No matter how old we get, we keep daydreaming. It’s these hopeful visions of what’s possible that help fuel the proliferation of the barn find trend. So, let’s all close our eyes and ponder: What you would do if you opened that random garage door and found a 1928 first year of the Harley Flathead 45 or a racing OHV Peashooter? Where does one even start in bringing a project like that back to life?

As the venerable Tom Cotter has said any number of times on the Barn Find Hunter video series, it certainly involves more than just dropping in a fresh battery, airing up tires, and turning the key. Fortunately, it’s a lot easier to bring a bike back to life than a car.



If you are fortunate to buy from the last owner and he has history with the bike, take detailed notes. Even stop the conversation to find paper and a pen. Not only will the history add value to the purchase, but might contain additional resources or even remind the owner about spare parts or trophies he might have hidden in the basement.




Set a plan and a budget

Is this a full restoration? Bare minimum to get it running and enjoyable? An attempt to simply lock in the time-capsule look and stabilize the bike for even longer storage or a custom project?

Each of these approaches comes with its own priorities and picking a goal will steer your decisions moving forward. There is no shame in admitting you bought something just because it was cool, but now that it’s home you probably need to figure out what you are actually going to do with it.

Writing out your plan and setting a budget give you guardrails on the path this project will take. You will certainly hit these guardrails, and how rigid they really are is up to you. These check-up points help keep things from rapidly spiraling to a bare frame on the floor or an empty bank account when “while I’m in there” syndrome attacks.



Start your list

The key to any successful project is organization, inspiration and passion. Now is the time to start writing down what you know, what you need, and whose brain to pick. The human brain is not an iron trap, so it has a way of letting valuable information slip away into the ether (more often than any of us would care to admit). All the details that the seller told you should be the first things you write down, so you aren’t left trying to recall exactly what they said, and what kind of work was or wasn’t done.

Start the list of parts or materials you already know you will need; at the top of that particular list should be a factory service manual.



Find what’s missing

Looking at schematics is a great way to find not only how a system works but also clearly shows if you might be missing pieces.

The battery disappeared years ago. That’s an easy one to spot.

In a perfect world, this step would have been performed before purchase, but we are being realistic by including it in the post-purchase steps; there is often a lot going on during the inspection and buying process. Long-stored cars are often pilfered for parts or half-disassembled for one reason or another. Sometimes that’s why it ended up in the barn.

Other times it was an attempt to get it out of the barn that fell short. Regardless, it’s more than likely that parts of your new treasure are no longer with it. If you are very familiar with a particular model you can spot the items that went AWOL, but most people will need a little help to find exactly what is gone and determine the importance of each missing component.

I have found that referencing assembly drawings or exploded images is a great way to accomplish this step. Finding these drawings in service manuals or parts catalogs is the best way I’ve been able to consistently get clear and accurate drawings.

Many manuals contain photos, while parts manuals contain line drawings. Between the two, you can sort out the image and the part number.

These books show me not only what each part is, but gives me part numbers and how it interacts within the system. Use these books and the internet to identify parts in the boxes that came with your barn find as well.



Take photos. Lots of photos.


All that dirt and grime holds information, believe it or not. Witness marks of what was leaking, what had been disturbed or disassembled, and what has been absolutely neglected.

Taking photos to document exactly what you brought home is good to have for the future before/after picture, but also as a reference should you need to double-check your own memory of the project’s starting point. Make references in your master list to specific photos easily by writing number on sheets of paper and putting them in the frame of the photo.

You can then easily find these by photos by saving the files to Google Photos or some other cloud service where the AI powered search can sort through hundreds or even thousands of photos and find just the one you need when you search just the number in the image.



For me, cleaning is both the most critical and least fun process in this whole adventure. Careful cleaning will do one of two things for you: reveal more problems than you ever imagined or show just how sharp you were to buy your barn find.

For my project, the process included a pressure washer, Simple Green, and a soft scrub brush to break up the caked-on grease. For something more delicate it might mean a careful hose rinse followed with a specific list of products to lift the dirt and preserve the finish underneath. (Exactly which products depends entirely on the surface material as well as the nature of the soil.)

Be careful of pressure washers. They can remove paint.




Let’s see what Kyle comes up with in his second report. The major factors in any project include desire, tools, resources and drive. There are thousands of cool project lanquishing in garages all over the country. We are so fortunate that we live in a country (maybe not California in the near future) where you can take on most any project and build an award-winning scooter.



Between, google, Jay Leno and many YouTube videos you can find anything about anything and the resources to get it done. You can ship the engine to an expert for a rebuild, while you restore the chassis. You can find a painter to make it shine again and you can take care of the final assembly. You can find a guy who has been building bikes for 50 years, like Larry Settles, who will be glad to wire your creation if wiring intimidates you.



Just don’t give up, resources, tools, vintage parts and info abound.

Mike Egan recently passed away. I worked with Mike and his wife Patty for about 40 years covering his restorations, working with him on project bikes such as the Dicey Knucklehead which I still have. Hell, I made a deal to retrieve a Panhead from a brother partially because it held a Linkert Carb rebuilt by Mike Egan. I owned a 1931 VL for 25 or so years, which was owned by Lou Kimzey, the original Publisher and Editor of Easyriders Magazine. It was restored by Mike Egan, and I was offered the matching sidecar, which I mistakenly turned down. As Mike would say, “It’s worth Big Candy.”

Mike was an original, a one-of-a-kind master of Harley-Davidson restorations and a font of knowledge around Harley and Indian history. At times an acerbic character, he surrounded him and his family with historic Harley treasures as if he was the caretaker of King Tut’s tomb. He knew minions were constantly clamoring to get at the chests of gold icons, but somehow, he was able to secure himself and his fortunes in the Santa Paula, California hills surrounded by orange groves and avocado trees.

We worked together on an historic Board track display for the Santa Paula Museum, and I wrote numerous features about his restorations for celebrities, such as Steve McQueen. Many of these stories might be captured in the new Classic Easyriders DVD volumes if they can ever reach the West Coast from China. As Mike would always say, his restorations were, “First cabin.” He was close to Budd Ekins and worked with Von Dutch and the owners of the Buena Park, California Wax Museum. At one time Mike offered me two basket case Brough Superior motorcycles. I came close but didn’t pull the trigger. Again, he wanted big candy.

At one point in Mike’s younger years, he traveled the country buying up dealership inventories of motorcycles, Harley parts, advertising materials and display antiquities. Life changed dramatically and rapidly from 1903 until just after WWII. New and modern became the order of the day and the past was considered antiquated junk and needed to be removed. Mike recognized the trends and the value of the history. Maybe he had a mentor, or perhaps he found himself being taught in the art of respecting motorcycling history.

Even as the whole Chopper lifestyle emerged Mike didn’t follow the wild radical trends but kept to the traditional and even the purely historic restoration aspects of motorcycling. Maybe he never smoked a joint and thank the chromed gods he didn’t. He stayed true to a rare code, one of pure respect for mechanical antiquity. I spoke to him and Patty shortly before he passed. His passing is like losing the key to a rare kingdom.

–Bandit

Michael F. Egan

Santa Paula – Michael F. Egan, of Santa Paula, CA, passed away in his home surrounded by family on Monday, October 18, 2021. Mike was 77 years old.

Mike is survived by his wife, Patricia Egan (née Parrott); his daughters, Candace and Catherine Egan; his grand-daughter, Evelyn Walker; his sisters, Patricia Egan Turner and Margaret Egan Barker; and his brother, Paul E. Egan, along with nieces and nephews. He is predeceased by his parents, Paul F. Egan and Patricia Mangan Egan, and his brother, Christopher J. Egan.

Mike was born in Aurora, IL, on December 13, 1943, to Paul F. Egan, former two term mayor of Aurora, IL, and Patricia Mangan Egan. He attended Marmion Military Academy in Aurora, IL, and later moved to Los Angeles, CA, where he enlisted in the United States Marine Corps in 1964. Mike was a natural leader and achieved the rank of Sargent. He was combat tested and was wounded during his tour of duty in the Vietnam War. He served in the Marine Corps from 1964 to 1968 and earned an honorable discharge. He then attended the University of California, Los Angeles, on the G.I. Bill and graduated with honors as a history major in 1971. He was also inducted into the Phi Beta Kappa honorary society.

Mike and Patricia met in Long Beach, CA, in 1973, and were married on December 19, 1974. They welcomed two daughters, Candace, in 1981, and Catherine, in 1992.

Mike was a legendary motorcycle enthusiast and internationally recognized collector and restorer of rare, antique domestic and foreign motorcycles, motorcycle parts, and memorabilia. He traveled to obscure corners of the world gathering pieces for his collection as owner of M. F. Egan’s Vintage Motorcycle and building the legacy he leaves behind today.

Mike gained notoriety as a member of the California custom motorcycle and car counterculture of the 1960s and 1970s. He was a publisher of a monthly newsletter, Vintage Motorcycle Advertiser, in the early 1980s, and later published two catalogs of his own inventory in the 1980s and 1990s.

Throughout his career, he contributed as a guest writer and was also featured in various motorcycle publications, including Easyriders, Cycle World, BikeWorks, and Hot Bike magazines. Additionally, Mike curated two museum exhibitions at the California Oil Museum in Santa Paula, CA: “Splinter Road” in 1994 featuring early racing motorcycles; and “Bikes and Badges” in 2001 which showcased motorcycles used by law enforcement.

When not working on motorcycles, Mike enjoyed camping, fishing, hiking, and being outdoors, and spent the last decade of his life as an avocado rancher. Mike will be greatly missed, and always remembered for his rebellious spirit, tenacity, intelligence, creativity, and sense of humor.

A memorial service will be held on Saturday, November 6, 2021, from 1:00 pm to 5:00 pm, at the Egan residence at 19900 South Mountain Road, Santa Paula, CA.

To better understand how this came about, we should look at some background that led up to Biker Lives Matter. I have been riding motorcycles for 69 years and both my life and that of the others who ride has always been important to me. I was taught to ride by a friend at the age of 14 and then continued to improve that by riding with people who had more experience than me, that is just the way it was done years ago. Through the years that I have been riding, I have seen many people injured and I know too many that have died. I personally have had my share of crashes and I even flatlined in the operating room after one of them. I consider myself one of the lucky ones to still be riding at the age of 83 years old.

In the 1970s, I became involved in motorcycle rights and safety. At the time, motorcycle injury and death rate were high so the government and insurance companies began trying to pass laws that they hoped would help protect motorcyclists when crashes happened. They started by passing legislation such as mandatory helmet laws. While I have no issue with wearing helmets, I feel it should be a matter of choice. I (and others) also felt it was typical of the government to put the cart before the horse when a more practical approach would be to lower the crashes and collisions. That is easier said than done since so many motorists who are operating a vehicle are not paying attention to what they are supposed to be doing.

As motorcycle safety advocates, we worked on trying to educate the driving public to share the road with motorcycles, we also knew we needed to come up with a way to better educate the motorcyclists on the operation of the motorcycle.

The American Motorcycle Association put on the first Meeting of The Minds and invited 50 people with various backgrounds in motorcycling to attend. I had the privilege of being one of those people. What was discussed at that meeting eventually led to the Motorcycle Safety Foundation and courses to teach new riders. Our hopes were that defensive riding would help motorcyclists stay alive while we worked on changing laws that would make other vehicle operators be aware of us on the road and penalize those who violated our space and right to be there.

I am sorry to say that we have not been as successful as we should be in that aspect and 50 years later, we are still working on it. In the meantime, motorcyclists were and still are being injured and killed. It is unacceptable and something must be done.

More life threatening are collisions with other vehicles. It is at epidemic stage and motorcyclist are dying at an alarming rate despite all of the things that we have put in place. We have tried for many years to educate the public that motorcyclists have a right to the road the operators of these vehicles continue to drive stupid and without regard for others. They refuse to pay attention to the operation of their vehicle. Yes, recent legislation pertaining to cell phone use has helped but it has not gone far enough. I do not think you will find anyone that will disagree that the largest cause of injury and death to motorcyclist is another vehicle violating its right of way. The most common is making a left turn in front of them.

People in motorcycling rights and safety have been trying to do something about changing the law from minor fines that is the most common sentence for those found guilty of violating the right of way of another motorist for years. There has been limited success in some states but not in others. Since efforts to educate has not worked it is now time to legislate. Yes, I am saying it out loud. I am one who does not care for new laws either and have fought for freedom but in this case, it seems like the only solution. Ignoring where we find ourselves after all these years has not changed a thing. We do know that when the courts increase fines, take away operator’s licenses, and make them attend safety classes it does work as a deterrent for other vehicle violations.

I believe that we have waited way too long and what we have been doing to protect ourselves is not working. Biker Lives Matter believes that increasing the penalties for drivers who violate others right away is long overdue and that those penalties should continue to increase it until violators pay attention. The revenue from increased fines can help pay for also having the offender attend safety courses. Some say it is inconvenient for them to attend safety courses. Well that’s just too bad since it is not as inconvenient as people having to visit family members in the hospital or planning funerals for them.

I think back to the days of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and what they have done to change things. There are numerous organizations that are promoting increasing penalties for violation of right of way violations, some have had success and others still working on it.

We need to work with motorcycle rights organizations (MROs) to get bills introduced to our state legislators and for all of us to contact those legislators to let them know that if they do not vote to pass laws that we will vote for whoever is running against them in the next state election.

Though I have been always interested in this topic it struck home on September 9, 2018 at 7:49PM when my son Dale was struck by a vehicle making an illegal left turn. He ended up losing his left foot. I and others believe he could have also lost his life if there was not a nurse that just happened to be on the scene and tended to him until more help arrived.

I continue to be thankful for organizations like Accident Scene Management and the Motorcycle Rights Organization that continue to fight to keep us safe and treated fairly concerning our rights.

I am requesting that anyone who can to help us change what is happening on our roadways to our brothers, sister, son, daughters and other family members who ride do so.

Like many things in the past, we can win this war against us. I will continue to do what I can to help that happen. To: https://bikerlivesmatter.com/

The Sturgis Motorcycle Museum is unlike any motorcycle museum on the planet. It’s based around the history of the Sturgis Rally and follows several racing endeavors. But the rally evolved into chopper heaven and so did museum displays with exhibits from many of the great chopper builders of our time, including Arlen Ness, Billy Lane and others.

The Sturgis Rally represents true motorcycling freedom and so does every exhibit in the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum.

This finely chopped Knucklehead came into the museum over this past rally because the builder Paul Wideman (AKA Bare Knuckle Paul) showed it all around the country, won numerous awards and thought the best home for it would be the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum.

“We got in contact with Paul through a friend of the museum Darren McKeag,” said Race Garvin, Exhibit Manager. “Darren is a featured artist during the rally and has multiple displays currently housed with us. It was a great match and we’re super excited to exhibit more of Paul’s classic choppers in the future!”

In 2014 Paul Wideman and the crew at Bare Knuckle Choppers Built this beautiful 1940 EL Knucklehead. It has a 74-inch motor with shaved and resized flywheels, large port cylinder heads, as well as Kibblewhite valves.

The frame and tins were completely custom made and the gas tank has an inlay of 1 ¾-thick Coco Bolo wood. This bike has won many shows such as the J&P Cycles, Ultimate Builder Custom Bike Show in Chicago, IL in 2014.

Three brothers rode into Sundance, Wyoming on their way to Sturgis in late July, hell bent to make their 20th run to the Badlands. The small town, population just over a grand, was a mere 52 flying miles from the Rally. They rode long and hard for almost 400 miles, and this could be the final watering hole stop before the last blast on interstate 90 into Sturgis, South Dakota. Sundance located in the bare open plains of Wyoming was named after the Sun Dance ceremony practiced by several American Indian tribes.

They whipped their choppers in front of a small, wooden shingle, hole-in-the-wall bar across from the empty town square. The sun began to drift slowly in the West, as the brothers dismounted and stretched. They had no notion of what they might encounter inside the tiny saloon. Land-locked it at no place to grow.

Two brothers hailed from SoCal, but one was originally from New Zealand, Markus and the other from Germany, Karl. The final crew member hailed from Phoenix, once a leader in the Dirty Dozen MC, Bryan. Markus, the blondish tall, fit, New Zealander was once an Olympian sharp-shooter and security expert. The skinny German Chiropractor had wavy black hair and blue eyes. The intelligent one was thin and agile, not a fighter. He knocked the women over. Seasoned bikers, each one had over 20 years building and riding choppers, running the streets, dodging the Man, and enjoying the freedom to ride.

This turned into a special year for all three, one didn’t know it yet. Karl suffered severe anxiety over most of the elements he left behind in Los Angeles from his struggling business to his recent marriage. Bryan’s criminal past could bite him in the ass and Markus dodged immigration for years. He questioned his next move, but for now they were brothers on their annual pilgrimage to the Badlands.

They entered the dim, old saloon and met dark wooden walls and a ceiling scattered with dollar bills thumbtacked to the low, sagging panes. The three suddenly encountered the two most beautiful women in Wyoming, sisters. Jennifer, the taller, older sister with radiant blue eyes and flowing brown hair smiled a shimmering grin that would melt an iron heart. The Doctor immediately took to her. She didn’t look like a girl who was meant to be behind a bar in a dusty cowboy/biker saloon.

The good doctor leaned immediately on the old bar, while the other two sat just a couple of feet away around a small wooden table against the old barn wood paneled wall. Willie Nelson sounded out from the jukebox, “To all the girls I loved before.”

Her sister Randi was shorter but looked fit as if she that was her intention. Her eyes were brown and warm and her darker, and straight hair was tied in a ponytail revealing the curve of her soft neck and her muscular traps. She immediately took to the badass looking, black straight-haired brother with big arms, a man cut to the bone. While wiping down the thick, marred oak table with a clean white terrycloth towel she touched his forearm as if to judge his size and strength.

“You’re not messing around,” Randi said and smiled, a broad, sincere grin.

“Never have, never will,” Bryan said. His eyes darted as if on alert and quickly sized her up. She was just 5’5” and Bryan 5’8”.

“What can I get you guys?” Randi asked while keeping an eye on Bryan. She trained constantly, rock climbed, hike trails and rode mountain bikes.

“I’ll have Crown Royal on the rocks,” Bryan said.

“I’ll take a Jack on the rocks,” Markus barked at 6’2” and very fit. He came to the states as a marksman Olympian and never returned. His life was spent challenging himself in everything physical form from close quarters combat to rock climbing. His recent challenge was archery. Within a year he became a national champion.

Dr. Karl moved along the bar following Jennifer and ordered a Heineken which came chilled and frosty.

“Are you guys headed to the rally?” Jennifer asked.

“That’s our intention,” Dr. Karl said eyeing her rare natural beauty.

“Have you been here before?” Jennifer inquired.

“This is our 20th year,” Karl said.

“Tell me about your friends,” Jennifer continued. She was obviously searching.

Karl gave her the rundown about the gyms Bryan owned and his Scottsdale Bar and Markus’s multiple exploits.

“Do you like Wyoming?” Jennifer said and her inquisition became more direct.

“We all love it,” The good doctor said, “What gives?”

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer said. “I don’t mean to ask so many questions.” She moved down the empty bar.

The Doctor followed her along the slick heavy wooden top. It contained cigarette burns, knife marks and numerous dings dating back 50 years. “Is this all you do?”

“Not hardly,” Jennifer said. “I graduated from college three years ago.”

“What was your major,” The good doctor said, “And why are you here.”

“Computer Science with a minor in Criminology,” Jennifer said and frowned. “This is my mom’s place. She’s ill.

“So?” the doctor questioned. “What’s next?”

“I’m sorta lost,” Jennifer looked directly at Karl’s gray blue eyes searching. “I have some history here. My grandfather was sheriff and hunted horse thieves. I don’t like the current sheriff. I’m just trying to run my mom’s bar and help folks in the area.”

“How do you mean?” the Doctor quizzed, intrigued.

“For instance,” Jennifer’s demeanor brightened. “I got a call today. Someone bagged a car and used it as collateral to take a Chopper for a test ride, never to return.” She yanked a laptop from under the bar and started to type. “I immediately launched photos and notices all over social media. Haven’t heard anything yet. The owner is a young field worker with a new wife and baby. This motorcycle is his second love, but he must sell it. We’ve got to get it back.”

“Has someone scoured the area?” the doctor said. “We could quickly. You gotta map? Best hit it before dark.”

Jennifer glowed and nodded. “Let me have your cell phone numbers in case something surfaces.”

“I’ll give you all three,” the doctor said and summoned his brothers.

Jennifer laid out a tiny 8 by 10 wrinkled map of Sundance on the slick bar top and pointed out the various areas of the small town straddling interstate 90.

“Here’s sorta the bad part of town where a couple of meth heads were busted recently. Over here is the industrial complex. The three brothers carved up the map and made way to their bikes.

“What do you think?” The good doctor asked the others.

Bryan looked at Markus with a knowing stare. The Doctor liked the girls and always fell. Bryan could fuck the smaller sister and leave. Markus looked at the mountains in the distance and thought about training and hunting. “What?” Markus said. “We better move.”

The doctor straddled a café customized black and white Sportster with a 19-inch front wheel and a 19-inch rear. It was loaded with a tank bag and a bedroll for the rally.

Markus jumped on his stretched FXR and fired it to life. It was long, black with some pinstriping and performance modifications.

Bryan, short and stocky moved to his fully customized and lowered bagger, painted flashy metallic orange graphics with a gloss black base and stroked polished and chromed engine. They entered the main street of town and peeled off in three different directions.

This was going to be a breeze compared to searching the congested streets of Los Angeles, or even the sprawling Phoenix region. But the sun was quickly drifting and visibility in an unknown town would become an issue.

Bryan hung a right and rolled near the lowbrow west end of town. He encountered many nasty Arizona areas in the club. He knew the drill, the signs, the gutless and the badass. His bike would possibly stick out like a sore thumb as he meandered, his loud pipes sounded like a freight train in an alley.

The homes were small and spread out. Many were old, like coal miners’ cottages of wooden slats and small windows. The roofs were tar shingle, but hail storms broke and tore the soft material to the wood underneath leaving the home looking like it encountered bomb shrapnel. Many lodgings were motorhomes or trailer park kits, some single, others doublewide. Cars scattered the yards, some in disrepair, others rusting in the summer sun.

Some of the homes had garages, others none and all the vehicles, rusting trucks, hail dinged compacts and bicycles remained in the yards. The afternoon was hot, but very few folks remained outside. He heard the buzz of window air-conditioners.

Bryan searched every lot, home, trailer and garage for a sign, while his bagger rumbled along the roads like an angry, barking patrol dog.

Markus leaned to the left on main and headed east into the more industrial end of town where vast lots of used equipment were scattered in the weeds, large and small metal industrial buildings were adorned with shinning and some dilapidated company signs. This was a tougher area to search. Many of the roads and rutted drives were gravel and hard to navigate on a stretched FXR with a 180-rear and a 21-inch front tire.

Not afraid of anything Markus pulled into a lot containing several oil pumping units, to the terror of the area’s environmentalists. He saw an older gent heading toward a company pickup. “Excuse me sir,” Markus said.

“My name is Ron,” the narrow 6-foot gentleman in the Cowboy hat said and smiled. His shirt was crisp and plaid, tucked into denims and fastened with an elaborate leather belt and a recently polished, engraved, silver, western belt buckle. “How can I help you.”

“A friend had his motorcycle stolen earlier today,”
Markus said. “We are looking for bike shops or shady characters.”

“In Sundance?” Ron said extending his hand.

“Yes,” Markus said shaking his hand. “I’m not from here. We’re just helping the sisters at the Dime Horseshoe try to help out a local rider.”

“Those girls are the best,” Ron said. “The law around here isn’t on the ball. Did she tell you her granddad was the sheriff at one time?”?
“She told one of my partners,” Markus said. “The best time to find a stolen motorcycle is shortly after is happens, before it’s torn down or hauled away from the area.”

“You want to park your bike and I could show you around in my pickup,” Ron said.

“Don’t mean to take up your valuable time,” Markus said.

“I was about to head home,” Ron said. “Let’s go. There’s not much to see, don’t know of any bike shops, except one back in town. But let’s cruise around. Park you bike over there behind that back-hoe.”

Markus looked over at the sun drifting dangerously close to the hills in the distance. Ron backed up and aimed his pickup at the gate and Markus climbed in.

“We can cover this area in less than 20 minutes,” Ron said. He could see the concern in Markus’s eyes.

“Appreciate it,” Markus said. “He couldn’t get too far.” Markus had the confidence of a pool player who knew he couldn’t miss the next shot, or the next.

Ron rolled down the shared lane and pointed at the sparce lodgings and buildings. “That’s a cattle ranch, nothing there. Up the road a spell is a machine shop. I work with that crew every week. I think the younger one has a dirt bike.”

The good doctor rode his agile Sportster up and down the inner portion of town. The houses were well-cared-for and close together. Many lots contained small, single car garages and neatly landscaped yards, although there were a few depressed looking homes with cracked paint, chipped walls, and rusting hulks in their yards.

After each loop he encountered Main Street and a handful of historic shops, mixed with buildings built or refurbished in the ‘50s with art deco styling, and a couple of franchise tilt-up buildings looking out of place like the O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, but that was the only modern franchise joint in town. Most were antique shops, thrift stores, cafes, and a hair salon and a barber shop. One city block was devoted to municipal buildings with the post office on the corner built in the ‘40s just as WWII ended and guys needed jobs.

Karl weaved through a couple more blocks unsuccessfully until he reached the edge of town and saw Jake’s Custom Cycles. He needed a break and pulled up out front. Just two other chops were parked at the curb and both sported 1%er logos. Chris new a lot of 1%ers, but he also knew the code of the west for these guys.

He walked into the shop and up to the dusty counter. He recognized a shop that wasn’t bustling. The counters were empty and dusty, and just a few parts and containers of oil lined the shelves. He stepped around the counter and into the service area in the back, where he witnessed a bike, a Panhead chopper on the lift and a couple of guys seemingly dismantling it.

“What the fuck do you want?” One big, fat clubber leaned against a workbench in the shop scattered with tools and parts. The place was a mess as Chris ignored the question and reviewed the rest of the shop and the old linoleum lunch table in the corner. It was grimy with ashtrays, empty beer bottles, but center stage was chunk of busted mirror and a razor blade sitting center stage with a couple of un-snorted lines of coke or meth waiting.

“Sorry to bother you guys but I’m looking for a stolen motorcycle,” the doctor said and checked for weapons and a way out.

“We don’t know about any stolen motorcycles,” The big member said, but he was visibly shaken. He didn’t know who the hell Chris was or what might possibly be behind him, but the code dictated that he stayed tough.

“I think you should leave,” the other member stood. He was scrawny and angular with a long, strange goatee and dark hair pulled in a ponytail. The other guy working on the bike must have been Jake and he looked scared to the bone. Chris looked at the two standing club members and looked around the room once more. He was also disturbed by the situation.

“I’m taking off,” the doctor said and put his hands on each flap of his vest as if he was the marshal of the town. “But I’m not leaving Sundance until we return the stolen motorcycle.” He immediately stepped quickly into the showroom and outside to his waiting Sportster. No one followed, and Dr. Karl blasted back in the direction of the Dime Horseshoe Saloon. “What the fuck did I get myself into? He thought, running the bullshit through his mind.

Bryan cruised the down-and-out neighborhood thoroughly, but his flashy dresser stuck out like a sore thumb. The sun began to set, and his options declined. He turned carefully onto a gravel road, and it pissed him off. A persnickety sort, he didn’t like sand or gravel near his polished ride. He slowed and remembered riding to Sturgis a few years back with a brother, Bandit. Whipping through the mountains of Colorado, he needed to take a piss.

He pulled off the Highway, parked his bike on the gravel embankment and strolled into the shrubbery. Bandit also rolled off the highway onto the loose gravel but didn’t like it and positioned himself for the best access back onto the asphalt highway. Just as Bryan zipped up and turned toward his bike, it settled, slipped and fell over. Bandit could feel the snarling anger and knew a few minor scratches would mean another $5,000 paint job. Bryan never forgot that incident.

Bryan rolled down the gravel road looking for a turn that would take him back onto pavement. He saw something up ahead, another trailer park living situation with cheap aluminum siding and bent eves from the last hail storm. There were a half dozen pickups parked in the yard in no organized fashion. They were mostly small inexpensive used pickups and a couple of rusting older pickup from the ‘70s.

As he drew closer, he saw the owners sitting on milk crates in front of the open separate tin building garage out back. It was a bunch of young guys watching something going on in the garage, but when they heard the performance bagger and spotted Bryan heading their way they bolted. Six guys ran for six pickups.

Within 30 seconds gravel and dirt flew from the tires of six shitty, worn out trucks. Bryan tried to stay calm, but the pandemonium exploded and he didn’t know which direction they might flee. One truck nearly hit him as the scared shitless driver spun a 180 and peeled passed Bryan toward the asphalt lane behind him.

Bryan’s concern was mostly for his costly paint job and flashy chrome. He would have killed that guy for dinging his paint. Another old midsize stained white Toyota truck came at him. Pitted with rust and dented by hail, the petrified young guy gripping the wheel almost lost control trying to navigate the narrow base gravel lane shared by Bryan’s custom bagger.

He watched intently trying to sort out what the hell was going on, how to find his way away from the action and back to a safe asphalt street. Trucks came his direction, some peeled down an even narrower alleyway behind the neighboring mobile home and two headed directly away from Bryan. The dust turned into a fog, and he couldn’t make out much but ducked, held tight to his bars and kept rolling. He knew better than to roll toward the edge of the road, while attempting to turn around.

He passed the shop but couldn’t lose focus on the road to try to see what the hell all the commotion was all about. The lights were still on, but someone was desperately trying to shut the industrial roll-up door. Bryan tried to note anything about the location, the tin sign on the outside of the building, the color of the modular home or the junk in the yard.

He rode directly at the cloud of dust while trying to follow the ruts in the road. Just another short block and the dust started to clear as he came to a rugged junction where he could turn right onto an asphalt road, but the junction was peppered with nasty potholes. His bike bounced and lurched in the rugged terrain, but he managed the 90 degree and the road smoothed. He wanted to pull over and access the damaged to his pristine machine.

He sighed relieved as the air cleared, and he figured out where the hell he was, but he knew where he was headed, back to the bar and another Crown Royal on the rocks. Bryan as tough as nails, wasn’t easily startled or jarred from any eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation, but that encounter shook him. What the fuck?

Markus, the lucky one at the other end of town in the industrial side sat comfortably inside the cab of Ron, the cowboy’s truck as they traversed the 50-acre parcel devoted to industry from ranching supplies to oil well equipment, farming equipment, welding shops and machine shops. Ron pointed at corrugated steel building as they rumbled down an oiled base road. “That’s where the locals take their deer, elk, mountain goats to have them dressed, bled and prepped. He’s the best butcher in town,” Ron said.

He passed another prefab built home surrounded by lush trees. Behind it and off to the side was another bolt up tin shop with a large roll-up door and an office door to the right. Over the rusting and well-used white roll-up door was a sign for Denny’s Welding. Sparks were still flying outside in the yard as a leather clad welder was intent on his bead, welding a truck chassis.

“That’s Tim,” Ron said. “He took over the business from his dad. He’s been welding and fabricating since he was a kid.”

“Good to know,” Markus said as they rolled on past a small area café and headed deeper into the region of steel, tires, shipping containers and heavy equipment. “Can we swing around the back of the café?”

“Sure,” Ron said and drove his company truck around back. There were a couple of old compacts, a café van and a tattered Ford Ranger. Markus studied it for any signs of hauling bikes. They pulled out of the gravel parking lot and kept rolling.

Ranches were next to machine shops, separated by acres of open land. They passed an obviously new facility. “They built that metal building manufacturing shop just last year,” Ron said. “They can form all the parts for a new building in a week. Pour a foundation and in two weeks, you can have a state-of-the-art industrial building.”

Markus nodded and kept looking. The sun began to set, and he was burning daylight. They drove deeper into the area and Ron pointed out each facility and told of the history, uses and folks. As they rolled farther from town the land use spread. There were more cattle ranches and hay bale fields. They came to a massive spread scattered with cattle and a long tree-lined lane to a beautiful two-story wooden home surrounded by several large barns and equipment sheds.

“That’s the Reynold’s family spread,” Ron said. “They supply beef and milk all over the region. I think they also make cheese.”

“What are those small buildings behind the barn?” Markus asked. He grew up on a New Zealand farm. That’s where he was taught how to use weapons for killing animals.

“That’s where the hired hands are housed in small cottages or you might call them apartments, usually one bedroom,” Ron said.

“Can we drive over there and swing around them,” Markus said.

“Sure,” Ron said. “I know old man Reynolds and his son who runs the place now.” They turned right on the road as dusk settled over the lush pine strewn Bear lodge mountains in the distance. The cottonwood trees lining the lane to the home were carefully trimmed and the pristine road well kept.

The large clapboard home showed no signs of age, and the gardens were manicured. Flowers bloomed everywhere and Markus’s cell blinked. “We found something,” the good doctor wrote in the text. “Get back here.”

Markus didn’t mention it to Ron as he drove passed the carefully maintain barn into an open space, separating the barn smells from the living quarters. “I’ve never been back here,” Ron said. They came across two rows of small, built-together clapboard cottages, each one separated by a small single car garage. The cottages, four on each side faced one another with white picked fence lined steps to the small porches and wooden front doors, all painted to match the ranch scheme.

“Stop,” Markus said abruptly. He studied each unit for any informative signs. “Hang here for a minute.”

Markus climbed out of the truck and didn’t walk down the lane between the cottages. He walked past them and around back the outside line of dwellings. He studied the grounds. There were no doors out the back, just windows. He studied the mowed field grass for tracks as he listened intently for conversation, while checking the condition of every window. All of them seemed intact and unhampered with.

He moved to the end of the four-unit structure and turned left and walked to the center between the two lines of units. He studied the lawn and steps to each unit and the garage doors. Then he moved behind the first line and walked along the back. At the far end was a tampered-with window. He looked up and spotted the sun drifting over the mountains in the distance. Then he heard a scream and shouting.

He moved around to the front of the unit. It didn’t contain a solid road between the two rows of units, but two concrete strips to save money and grass in the center. The garages were used mostly for storage, not trucks. Only small compacts could maneuver the grounds to the single car garages.

Markus moved out front and studied the ground to the garage and discovered a recent narrow track to the single car garage. He knelt at the corner of the building and considered his options. He didn’t like them. This guy was a no-good thief to steal a car then use it to bag a chopper. He could break in and startle the couple and try to find out what the fuck was happening.

He texted back to Dr. Karl. “I’ll be right there.” He heard another scream and jumped. Up the stairs he ran and kicked in the door. In the living room on a tattered couch and surrounding chairs sat five dirty young Hispanic girls huddling together. He didn’t hesitate but bolted across the small room to the bedroom and threw open the door.

A big guy turned from his rape scene and pulled a pistol. Markus moved closer while raising his hands in a defense mode. Less than two feet from the assailant, the large semi-auto pistol was right in Markus’s face. He looked into the glaring shit-brown eyes of the rapist and searched for clues. How bad was this bastard? Would he end Markus’s life forever? He didn’t like what he saw.

Markus tilted his head slightly to the right, away from the semi-auto and moved his open palm-back to the left against the barrel. In less than a NY second, he turned his palm, so it was against the barrel and grabbed it twisting it out of this guy’s hand and hitting him in the neck with his right hand. The bastard gasped.

The girl on the bed reached for her clothes to cover herself and ran for the other room. Markus stepped into an attack stance. “Pull up your pants.”

The big, thick man in a plaid work shirt looked up at Markus, and Markus hit him hard enough to crack his jaw and dislodge a tooth. “Don’t look at me, pull up your pants.”

This time the man did as he was told, and Markus shoved him toward the front door. “Hablan English?” Markus said to the girls, and one said, “Yes.”

“Are there others like him?” Markus said.

“No,” the young girl said. “They just brought us across the border and dropped us here. We’ve been here two days with nothing to eat. He comes and attacks and threatens us.”

“Is there hot water?” Markus said.

“Yes,” the senorita said. “I believe so.”

“Clean up and I will send someone with food and supplies,” Markus said. “If they don’t use my name, Markus, fight back. And don’t lose my knife.”

He cut her ties and gave her his handy Beretta sharp as-a-razor folding knife to cut the tie-wraps free from their ankles and wrists.

“You can’t do that,” the big bastard said as Markus shoved him outside the front door. “I paid for them.”

Markus didn’t reply but shoved him toward the pickup. He had snatched a couple of large tie-wraps off the cottage deck. He fastened the big guy’s wrists together behind his back, opened the tailgate and shoved him into the steel bed. Ron jumped out of his truck to help.

“Do you know this guy?” Markus asked.

“No,” Ron said. “He doesn’t look familiar.”

Markus stared at Ron’s eyes looking for uncertain clues. “That unit is full of young Hispanic girls,” Markus said and pulled another tie-wrap tight around white-boy’s ankles.

“That hurts,” he said, and Markus wanted to put a round in one of his knees. He shoved the barrel of the gun against his left knee.

“I’ll show you hurt,” he said and turned to Ron. “Do you have a wife or daughters who can bring some food and clean clothes to six girls?”

“Sure do,” Ron said and made a call.

“One more favor,” Markus said.

“Anything,” Ron said looking at the gun.

“Can you take me and my new friend back to the bar?” Markus said and ejected the clip from the semi-auto, ejected the round in the chamber, shoved the gun in his waist band and replace the round in the clip. Something told him he might need this cannon in Sundance.

They hauled ass back to downtown and the Dime Horseshoe bar. His two brothers waited anxiously out front.

“This is Ron,” Markus said exiting the truck. He gave me a tour of the Sundance Industrial Park. And this is my new buddy.” He indicated the guy tied up in the bed, uncomfortable from the rough, two-mile ride back to town.

Jennifer and Randi came outside. Jennifer looked at the farm fed catch in the truck and pulled his head back by his sandy mop of hair. “Jennifer,” he said, and she dropped his head again to the metal truck bed.

“Let’s go back inside,” Jennifer said. “I have some information.”

“What’s with the guy in the truck?” Karl asked.

“Something about human trafficking,” Markus said. “Ron’s family is helping the girls.”

“We need to move fast,” Jennifer said.

“We’ve been moving fast, ever since we arrived for a quiet drink,” Bryan said in a gruff tone.

Jennifer looked at Karl with baby-help-me eyes and then at Ron.

“Let’s see what she has to say,” Ron said coming to her aid. “I’ve known these girls and their mom forever.”

“Quick,” Markus said. “What gives.”

“In less than an hour you guys have solved several problems in this town, except one,” Jennifer said. “I made a call about Jake’s shop. He’s always in a jam, this time with the wrong guys. He owes the club some funds. I think I solved that one.”

“Thanks Karl said, “I didn’t like that situation.”

Jennifer touched the doctor’s arm and the gaze between them was strong and forgiving.

“Okay,” Bryan said. “What’s next.”

“The guys on your side of town were huddled around Joey’s garage,” Jennifer continued. “He makes white lightening. The sheriff is underhanded and religious. He’s always trying to bust those guys. He rides an old dresser that belonged to my dad. You spooked them. Those guys will move their operation to another location sometime tonight.”

“What about your friend in the back of Ron’s pickup?” Markus said. “Could he know something about the missing bike? How do you know him?”

“Get him into the back room,” Jennifer said. His name is Kevin and he’s been in the bar and may have a connection to the new sheriff.”

Markus and Bryan pulled the bruised and beaten Kevin out of Ron’s Pickup. “I’m going to check on my wife and the girls,” Ron said and closed the tailgate with a bang.

“Let me give you my cell number,” Markus said.

“I’ve got the number here,” Ron said. “You be careful.” He extended his hand and Markus took it. There was pure sincerity in his gaze and handshake.

“I gave my knife to one of the girls,” Markus said.

“I’ll take care of it,” Ron said and got into his truck.

Jennifer opened the employees-only door, where their office was set up with two small old metal military desks and a couple of old steel file cabinets. It contained just two metal chairs from the ‘50s and Markus and Bryan shoved Kevin into the chair.

Jennifer stepped up and raised Kevin’s chin and he grimaced in pain. His jaw was severely bruised, but he still was a nasty sort and Markus studied him carefully.

“Here’s the deal, Kevin, we have an issue and need your help,” Jennifer started. “I suspect you stole that motorcycle to pay for those girls.”

Markus watched Kevin’s facial features closely for any sign, from knowing, to fear, to cockiness. Kevin looked in his direction in the dark room but wouldn’t make eye contact. Bryan stared at him like a hungry cat ready to pounce.

“Stealing the car and using it was a smart move,” Markus said.

Kevin smirked, “I couldn’t get close to the motorcycle without some collateral.” He knew his investment in the girls was gone. What did he have to lose?

Jennifer jumped at the new information. “That chopper means a lot to that family. They don’t want to sell it, but his wife is going to have a baby, and he was going to let it go, so they could make a down payment on their first home.”

“I know,” Kevin said and smirked some.

Bryan didn’t like that and lurched. Jennifer blocked his path. “Hold it,” she said and turned to Kevin. “Can we get it back?”

“Maybe,” Kevin said and swallowed. Bryan the ex-outlaw scared him. “But those pricks won’t like me much. Is there something you can do?”

“Yeah, bury you quietly in a shallow grave,” Bryan said and turned from the scene pissed off. “We don’t have time for this bullshit.”

“Listen,” Kevin said. “I’m fucked anyway you look at it. I need to get safely out of Sundance.”

“We can get you out of town,” Jennifer said. “But what about the bike? Where are they staying and when will they leave? If they get wind of the girls in safe hands, they will bolt.”

“You got to promise to get me out of here,” Kevin begged.

“We will,” Jennifer said. She had a commanding presence, and the good Doctor studied her features and mannerisms intrigued. He could tell her mind was spinning. “Give it up, so we can make a plan.”

“They are staying in a trailer park on the edge of town,” Kevin blithered wanting to get the info off his jagged mind. “They have it on a small motorcycle trailer connected to their motorhome. It’s right out in the open.”

“When,” Jennifer demanded.

“I don’t know,” Kevin stammered. “They don’t like to stick around.”

“What about the cops,” Dr. Karl said. “Couldn’t they just go out and handle it?”

“Yep, but if they do the bike will end up in impound forever,” Jennifer said. “It will be picked to pieces before we will ever see it again.”

“Figure it out,” Markus said. “Bryan and I will ride out there right now and let you know if it’s still there. Hold him until you hear from us.”

Markus and Bryan jammed out to their bikes as the sun dipped over the Continental Divide and disappeared. “This better be good,” Markus shouted out to Bryan as they peeled away from the curb and hung a left on main heading toward Interstate 90 freeway, a mile past the eastern edge of town. Pipes blaring, they peeled over the over-pass and spotted the trailer park next to the frontage road. It consisted of a few scatter trees, gravel roads, sewage and electrical outlets positioned next to school bus sized patches of bare land.

During Rally season, the area was packed with trailers and motorhomes of various sizes. Too many included trailers containing motorcycles. Fortunately, they had a visual of the baby blue paint job with silver flames. They jammed up and down wide rows of trailers until they spotted a faded tan non-distinct motor home with two guys loading lawn chairs in one of the lower storage compartments. The motor was running.

They stopped just up the lane and Markus texted the license plate of the motorhome. “I’ve lost my patients with this bullshit,” Bryan said and hit his throttle. “Hang back in case it all goes wrong.”

Bryan jammed forward and slid to a stop alongside the motorhome. “Hey, do you know that motorcycle is stolen?”

Two guys turned to face him. They were shabby and half-drunk white guys, but they looked tough.

“We don’t know anything about that,” the taller of the two said and looked at his partner. His mind had to be swimming with options. “We’re leaving.”

“You don’t want to leave with that wanted poster on the trailer following you,” Bryan said. “We know you didn’t steal it. Just unload it and take off.”

The other guy looked at his partner and spit on the grassy ground. He rubbed the stubble on his rough face. “Motherfucker,” he said.

Just then Markus pulled up, slid to a stop, dismounted and pulled a 9mm from inside his vest. But he didn’t say a word. The situation was suddenly tense, like the world around them disappeared. Everything in life centered on the next move.

“We are not here to cause you any issues,” Markus said calmly. “Just to take that chopper back to its owner. We know the situation. Your customer is gone and won’t be back. You have a lot more at stake than just this bike and you know it. You can be on your way in a matter of minutes.”

He watched the two guys closely for any wrong move. “How about we just unhook the trailer? One of them asked.

Bryan seethed. He wanted one of them to fuck up. Markus also wanted more retribution than just the bike, but he suspected it was coming. One item off the check list at a time.

Markus and Bryan watched as the two thugs unhooked the trailer safety chains from the back of the motorhome. They made no moves to assist.

One guy pivoted the trailer jack and rotated the lever to lower it to a level position. Markus could read his whirling thoughts about what was happening and his options. He was sorta like Bryan, looking for an excuse to jump, pull a gun or run.

These guys had it tough. Human trafficking was a major offence in Wyoming, plus rape of underage girls would get them sent away for decades, maybe the rest of their lives. On the other hand, these guys were violent outlaws of the worst sort. Considering jail times wasn’t generally in the cards. They fucked up and worried about the consequences later.

Bryan wished for such a conclusion. He also came from the streets and had the gunshot wound scars to prove it. When it came to angry, nasty sonsabitches, he was ready.

Markus reached for his cell phone and called Jennifer. “Send the bike owner with a pickup that can pull a trailer.” He quickly hung up.

In five minutes, a midsize Ford Ranger approach and unexpectantly Randi jumped out of the cab and approached Bryan. She slipped her arm around his and pulled him close. She read him like a dime store novel. The tension in his taut muscles radiated like a blast furnace against a pile of snow. He relaxed. “How about another Crown Royal on the rocks?” she said pulling his big beefy arm against her ample breasts and kissing his cheek. “Maybe you can spend the night after the rally.”

“Speaking of the Rally,” Markus said. “We’re burnin’ daylight. Let’s ride.”

The thugs sneered and got into their motorhome and lumbered toward the gate. The brothers hooked the trailer to the Ranger and mounted their bikes and rolled back into town to pick up the good Doctor.

When they pulled up in front of Dime Horse shoe it was dark, but they could make out two forms wrapped around one another on the sidewalk under a cast iron street light. “I told the girls we would help them find stolen motorcycles whenever we can,” Dr. Karl said.

Bryan kissed Randi deeply, “I’ll definitely be back to find whatever you’ve got.” He slapped her perfect bubble butt and the three brothers rolled toward the freeway and another rally week. Randi and Jennifer stood on the curb and waved, then looked at one another knowingly. The Chopper Chronicles team was formed.

 

 I attended the Toy Run in Brevard County, Florida and I thought back to the mid-’80s when a group of us took toys to the local orphanage. As other riders in the area found out about that and wanted to get involved, Joe “Sarge” Franks arranged for us to ride to the Shrine Temple to drop off items.

 The Toy Run continued to grow and instead of coming from different points around the city the Bikers met in Cocoa, Florida and rode to Melbourne. It was quite a thing and people would wait along the route to wave to them as they passed by.

Of course, as the group grew in size, so did issues with traffic, upset motorist, motorcycle accidents and eventually a woman being killed by a motorcycle that got out of control.

 The run was stopped, but other smaller events were held in local cities in the county.

 In 2021 a new group came up with the idea to have an event in Melbourne at Club 52 which has very big parking lots. The Bikers would start at different times from places around the county and not have traffic issues. Groups and individual riders would come and go throughout the day.

For those who wanted to stay local, favorite Doc Holiday provided the tunes and eventually turned it over to the Twisted Minds band who performed live. 

I personally think this event was a big success, and they got the job done in a safe manner, while drawing a strong turnout.

 Thanks to all involved in putting it on and those who attended throughout the day.

ENJOY YOUR CHRISTMAS or WHATEVER HOLIDAY YOU CELEBRATE, AND HAVE A SAFE AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 

A global network of 900 scientists and professionals has prepared this urgent message. Climate science should be less political, while climate policies should be more scientific. Scientists should openly address uncertainties and exaggerations in their predictions of global warming, while politicians should dispassionately count the real costs as well as the imagined benefits of their policy measures.

Natural as well as anthropogenic factors cause warming

The geological archive reveals that Earth’s climate has varied as long as the planet has existed, with natural cold and warm phases. The Little Ice Age ended as recently as 1850. Therefore, it is no surprise that we now are experiencing a period of warming.

Warming is far slower than predicted

The world has warmed significantly less than predicted by IPCC on the basis of modeled anthropogenic forcing. The gap between the real world and the modeled world tells us that we are far from understanding climate change.

Climate policy relies on inadequate models

Climate models have many shortcomings and are not remotely plausible as global policy tools. They blow up the effect of greenhouse gases such as CO2. In addition, they ignore the fact that enriching the atmosphere with CO2 is beneficial.

CO2 is plant food, the basis of all life on Earth

CO2 is not a pollutant. It is essential to all life on Earth. Photosynthesis is a blessing. More CO2 is beneficial for nature, greening the Earth: additional CO2 in the air has promoted growth in global plant biomass. It is also good for agriculture, increasing the yields of crops worldwide.

Global warming has not increased natural disasters

There is no statistical evidence that global warming is intensifying hurricanes, floods, droughts and suchlike natural disasters, or making them more frequent. However, there is ample evidence that CO2-mitigation measures are as damaging as they are costly.

Climate policy must respect scientific and economic realities

There is no climate emergency. Therefore, there is no cause for panic and alarm. We strongly oppose the harmful and unrealistic net-zero CO2 policy proposed for 2050. If better approaches emerge, and they certainly will, we have ample time to reflect and re-adapt. The aim of global policy should be ‘prosperity for all’ by providing reliable and affordable energy at all times. In a prosperous society men and women are well educated, birthrates are low and people care about their environment.

Epilogue

The World Climate Declaration (WCD) has brought a large variety of competent scientists together from all over the world*. The considerable knowledge and experience of this group is indispensable in reaching a balanced, dispassionate and competent view of climate change.

From now onward the group is going to function as “Global Climate Intelligence Group”. The CLINTEL Group will give solicited and unsolicited advice on climate change and energy transition to governments and companies worldwide.

* It is not the number of experts but the quality of arguments that counts

https://clintel.org/world-climate-declaration/

Richie Russolello was working in Kansas and meet with some Veterans building a memorial with no support. As he talked to them, he made a promise to help them, and their mission to honor veterans and wounded warriors who came home and needed a helping hand.

When he was young, Richie wanted to join the service and fly F14 Tom Cats, but because of physical reasons he could not fly. However, he moved forward working on airplanes, trains, and all the associated support equipment. He worked for Continental, Colorado Railroad and now Signature Flight Support, and he is license to work on A&P aircraft and Qualified Maintenance Personnel (QMP) for trains.

He learned and perfected all of his fabrication skills, welding, metal fabrication and built motorcycles. He has shown many of his custom bikes, and like most builders he enjoys the design and build as much or more than riding. This year he was elevated to judge at the Mountain Regions largest motorcycle event, Colorado Motorcycle Expo going strong for 43 years.

“We want to get the people to talk,” Richie said, “To see if we get them to come on board with us, support and donate to the Wounded Warrior Project. You know, there’s a lot of military charities out there, they’re all good but the way I feel is that you gotta fix the soldier first. We could get them houses, we could get them jobs, we get them finances, but we gotta fix them. We got to fix him and his family and the only way we’re gonna do that, is through the Wounded Warrior Project.”

“They handle all the medical. They handle the mental and physical rehabilitation. They even have programs to get them back into the workforce. ‘Cuz these guys and girls are coming back seriously messed up. So, what do we do? We gotta get them back into life. That’s why this whole program came about. We’re doing it for them. We’re doing it for the veterans. We wanted to say thank you to the veterans by building this bike, but we also wanted to use it for our project supporting Wounded Warriors.”

The Wounded Warrior is designed to provide tribute to all branches of the service, Army, Air Force, Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard. Not to look like a show bike all bright and shiny, but the tools they used coming back from years of service fighting for what they stand for.

Richie started this bike by modifying an older chassis to for a Pro Street frame. He chopped it up and made it his own design. The backbone was lowered to bring in the shape of a fighter plane. With help from a friend, who owns a machine shop in Florida, he designed the custom swing arm. He fabricated it as two pieces and performed the finished welding. He installed an Avon 300 tire in the back and a 21-inch tire in the front.

From there he stripped all the chrome off components for a more of a military finish. The bike looks like it just came back from the battlefield. That’s what he was looking for. Not looking for the pretty stuff. He finished the frame and did all the welding, trying to keep the welding as careful as he could. But he liked a little bit of the roughness in some welds. He duplicated the look of something you see from an airfield or a battlefield. If something breaks, they’re gonna stick it back together and send it right back out. That is what this bike represents.

The tank was a prefab, but it didn’t end up that way. He redesigned and finished it. It was just a tank with a ton of welds, so he had to cut the back off, shape it and then finish everything. It is the military shark that you see on all the fighter jets. It is equipped with a gas cap resembling a gun turret, He took a taxi light off an aircraft, the glass top and made it look like the gun turret from a B-17. It has two cannons and is glass top and there’s a guy inside that they used a 3D printer to make. The gas cap closes perfectly with the guns facing forward. He said they had a blast with that.

The seat was all handmade. A friend, Aaron did the work on that. Richie designed it all and Aaron cut the leather and did all the custom tooling displaying the five military branches. You see all five branches of the military cut right into the leather. That came out cool.

The front fender was just a fenders, Richie cut it up to the design that he wanted. It has an eagle’s head proudly on it. The is a lot of design to capture everything as real as he could. The rear fender is the tails from an F-14, Tom Cat with the engines as lights. They actually light up and flicker when it’s starting, the taillights are bullets. He had to bring that Tom Cat to the bike.

The engine is a 96 inch. He wanted to keep it down. Anything over 96, you get to the 110’s and better, it is gonna shake itself apart. This bike isn’t built for that, its built to cruise and enjoy. So, he stayed with the 96, it’s got a different piston, and it has a different cam so it’s got a great sound and is running great. The carb is typical, just a stock carb, nothing racy about it.

The primary color he started with was a block of metal, black aluminum and then went with a true military green.

The air cleaner is a bomb. He wanted it to resemble the old fighter aircraft where they put the pin-up girl with her name on it. The pin-up is on the bomb and she’s called Belladonna.

This is all hand fab; everything came from nothing. The chin spoiler is a f117 Nighthawk that was a nightmare, but we got it by hammering every day, and throwing it away. Like that bike is two years of accidents. He kept trying and trying and trying to get it right and made a big old sheet metal pile. And then looking through the pile he found the perfect one at the bottom.

Another thing, he’s proud of the exhaust system. He hand fabricated the each element. Starting with a wide pipe, he cut it and made his own single tube and then made a machine gun. It’s called a GAU-17, which is the same as an M-134D. It’s a military Gatling gun, still in service today. They shoot 3,000 rounds a minute, 50 rounds a second. It’s got the Gatling tubes. There are six of them, 50 millimeter in size. There’s even the toggle switch that you throw, when you start firing.

The chopper sports the actual Marine logo. He also mounted the K-bar, which is the weapon that the Marines get, when their training hand-to-hand combat. It’s the most important weapon a Marine has. He was asked by a friend, a Marine, to include it.

Everything accessory was Military related, artillery, ordinance, you name it, it came from the military.

Another biggie is the headlight. He struggled with the Coast Guard. He didn’t know what might represent them. He decided to make a rescue spotlight. The only thing he found was a housing and then he machined the rest of it. It’s a search and rescue spotlight now. “It came out so good,” Richie said. “I’m not bragging at all, just – when something turns out sharp, it’s wow, look at that.” It’s equipped with Morse Code fins. It also has working night vision.

The final piece on it is a true GPS speedometer, built inside a housing complimenting the front forks. The speedometer is inside. A pure GPS, so there are no wires, just an antenna.

Isaac “Izzy” Reyes is phenomenal with an airbrush. “I didn’t want a green bike with a white star on it, “Richie said, “I need it to look real.” Izzy turned all the sheet metal into riveted sheet metal, with an airbrush.

“When I showed the fender to my wife Donna, “Richie said, “she touched it, she wanted to feel the rivets. There ain’t no rivets there.”

Izzy completed the shark artwork and also put a Red Cross on the top of the tank. Looking like it came straight from M*A*S*H. Then he applied age into it. That’s what topped it all off. He mastered wear and age on every part of the bike, even the red star, the Red Cross. It looks like it’s been on the battlefield 20 years. He pulled the whole bike together.

For those who were prisoners, Richie added a POW license plate. He weathered it to show the pain for those who endured that fate.

“My two sons and daughter, Michael, Ricky, Jessica, did all the 3-D printing for me,” Richie said. “A big guy I must thank is the owner of Metal Supply and Machine, Del Rey Beach, Florida. He’s a buddy of mine from when I used to live in New York. He opened up a machine shop, and when he found out what I was doing, his whole family military family stepped up.”

He said, “Rich, you need something done, you tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

“I owe this guy everything,” Richie said. “All my thoughts and all my pictures, he turned into reality.”

“So, it all came together, a bunch of good people that helped me put it together and especially my wife. She supported me, even though she thought I was crazy. She was okay with doing the whole Wounded Warrior thing.”

This whole project is for those who served, to thank them for what they did. Richie has permission to use the Wounded Warrior organizations name and logos and the funds raised will go to them.

If you would like to help Richie and the team support Wounded Warriors, visit them at Facebook https://www.facebook.com/donate/1818049438379057/3039319403062923/

Prostreet Frame with shortened down tube and lowered backbone with 48-degree rake
S&S 96-inch Engine
Ultima 6-spd transmission
BDL open primary
Avon 21 front and 300 rear tires
Custom built handle bars
Prostreet tank finished and lowered
DNA 66mm inverted front end
Harley controls
One off B-17 Gun turret Gas cap
Custom seat by Kruger Customs
One off F117 Nighthawk Chin spoiler
Custom Primary cover machined to M-4 Army Tank
War Medal “All Gave Some, Some Gave All” in 24 Karat gold plating
One off shift rod “Freedom isn’t free” in 24 Karat gold plating
Custom designed Coast Guard Search and Rescue Headlight
Custom Military service pistol foot pegs
One off custom exhaust as a M134D/Gua-17 Mini Gun

Custom designed front and rear fenders with F-14 Tails and Nacelles
Custom bullet style taillights and turn signals
PM brakes front and rear
Custom Bomb Air cleaner assembly
One off custom blend Black Olive Matte paint
Custom Marine Kabar with sheath
Airbrushing by Issaic “IZZY” Reyes

Thanks to Marc from Metal Supply and Machining Inc. and his team. Matt Dominguez as the events coordinator and transporter. To Richie’s children Jessica, Ricky, and Mike for help and support with paint, leather work, and 3D printing. A special thanks to his wife, Donna for letting him complete his vision and putting up with a crazy bike builder with a dream.

U.S. traffic deaths soared in the first six months of 2021, making for the most deadly 6-month period ever recorded. An estimated 20,160 people died in motor vehicle crashes on U.S. roads, an 18.4% increase from the same period in 2020, announced the U.S. Department of Transportation’s NHTSA (National Highway Traffic Safety Administration).

Traffic deaths surged after Coronavirus lockdowns ended in 2020 as more drivers engaged in unsafe behavior like speeding and lack of seatbelt use, according to NHTSA behavioral research findings. That made for the largest six-month increase ever recorded in the Fatality Analysis Reporting System’s history, which has been in use since 1975.

As U.S. roads became less crowded, some motorists perceived police were less likely to issue tickets because of CoViD-19, experts said. Incidents of road rage and driving under the influence were also found to be higher than before the pandemic. Travel on U.S. roads was up 13% in the first half compared to a year earlier.

“This is a crisis,” noted Pete Buttigieg, the transportation secretary, adding that the rising traffic deaths left “countless loved ones behind,” he said. “We cannot and should not accept these fatalities as simply a part of everyday life in America.”

Buttigieg announced the Department’s first-ever National Roadway Safety Strategy to launch in January with a comprehensive set of actions to reverse the current trend.

BBB AND ELECTRIC MOTORCYCLES
It’s not law yet, and many political insiders don’t believe it ever will be in its present form, but the Biden Administration’s “Build Back Better Act” as currently written includes a tax credit toward the purchase of qualifying two- or three-wheeled electric vehicles, of 30% of the purchase price, up to a credit of $7,500.

What kinds of bikes qualify for this credit; you may wonder? For starters, only motorcycles made “for use on public streets, roads, and highways” make the grade. Additionally, qualifying vehicles must be capable of achieving speeds of at least 45 miles per hour, and be powered by a 2.5kWh or greater battery.

Unfortunately, that also means that low-speed electric motorbikes (and scooters), often used for urban transport, do not meet the criteria for this credit. Additionally, while a $7,500 tax credit sounds like a sweet incentive, your electric motorbike purchase must cost at least $25,000 to hit that ceiling.

Various criteria, such as a taxpayer’s modified adjusted gross income, can also affect the available tax credit offered. If married, taxpayers paying jointly make over $500,000 in a year, or $250,000 if filing as single taxpayers, the credit goes away completely.

In America, with its wide-open spaces, one of the biggest hurdles to EV adoption is range anxiety, and while cars manufacturers have made great strides in addressing this issue, electric bike OEMs still face an uphill ride due to size and shape limitations. Still, all EVs traversing American roads could stand to gain if the National Electric Highway Coalition has its way.

Simply stated, the NEHC wants to provide DC fast charging infrastructure along “major U.S. travel corridors” by the end of 2023. With current projections estimating that around 22 million EVs will take to U.S. roads by 2030, the Edison Electric Institute estimates the need for around 100,000 EV fast charging ports readily available from coast to coast.

That’s a tall order, considering the U.S. Department of Energy current lists a total of 5,644 DC fast chargers across the entire United States. By the EEI’s own estimates, that’s nowhere near enough.

A total of 53 separate energy companies across the U.S. formed this NEHC power company coalition, with most being investor-owned energy companies from whom many of us receive our electric bills every month.

EUROPEAN MOTORCYCLE MANUFACTURER ASSOCIATION REVEALS FUTURE GOALS
Despite the growth and development in the electric mobility sector, the European Association of Motorcycle Manufacturers (ACEM) wants to go much further by 2030. On November 17, 2021, ACEM held an online conference to introduce its Vision 2030+. The strategic documents lay out a roadmap for the European motorcycle industry to continue development in conjunction with regional decarbonization goals. European Parliament and European Commission policy-makers were in attendance as well as industry leaders.

“The Vision 2030+ that we are presenting today is the result of a long-term reflection at the highest levels of the European motorcycle industry,” said ACEM Vice-President and Head of BMW Motorcycles Dr. Markus Schramm. “Vision 2030+ is about the future of mobility but also about the valuable contribution our industry can make to help Europe achieve its goals in areas such as industrial policy, decarbonization, and road safety.”

The presenters stressed the importance of cooperation among manufacturers such as the Swappable Batteries Consortium, but also noted that alternative fuels play a major role in meeting future goals. New proposals like the Fit for 55 package and alternative fuel deployment initiatives are all aimed at achieving the objectives set forth by the European Green Deal and the European Climate Law. Under the two bills, the E.U. is expected to reduce emissions by 55% by 2030.

AI BEING DEVELOPED TO PREDICT AND AVOID COLLISIONS
Honda has announced that they will be embarking on an ambitious program to help make our streets safer by incorporating predictive Artificial Intelligence technology into driving and riding Honda automobiles and motorcycles.

“Honda will strive for zero traffic collision fatalities involving Honda motorcycles and automobiles globally by 2050,” said Honda CEO, Toshihiro Mibe. Mibe also added that to eliminate motorcycle collision fatalities especially in emerging countries, Honda will “continue to strengthen research on safety technologies that enable motorcycles and automobiles to safely coexist and lead the way in realizing a collision-free society.”

With Honda’s “Safe and Sound Technology,” information about potential risks in the traffic environment, which are detected based on information obtained from roadside cameras, onboard cameras and smartphones, will be aggregated in the server to reproduce that traffic environment in the virtual space. In that virtual space, in consideration of the conditions and characteristics of each individual road user, the system predicts/simulates the behaviors of road users at high risk of a collision. Then, the system derives the most appropriate support information to help the road users avoid such risks.

Such support information will be communicated intuitively to automobile drivers, motorcycle riders, and pedestrians through “cooperative risk HMI (human-machine interface),” which will make it possible for the system to encourage road users to take action to avoid a collision before it happens.

According to Honda, the company is targeting the testing and effectiveness of the system within the next few years, while standardization with industry-wide private-public collaboration will commence after 5 years. Honda also hopes to deploy the technology for “real world” applications sometime after 2030.

MOTORCYCLE EVENTS ONCE AGAIN CANCELED DUE TO CHINA VIRUS
Just as we thought the world was beginning to return to some semblance of normalcy, the global pandemic seems to be striking back with a vengeance, especially as majority of the Northern Hemisphere is right in the thick of winter. Several countries have seen massive increases in Coronavirus cases, particularly worrisome mutations, which unfortunately spells disaster for numerous motorcycling events — be it indoors or outside — such as The Elephant Rally, iconic IMOT, and high-adrenaline Supercross Dortmund, as biker gatherings across Europe are being postponed or have gotten the axe.

The racing scene, too, is not left without its casualties, as the Dortmund 2022 motocross series has also been canceled.

OF CONCERN; 4 OUT OF 5 KINDERGARTNERS CAN’T RIDE A BICYCLE
Ryan McFarland, the founder of Strider kids bicycles, told his motorcycle industry audience at the Orange County IMS Outdoors event that today only one in five kindergartners know how to ride a bicycle.

Similarly, most young drivers today have never learned to use a clutch to drive a car with a manual transmission.

Most motorcycles require both balance and use of a clutch, and in the past one could assume that new motorcycle customers would already be familiar with both.

Not-so-much today, but the motorcycle industry is aware of both of these challenges, and are developing new rider programs, power assist bicycles, and new technologies such as clutchless shifting and continuously variable transmissions, as well as more affordable rides.

No, today we can’t count on as many kids riding bicycles or teens learning to drive a stick, but the motorcycle industry is working hard in other ways to attract new riders.

THEFT ALERT: THIEVES USING APPLE TECH TO TRACK VEHICLES OF INTEREST
Apple created AirTags to help users find commonly misplaced items like keys or luggage. When paired to an Apple device via Bluetooth, each AirTag allows the owner to track the item’s whereabouts. Hidden AirTags have even been used to track down stolen vehicles, including motorcycles.

However, AirTags don’t just let the user track their belongings, they also allow thieves to track other people’s property. Authorities have discovered that crooks are stashing AirTags on luxury vehicles, out of the owner’s sight. Once the thief tracks the automobile (or motorcycle) to the owner’s residence, they can steal it once out of the public’s eye.

QUOTABLE QUOTE:

“Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside.”
~ John F. Kennedy (1917-63) 35th President of the United States

ABOUT AIM / NCOM: The National Coalition of Motorcyclists (NCOM) is a nationwide motorcyclists rights organization serving over 2,000 NCOM Member Groups throughout the United States, with all services fully-funded through Aid to Injured Motorcyclist (AIM) Attorneys available in each state who donate a portion of their legal fees from motorcycle accidents back into the NCOM Network of Biker Services (www.ON-A-BIKE.com / 800-ON-A-BIKE).

THE AIM / NCOM MOTORCYCLE E-NEWS SERVICE is brought to you by Aid to Injured Motorcyclists (A.I.M.) and the National Coalition of Motorcyclists (NCOM), and is sponsored by the Law Offices of Richard M. Lester. If you’ve been involved in any kind of accident, call us at 1-(800) ON-A-BIKE or visit www.ON-A-BIKE.com.

Dear Close and Cherished Associate: Holiday Waves to you!

Well. It’s been quite a ride, hasn’t it? Whew! Are you staying safe? I know I’m doing
everything EYE can to stay safe. And not just for me! But for everyone else. I don’t think
I am going to take my mask off even when the pandemic has been conquered.

I am leaving it on until all diseases are eradicated. You might say that is very noble to which I would agree but you would maybe add “Will this happen in your lifetime?” It will if we all get on board with me! We can do this! Humanity is strong when united. And haven’t we seen enough divisiveness?

Agreement takes no effort. It’s easy to do. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Everyone liking everyone and agreeing to be in all things
together whenever the call goes out to all be in things together? I feel empowered just
writing this!

I have to admit, though, trying to understand what retail personnel, etc, are actually, saying to me from the other side of a Stay Safe Protectorant mask and a thick barrier of bullet proof glass and from 6 feet away has not been easy.

I have anger issues and stuff? That I try hard to keep under control and stuff? But I do confess I often am sorely tempted to scream “Take your fucking mask off, stand closer, and get rid of this fucking transparent blast-door between us you fucking germaphobic OCD Adrian-Monk -level imbecile. I have NO idea what the fuck you are saying!!”

But I don’t do that because I know they are ordered to stay safe by their bosses who are ordered to stay safe by their Medical Hierarchs in the government capitols of the world who are only concerned about caring for the people who are paying them under duress to provide more duress. I mean to keep us safe. And I have no problem with that because, hey, I’m 78. I could go at any second. I can ride this out. I feel sorry for the 10-year-olds.

‘Cause this ain’t ending any time soon. But can you put a time limit on safety? I am
going to say no to that! Fortunately, so is Doctor Faukey. So, we’re all on board! But I do
have to admit: being responsible for the health of the earth’s human population AND being responsible for the earth’s weather?…….It’s tough!

But we are strong, right? And we’re all in this together. So, sharing the load of responsibility is what comradeship is all about, right? I think so. Speaking of the weather, you know, the Apaches when they want to affect the upper atmosphere and stuff? – they do a very badly-choreographed dance to even worse non-melodic repetitive riffs….. and that works! So, what we need is a globally choreographed World Dance to stop global warming.

Hey, it works for the Hopi: New Mexico is now a tropical paradise and the corn that the Pueblo Indian Corn-Dance grows? It’s world famous. Singing and dancing in lieu of modern farming methods and harvest strategies adapted to incrementally variable whether anomalies works for them and it can work for us. Same with beans being rattled in a dried gourd. It’s been curing the Chiricahua for thousands of years. It can cure C-19. We just need to believe.

Which reminds me, Kim Jong Un has ordered everyone to not sing or drink alcohol during the Christmas, New Years holidays. Because his father and grandfather are dead. And they are all in this together sadnesswise, which I think is a beautiful thing. Because I would be afraid to say otherwise. And I would deserve the abuse! Because I would have weakened the collective. I do not want that on my shoulders. Especially if it becomes a crime.

So, yeah, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year but not too much merriment and not too much happiness, because, as Mr Biden’s “covid coordinator” said, me and my family and you and your family can, if you don’t get inoculated with whatever is being called a vaccine this week, that we all can look forward to a winter of sickness and death.

And that’s the Biden Christmas message: to look forward to a winter of sickness and death. Which USED to be called “the annual cold and flu season.” Talk about playing-down a wintertime catastrophe!!

Ha-ha! “The annual cold and flu season”!! Were we led down the garden path with THAT one!!!!
What’s next, calling climate change Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter??

So I’m going to do what he, our -until maybe tomorrow – President says because he is a whopping lot more smarter than me.

Welcome to Year Three. That’s the new calendar by the way. Screw this AD and BC crap. We are not heading into 2022 in the Year of our Lord. HELL no, screw all that historical hocus pocus, we are in Science-Year 3 of C-19! AND I LOVE IT!

Stay Safe!! Don’t let sickness and death ruin your reputation!!