see if the pipes are happy. The Redhead found a small can of flat black latex paint and I painted away the whitewall stripes. I bought replacement sparkplugs and a case of 60-25 oil at Dakota V-Twin. Never heard of such a thing.

I believe that leaves the chain guard. Paughco sent the oil tank mounting tab, which I will weld or braze to the guard.

I could send it back to Paughco for chrome or flat black it. I believe I have all the elements to make it work. In the meantime, she’s looking sharp and classic.

–Bandit

Sources:

Greg Robles
Painter
Boulder Canyon

Paughco

Rusty Ol’ Parts
708-431-6778
Chasbuci@aol.com

Capitol Clutch & Brake
(916) 371-5970

https://www.capitolclutch.com

 

Barnett Cables

Dakota V-Twin
http://www.dakotav-twin.com

QEII RIP
Heartfelt condolences have poured out from around the World with the death of HRH Queen Elizabeth II, the longest serving monarch in British history (1952-2022), and a fellow gearhead.

Before she became Queen, in 1945 then-Princess Elizabeth was the first female member of the Royal Family to serve in the armed forces, joining the women’s Auxiliary Territory Services (ATS) during WWII at the age of 19 as a driver and mechanic. Her wartime training also involved gaining experience on two wheels, and she has been pictured riding motorcycles on numerous occasions.

Her majesty’s mechanical aptitude evidently passed to her grandchildren, as both Prince William and Prince Henry are well-known motorcycle fans, and the Royal pair once shared together a 1,000-mile charity ride on Honda enduro bikes across Africa.

May her memory reign eternal; and Long Live The King!

NEW STUDY REVEALS SELF-DRIVING CARS ARE NOT SAFE FOR MOTORCYCLISTS
A white paper analyzing the ability of self-driving cars to detect motorcycles has been released by the Connected Motorcycle Consortium (CMC), revealing several shortfalls in the autonomous technology.

Concerns remain that autonomous vehicles do not yet have sufficient detection capabilities to make them safe around powered two-wheelers (PTWs), and as the European Association of Motorcycle Manufacturers (ACEM) said, “reliable detection of PTWs by passenger car ADAS (Advanced Driving Assistance Systems) is absolutely essential to avoid car-PTW collisions and to decrease the number of motorcycle accidents. Passenger cars must be able to appropriately recognize motorcycle maneuvers in ordinary traffic, such as weaving in, leaning while cornering or splitting lanes.”

The conclusion of the CMC paper is that it will be necessary going forwards for ADAS vehicles to have a “special focus on PTW detection” in their testing. “Under certain circumstances,” the CMC paper reads, “the detection of PTWs is challenging for ADAS due to the different way of motion, the slim shape and as a result the smaller radar reflectivity of PTWs compared to cars.”

The CMC considers that, currently, “one of the most effective ways [to improve PTW safety) is to improve conspicuity of PTWs by automotive systems.”

SELF-DRIVING CARS ARE COMING, SOONER THAN LATER
The U.K. government has announced that it is planning to introduce self-driving vehicles on the country’s roads starting next year, with full implementation planned for 2025.

As well as the 2025 goal for fully-self-driving vehicles, the government says that “Some vehicles, including cars, coaches and lorries, with self-driving features could be operating on motorways in the next year.”

“The benefits of self-driving vehicles have the potential to be huge,” said Transport Secretary Grant Shapps. “We want the UK to be at the forefront of developing and using this fantastic technology, and that is why we are investing millions in vital research into safety and setting the legislation to ensure we gain the full benefits that this technology promises.”

The news of the UK government’s latest self-driving plans come after the United Nations (UN) announced in July that self-driving cars would be allowed to drive faster, but would also have to undergo more stringent tests to make sure they can detect motorcycles.

Ultimately, autonomous vehicles are very much a part of the future of transportation, and boils down to responsible legislators passing reasonable legislation, especially in the initial crossover phase when they mix with human-driven vehicles.

CALIFORNIA VOTES TO BAN NEW GAS CAR SALES BY 2035
California air regulators voted in August to approve stringent new rules to ban the sale of new gasoline-powered cars by 2035, and set interim targets to phase those cars out. The measure is a historic one in the US, and would constitute one of the first such bans worldwide.

These new California Air Resources Board (CARB) rules would also set interim quotas for zero-emission vehicles, focusing on new models. Starting with 2026 models, 35% of new cars, SUVs and small pickups sold in California would be required to be zero-emission vehicles. That quota would increase each year and is expected to reach 51% of all new car sales in 2028, 68% in 2030 and 100% in 2035.

California has laid out an audacious goal: In 13 years, it should no longer be possible to buy a new car that runs purely on gasoline anywhere in the state. Failure to meet those targets carries the threat of stiff penalties.

The rules would not impact used vehicles, allowing them to stay on the roads. The rules won’t be immediate, and will go into effect in 2026.

Multiple states are expected to follow suit, including Colorado and Minnesota, as well as states on the Northeast and West Coast that followed California’s previous zero-emission vehicle regulations. New Jersey and Maryland officials said they were reviewing California’s decision, while public comment has opened in Washington state on a similar plan.

NOTEWORTHY: OUT OF CHARGE — Immediately following the announced ICE (internal combustion engine) ban, in favor of electric mobility, a heat wave’s strain on the electrical grid led California’s Independent System Operator, which runs the state’s power grid, to issue multiple bulletins alerting residents to voluntarily reduce their power consumption by avoiding using “large appliances and charging electric vehicles” during peak usage hours.

NOTEWORTHY TOO: MAJOR HEATWAVE IN CHINA DISRUPTS SUPPLY CHAIN
“Supply chain issues” is now a commonly understood concept, ranging from the ongoing semiconductor shortage to shipping woes, but now a new supply chain disruption is rearing its head as China experiences the worst heat wave in recorded history, reaching triple digits for over two months and leading to industrial shutdowns to conserve energy.

Drought anywhere is bad news — but it’s even worse news in Sichuan, a major international manufacturing hub in central China which derives approximately 80% of its electricity from hydropower. As temperatures climb, the local government has instructed factories in various industries to shut down so that the available power can be used by the people living in the affected areas.

From EV batteries to steel and aluminum, a host of industries are being affected.

TEN ELECTRIC MOTORCYCLES DUE FROM HONDA BY 2025
Honda has announced its intention to add 10 electric motorcycles to its global lineup by 2025. Most models will be scooters destined for the Asian and European markets as commuter vehicles. For the United States, Europe, and Japan, four models are expected to debut in 2024 and are described as Fun EV Models.

Expect to see three street-legal plug-in models in the United States.

ICE-powered motorcycles are not done yet, though gasoline will have a lower priority as a fuel in Honda motorcycles. There are already E100 flex-fuel motorcycles in Brazil, and they’re coming soon to India. Honda plans on introducing E20 flex-fuel models in India next year, and E100-fueled powerplants in 2025.

In June, 2022, the state of Illinois announced the first round of its Electric Vehicle Rebate Program in 2022. That first rebate application period started on July 1, 2022, and will continue through September 30, 2022.

Unlike some other EV rebate programs (both past and present), the Illinois program includes used vehicles. It also includes on-road motorcycles — not just cars or other four-wheeled passenger EVs.

As for motorcycles, only on-road electric bikes qualify — off-road bikes and mopeds are not eligible. For all vehicles, only full electrics qualify — no hybrids. Rented and leased vehicles do not qualify.

On August 29, 2022, Illinois Environmental Protection Agency director John J. Kim announced the dates for the second round of Illinois EV Rebate Program applications. Round Two will officially open on November 1, 2022, and run through January 31, 2023. If you’re an Illinois resident and you won’t be able to make the deadline first round, that means you’ll have another chance for this rebate as the second-round caps off 2022 and charges into 2023.

“Here in Illinois, we are leading the electric vehicle revolution,” Illinois governor JB Pritzker said; “And thanks to our EV Rebate Program, we are making electric vehicle adoption accessible and cost-effective — putting us on the path to getting 1 million EVs on the road by 2030.”

BIG BROTHER MAY PUT AN END TO SPEEDING IN NEW YORK
Legislators in New York are mulling a bill that would mandate speed limiters in new vehicles that would be set to the local maximum allowable limit. The system, called “Active Intelligent Speed Assistance” (ISA) would use GPS and traffic sign recognition technology to determine the speed limit. New York City is already running a six-month trial with 50 vehicles from the city’s fleet fitted with an ISA system.

Introduced by Manhattan State Senator Brad Hoylman on Aug 12, if passed, would require any vehicle manufactured or registered in the state of New York to be fitted with the ISA system, starting from Jan. 1, 2024. It cites the results of a study that show such a system could reduce traffic fatalities by 20%.

The bill also calls for existing active safety systems like automatic emergency braking, active lane control, blind-spot monitors with pedestrian detection, driver drowsiness detection, and even a data event recorder to be mandated from the same date.

ONE OF THE WORLD’S MOST POPULATED NATIONS SET TO BAN ALL MOTORCYCLES
Nigeria — the sixth most populous nation in world — is set to ban the use and sale of all motorcycles in an effort to hamper the actions of terrorist ‘bandits.’ The federal government of Nigeria is strongly considering a ban on the sale and use of motorcycles across the country as an unusual new tactic to stop terror attacks.

Nigeria’s Minister of Justice, Abubakar Malami, recently told reporters that by banning the predominant mode of transport as used by terrorist groups across the country, it would severely hamper their logistical efforts. “Placing a ban on the use of motorcycles and mining activities will cut the supply of logistics to the terrorists,” reports Nigeria’s Times newspaper. “This will be done in the national interest. We are Nigerians because Nigeria as a country exists and any issue that will translate into a threat to national security or the corporate existence of the country requires certain sacrifices.”

The plans come as Nigerian authorities attempt to curtail the efforts of various jihadist terrorist groups — such as Boko Haram and Islamic State — responsible for numerous attacks across the country, with offenses ranging from killings, kidnappings and sexual violence committed by members known as ‘bandits’ who mostly use motorcycles to launch attacks quickly and without warning to devastating effect, as well as move around the area without detection.

The actions of the federal government come after Governor Bello Mattawale of Zamfara State introduced a curfew for the use of motorcycles in the town of Gusau, and directed his security personnel to shoot on sight anyone caught riding a motorcycle between 8pm and 6am.

With a population of more than 200 million people, Nigeria is the world’s sixth most populous nation with an annual motorcycle sales figure of more than 500,000.

QUOTABLE QUOTE: “It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends.” ~ J.K. Rowling (b.1965), British author and philanthropist

Edwin X Berry, PhD, Theoretical Physics

Then, he presents the usual extensive list of weather-caused damages since 2012.

“The report was clairvoyant. The report was exactly what a climate report should do: Warn us about the future in time for us to adapt before the worst stuff happens.”
But Borenstein and Oppenheimer go off the scientific cliff by concluding these IPCC predicted damages prove that our CO2 emissions caused these damages.

Events do not prove CO2, human or natural, caused the events. Furthermore, climate is a 30-year average of weather, so the use of weather events to argue a human cause for climate change is unscientific. The fundamental scientific principle – that events do not prove their cause – ends all arguments that events prove human CO2 is guilty.

The IPCC claims these three (false) theories are true:
1.Human CO2 causes all the increase in atmospheric CO2 above 280 ppm.
2.The CO2 increase above 280 ppm causes global warming.

Let’s look at the big picture of climate alarmism.

This figure shows the three scenarios for Natural and Human CO2.

Climate change is the most divisive, misunderstood, critical issue in the 2022 election

America’s only hope is that the Republican Party will support climate truth. The absence of a Republican challenge has allowed the Democrats to gain voters on the climate issue.

Now, in mid-September 2022, the November election does not look good for Republicans.

1.Nature controls the climate.
2.Our CO2 does not change the climate and is not a pollutant.
3.Global temperature controls the CO2 level.
4.We need more CO2 because more CO2 grows more food with less water.
Our national energy plan should include:
1.Making natural gas our primary energy source.
2.Making nuclear energy our growing primary energy source.
3.Drill, baby, drill, with added incentives to keep our offshore oil rigs in top condition.
4.Make high-tech coal our secondary energy source.

1.Eliminate all climate laws, regulations, incentives, and treaties.
2.Eliminate all subsidies for EV’s, heat pumps, wind, and solar energy, thereby forcing them compete on a level economic playing field.
Carbon capture may be the most insane and counter-productive peacetime undertaking in human history.
Don’t waste good energy to put atmospheric CO2 in the ground.

Montana Republicans have not supported climate truth.
Nineteen Republicans entered Montana’s 2022 primary election for Congress. Montana Free Press asked these candidates to answer questions on climate change.
Sixteen Republican candidates (85%) agreed with the Democrats on climate change. They did not read Berry’s book, Climate Miracle.
Democrats have filed multiple redundant climate lawsuits.

In 2011, Dr. Berry filed an Intervention to a Democrat climate petition in Montana’s Supreme Court. His Intervention caused the Court to reject the petition, thereby saving Montana billions of dollars per year thereafter and making him the only scientist to defeat a climate lawsuit. The Montana Supreme Court ruled,

De. Berry’s attorney, Quentin Rhoades, wrote,

Montana’s defense attorney for Held v Montana thinks they must defend against the plaintiffs’ direct claims.

The scientific method says if your prediction is wrong then your theory is wrong. This proves the scientific basis of the Democrats’ 2022 climate lawsuits is wrong.

Republicans must lead a new revolution against the climate fraud.

Now is the perfect time for Republicans to promote climate truth because people want to stay warm this winter and want to keep the costs of energy, travel, and food low.

© 2022 Edwin X Berry, PhD – All Rights Reserved
To comment on this article, please click here.
Dr. Ed Berry is CEO of Ed Berry LLC, author of Climate Miracle, and editor and publisher of https://edberry.com based in Bigfork, Montana. He has a PhD in Physics, is a Certified Consulting Meteorologist, and an expert in climate change who takes the position that our carbon dioxide emissions are insignificant to climate change. His peer-reviewed paper, published on December 14, 2021, proves climate alarmism is climate fiction. 

EDITOR’S NOTE: This gets more bizarre by the week, or year, maybe decade. We published Part 1 not long ago, but perhaps this is part 1. Although, if you read the first episode, you will encounter the long back story behind a brother, a veteran who had a chopper dream through many stages and years. Then there’s the story behind the builders, models and photographers involved in this process. It’s all good, fun, sexy and Chopper Nirvana. Enjoy.

–Bandit

Harvey came to me by way of John Peek, who runs Full Throttle motorcycle shop in Houston, (one of the most successful, top-gas bike racers in Texas). Harvey recently moved back to this area and didn’t have anyone to help with the custom metal work he wanted to have done. John knew I was a certified Heli-Arc welder doing steering-neck and rake-and-trail modifications on choppers and had designed a custom steering neck which had internal steering stops. Harvey had several ideas for the bike he wanted built for himself: It was going to be a chopper, which was a vision from his early days. . . an iconic, California custom, rigid-frame Harley-Davidson chopper!

When Kent Weeks and I met Harvey he brought us a pair of fatbob gas tanks, a funky old hex oil tank and some other parts that didn’t seem to go together, including a rear fender which in no way resembled the style I had envisioned for the rest of the bike.

To get the look I wanted in the rear fender of Harvey’s little red chopper, we cut slices into the sides of a flat fender, re-radiused it to the tire and then welded the cuts in place. Next, Kent and I welded ¼ inch round bar-stock onto the outer edge to give it ‘the look,’ and used my usual bar-stock supports to hold the fender over the wheel.

Originally Kent and I mounted the twin tanks, installed flush mount gas caps and set them up with coil pockets. The pockets allowed us to hide the coils from sight. The coils would mount to the frame with cut outs in the gas tanks one on either side. A trick I had used and passed on to Kent and some of the other guys I’ve worked with over the years.

Harvey brought an engine, too, which we were forced to use for a short period of time. Unfortunately, it was an early version 100-inch RevTech Evo: not really what I’d pick for the heart of a classic American chopper! I told him “Harvey, it takes as much time and effort to hang an ugly part as it does a good-looking part, so why don’t you let me help you pick out the parts needed to make a chopper you’ll be really proud to own and ride.”

He said, “Well, I got these parts cheap, and I can’t sell them on the internet because nobody wants them. So, I thought I’d just use them for a funky chopper made from old, used parts.”

I told him, “That doesn’t sound like a good idea to me. If you’re going overseas to fight for our freedom, so we can keep on riding our bikes, drinking beer and shooting pool, I’ll build you a custom chopper you can be proud of . NO CHARGE!”

By the time that promise was made I was already getting away from bike building and focusing more on specialty welding in the oil-field industry. Harvey’s bike, however, was a great project very near-and-dear to my heart. It was a project that aroused a genuine passion in me, because it was being designed and built for a true and deserving friend!

I built several custom choppers in my day, including one for myself back in the mid-‘70s while living in Southern California. I developed an intense passion for bike building from being around jockey-shift, rigid-frame choppers. I was an accomplished TIG welder, and my experiences in California along with the first chopper I built for myself, strongly influenced the style I incorporated into Harvey’s bike, but I’ll tell you about MY bike another time.

For Harvey’s bike we found a’69 Pan/Shovel FLH running bike and sold everything but the motor and tranny (we later discovered the ’69 was built the same year Harvey graduated high school). We had the motor rebuilt by Hal Cort, who ran a mechanic shop, had a pro-fuel, nitro-burning drag bike and earned a #1 plate in AHDRA sanctioned races.

In order to give this bike the look of the original West Coast style choppers, with their engraved timing covers and rocker boxes, I enlisted the well-known talents of a pin-striper named John, aka ‘Lunch Box’, who was old school when it came to engraving and was the only one I knew of who did that type of work. On close inspection, you’ll notice that the raised effect of the floral design is actually achieved by removing the metal from around the design. This technique makes the design stand out and gives it a raised look. It is expensive and requires more work and planning than most people imagine, but it is so much more impressive and if you ask me, it is well worth the time, effort and expense it required!

Instead of having an inner primary, I fashioned a custom primary support out of a ¾-inch round bar-stock, the back side of which I shaved flat to go around the alternator side of the motor to the transmission. Man, that was a lot of work but worth the look!

For the front tire I wanted more of a narrow fender, so Kent and I found a bicycle fender that was the width needed to just cover the top of the front tire. We incorporated the usual bar-stock, fender supports to hold it in place.

It was time to fit the new gas tank to the frame of this bike. We cut new pockets in a Sporty tank and fitted the right side with a single coil and we used the left side for electronics. Rubber mounted on the bottom, we relocated the petcock, new flush mount gas cap and a little skirting on the sides trimmed with ¼ round stock to carry on the look.

(If you look closely, you can find Kent’s ‘devil tail’ worked into the metal above the motor mount when he went in to revise some things during the final build).

See the first story for some of the details Tom mentioned in this story: https://www.bikernet.com/pages/The_Little_Red_Story_Part_1.aspx

The gas tank was now in place, and my work on this chopper was nearing completion. All I had to do now was build a seat and design a custom tool box. I used an English wheel to get the shape I wanted out of a piece of aluminum with a ¼-inch piece of bar-stock welded around the edge to give it a nice rolled look. I had his seat pan chrome plated and then the edge finished with cross-stitched leather: it was real long on looks but short on comfort! (LOL) I had designed a custom toolbox that was hand-crafted out of 4-inch diameter aluminum tubing, cut in half. Both halves were hinged together, covered with leather inside-and-out, and mounted to the lower triple tree. It turned out great, and honestly looked more like a jewelry box than a tool box!

The original paint work was handled by an old friend Wayne and decorated with bare metal style flames and pin striping by another longtime friend of ours Joe Cartoolow.

The custom-made rotors on this bike were designed and built by James Hall of Deep Cut Rotors out of Colorado.

That’s my part of the story of this ‘Little Red Bike’ except for this final note: Some 15 years of my life, and lots of love, went into building this bike for Harvey, and developed into a true friendship with him and his wife, Maki, which has lasted 30 years!

–Tom Young

And now for the Girls and Kent Weeks’ Notions:

For me one of the best parts of this photo session was getting everyone together because I have known most of the people involved for several years. The First Time RFR and Sil got together for a photo shoot was shortly after I opened my own shop in the old location sometime in 2002 and involved the Black Beauty. Tom felt I was turning his fab shop into a bike shop, so I started Lucky Devil Metal Works down the street.

The mechanical restoration and first assembly for the shake down on black beauty was done by Jet at Full Throttle (one of my many mentors). I had done most of the metal work on this one while working with Tom at American Heli-arc. While she was out for paint, I moved so she ended up being the first final assembly in my new shop.

I made a point not to burn bridges, so every now and then I still keep up with Jet and Robert our former painter. We still collaborate on various projects.

With Little red I did not do all the metal work. Tom and the guys did a great job with the some, and it was nearly impossible to see where I stopped and they picked it up. I’ll let Tom fill ya in on some of the original build, I wasn’t involved with that part of the project. I did watch it come together and become quite a show stopper during a chop off event down in Galveston Tx. I ended up hosting the show and had to keep me and my clients from competing. Tom and the guys put together a trophy for me anyway–good times!

With this photo project we thought it would be fun to get RFR to take some photos of Sil operating the camera. She has a lot of talents and does everything from photo shop work to working on both sides of the camera so this was a great opportunity to show off some skills and work with RFR again.

https://www.facebook.com/SilKayPhotography

Finding models,

I still do a little metalwork for other shops every now and then and I recently worked with an old friend and Harley tech on a little odd ball Ironhead. Shane, the client in common happens to run a fright factory (purgatory scream park) so I reached out to see if he might know anyone who’d like to shoot with Sil.

Fortunately, he was able to help out with that, one of his fright guys Craven Sic (Fx artist, body painter, horror model and actor extraordinaire)

Well, he just so happened to be engaged to the wonderful “Leslie Van Lovelace” who just happened to be a well-seasoned accomplished model.

   Leslie introduced us to her fantastic friend “Adea Love” who is also a talented model and fun to work with ( Instagram@adea.love )

They are both members of the Houston Luscious Ladies, a philanthropy Pin up group where with their other members share the love of pinup, cool stuff, custom cars, motorcycles and helping others (I’m not sure it gets any better than that).

http://www.thelusciousladies.com/houston

The shoot went down fine, aside from the fact that true-to-form I was late hahaha. I was doing some break-in service and a couple adjustments on Little Red before the shoot and decided to just ride her down to Tom’s shop, a good ride both ways! Though, as with any full build or custom restoration, there are still some minor adjustments to be made and a bit more break-in to do, but she sure is doing well and with the 6-n-4 and the modern starting/charging systems there are no worries about getting where you want to go and getting back!

Tom knows quite a few people who are into custom bikes and classic cars from working metal and welding for a few decades (and having a true hot rod heart), so he also called up some friends to bring a few cars by for the models to climb on and we got some good shots of Tom’s ‘58 Chevy, while we were at it (and it helped keep everyone busy until I got there haha!)

Ty Thomas (a local car builder, grey car 333 ) and Tom Massimin owns the GTO and the ’32 ford ( Tom Young and the guys @ American Heli Arc did some work on the ’32 )

Tom’s oldest Son Alex has become quite a talented guitar player and was lucky enough to find a good group to work with “Zellous hearts.” They practice in the shop a bit, so he and his band mate Cheyenne stopped by to see how things were going so we got her to show off some of her fire breathing skills.

I rarely get out of the shop, almost all projects get bigger in some way and often times, I give away my free time to try and help someone or to keep things moving with short and long term projects. Needless to say, once again I was overdue for a field trip, and it was good to see everyone in one place. I had a great ride back up to magnolia and even a better time hangin’ out with Good Golly Mrs. Holly when I got home!!

Good golly, Mrs.Holly…

Sources:

Lucky Devil Custom Motorcycles

Lucious Ladies

Full Throttle Custom Motorcycles

Scream Park

Jaycee Jones victorious again in BTR Flat Track Championship while Kayleigh Buyck brings home BTR Road Racing title with a win at the final round

Milwaukee, WI (Tuesday, September 27, 2022) –

BTR ROAD RACING – BARBER MOTOAMERICA
For the BTR ladies on the Road Racing side, the season came full circle at Barber Motorsports Park in Birmingham, Alabama. It was here that they met their teammates for the first time, and got their first track time on their completed builds during a two-day test prior to the start of the MotoAmerica season.

With three from a possible five wins already to her credit, all Kayleigh Buyck needed was a podium finish to clinch the championship. But she went above and beyond in the final round, putting a stamp on her title with a victory in what was the most thrilling battle of the season.

When the light turned green, Jenny Chancellor and Buyck rocketed off the line and headed the field. Buyck, Chancellor and Chloe Peterson duked it out in a three-way battle before Buyck and Peterson broke away for their own duel. Peterson, fresh off her first pole position of the season, was eager to turn her fast lap advantage into a race win. But in the end, Buyck would not be denied. In a battle to the end, Buyck claimed the victory and the championship.

Peterson collected second place while Chancellor got caught up in the battle for third with previous round winner Crystal Martinez. Martinez eventually broke free from Chancellor to secure third, and made a push to close the gap to the lead duo, but ran out of time and had to settle for third. Despite giving up a handful of points to Peterson at the final round, Martinez still secured second overall in the championship, two points over Peterson.

Jenny Chancellor held on for fourth while Ash Truxal rounded out the top-five in Barber, mirroring their overall championship placement, as well.

Barber BTR Results
1. Kayleigh Buyck #16
2. Chloe Peterson #55
3. Crystal Martinez #25
4. Jenny Chancellor #19
5. Ash Truxal #31
6. Jessica Martin #23
7. Nicole Pareso #11
8. Cora Tennyson #95
9. Hannah Stockton #62
10. Michaela Trumbull #27
11. Trisha Dahl #44
12. Kayla Theisler #52
13. Alyssa Bridges #30
14. Patty Paul #79

Final Championship Standings – BTR Road Racing
1. Kayleigh Buyck (113/4 wins)
2. Crystal Martinez (94/1 win)
3. Chloe Peterson (92)
4. Jenny Chancellor (72/1 win)
5. Ash Truxal (62)
6. Jessica Martin (60)
7. Michaela Trumbull (48)
8. Trisha Dahl (43)
9. Nicole Pareso (38)
10. Alyssa Bridges (38)
11. Cora Tennyson (35)
12. Bridgette LeBer (26)
13. Hannah Stockton (21)
14. Kayla Theisler (12)

BTR FLAT TRACK – CEDAR LAKE SHORT TRACKAs the ladies of BTR Flat Track took to the high-banked 3/8-mile clay oval at Cedar Lake, the ever-dominant Jaycee Jones had the bullseye squarely on her back. Aside from the preseason exhibition race at the Volusia Half Mile where Jillian Deschenes nabbed the win, Jones has managed to dominate every round, and was ready to clinch the championship one round early should things break her way. BTR veteran Deschenes and 18-year-old rookie Zaria Martens were hungry for a win, and looking to keep their title hopes alive.
The BTR field was slated to have a test at Cedar Lake prior to the race, but sadly, the weather had other plans. Unfortunately, the inclement weather also spilled over into race day, and as the skies opened up and dumped on the track just before the first practice session, which prompted officials to postpone racing until Sunday.

An abbreviated schedule meant the women had little time to figure out the track and get their Royal Enfield INT650 motorcycles dialed in. Jillian Deschenes led the way in practice, setting fast laps, but it was rookie sensation Zaria Martens with the pole position for the main event.

While the overall title may be spoken for, the battle for runner-up in the 2022 BTR Flat Track championship remains tight, with only two points separating Deschenes and Martens heading into the final round, the Volusia Half Mile, where Deschenes already tasted preseason victory. The series concludes on October 15 in Barberville, Florida, where Jones will receive her number-one championship plate.

Cedar Lake BTR Results
1. Jaycee Jones #33
2. Jillian Deschenes #31
3. Zaria Martens #8
4. Makenna Hiatt #81
5. Stephanie Pietz #57
6. Erin Ferris #909
7. Kaiela Hobart #46
8. Alex Bumpus McDonald #2
9. Anna Serena #800
10. Nean Kiskela #27
11. Gabrielle Hughes #327
12. Mia Reese #15

About Royal Enfield : The oldest motorcycle company in continuous production in the world, Royal Enfield made its first motorcycle in 1901. A division of Eicher Motors Limited, Royal Enfield has created the midsize motorcycle segment in India with its unique and distinctive modern classic motorcycles. With its manufacturing base in Chennai, India, Royal Enfield has been able to grow its production rapidly against a surge in demand for its motorcycles. Royal Enfield is a leading player in the global middleweight motorcycle market.

Royal Enfield North America (RENA) is headquartered in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and is developing a growing network of more than 150 dealers in North America, including the contiguous U.S. and Canada. RENA currently offers the all-new Scram 411, Classic 350, Meteor 350, Himalayan and the 650 Twins (INT650 and Continental GT 650) motorcycles, along with a range of Genuine Motorcycle Accessories and apparel.

BIKER LIVES MATTER held their first Accident Scene Management Course: The Bystander Assistant Program, “A Crash Course For The Motorcyclist,” at the American Legion Post 81 in Melbourne, Florida.

 Diane “DMAC” McLennan Accident Scene Managements Florida Lead Instructor taught the class. She is available to organize a class anywhere in Florida. If you are interested in having one in your area email contact@bikerlivesmatter.com and leave your contact information and a message. 

 I should mention that the Accident Scene Management Courses are considered the leading International Motorcycle Trauma Training Organization. For more information on them, go to https://roadguardians.org/

 Having the course at the American Legion was a perfect place, not only because they are set up for this type of training session, but they have facilities all over the country. There is also a part of the organization named the Legion Riders. Three members of that group took this class and now will be better able to help other riders in case of an accident. They will also be able to explain the course to other Legion posts.  Obviously, the more people who take this course the better chance of keeping more people alive.

Prior to the class starting, Coffee and Donuts were available and bottled water during the class.

First order of business included Rogue, the founder of Biker Lives Matter, (me) thanking everyone for attending and asking that they take what they learn in this class and share it with others so more people can become educated on what to do to help their fellow riders.

Though this class was specific to motorcycles the majority of what was taught would apply to any accident.

The Bystander Assistance Program is designed to reduce injuries and fatalities to motorcyclist through education. This includes securing the accident scene, so no further injury occurs.

It uses common sense and adult principals of learning to teach essential skills that connect the motorcyclist to the Emergency Medical System (EMS). The more information the EMS has the better they are prepared to handle the situation.

Prevent Further Injury

Assess The Situation

Contact The EMS

Treat The Injured With Life Sustaining Care

The topics of this class were limited to management of a crash scene. Other more advanced classes are available as well.

The afternoon portion of the class had hands on demonstrations on how to treat and protect the injured and to keep them alive until the EMTs arrive.

All of those completing the class received class materials, a certificate of completion, cloth sew-on patch and a Trauma Pack

There are many safety items that can be used and Dee displayed and discussed them with attendees.

Accident Scene Management recommends that you carry Adequate supplies. Special Thanks to Motorcycle Riding Attorney Brad Sinclair who Donated Trauma Packs to those who completed the course.  

 

 

Chopper Charlie was in a jam, he knew it. He stepped into too many dark alleys with the wrong guys. He told his old lady to pack everything she owned into her Buick Roadmaster station wagon and get ready to split.

Melanie did as she was told. A tiny, bubbly thing, as cute as a button, she stood by her man unless another man came along. Charlie wasn’t a big guy, maybe 5’8” but he curled 50-pound dumbbells and bench-pressed over 300 pounds. With skinny legs, tight biceps and a barrel chest, he worked in the back of a notorious bike shop run by a four-man 1%er club called the Question Marks.

With a thick mop of curly short amber hair, Charlie was on a mission to make something of his life, but he didn’t know how, as he cleaned the little machine shop for the last time. He knew the shit was gonna fly. The brothers were about to turn on one another and he would be smack in the middle.

The shop, located on the edge of downtown Daytona Beach was just a couple of blocks from the old Robinson’s Harley-Davidson brick building. The factory recently pulled the franchise. The dealership, one of the last remaining old school franchises hadn’t invested in the gentrification process. Times changed rapidly and they didn’t want to have anything to do with the costly upgrades.

The clubber shop down the street handled the chopper riff-raff and local FXR riders. Unfortunately, the 1%er club for the region was all Outlaws M/C and they didn’t cotton to any other 1%ers in the area. These four guys dodged a Hells Angel takeover in California and escaped to Florida. That wasn’t exactly the best choice. They could have lit in any number of low-population states in the Midwest without a problem.

Something about Daytona called to brothers all over the north who wanted action and fewer cold climes. It also called to brothers who never experienced beaches, ocean front and chopper life aside from Hollywood. Daytona, a strange place lured lots of brothers, who quickly picked up on the drug scene, the slimy streets, the bugs and humidity. It wasn’t Miami.

There was nothing slick about Daytona, except the race track, and the car crowd stayed mostly in Orlando. The houses in Daytona were cheap, run-down and rented by drug addicts. His girl, Melanie, abandoned by her addicted mom belonged to one of the four members. He kicked her out and she was glad. He was the most violent of the bunch and took it out on her on a regular basis.

She smiled and packed her meager belongings in the car she inherited from her dead mom, the drug whore from Oakland, who was never really her mom. She timidly returned to the Bay Area, picked up the car, paperwork, signed for it and split with just enough funds to drive completely across the country to the east coast to have her ass handed to her. Fatbob didn’t want her to own anything, so he would have absolute control. She had to go. There was always another stripper, or homeless drug addict he could torture.

She lived in the car for two weeks until Charlie, riding his high-bar flathead noticed her and offered her a place to stay. She immediately crawled into his bed and they became an item.

A week later, Bondo Juan, one of the four, the skinny Hispanic called Charlie to the front counter. “Fatbob wants to talk to you,” Juan said and handed Charlie the phone.

“Yeah,” Charlie said.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Fatbob said and petted one of his angry pitbulls. “Are you fucking my girl?”

“You kicked her out,” Charlie returned. “She was living in her car.”

“I don’t give a fuck if she was living in a dumpster,” Fatbob said. “She’s mine. You’re toast if you don’t send her home.” The short round clubber didn’t want her back. He was just fucking with Charlie because he could. He also chose to fuck with anything legit the club did. They were supposed to be outlaws, always living on the lam, stealing, taking money from strippers or selling drugs.

The phone went dead and Charlie set it back in the cradle. Bondo Juan, who was somewhat dark skinned with long wavy hair and little facial hair except for a dark soul patch under his lower lip, looked at young Charlie and lifted an angular jet-black eyebrow. Nothing was said, so Charlie returned to the back of the brick building under a single 100-watt bulb and a wooden bench where he rebuilt an old Tillotson carb for a customer he never met.

That night he rode his flathead chopper sporting an extended XA springer back to his small, single guest house pad behind a stucco home on the edge of town. Melanie kissed him as he entered and handed him a chilled Corona with a slice of lime. “Hi baby,” she said. She wore a set of loose overalls and nothing else. He reached inside the suspenders and down around her plump soft ass.

“Fatbob called today,” Charlie said and continued to be affectionate, kissing the soft-as-silk nap of her neck. He could immediately sense the cold tension rushing through her body.

“He wasn’t good to me,” she said, pulling away and looking deep into Charlie’s green-as-emeralds eyes. “I can’t go back.”

“Tomorrow will tell the tail,” Charlie said and it did. By noon he lost his job and another Question Mark showed up at the shop, Ringo who pulled a foot-long straight blade out of an engraved leather sheath on his side and followed Bondo into the back. He wore shades and an all-black vest. He looked like a biker hitman–all business.

Bondo Juan walked to the back, opened a tool box and retrieved a 14-inch long chromed crescent wrench. Resting its cool hard surface in his skinny hands, he stared at Charlie in a strange threatening manner, as if someone told him what he had to do. Charlie, meticulously reassembling a Panhead lower-end on a motor stand clamped to the vice on the tattered wooden bench turned toward the two menacing brothers. It didn’t look good.

“Fuck,” Bondo Juan said, slinging the large crescent wrench and slamming it against the bench. “Women,” He said. “You’re supposed to fuck them and take them back to their car. You heard what Fatbob said. You need to make a choice…”

“Fuck that,” Ringo said. “No choice, do or fucking die.”

That wasn’t all. Charlie received a summons notice in the mail yesterday. He was being subpoenaed for running drugs in Florida. He didn’t deal but helped another biker in an alley and it didn’t go well. The Man was also coming and he needed to move on, fast.

Charlie could tell this wasn’t going anywhere but to hell. Ringo wanted to fuck with him right then and there. He swiped the knife back and forth as if it was his weapon of choice and he wanted to get it done.

“Okay,” Charlie said gathering his tools and gauges.

“That’s not fucking good enough,” Ringo said preparing to strike with the large blade.

“I’ll take care of it,” Charlie spat and looked at the two 1%ers in the dark space. Everything was scary and cornered Charlie wanted out. He turned to his small canvas bag of gauges, micrometers and tools. The bench held an old vice in the center bolted to large 2-by-12 planks and supported by a thick steel plate under it, which was arch welded to the frame 30 years ago. He put his hand on the vice to unbolt the engine from his motor-stand. Juan erupted as if Charlie wanted something that didn’t belong to him.

“That belongs to the shop, asshole,” Bondo said and stepped forward distracting Ringo. He took a baseball stance with the crescent wrench and started to swing.

Charlie suspected that if he turned his back on the two, they might pounce. He was right.

Charlie looked at his old canvas bag from his service years and then past it to the wooden slat rear door with slivers of light penetrating the sketchy surface. He let go of the slick, greasy vice handle as if reaching for his bag, but just beyond it rested a seemingly harmless 3-foot chunk of galvanized plumbing pipe, except it was threaded on the ends, capped and filled with lead shot.

Charlie made it his with an odd, pipe threaded chromed cap on one end, which he brazed to a sharp triangulated brass piece forming a deadly point. The brass casting contained the form of a sitting Buddha less than 2 inches tall. He snatched it off the bench surface and pivoted, crouching as Juan swung the wrench. Charlie’s biceps flexed into action. The loaded pipe hit Juan in the neck with brutal force, breaking his neck instantly. The man’s dark eyes questioned as he attempted to reach for his neck, but it was too late.

Charlie repositioned his footing still crouching and brought his weapon back along his right side from the left swing and drew it into a thrusting position.

Ringo wasn’t trained and knew very little about knife fighting. He usually had the drop on his victims or attacked from behind, but he wasn’t afraid, a violent freak who usually had brothers holding down his prey. Stunned he hesitated, then lifted the knife above his head in a stabbing motion. Big mistake!

Charlie thrust forward at the taller man and drove Buddha’s spike into Ringo’s throat, let go of the deadly rod and turned left, capturing the knife hand with his left hand and punching his forearm with his right releasing the knife. He slipped it under his thick leather belt and returned to his plumbing pipe javelin and Ringo’s bulging eyes. He wasn’t dead, but the second jab finished him as if he was shot with a 12-gauge slug under his left ribs, just below his heart.

In less that 30 seconds he cut the Question Marks’ membership in half. With a shop rag he wiped clean his heavy pipe, grabbed his canvas bag, kicked open the always locked, 3-foot-wide wooden rear door and stepped out into the fading sunlight, rounded the corner, strapped the bag and his weapon to his chromed sissybar and returned to the scene long enough to get paid from the old, stained cash register and retrieve the engraved leather knife sheath with the Question Mark logo emblazoned to the side.

Charlie slipped his leather belt through the sheath, kicked his ’48 UL to life and peeled down the street to where he was destined to hook up with Melanie in a parking lot behind the Ocean community center as the sun slipped into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic went dark. Without a word he followed her north on Highway 1 to Flagler, cutting east on Highway 100 to the 17 and into the lowlands.

They rumbled through 35 minutes and into the dark marsh areas out of harms way, without incident and she carefully maintained the speed limit. Charlie kept his distance and stared at the single bulb, limited lighting on the unlit dark highway bordered by swamp. Clamoring with gators, notorious, hard-as-rock armadillos crossed the dark highway with abandon, like miniature tanks slithering onto flat lanes to take out bikers.

Charlie’s mind ripped with thoughts of prison and death. He couldn’t ponder anything but dread, except for his temporary Nirvana and softness in the station wagon ahead, but he knew better than to trust. His only hope was escape the state as quickly as possible, but his peanut gas tank wouldn’t allow him to get any farther than 100 miles, before refueling.

That’s when the trooper’s light-bar lit up in an LED flurry of red, white and blue madness behind him. The bullhorn blared, “Pull off the highway up ahead.”

Charlie thought about the two dead Question Marks and the arraignment demand in his vest pocket. He couldn’t out run the cop unless on a suicide mission to hell. Melanie rolled ahead of him off the highway into an old dilapidated, independent gas station with limited lights, flickering fluorescents, rusting galvanized tin siding and a single bulb above the door to the office. The shop roll-up doors were closed.

Melanie pulled past the pumps and parked at the edge of the lot, but with easy access to depart. She twisted the wide review mirror, so she could monitor the action.

“Stay on your motorcycle with your hands on the bars,” the bullhorn barked, but the officer didn’t depart his cruiser. Charlie wore stained and tattered denims, his leather belt, that foot-long straight blade in the Question Mark M/C leather sheath with 1%er diamond logo added to the art. He wore a black T-shirt silk screened with the shop name and his tan canvas long-sleeve shirt and his old black leather vest over it. He also wore engineer boots with another stiletto blade tucked in a sheath with a stainless spring steel clasp pushed hard against the rim of the boot shank.

The officer was more likely than not, running his numbers for a stolen motorcycle. Ten minutes passed and Charlie began to fidget and shuffle his grease-stained boots against the stained concrete. It wasn’t the cop he was concerned about. It was the brothers, Fatbob and Bullet, both of which were 1%ers for over three decades.

Bullet, the leader of the bunch had a thing for not messing around. He was big, with massive arms and trained constantly. Nobody talked about him, but from time to time he delivered a satchel of cash to the shop but didn’t say much. He was the only one who seemed to have savvy and funds.

At 6’4” with long Viking blonde hair and driving a black, late model Lincoln, Charlie wondered what the hell he did, but it wasn’t drugs. Charlie knew the Outlaws M/C controlled the girls and the drug scene. He couldn’t figure it out, maybe he performed violent attacks and hits for the Outlaws. Perhaps that was the reason they were left alone.

The officer, a tightly dressed and pressed 28-year-old got out of the cruiser and approached Charlie from the rear. “Your tags have expired,” Officer Washington said rounding the motorcycle so he was between Charlie and the idling cruiser. “Do you have a license and registration?”

Charlie started to stand. “Don’t move,” the black officer snapped. “Where are the papers?”

“In my wallet,” Charlie said. “Can it get it?”

“Keep your right hand on the bars,” the officer instructed causally. Reach for your wallet with your left hand.”

“It’s on a chain,” Charlie said and the image of the Question Mark’s knife flashed into his mind. He sensed he was fucked. It was just a matter of time.

“Pull the wallet around front, slowly,” Officer Washington said and put his right hand on his 9mm semi-auto and moved slightly toward the front of the motorcycle, but he wanted to keep an eye on the station wagon.

Charlie carefully slipped his wallet free from his pocket using the brass twisted-link chain. The long wallet was engraved, “Live Free or Die,” with skulls etched into the leather. It was rounded from the stuffed contents, his ass and molded to his pocket.

The officer approached and drew a long, blued Mag Light and shinned it in Charlies face, studied his eyes, his grease-stained gloves and nodded for Charlie to slip off his glove and open the wallet. Charlie began to sweat.

Fatbob’s angry curiosity piqued when he called the shop and no one answered. He called Bullet and within 20 minutes the two cruised past the shop where the lights were still on and the OPEN sign still hung in the front door window. They cruised around back and two Harleys were parked in the lot beside the grubby brick building.

They pulled up behind the building where the rear door swung wide on rusting hinges.

The dense humidity didn’t help as Charlie handed the officer his license and the motorcycle registration. “Insurance?” Officer Washington asked, while eyeing the tattered and stained documents. He cringed. He liked everything tight and military disciplined. He returned from the Marines and immediately dove into the local police department.

Charlie looked up at the officer, sweat beading on his brow and cringed. He didn’t have proof of insurance. “It expired,” Charlie said.

“And your license is suspended,” Officer Washington said. “I need to call a tow truck.” He reached for the mike on his right shoulder.

“Wait,” Charlie said. “There must be a way.” He stammered and stared at the dilapidated tin gas station and the surrounding tropical shrubs, vines and trees ready to gobble it up. He thought maybe he could leave the motorcycle at the station, but nothing about it looked inviting. Then he noticed the brake lights flash on in Melanie’s station wagon. “Can I talk to my girlfriend?” Charlie asked.

“Stay put,” Officer Washington said. “I’ll talk to her.”

Charlie sat back down on his seat and put his ungloved hands back on the bars. His molded leather wallet hung at his side. His nerves were unfolding as he pondered the two Question Marks members coming for him, more cops and Florida prisons.

“Keep your hands on the steering wheel,” the officer ordered as he approached the 35-year-old station wagon. He kept one hand on his revolver and the other guided the massive flash light as it illuminated the rear of the dusty vehicle. It contained a couple of old suit cases, Charlie’s duffle bag and his canvas satchel of tools.

The light moved to the passenger seat. I contained a small cooler and not much else, and then he approached the driver’s window, which was down. He leaned slightly and Melanie looked up at him and smiled. She had the face of a 14-year-old child and her smile could melt steel.

The officer didn’t like the precariousness of the situation. He preferred to keep the action simple. One or two folks in their vehicle, tight and manageable. But Melanie’s smile took a modicum of dangerous edge off the situation. How could anyone be treacherous and have a sincere expression like that. He knew soft female reasoning was bullshit, but still a warm smile brought hope.

She handed him her license, registration and insurance proof. She contained no signs of drinking, drugs or abuse, just warmth and kindness.

“Thank you,” he said and backed away. “Stay in the car.”

Officer Washington strode back to his cruiser to run the paperwork, but this time he checked out Charlie’s bike more carefully. It was a ’48 UL flathead bobber. It wasn’t flashy, but it was classic. The tall black officer knew a little about bikes and suddenly dollar signs glistened in the chromed upswept fishtail pipes. Familiar with the tow yard crew, he knew the chances of the bike ever leaving with its owner.

Washington returned to his blinking cruiser with its rumbling 425 horsepower engine, the flashing LED light bar, the dash and flashing communication system and the crackling of the radio with constant reports. He requested data on the young woman with the kid’s face. Ten minutes later, she came back clean.

The tall man unfolded himself from the police car and started to walk past the motorcycle checking it out, then past the pumps, across the lot to where the Corvette powered station wagon was parked. He handed Melanie the paperwork and said, “You’re good to go miss.”

“But what about Charlie?” Melanie’s brow wrinkled into a frown.

“He can go with you,” Officer Washington said. “But the motorcycle is going to the tow yard.”

Charlie listened intently and reacted. “Wait, wait, can’t we discuss this?”

The officer left Melanie and returned to the pump more relaxed. “What’s there to discuss? I’m calling a tow truck. You can leave, but the motorcycle is going to impound.” He picked up the mike off his shoulder and called dispatch and was transferred to the impound yard who called a local tow-truck service.

The local tow truck driver was a skinny 28-year-old with a six-pack and a meth issue. He was less than 6-foot, pale as an albino, acme scarred face and hair that was little more than a wisp scattered around his alabaster skull. He climbed into his flatbed with a new, cold, 6-pack of Coors Lite when his radio clattered with the info about the motorcycle to be picked up about 40 minutes away.

Slimy Steve popped the top on a can of beer and drank nearly half of it. He finished off two lines of Daytona crude in the head of the gas station and was ready to rock, but something caught his attention, something that could save his ass. Seriously in debt with the Outlaws over his drug use and dealings, he used more than his fair share and shared it with girls to enhance his chances. Without the meth his sexual encounters were nil. An ugly, scrawny, no-count sonuvabitch, he wasn’t worth the powder to blow him to hell, and the girls knew it.

But he recognized the pick-up address as the Outlaws distribution point and potentially their meth lab. He snapped open his phone and started to make a call. Just then a flashy black Lincoln pulled into the gas station abruptly and two biker thugs burst out of the sedan. One was a monster of a man, the other a long-haired, over-weight angry sort who drug a snarling, scarred, brindle Pitbull out of the passenger seat.

Due to the intense humidity, Steve’s windows were rolled down when his radio crackled. “Are you set to pick up the motorcycle at the corner of 17 and Fishhook Lane?”

Fatbob hauled ass to the tow truck at the corner of the lot under the lights. The short-legged diabetic yanked by the growling pitbull, stumbled. Steve noticed his flapping vest over the stained white T-shirt with the red swastika silk-screened in the center and the long- barreled, 44 magnum flapping in a shoulder holster.

“Where’s that goddam motorcycle?” Fatbob snapped trying to hoist his weak ass up onto the footboard. Steve was relieved, the dog couldn’t get to him.

“It’s up the highway, why?” Steve said.

“None of your fucking business,” Fatbob spat. Steve recognized another ugly piece of shit in the snarling 1%er. The guy obviously didn’t have a lot going for him. Steve didn’t recognize the little silver question mark badge on his tattered leather vest. On the other side a stained patch announced Vice President. But he did recognize the stained black with purple lettering 1%er patch.

“Do you know what kind of bike it is?” Fabob quizzed.

“I think it’s a Harley,” Steve said terrified. The meth drove his anxiety level through the roof. He downed the other half of the beer and popped open another can.

“When are you leaving?” Fatbob jammed him.

“Now,” Steve said nervously and turned the key on the ignition.

“We’ll see you there,” Fatbob said. “That motorcycle is ours.” Fatbob jumped down and tripped again. He was obviously in pain from his swollen ankles. The stocky fireplug of a dog pulled him toward the Lincoln.

As the flatbed pulled out of the parking lot and rumbled toward the highway, Bullet finished filling the sedan with high-test, no Ethanol fuel, went inside, paid the tab and then returned to the Lincoln with solid black leather interior. “What’s up,” Bullet asked.

“The cops pulled over our guy up the highway,” Fatbob snapped. “I know where, let’s fucking go.”

Steve grabbed his cell phone as soon as he rolled onto the highway. He hit his speed dial to the Daytona Outlaw boss.

“You have the cash?” the voice answered.

“Sorry no,” Steve’s voice trembled. “But…”

“I’m going to hang up,” Wolf said, a giant of a no-nonsense man with scars and long thick wavy hair and a massive beard. “We’re having church.”

“Wait,” Steve said. “There’s trouble at the station house.”

“Well?” Wolf inquired.

“I’m on my way with a flatbed,” Steve said and he swigged another half a beer. “I was called to pick up a motorcycle. Do you know the Question Marks? Never heard of them.”

Wolf was surrounded by members of the Daytona chapter of the Outlaws MC. They were more a family than some other gangster clubs. They looked after one another and didn’t fuck with citizens or bully other bikers. When they needed heavy work handled, they had a select number of members to call, otherwise they rode, worked on motorcycles and drank too much beer.

Of course, there were a couple of them who cooked meth and supplied the club with cash to keep their appearances up and parties strong. Sure, a couple more ran strip clubs and tattoo parlors, so they always had girls around.

Wolf thought long and hard. He knew about the Question Marks. They stayed out of the fray, but Wolf knew they would ultimately need to move on. The boss was some sort of badass, bill-collector for hire and they ran a small chopper shop in town. Bullet handled collections, but for loan sharks, some mob guys and Porta Ricans hired guys like him. He was seriously intimidating.

“How close are you?” Wolf asked.

“I’m just pulling onto the highway,” Steve voice shook. “It will take 40 minutes, but those other guys are hauling ass. They’re pissed off.”

“Okay,” Wolf said and hung up before Steve could ask what they intended.

Charlie was about to shit his pants. “Listen,” he said to the cop. “This motorcycle is all I have. Can you do anything?”

The officer, offered back-up from the station declined. He liked the solid ’48 flathead 74 cubic inch driveline. It was nearly all stock, except for the ratchet top transmission that allowed him a hand clutch and foot shifter. The bike was clean, but not fancy, no metalflake and lots of satin black with a little chrome, and those highbars looked as if they would fit his tall frame.

He didn’t want to get a bunch of senior cops involved, who might like the bike as much as he did. “There’s nothing I can do for you,” Officer Washington said. “The tow truck is coming.”

Charlies mind spun with nothing but negative thoughts. He was fucked. Without his motorcycle, he was a worthless piece of shit without wheels. “My girl is clean, right?” he asked.

“Yes, but…” the officers replied.

Charlie still had his tools in the back of the station wagon. “What if I could break the bike down and stuff it into the station wagon?”

“Well…” Washington started.

Suddenly, Melanie was at Charlie’s side. “Ya gotta cut him some slack,” she pled with the officer with her soft blue eyes. “Please. Charlie’s not a bad guy, just behind in his paperwork.”

Charlie wasn’t drunk and she didn’t appear to be abused. Washington, was young, sorta ivy league, and still had a heart. She was clean, cute, not over made-up like a stripper.

“Okay,” Washington added. “If you can get it loaded and on the road before the driver gets here, I’ll let you go.”

Charlie didn’t hesitate, but asked Melanie to back the car under the pump lights where he pushed the chopper and thought about how he could make this happen. He opened the tailgate and grabbed his soiled canvas tool bag which he reached into on the tailgate and sorted some tools in groups like screwdrivers, sockets, open-end wrenches, crescent wrenches and pliers, needle-nose and vice grips.

With the bike under the dim fluorescent light above one of the non-working pumps he flew at the project. He suspected, if he could dismantle much of it quickly, the officer might not change his mind. Plus, he didn’t have the slightest whether the tow-truck was near or far and how fast it was coming.

“Baby, can you fold the passenger seat down?” Charlie asked.

She immediately set to trying to find a latch. Buick Roadmaster station wagons were mini-bus long, heavy duty and fast. Who knew why Buick chose to build a station wagon that could outrun a muscle car while pulling a 30-foot vacation trailer?

Charlie removed all the controls from the handlebars, then removed the bars. Melanie fought with the seat latch and officer Washington came to her aid as Charlie removed the left rider peg. He wanted to lay it on the primary side.

That’s when the slick black Lincoln slid into the ancient station, cracked asphalt, parking area and Fatbob and his pitbull scrambled out of the passenger side. Bullet jumped out of the driver side as the big sedan vibrated and settled. He laid a 4-inch barreled .357 magnum on the roof of the car. The dog snarled and charged toward Charlie while pulling Fatbob.

Officer Washington stood bolt upright and yanked his 9mm Browning out of his leather holster and shot the dog between his eyes. The yelp could be heard for a quarter mile. Fatbob fell to the pavement and grabbed the dog as its split head bled profusely.

Washington re-aimed his weapon at Bullet who only hesitated because Washington was a police officer. Charlie yanked his pipe weapon from his sissybar and jumped into a defense stance. For uncertain seconds the only sound was the wind rustling through the surrounding Florida jungle. Other than the flickering fluorescent 4-foot tube and the single incandescent bulb over the shop office door it was as dark and foreboding as a Vietnamese jungle in the dead of night.

“Lower your weapon,” Officer Washington said directly. He had a military background, but still he wasn’t comfortable with this situation in the least.

“Don’t touch your mike,” Bullet said and held fast his loaded and cocked revolver laying over the roof of the car.

“I can explain,” Charlie said and watched Fatbob stand his hand dripping with his dog’s blood.

“I’m afraid you’re way beyond explaining,” Fatbob said. “You’re dead and your motorcycle is mine.”

Charlie’s gaze shifted to Bullet. “Fatbob threatened me and sent his brother to do his bidding over Melanie, who that bastard abused and kicked out.” Charlie hated to be a snitch, even during this dire situation.

This was one of those moments, when everything could go wrong and Bullet knew it. Evidently the cop didn’t know about his two dead brothers and Charlie’s involvement. He also knew Fatbob, who always wanted trouble no matter what the odds were or the potential outcome. He couldn’t figure out how he survived this long without going to prison.

His outlaw spirit told him to win or die. He couldn’t just crawl back into the Lincoln and leave. Or could he?

“It doesn’t matter,” Bullet said. “We will always be coming for you. You could catch a break right now by leaving that motorcycle for us. Make up your fucking mind, take the broad and leave.”

Charlie was on the spot, again. The motorcycle or the girl. He faced that decision several times in the past but not at gun point. He tried to play the situation out in his mind. “Officer Washington said I could take it, if I could tear it down and load it before the tow truck arrived. It’s ready to be loaded, if you guys would give me a hand.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Fatbob spat and started to come for Charlie.

Officer Washington watched his chances of obtaining a classic flathead chopper slip away. He pondered his odds. The outlaw behind the Lincoln was as big or bigger than he was and was still holding the pistol aimed at him.

“Come on, guys,” Charlie said. “This bike is all I have and my tools. Just help me load it and everyone goes home in one piece.” He looked at Fatbob who still approached and suddenly pulled a knife. It was a folding unit, but a 4-inch razor sharp blade, which he snapped open with a flick of his wrist and lunged at Charlie. Charlie backed away slightly, just out of harm’s way and Fatbob followed.

Charlie had no choice, he stepped forward with the lead-filled pipe and swung it taking out the knife and breaking Fatbob’s wrist. Fatbob was boot tough and rattlesnake mean but was in no shape for a fight. He dropped to his knees, grabbed his wrist while writhing in pain.

“He didn’t need to do that,” Charlie said. “Get him to a hospital.

The radio in the officers car cried out for a response.

Bullet didn’t want to have anything to do with shooting a cop. His life would be over. More than anything he wanted to be far away from this situation, and he sensed more cops coming.

Charlie sensed the same. His life flashing before his eyes. “Give me a hand,” he plead with Bullet.

Bullet shoved the long-barreled revolver into his shoulder holster and scrambled around the car, but he didn’t come to Charlie’s aid. Charlie removed the front 21-inch 40-spoked chromed wheel with a star hub and brake drum. He set them alongside the station wagon and returned to the downed motorcycle. He couldn’t lift it by himself and hoist it onto the tailgate.

He heard a large click and the passenger seat folded down flat.

Bullet ran to Fatbob’s side and hoisted him up to help him to the blacked-out sedan just a few feet away. Officer Washington hadn’t holstered his weapon but moved sideways along the scene between the office and the pumps towards his cruiser.

Melanie came to Charlie’s side, “Can I help?”

“You may have to,” Charlie whispered. “There’s a .38 in my tool bag. Just bring me the bag quick and get in the car and prepare to lie down.

Melanie’s sparkle faded, but she moved quickly to the tailgate to retrieve the canvas bag. It was only 4-feet away, so she was back in a flash.

“Go,” Charlie said quietly and motioned her back to the car.

The boss of the Outlaws monitored all the police frequencies. He knew more about what was transpiring than any of the crew at the gas station. He gathered his band of toughs and military guys and headed out, but not by the highway, the backroads through the pitch-black swamps. They knew the dank roads like the backs of their hands.

He knew the cops would swarm the place quick, if they didn’t hear from Washington soon.

“Fuck you lowlife mutherfuckers,” Fatbob screamed in pain as Bullet engulfed his torso with massive arms and started to lift. “You little bastard, I’m not done with you and that whore.” He started to squirm and kick and with his free hand yanked his .44 and shot Washington before he could recalculate what was happening.

The hollow point slug knocked the young officer off his feet and he was dead before he cracked his head against the gray asphalt.

Fatbob at a fat 5’6” of angry blubber broke free from big Bullet and stood holding the flashy polished stainless steel cannon in one hand. The kick from the last shot almost sprained his other wrist and pain shot up his arm, but he was madder than a wounded rattlesnake and turned toward Charlie, desperately reaching into his bag of tricks for something.

“You’ve got to go to hell,” Fatbob said. “You killed two of my brothers, stole my girl and broke my fucking arm.”

Blonde Bullet knew all the scores. A 1%er since he was 16, he experienced it all. He broke free from Fatbob and rounded the cruiser. He wanted out and away from this place.

The band of Outlaws were on their way, screaming up shortcuts, back roads in the dark on six FXRs. They were armed and on a mission. Wolf was concerned about the outcome. He wanted to clear the area quick before his station became part of the fray. If he lost it, his chapter’s drug income of a half-million a year would be gone. He had to give it hell or die trying.

Fatbob lifted the weapon gingerly in the direction of Charlie who grappled in his grease-soaked bag for something. “You got it all wrong, Bob,” Charlie said trying to catch a free moment. Kneeling and fingering a myriad of sockets, wrenches and screw-drivers he finally felt the wooden handle of the stub-hosed .38, which hadn’t be fired in over 20 years. The brass shells were tarnished and held only standard lead bullets.

What Charlie said inflamed Fatbob. He hated to be called Bob. He hated everything except madness and violence. He yanked the weapon to shoulder height.

Melanie, peering over the back of the driver’s seat, saw it coming and rolled onto the floor of the wagon. That .44 magnum rocket would rip through the entire car if it was coming for her.

“Fucking bitch,” Fatbob snarled and yanked the blued Titanium hammer back as Charlie stood in the line of fire, dropped his Canvas bag and yanked the .38 free.

He knew he didn’t have time to aim, so he just pulled the trigger and hoped something would happen. The weapon was seriously old, with a chipped handle. The tarnished bluing and finish scratched, it bounced in his bag of tools for over 10 years.

The stub-nosed revolver, like cops carried since 1936 fired. The first revolvers were built in 1899 but with longer barrels. The bullet hit the pavement in front of Fatbob’s engineer boots and smacked him in the groin.

Startled and in pain Fatbob winced and tried to re-aim the stainless cannon. Charlie had just enough time to raise his weapon further. The ideal situation for a .38 was close range and this was less than 25 feet.

The weapons fired simultaneously. Charlie spun as if hit, but the bullet came so close he could feel it. It took out the driver’s sideview mirror. He was concerned about Melanie and followed the bullet to the side of the car dropping the .38 on his way. “Baby, he shouted. “Are you okay?”

He yanked open the door to see her tear-filled eyes gazing up at him. He turned to witness Fatbob stumbling backwards and trying to lift the heavy .44 again. The roar of open-pipe performance choppers filled the air as six Outlaws slide into the station.

Wolf saw the blood gushing from the hole in Fatbobs chest, slid right up beside him, yanked the pistol from his grip and pushed the dead man standing toward the Lincoln.

He eyed the situation and told two brother to help Charlie load the wagon with his precious motorcycle. Charlie consoled Melanie as she climbed into the driver’s seat unharmed. He kissed her forehead gently and turned to assist the members.

Wolf hoisted the dead Fatbob into the Lincoln passenger seat. “Take care of him and start another chapter of the Question Marks in another state,” he ordered.

Two other members loaded officer Washington in the trunk of his cruiser and drove it into the jungle. Charlie picked up his .38 dusted it off and slipped it back into his bag of tricks. As he turned toward Wolf, he heard the station wagon start and Melanie peeled out of the lot toward the highway.

“Let her go,” Wolf said. “She couldn’t handle this and I don’t blame her. Bad shit tonight.” They heard the wine of multiple sirens in the distance. “We’ve gotta move. Ride Rick’s FXR there, quick.”

The members cleared the scene completely in less than two minutes. Charlie was impressed and in a blur. He lined up at the back of the small pack of riders as they flew back into the dense Florida jungle.

The last thing Wolf said to Charlie was, “She won’t get far, we’ll get your bike back. You’re riding with us now.”