Rain? No Problem !

The Black Hills have a nice shade of green this year due to abundant rainfall.  We had a wet day, but it didn't matter - The boys followed me down to Ol' Smokey's Moonshine where we could drink FREE tall PBR cans (imagine that?) and watch above the busiest intersection in town (Junction & Lazelle) as all the 80s rockers made their way out to see the Crue and Alice Cooper.  What a zoo ! 

One goal I had when building this panhead, was to ride out to Sturgis and get a photo on the hill above old city park, where all the historic craziness of the rally took place.  We spent some time carving names, and dates, and listening to the subtle roar down below of 200,000 motorcycles.

Alva took me on a tour of Gypsie Cycle (the original building where J.C. "Pappy" Hoel had his Indian Motocycle dealership.  He estimated the exact spot where the charter was signed for the very first Black Hills Motorcycle Rally.  Alva is cool . . . he lets me camp in his yard - and I get a history lesson.

The night ended as it does many times over the last few years with the Five 13 band from Colorado !

Ride, Drink, Rock, Eat . . . Repeat

Me & Joey fueled up for the Cycle Source Ride . . . and Chris, Mike & crew always do a great job with this one. It's super cool to ride the hills in a big group of vintage choppers.  Nice to meet Noah(Hawaii) again and the beer was cold !   After a soaker rain on the way back . . . we went down and got all wet and wild in the rain with Hells Belles . . . who double rocked us 2 nites in a row !  We Salute You !  With the buzz goin' good - the night life had just begun . . . then I got the munchies !

Sturgis " Here We Come ! "

My rigid pan is untested, packed with shit . . . 60+ years old with a 48 year old pilot.  We ran out on two-lanes, through small towns with broken down buildings, trashy bars and depression.  Dodging holes on Hwy 18, tryin' to keep my position on the seat and pegs.  My pack movin' around - situating itself between my maze of bungees.  The wind at our back.  Stops in Everly, Iowa and Tripp, Platte, White River, Wanblee(Pine Ridge Reservation) highlighted the "way out."  The long hills through Buffalo Gap, while challenging on the '64 Sportster, the '52 panhead chugged up to 3000 feet like a vintage tractor.  It's heavy flywheels carrying the load.  I'm now becoming more confidant.  My anxiety going away with a couple PBRs in my system.  I'm twisting the throttle a bit more and more. We're runnin' 75mph quite often, through a land with possible drunk Indians in pick-up trucks.  That smell of those pines is what always tells me we made it - Sturgis, South Dakota.  Let the party begin !

Once we got set up . . . Big Noot joined me, and we headed out to Buffalo Chip for the "Built For Speed" opening night and banquet Michael Lichter so graciously invited me to . . . Thanks Mike !  Motorcycles, Art, Food and Good Times were had by all.  For nightly entertainment we hit Easyriders Saloon for Eve 6 . . . and an awesome show from Dave Pirner and Soul Asylum (who went into a punk-rock inspired frenzy mid way through their hits . . . he totally lit up that Fender Telecaster with blazin' riff runs . . . Hell Yeah ! 

UL Chopper

Star Hubs

Internal Throttle

Relay
Add 4" Downs
Radius Rods

Side Car Loops

Etc.

Authentic Custom

The sport was Formal . . .

I like the "formality" of early motorcycling.  The whole idea of presentation and recognition with: pins, patches, plaques, and the best award of all - a gleaming trophy of silver & gold !
It gave you a goal, an accomplishment, a place in history on what you've done with your cycle.  You were either a racer, a road rider, entertainer, spokesman . . . etc.  Clubs are still here in this day and age - Long may they prosper. It recognizes you among your peers . . . fellow riders.  It's an important aspect of motorcycling.

 "Did you hear . . . he was awarded his 50,000 mile pin ?!"

The "Chip"

This is a similar crowd like Dylan / Kid Rock a few years back.  You look back and hope nothing crazy happens . . . 'cause, how are you going to get out ?

The bike that won the war . . .

The Koreans were advancing . . . I need to get out fast.  My trusty 1952 WLA has lead me through countless battles as I relay information from the front lines to an army outpost at the beach-head.  My Firestones have the perfect tread pattern for speed and stability on these sandy, island roads (more like paths).  The torque of my flathead carries heavy loads, and seems unaffected by intense island heat. As sounds of gunfire became crisp to my ears - I had to get moving to relay important information back at camp. I let the clutch out in 1st gear . . . and the bike kinda jumped, stuttered, jumped ahead again.  I rock'd the clutch back, rev'd the engine and somehow kept the motor running.  I tried again - and the bike took off.  I shifted to 2nd and away I went - WHEN SUDDENLY - the motorcycle surged - jumped out of gear - and the rear wheel locked up, killing the engine.  SHIT !  I almost went down !  One kick and the WLA was running again.  I nervously took off -and it was a repeat.  DAMMIT !  When I shift to 2nd gear - this thing surges . . . then the motor dies and locks up the rear wheel - it dug deep into the packed sand.  I can hear machine gun rounds singing through the trees . . . time is wasting.  I fire it up, again - jam it in 1st - let the clutch fly and I'm off.  I build the revs and this time SLAM THE TANK SHIFT Past 2nd - into high gear !
I'm suddenly building speed to 40,45,50,55mph - pulling away from the advancing enemy.  All they can hear is the sound of my cigar muffler straight in their faces.  In broken English I hear a Korean solder screamin' FROCKN HAWREY DAV'SOMS . . . bam bam bam bam bam bam.

In reality - it blew out leaving Casey's General Store with a tall can of Miller Lite 
in my back pocket.