A few months back, I was sitting at the computer when I noticed an e-mail from The Bandit. I blindly opened it expecting nothing more than a “Hey, where you at kid?”What I got was a little more peculiar.
“Hey kid, write a feature on a buddy of mine named Dewey. He makes custom pegs for Big Twin’s and has a real knack for porting heads. Check him out.”
Dewey, huh? Not overly excited by this new assignment, I just delete the e-mail and went back to looking at free porn. Now, I’m not too sure how he did it, but I know what I saw. You know those annoying pop-ups that always seem so rampant when you finally find a decent porn site right? Well about that time I was besieged with a flood of pop-ups on the screen. The weird part was that they weren’t porn pop-ups, they were Bandit. They were insane and I couldn’t stop them.
Overly repetitive pictures saying, “You’ll go Blind” and “Get to Work”. Somehow, the Big Jerk and the Digital Gangster infected my computer with a “Get back to Work” virus. Shit, they could have at least used some pictures of Sin and Layla getting down, that I wouldn’t mind. But oh no, they used pictures of Bandit’s gigantic cranium pointing and laughing at me. It was surreal. I flew out of the chair, waking myself up from the porn induced catnap.
I wasn’t entirely sure, the whole incident was a dream or reality, but it jumpstarted me enough that I looked up Dewey’s Pegs on the web. His site is plain, yet very informative. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel it was enough for a decent article worthy of Bikernet yet, so I decided to contact Dewey and get a few quotes for the article. You know, to “liven” things up a bit.
I called the number listed on the website expecting a hot little receptionist to answer the phone. God I love it when a steamy voice greets my phone call and I have to imagine how hot she could be. Anyways, I call the number and was greeted by a low and gravelly voice who sounded as if he hadn’t woken up yet.
“This is Dewey,” he sounded almost as if he was pissed of having to answer the phone.
“Yes sir, I was told to do an article about your pegs for Bikernet.com.”
“Yeah, so what do you need from me? Read the web page.”
“I did, but I wanted to get a few quotes from you. You see, Bandit told me you were a buddy of his…”
“Bandit, did you say you were working for the Bandit?”
“Yes sir. He wanted me to do an article for his website, Bikernet.com.” I was greeted with a very guttural laugh and some sort of spitting noise. I thought he was choking for a second, or maybe even throwing up.
“Sure kid, I’ll talk to you. That old bastard just wants something for free probably. I ain’t sending him no heads for free. He has to pay for ‘em just like everybody else.”
“Sir, I don’t know anything about that. I was just told to do the article.”
“Yeah, sure kid. You’re probably in on it too. Look, Bandit is an old friend of mine, so I’ll give you a few minutes. I don’t have many friends any more due to the sewer pickle.”
“Sewer pickle, I’m not quite familiar with that?”
“You know what a sewer pickle is. It’s a fart, kid. I like to fart on people who try to be my friends. Keeps the hangers- on from hanging too tight, if you know what I mean?”
“Oh, I know what you mean. So where did you get the idea for the pegs?” I was trying to keep on track because I am very much a delinquent who will bust out laughing at the sound of a fart. I can’t help it. Even in the Men’s room, if someone farts, I will laugh. I don’t know why, but it must be genetic. My son, who is now 5 years old, does the exact same thing. I remember when he was one year old and he would bust out laughing whenever he heard a fart, being someone else’s or even his own. There we’d be, two idiots laughing like retards at farting. To tell you the truth, I’m smiling now thinking about it. So, I was trying not to laugh like a moron and keep the conversation going.
“Pegs, don’t be in such a hurry, kid. We’ll get to the pegs soon enough.”
“How did you get into metal fabrication?”
“Me, oh, well I used to work for General Dynamics and decided to start making parts on the side using aircraft quality aluminum. What started as a few custom ashtrays and grips turned into a full fledged business.”
“Hey, not too many people get paid to do what they love, right?”
“Who said I loved this shit? I just found a way to make money is all. Don’t be a typical writer and start putting words in my mouth, kid. I’ll ride to wherever you’re at and plant my big ass boot straight up yer ass!”
“Ok, Ok, jeez! I was only saying…”
“You say too much. Just write what the fuck I say. You ain’t doing an article on you, are you?”
“No sir.”
“Well, shut the fuck up and listen. That’s the problem with you “new “Bikers. You think you know everything. Just because you have a bike doesn’t make you a biker, kid.”
I was starting to feel a lot like I did in high school when my dad would lecture me about life. Here I was 12 years later, and I still didn’t like it.
“Take Sturgis, for example. It’s turned into nothing more than a freak show for the yuppies to show off how much money they can waste. It ain’t nothing like when I used to go. We went to Sturgis to have fun. We drank; we fought, slept in the mud, and sometimes got arrested. If you didn’t come back from Sturgis with a black eye and a few torn clothes, well hell, you didn’t have any fun.
You can’t do that now, the fucking safety police would be all over you. Bloodsucking bastards claim they are trying to keep it safe for everyone to enjoy.
That used to mean something in this country. Now everyone with a shiny new bike thinks he is a biker.”
I noticed his voice start to crack for a second like a man who’s not used to talking for too long. He seemed more like a man of action rather than words. Kind of reminded me of someone I know in Long Beach, but I just couldn’t put my finger on whom.
“Shit kid, I remember when a brand new bike cost 5 grand. We all thought Harley was crazy then, shit now you have to spend at least 20 grand! My first bike cost me $2700 bucks, brand new. It was a 1976 Harley-Davidson FXD. I bought her at a gas station. It wasn’t like the boutiques they have now. You could buy a bike, maybe a new seat or a t-shirt and some oil. Other than those few things, you had to order it. Harley wasn’t all about customer service back then. Shit, I don’t really know if they are that much into it now.” I was starting to see why Bandit was making me do this article.
“Look kid, enough about that shit. I‘ll tell ya, I started making parts for a few people I knew and the business just grew. We use 6061-T6 aircraft aluminum for all our parts. I port the heads on bikes to give them more pop and I’ll even make an ashtray or two. Whatever you want, just call and I’ll give you a price.”
“Are the prices set in stone, or do you do favors for your friends?”
“Friends, hell kid, I told you about the sewer pickle, right? I’ll sell you parts or port your heads, just don’t put your arm around me. I may end up knocking someone out.”
“I was just kidding, trying to get a rise out of you.”
“Yeah well, we just developed a new style peg called the “heel hammer”. It will work on all Dynas and some Softails, except the Deuce. We even make grips to match, knurled or un-knurled. The “heel hammer” acts kind of like a speed shift for people with larger feet. They are 1” longer than stock.”
“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. What about heads?”
“Heads, I port em and polish them. I’ll make ready to rock while still keeping their reliability. The Twin Cam heads are better than the Evo’s, because you have way more material to work with. The Evo’s were already ported too big, but the Twin Cam’s are really small, so you can take out a lot of material. It really makes them jump.”
“How about the heat, do they run hotter?”
“Hell no, I drove all the way across New Mexico and half of Texas in the middle of August before and my bike never missed a beat. I wasn’t driving 50 either. I easily averaged 100 mph. I’m telling you; those Twin Cams are good motors, at least for a base.”
“Sounds like you have a good product there. I thank you for your time and I will talk to you again soon.” I wanted to get off the phone before he chewed my ass again.
“Cool, kid. Take care. Tell the Bandit to give me a call. Maybe I will give him a deal on some heads if he’s interested.”
“Will do, Mr. Dewey. Thanks for the time.” With that I hung up the phone and frantically tried to read my notes. My hand was cramping from the writing and I didn’t want to start the article right away. I wanted to let the information I had just received soak in, and fester a bit. Unfortunately, Bandit is a slave driver, so I hacked it out as fast as I could. Old bastard needs like three months to edit my shit anyways.
All in all, I think it was a great interview. I got to talk to an intense individual who seemed to epitomize what a biker used to be, and I heard about his ideas past and present. The products are all first class, and I found it hard to believe he does all the work himself. After conducting the interview, Dewey suffered a stroke earlier this year. Thankfully, he had recovered well, but all us here at Bikernet want to extend our prayers and blessings his way. You never know when your time is up, so live it up. Hey, I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it!
Go to his website, www.dewey’spegs.com., you can see pictures of Dewey when he was a bit younger, and had a little more hair. Give him a call if you want some true one-off custom parts for that finished look to your scooter. Tell him you read about it here on Bikernet.com. Until next time, ride hard.
