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Tell ’em Bikernet.com sent ya

Mostly Early Harleys before Transmissions

by Bandit with photos by Weed

This piece speaks to so many things. This brother is retired, but he’s not turning the motorcycle flame down. When we started this series, he faced three restorations of 1913-’14 Harleys and one Excelsior-Henderson. I could be wrong. There could be a 4th. Since then, he’s scored more early bikes, sold bikes, restored Museum bikes and is currently trying to buy another JD-model V-twin.

Click here to read this amazing article only on Bikernet.com

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Our Dayrolls are all leather now, with four pockets including a tool flap. They are the best. Click for action.

This piece speaks to so many things. This brother is retired, but he’s not turning the motorcycle flame down. When we started this series, he faced three restorations of 1913-’14 Harleys and one Excelsior-Henderson. I could be wrong. There could be a 4th. Since then, he’s scored more early bikes, sold bikes, restored Museum bikes and is currently trying to buy another JD-model V-twin.

So, don’t mind me if I get crossed up from time to time. The other day Dan sent me shots of lacing and truing early wheels, so here we go. All early wheels are laced with the hub centered over the rims. All early motorcycle wheels came with clincher rims and tires, which are tough to mount and even tougher to install the tubes. All the early bikes had 28-inch in diameter rims.

All the early bikes came with 36 spokes until 1912 when Harley engines grew more powerful, so they switched to 40-spoke wheels. They’ve been the same ever since. Sure the rims changed and widened and the spoke thickness became more substantial.

Let me see if I can get this straight. Dan lays towels down and starts to connect the hub to the rim with spokes. While carefully watching the position of the nipples, he installs a spoke in the hub and counts four dimples over on the rim and installs it. If he was lacing a hummer wheel, it would be three-over.

If you wondered if you were doing it right check the length of the spoke sticking through the rim. If it’s way long or short, you’re off and need to correct.

He laced the inside group and then the outside group crossing four spokes of the inside group with each new spoke. He flipped the wheel over, did the inside group and handled the outside group of spokes before installing the wheel in the truing stand.

In the stand, he applied masking tape to the four, 90 degree corners. Then he started to tighten the nipples up and down and side to side while watching his truing gauge. He has the old cool tightening tools for the job. He can now lace a wheel in just about 10 minutes. Truing takes patience, bourbon and time.

Remember to check the length of the spoke sticking through the rim and nipple. If one is way off, you might have a problem.

Once close to completion, Dan punched each nipple from the outside because of the thickness of the paint. After final tightening and truing, he checked and ground any protruding spokes to prevent tire puncturing. He made sure all the surfaces were smooth and wiped clean before applying the rim strip.

His tolerance for early wheels, which are more forgiving is .060.

Here’s a sidebar story. Russell Mitchell was involved in a TV series. If the contestant could build a bike within 30 days from the ground up, he could keep it. Lacing wheels became the toughest hurdle to the competition. More guys lost because they couldn’t lace and true a wheel in time.

Here’s an adage direct from Dan, “If you can’t find a part—you make it!” Here’s a Magneto cable control sleeve he fabricated.

Okay, that’s it for this episode. Dan is currently restoring a ’13 and ’14 from the Mecum auction donated to a museum by E. J. Cole for Dan’s makeshift shop display. Tom Faber is building Bars for these rollers and with new paint for the tanks and fenders, they will be complete and ready for display.

See ya next time.

–Bandit

Moving to Sturgis is like moving to motorcycle nirvana in the Black Hills Region of South Dakota. It’s either Western or Two-Wheeled in this area. The wild life runs from Moose to Elk, to Knucklehead, flathead and 4-valve heads.

There are long distance riders, artists like Scott Jacobs and his entire family, to Antique Motorcycle Club guys, custom builders like Irish Rich and a master of all Cabana Dan. A Hamster and union retiree Dan builds drag bikes, customs, choppers, bobbers, long bikes and is now building, by chance three stock antiques in the 1913-1914 range. He’s a humble scraggly-bearded biker whose wife worked for the factory as a dealer rep and now is the executive director of the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum.

Dan, with vintage history, already built two of the most magnificent Peashooter, singles from the ‘20s and a 1914 restored Harley on display at the Sturgis Museum currently. He knows what he’s doing and where to find the shit. So, hang on. We are going to touch on his three current builds and then over the months ahead we will follow their progress, if we can stay in his good graces.

Let’s kick off with his 1914 H-D twin. It’s ready for paint and his first batch of nickel-plated pieces just arrived from D&J Plating in St. Paul. D&J handled everything except the tiny pieces. Dan met a family who plates antique handles and knobs for rare furniture. They offered to nickel his little fasteners and brackets, but when he stopped by with a mag wheel, they cringed. That chopper stuff scared the staff with notions of drugs and outlaws. He had to take the mag somewhere else.

In the case of the ’14 twin, he purchased the frame and the frontend from Dewey Rice EarlyHarley.com. He had the early H-D twin motor from an Ebay score. The frames in those days were very spindly and were often discarded, whereas the engines were used for water pumps and saved.

All three bikes are 1913-‘14 vintage for several reasons. The motocycle industry was flying at the time with new innovations and technology daily. For instance, the ’13 H-D was the first chain drive model, but still no transmissions.

They jumped from pedal start to two-speed rear hubs, low and high gear in ’14 to three speed transmissions in 1915. Floor boards were introduced in 1914. Before that you kept your feet on bicycle-style crank pedals. Early footboards were steel sans pads. The next year footboards came with holes for rivets to hold rubber pads in place.

“Gotta go,” Dan said to me and kicked me out of his shop buried in the hills behind a cemetery. “Going to meet with my painter.”

Later we shifted to his 1913 Excelsior-Henderson. ?“The older the better,” Dan said. The more the bikes developed the more complicated they became and the more parts are required. This will be another shiny restoration but a racer twin.

In this case he had to build the frontend from castings made in Illinois. Each piece had to be sweat brazed together and, in this case, controls were made operable with linkage and not cables like the Harleys. This motor is being used for mock-up and fitment.

He had complete clincher wheels, but he was carefully tearing them down, rebuilding the hubs and painting the hubs and rims, then Tim, an AMCA member in Spearfish, SD, will pinstripe them. He will then re-lace them with Buchannan stainless spokes.

Booted out of the shop hidden in the hills once more, we made a plan. For the final 1913 Harley twin we had a local pretend he needed neighborly help, then quizzed Dan with our pre-written list of questions. The neighbor knew nothing of early bikes but was a rider with an M-8 Softail. Remember what I said. Folks in these parts have horses, cows, goats or motorcycles.

Dan mentioned how much easier the older bikes are to build now, after his first 1913 single cylinder chain drive that is also currently on display in the museum. “I now have connections and know of manufacturers all over the world,” Dan said, but he wouldn’t give them up and shoved his neighbor out the door. “I’ve got shit to do.”

His final vintage project has a twin engine Dan found in Milwaukee, but it needs a rebuild. He has a single brake and brakes are another story, how they transformed from bicycle brakes to outside drum, and then inside drums, hydraulic and finally disc. He has a complete drum brake for this bike and if he decides to build an antique patina bike, this puppy will work like a champ just the way it is.

All these bikes used 28 by 2.5-inch diameter rims. The 28X3 configuration is considered a 22-inch rim. I’m confused, but getting there. If you go to the Coker tire web site you can search Clincher tires.

There’s more critical, early tire info at the Occhio Lungo website.

Dan called me one day about a racer he was building and needed a 1913 H-D engine. “I hang my denims on one,” I said. He darted over to my place to find a 1913 Single on top of my gun safe, holding my pants on a hook designed and mounted to the top motor-mount.

It didn’t work out for his project, but the next time I was in Dan’s secret shop he mentioned selling a patina race roller to someone for, well I won’t mention the price. I said I could put my engine in his roller and suddenly he offered me a “Killer Deal.”

I needed another motorcycle project like I needed a hole in my dented head, but I also needed an excuse to sneak into his shop from time to time and bring you updates on his exclusive projects. I offered to buy it. What a fuckin’ nut.

We moved it into the 5-Ball Racing shop and I took the ’13 single off the gun safe again for the final time, after trying to make a ’24 twin fit, but that’s another story.

Hang on as I attempt to sneak into Dan’s stellar shop to report on his vintage projects, another custom for his wife, Leah and score a piece or two for our ’13 racer project.

–Bandit

Sources:

Sturgis Motorcycle Museum

Coker Tires

Occhio Lungo

What is the Washington Press Corps. It’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves at one time or another. As is the question so what’s actually the deal with Jill Biden’s tits. We see them packed together like pigs to the slaughter….. ok, I’m back to the Washington Press Corps, by the way. I’ve left Jill Biden’s tits. We’ve spent enough time on those butterbags of sadness that dispense the milk of despair.

Getting back on topic and kissing Jill Biden’s tits goodbye, we routinely see the members of the Washington Press Corps packed together like pigs to the slaughter: we see them galloping down hallways of the White House like Andalusians or whatever the fuck they are during the Running of the Bulls in Consuelo Yolanda Con Gleem Spain or wherever the fuck that even happens: we see them packed into their chairs in some hall closet in some White House version of a homeless encampment: they’re treated like subway train riders being herded by A.I. and they don’t mind it one bit.

And the reason for THAT is Washington Press Corps journalists have absolutely no pride, no integrity, no minimum standards for personal dignity, no sense of decorum, no conception of civility, a total absence of empathy regarding any life form though sometimes they will admit to a condescending nod to the existence of chemical compounds, such as C02 for example. And those journalists who make it onto the cattle-roster of “The Washington Press Corps” are there not because of talent – whatever that word could even mean regarding journalism – no, they’re not there because of any talent, they’re there because they display the journalistic-world minimum standards of worthless, inept, delusional child-like mentalities who are convinced their snotty, arrogant, petulant temper tantrums regarding other people not obeying the journalist’s decrees of proper behavior…are totally justified.

They’re in the Washington Press Corps because they believe that you, by not obeying the journalists’ decrees regarding the proper levels of whatever they are defining morality and holiness as this week…are deserving of contempt: your individuality renders you as sub human. They’re there in the Washington Press Corps because their superior level of sanctity demands that you – the citizenry – proclaim as valid the journalists’ proclaimed levels of “selflessness” and his relentlessly decreed levels of holiness requiring your worship of the journalists’ Caligula-like journalistic souls. They’re there – in the Washington Press Corps – because those journalists in particular actually HAVE that list of dignity-free and backbone-free and character-free attributes I just itemized and they have them in double-doses of worthless useless talentless whining, shit-ass carloads. The members of the Washington Press Corps have all these bottomfeeder, rancid, very shitty qualities, and not just in spades but in hearts and diamonds and clubs and jacks or better and in a crooked deck with you getting dealt no cards at all and still losing your shirt. And that’s why they’re in the Washington Press Corps: it’s the final step “up” into the talentless toilet of twat infection called “news writing.”

Naturally the only life form LOWER than a journalist – which would be a government official – recognizes these abysmal qualities. And if the journalist has these abysmal qualities in high enough quantities….he is, with a condescending nod, admitted to the ultimate snake pit of human failures known as The Washington Press Corps.

The Washington Press Corps is SUPPOSED to be referred to and honored as the watchdog of liberty: a body of stalwart soldiers of truth holding firm to the sacred oaths, virtues, and perfections of Journalism as iterated and carried forward by the mighty journalists of the past who have bravely and fearlessly fought against the juggernaut of evil that is the ever-present danger of governmental overreach into the rights and liberties of the American People.

However, to review, what the Washington Press Corps actually IS is a collection of “journalists” – or failed novelists – occupying, in the hierarchy of human complexity and aesthetic wonderment, approximately the same level and degree of nobility as plankton occupies in the society of stagnant water, contaminated runoff, and other festering deadly lagoons of deteriorating rot. In other words, backwaters and brackish runoff and mosquito-infested evaporating swamp lagoons of steaming decomposing filth have plankton, and the White House has the Washington Press Corps.

However, unlike plankton, the Washington Press Corps does not go about its random, drifting, sargasso-strewn existence in murmured and quiet, almost hushed, silence. No. Washington Press Corps personnel are forever in a turgid, rolling-boil agitation when assembled in the conference room or the press room or the cramped, homeless-encampment-like hallway or corridor or wherever it is that the “folding chairs for the imaginary elite” are unpacked and opened up and, basically, insultingly slammed into position for them in the White House Assembly Circus. Adding insult to haughty disdain, the folding chairs cavalierly arrayed for the Press Corps Cattle to wriggle their way into are not just orchestrated insults: Austin Theory of the WWE, when Roman Reigns reaches under the ring to haul out a folding chair and then climb with it into the ring to then slam Theory from behind with the chair, sending Theory face first into the canvas while then being mercilessly slammed over and over with the chair until Theory AND the chair are both turned into contorted grotesqueries of ruin……. this is benevolent courtesy and respect to Theory compared to the indignities the White House Staffers display with THEIR folding chairs to the chumps in the Washington Press Corps.

Returning to the plankton theme of Press Corps evolutionary levels: unlike ocean plankton, which is quiet….. terrestrial plankton, or the Washington Press Corps, when it is corralled into a narrow hallway and insultingly plopped into wooden chairs packed closer to each other than quarters in a roll of coins… terrestrial plankton – or the Washington Press Corps, – is not quiet like stagnant lagoon plankton. No: it bellows, shouts and calls-out noisily like seagulls hovering above the stern of a boat that’s chumming the waters with bucketloads of minced salmon skulls.

This raucous bellowing and outcry begins as soon as the “press-handler” announces that the bellowing may now begin. After a brief but preposterous outburst of noise the press-handler will nod or aim a forefinger at one of the pressed and condensed members of the hallway menagerie and a question will come forth from that person. The question will not only have no merit as a question it will have no bearing on anything that would have to do with the citizenry of this planet or any other planet, nor with anything that remotely could be considered of interest to anyone with a communication level higher than that of a kennel operator talking to a cocker spaniel.

Journalists are not aware that there even IS a citizenry. Journalists are only aware of their own personal failure at becoming famous. Like Jim Acosta having failed at becoming George Clooney. If they are aware of the citizenry at all it is a sullen, snarky awareness filled with bitterness that the citizenry does not swarm them with requests for autographs as they would Taylor Swift or Benjamin Franklin or Lucky Luciano. This longed-for goal – actual admiration – is forever denied the journalist. And by the time he gets to being in the Washington Press Corps he knows all hope is forever lost: those crappy chairs are going to be his final throne of authority and influence. Or in other words, a position lower and more battered than Austin Theory’s position face down on the mat being hammered by Roman Reign’s folding chair across his spine.

It gets worse for these sullen, petulant remora. Even though they are part of the “President”’s hand sifted and separated collection of found-to-be-suitable non-entities: they rarely get to “conference” with an actual President. What they usually get is a “spokesman.” And in the case of the present representative of the President, the jury is still out on what the fuck that apparition that is the present “press interventioner” even is. Which is amazing since the one before her pretty much broke the mold on – for one thing bad hair. She was some red headed Borg named Psaki-rhymes-with-buttcracky who apparently took styling tips from DEVO, had the personality of tree bark, and the disposition of a badger with Crones disease trying to shit razorwire out its ass and whose reddish rigor-mortised hair looked like it was colored by feral epileptic children using Crayolas.

She was tough to beat for sheer repugnance but Joe & Co. used the Find-A-Freak dredging machine which never fails them and unearthed an even more worthless candidate.

The Press-Handler at the moment is a chocolate-skinned, completely preposterous walking oblivion named something with a hyphen in it and who looks like she has a sea anemone on top of her head. It is a pretty good bet that what you would think would be the most-asked question from the compressed wall of hysteria-generating gooseherd of journalism-degree holders would be about her hair and when the fuck she is going to do something even remotely aesthetic with that squalid-looking reminiscence of Forensic Files bloodspatter. H.R.Giger has to be looking down – or looking up – from wherever he is and wondering if Miss Hyphenated has picked up the horror mantle from when he dropped it at his demise.

This question about whateverthefuck is going on on top of her empty head is not only NOT the most-asked inquiry of Miss Hyphenated….it’s never been asked even ONCE. You would THINK that it would be the number one question on every White House Press Hack’s agenda list. Her hair is a violation of every rule of Earthly Life Forms to the point where not only should it be number-one on every journalist’s agenda to investigate, it should even be on driving tests. It should just be a worldwide question that’s just out-there until the matter gets answered. It’s not a tough question. Here would be an example of it: “What in the FUCK is going on above your vapid brainless cranium, is that HAIR or is it some sort of virulent parasitic Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse?” If it were to be asked it would not be met with cordial good-time jocularity from Miss Anemone. It would be met with virulent, hiss-filled, saliva spray so hot it would leave chemtrails of steam as the molten particles of spit spread out across the sea of bland, lifleless journalism majors and that PARTICULAR journalism major would be banned from White House Press Corps hallway clumping sessions forevermore. Small price to pay to get the question asked.

While we may never get any answers as to what the present Press Secretary actually IS, Journalists in the Washington Press Corps can to some extent be deciphered through simple observation such that some blanket statements can be made about them that are, at least until further notice, dead on target.

Washington Press Corps journalists are like cops in that 1: they’re stupid, and 2: they’re convinced they’re NOT stupid. They are in fact, like cops, convinced they are necessary and essential for an ordered and calm civilization to exist. 3: They are convinced that not only are they NOT stupid but that they have an insight and focus on proper human behavior that is hundreds if not thousands of years ahead of our time in wisdom and insight into the human predicament. In FACT journalists in general have not only declared themselves essential they have carved out an entire meaningless slogan for themselves that elevates them in equality to the three other meaningless slogans currently in place as Definers OF Humanity In Western Civilization: which, if you are a citizen of Europe, Canada, the USA, Australia, New Zealand and are NOT a Muslim – you – you reading this – are actually a part of. We are heading into full-blown delusional crazed psychotic if not sociopathic criminal mentality here so fasten your fucking seat belt. We are going to discuss The Fourth Estate.

The Fourth Estate is a category of Western “society” that was declared as a brand new “estate” that exists just as mightily and righteously and filled with holy and superhuman virtue and essentialness as the other three “estates” and this Fourth Estate was announced and declared real….by the people IN the “estate” who CREATED it: journalists. Or “news” hacks in other words. Talk about bold.

The first three estates were created by something called “philosophers.” Philosophers in Western Civilization are people who come up with sweeping scientific theories that they declare as fact without ever doing any actual research or testing on the declarations and which have nothing to do with science. Todays “climate scientists” are philosophers. Philosophers are basically freelance religious cultists.

In the world of “learning,” meaning what they tell you in “school”….. Western humanity is divided into 4 political categories, which in the world of “learning” are every bit as valid and meaningful and essential as any other list of categories you want to put people into. If not more so. They are, in fact, in the minds of the people IN these “estates,” holy and almost, if not actually, categories of divinity.

These then are the “Estates.” There used to be three of these but now there are four thanks to the menacing and unfortunate ability of journalists to not just take control of vocabulary but to rattle it into oblivion. Much as a coyote might rattle into oblivion the dying body of a ground squirrel via a jawclamp onto its body and a thrashing of its and the ground squirrel’s head into a cornucopia of g-forces that only the coyote is going to emerge from with all its connective tissue still intact.

These three original “estates,” NONE of which are ACTUALLY important to human progress, are, the Church or the First Estate, or the costumed self-proclaimed representatives of the deity-of-the-moment, in this case Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews and likely soon to be replaced by Allah, and which costumed unemployables are the pontificators of morality: the Second Estate, Royalty, which is basically the warlord of the moment, who is in control of the slaves: or the Third Estate, or the citizenry as it is called, or the Common Folk. Meaning people not in celestial authority like the First Estate nor in government authority like the Second Estate but rather under both of these overlords, and these “common folk” are granted “estate” status, The Third Estate, even though they have about as much status as sheep on a hillside being calmly scrutinized by a distant wolfpack sitting down and quietly considering today’s best strategy to eat some of the sheep for dinner.

With the creation of the printing press which instantly threatened the existence of Royalty and what Ayn Rand correctly referred to as the Witch Doctors – or the clergy….. people who could Actually Compose Sentences became “the voice of the people” – a lie created by the new, self-proclaimed Fourth Estate and actually believed by the other three Estates as being factual.

These “voices of the people,” the elite of whom end up in the Washington Press Corps, use their mighty voice of the people to compose sentences like this one:

“On Nov third the President of Nigeria said that he would not consider a renewal of the Commonwealth Pac of 1858 unless there was a renegotiation of the intercontinental agronomy agreement with the President of the Netherlands under the condition of mutual coordination of the Anomaly Agreement of 1702. Given that the President of the US has repeatedly stated that reciprocation without adequate reciprocity from mutually involved non participants renders all agreements null is there any chance that the fallout from any adverse adumbrations of agreements could result in quid pro quo?”

Press Spokesman Anemone La Pierre Cumquat Adieu: “I have nothing on that at the moment.”

This sort of back and forth imbecilic retardation is supposed convince you – the Third Estate – that the Press – the FOURTH Estate – and the Royalty of the Presidency – the Second Estate – are engaged in a mutually productive oversight of the intricate and complex interaction between nations: rather than demonstrating your relentless gullibility in believing that government OR the press is actually anything.

The Press’s creation of themselves as a new and genuine Estate – capital E – is one of the great accomplishments of sheer utter chutzpah in the history of brazen self-righteous bullshit. The first three Estates – bullshit-enough for anyone I should think – have at least SOME credible, arguable, semi-reasonable, kind of understandable justification for applying to themselves the mighty and noble title of being an “Estate.” We are all in one or the other Estate and have accepted these three compartments of fucked-up humanity as being totally noble and worthwhile and necessary and just super fucking awesome. This all STARTED with the Catholic Church. This is not a criticism: my feeling is, if the “public” is that fucking gullible, fuck ‘em: pour it on.

Well, this Estate business got traction, and the “press” realizing that the printing press gave them power – being literate – why not use it and declare yourself, well, basically a branch of government AND religion AND the citizenry: a “Fourth” Estate, created by themselves, not to overthrow the other three Estates but to keep all three in line and having them willing to cooperate with the Fourth Estate’s actual agenda: keeping the other three estates frozen in fear that the Fourth Estate can eliminate the other Three at will via “bad press,” the eradication of conceptual thinking and the igniting of “public opinion.” Or instigating rioting, as it’s also called.

How this is being accomplished is an entire other article. And I don’t know about you but I’m already getting bored. I’m ready for a few tit pics. But before we go let’s give the White House Press Corps the abuse they deserve as a meaningless Estate.

The Third Estate likes being oblivious. It helps convince them that what the other three estates are doing to them is deserved. It’s called guilt. When was the last time you saw a preacher or a councilman or a journalist feel guilt? They don’t feel guilt. They inflict it onto you, the Third Estate.

Next time in American Government 101: The Supreme Court

100 word fiction contest continues…. #100WFC

Nap Time
by Jeffrey
with illustration by Wayfarer

“Your friend passed out.” Sissy, a redhead supermodel bartender at the Buffalo Chip, said to Salas.

Salas, looking at Ronnie, whose face was on the table, a dozen shot glasses surrounded his head said, “You’ve got to be shitting me. We’re staying at the Throttle; he can’t ride for hours.”

“Come with me, I’m on break till 8:00, he can sleep it off at my cabin.” Sissy said.

Salas laid Ronnie on the concrete porch as Sissy entered her one room home.

She reopened the door, her naked body got Sala’s attention. “Want to come in?”

Salas whispered, “I love you, Ronnie.”

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Like Jeffrey’s fiction? Check out his novels at his website https://mikesalasnovels.com/

Tell him, Bikernet.com sent ya

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100 word fiction contest continues…. #100WFC

It’s Beginning to Feel A lot Like Christmas
by Gearhead

Rosa spoke little English, but her Mexican dialect could melt a cold man’s heart.

She walked me along the throng of Xmas displays to her booth. Her dark eyes glittered, a crimson smirk crossed her wet lips and she motioned to me. She bumped and ground into my thigh and allowed for our fingers to touch.

The Xmas song filled the festive night air. I was afraid she’d grind the jeans right off of me. Wet to the feel in that low dark place she moaned. I understood her warmth and longing without another word being said.

* * *

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The Aston Martin AMB 001 is a technical masterpiece of high performance, designed with a degree of elegance that is rare in racing motorcycles. Beauty and power are the hallmarks of this exceptional machine. Superior in every way, the AMB 001 is hand-assembled by the finest French craftsmen in Brough Superior’s workshop in Toulouse, France.

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Tell ’em Bikernet.com sent ya !

Hey,

I want everyone to have a magnificent holiday season. This news column says it all from romance, to the freedom fight, to the need for truth.

It says the holiday spirit, from gift giving, to warm and family joy. What could be better.

In the meantime, ride free or die trying.

–Bandit

Click here to read this week’s news only on Bikernet.com

* * * * * * * *

Stuff stockings or your own Bandit’s bedroll with goodies from 5-Ball Racing Garage.

Checkout with style: https://5-ballgarage.com/