Just keepin' old Harley's alive . . . everyday.
Trying to use my brain . . .
Just keepin' old Harley's alive . . . everyday.
Hot in the shop . . .
How to do flames . . .
Drag Racing
This is awesome . . . always great racing at Sturgis with
excellent pit access - right on the starting line !
Forever and Back Again: The Last Part
When the day is done - I'll have traveled about 235 miles. Goin' solo has it's advantages, like stopping when you want, exploring different roads, meeting people. I've noticed when you are in a group, people won't approach you as often. Solo, a greater chance of a question - leading to conversation. At this point in my trip I decided to get on the freeway for the last 20 miles. Right foot up on the forward steel peg - Left foot back on the Drag Specialties vintage chopper 3-hole peg I mounted off the primary inspection cover. I made a steel plate backing for support on the inside, and mounted the peg through the center of the cover. It's not gonna take a lot of weight, but it gives my knee a rest. I took my left hand off the handlebar, and leaned my elbow just above my knee - and put my hand under my chin . . . I look like that "thinking man monkey statue" that was popular in the 70s. Smooth as glass. The pipes have that panhead whirring you can only get from a pan at highway speeds. It's a unique sound. A whine, the solids snapping away almost like a roulette wheel spun at 3 times it's normal speed. I can see in my mirror a late model Ford pickup slowly catching me. My mirror is so clear, I can see the faces on the driver, and passengers. I see the passenger side window going down (crew cab) . . . what are they going the throw something at me???? I keep my speed as they just hang back in the left lane - about 10 yards from my tail pipes. I hate it when people do this - it's the passing lane. So pass. Pass me asshole. A couple more miles go, so I decide to let up on my speed slightly - and they get the hint and come up beside me. "Hey man . . . whew, hey" - (with thumbs up signs and heads hangin' out the windows . . . "Go man - I LIKE YOUR BIKE - RIGHT ON . . . " A couple crazy-hair teens (one with pink hair) and driver who resembles Janis Joplin. Probably mom? A weird combination with California license plates. They finally pass. I wanted to yell back, "I like my bike too, I built it all myself, but it's not the greatest for traveling, and I'm taking the next exit, 'cause it's my town . . . and I'm glad to be home.
Forever is a Mighty Long Time . . . . No. 4
Word has it from a bystander with a fancy phone that a band of storms is movin' in slowly from the west. It's now 1pm. The '52 fires 1st kick , With a little studder jump - I kick my leg over the center of the seat (too high to go over my pack), get situated on my Hummer seat, rocker the clutch, jam it back to low - and try to negotiate a tight "left hand U-turn" with foot on clutch and lots of people close - and lots of eyes watching. I try to concentrate on what I'm doing and not everyone looking at me. Careful. I make it - and pull out into traffic - hit all gears perfect, down the blacktop, past lines and lines of bat-wing fairings waiting anxiously to get in there and get some free head wraps, stickers and magazines. Maybe they want to buy one of those throttle-jockey wrist carpal tunnel deals???? I'm on the road again - but need fuel. Clouds are swirling, wind at my back this time. The pipes sound better. I can see out my mirror now. I pull into a small town and up to the only petro pump in town just as these hippy lookin' dudes climb out of Chevy Van Dura with slots on the front, Cragars on the back. Swipe my card for fuel and push a bunch of buttons with the labels worn off. The pump runs slow - 1.5 gal. I see the dudes pointing and curious. I've got my helmet on - and they don't know there's an almost 50 year old with grayin' hair under there that's needs an Advil. Asked for a receipt, didn't get one. 1st kick, I hit some sand, squeal a little (more like a chirp), hit all the gears - all while the dudes watched. Perfect. I feel really good now. This chopper shit is gettin' better - this is kinda fun. All the way just stayin' ahead of these pissed off appearing clouds. I pass a bar with a CB550, a Yamaha chopper, a golf cart and a super motard. I wanted to stop, back in, and take a picture - but I had to keep going since my rain pants have the crotch ripped out and a big rip by the knee - and it's buried. I still have a little hesitation sometimes between 2nd & 3rd. I'm running a 28 intermediate 50 air bleed and a 70 main - kinda lean - but too fat and I get the straight pipe babble - even with my anti-reversion deals in there.
For now I'm full on fuel - in high gear with 25 tooth sprocket and pointed north - Winning.
For now I'm full on fuel - in high gear with 25 tooth sprocket and pointed north - Winning.
Forever . . . Part No. 3
So now I'm a bit fatigued after only 50+ miles. How am I going to ride this thing 650 to Sturgis? It started 1st kick. I tach'd it up and hit all the gears perfect. I discovered part of my tension, aches & pains is nerves. If I just relax, sit back and ride it with a lil' aggression - I'm better off. Now I'm on a mission to Wileys - and Anamosa for free food at the J&P open house. There's nothing for me at J&P except the free food. It's thousands of people on H-D Ultras, FLHXs and Plast-a-Glides. It's all pimp daddys, chrome, big wheels, over-stuffed bikes with fuzzy shit. It's not my scene, but I will be a scene on this chopper. Shit tied on, the bare essentials, my weathered jacket and my weathered jeans with holes and oil stains. The red grease rag shop towel hangin' out my back pocket. No barbed wire tattoo (isn't that the one that really brands you?) The barbed wire one? Well . . . I got there. It was just like I thought. Cops with orange flashlights directing cars this way - bikes this way. They sent all the bikes out in the field, but for me - I wasn't doing it. Fuck that. My nimble '52 chopper whipped a U-turn and I snuck into a tight spot under a shady tree, on a bed of deep grass. Perfect parking spot which was unattainable if you rode a giant 2014 Ultra with momma on the back. No way. I reaped the benefits and rewards for riding a small bike to this gathering of fuzz. I stretched out, strolled around, got an Andrews Cams Banner, some Jim's information - a nice lady at S&S gave me a free shirt since she found out I rode a panhead, and I told her my dad still had a box with an S&S address on it from Blue Island, IL (the first location) - so that was cool. I ate free on All State Insurance - and gave a dollar donation for a couple ice waters. Walked back to my bike where I got plenty of stares - when finally a skinny. ol' gal (who was on break from a food vendor) came over. "My husband died years ago, but my best memories are from our motorcycle trips on his panhead. This is just like he had it - never liked high handlebars. I couldn't take too much, but we washed out clothes in the motel laundry. One year we rode to Montana, Wyoming, Colorado - and we had to carry extra gas - due to the gas wars. The stations all closed - hard to find gas. We carried a can with us. One thing - do it while you can - it's no good to look back. Glad we did it - You ride safe son. Ride safe."
Took Forever, Part No. 2
So after 6 coffees (Smiley kept filling me up as he picked my brain about motorcycle electrics) the chopper started on the first kick and I hit the road again. Stopped for fuel - took 1.2 gallons. No leaks. The clouds are swirling, wind comin' again so hard it's moving me around in my own lane. Jacked up my speed to 65 on this two-lane-blacktop - I felt my Avon Speedmaster push a bit on some slippery white road paint as I accelerated off a high bank curve. These up-sweeps are so loud - I wear those soft, yellow foam earplugs. Suddenly, it got louder still - I thought my pipe fell off, but it was my earplug squeezed it's way outta my right ear. I know it's loud 'cause birds, bats, cats all take cover when they hear me coming. Cattle seem annoyed too. It sounds ok to me with the earplugs - like a small block Chevy with low gears and thrush mufflers. At every stop & go, or turn . . . I try and shift smoothly - no grinding, no revving. A jockey shift is not a ratchet shift. The handle moves back for 1st, then forward for all other gears - and the handle stays where the gear is - so, high gear is all the way forward. You reach down and forward to downshift from highway speeds. You have to look at the road, not where the shift handle is. You gotta "feel" for it. Often times you grab a handful of air. You can feel the shifter clutches engage. You learn when to shift at the correct rpm - at the correct speed. It's tricky. I'm also dealing with a little shutter, or headshake on acceleration and deceleration when I remove my hand from the left handlebar to shift. I tightened my Timken neck bearings a bit more and it helped - but it's still there - most likely due to an ill rake & trail factor mathematically. I was about 5 miles from my next gas stop and I pulled out on a downside of a long, rolling hill to pass a semi. The rpms came up and you could feel the main jet come in - just as the Sifton 412 started to pull. It was awesome. That roller bottom-end pan just kept pullin' . . . smooth as glass. After 57 miles, I stopped in Brandon for 87 octane, yuk. It took 1.5 gallons.
Seems Like It Took Forever - Part No. 1
Everything today is short, and quick. Fast. Hurry up, one day only, I need it by tomorrow, I need it now. I started out my day on the chopper on the road in heavy wind. 7:30am, swirly clouds, damp spots, hot and cool areas. High speed air was creepin' through my face shield with a small air whistle that was landing on the edge of my right nostril. Tickled and annoying at the same time. If I turned my head slightly, the pitch would change, and if I looked to the side, the wind was strong enough, my tinted shield wanted to pop open. I felt like a guy with a cheap helmet tryin' to go 180 on his sportbike. I experimented with different angles of my head to get in a quiet zone. This blacktop surface freeway I'm on - doin' about 68mph has these whoops in it I'm dealing with too. Dips, humps and the "bridge on" and "bridge off" deals. Anticipating the bump with a 1" raise off the seat delivers a double-bump that can send you straight up with your legs extended, looking down at the front tire - that's not good. My knees hurt trying to keep myself in a safe position. Move up, move back - cocked sideways - I've gone about 10 miles. I start checking some things. I reach out and touch my Bates headlight which is bolted to a block of steel I have welded to the lower tree. It's quiet - no vibration. I start feelin' around and find no vibrations from the gas tank, air cleaner, primary, reach back for the sissy bar (with my loaded pack) Nothing. This thing is smooth as glass. The '52 pan, pistons jumpin' up & down, wishbone pointed south - handlebars? Just let go and she's straight. I'm moving around like a monkey, feet up, feet back - fidgety. I pull in for coffee at Smiley's after about 26 miles. Rocker clutch, find neutral on the grabber - kill it with my feeler gauge at the mag. Get off - shut off fuel. Turn off key (for lights). Open shield, take off prescription eye wear. Take off helmet. Take off gloves. Kick jiffy stand ahead to lock.
Look up, and Smiley opens the door from his used car dealership. Good Morning Ricky !
Look up, and Smiley opens the door from his used car dealership. Good Morning Ricky !
Born Free 6 builds . . .
Kurpius' Instagram ( Jeremiah etc.)
If you search around, find Josh's Instagram . . . and check out their trip to California the last couple days. You know it's a hard ride, but to them it's just business-as-usual . . . really neat -
Ride Safe Fellas !
Ride Safe Fellas !
Meeting People via Motorcycle Style . . .
I took off Saturday about noon for another shakedown run on the panhead chopper. I already had about 35 miles on from the morning coffee run to Clarksville and around. I headed toward Nora Springs to check out the annual Buffalo Days Car Show, chow a real buffalo burger, and have a cold High Life. I then made a loop through Osage on backroads - and snaked up to the Town Pump in Mitchell, Iowa. It was hot and balmy - the corn is knee high - all the streams flowing fast and full to the top of the banks from recent rains. Mitchell is a little hole-in-the-wall town with trailer houses wedged between stucco shacks. There's a few nice homes, manicured lawns with new F250s (but these residents work somewhere else) 'cause there's no opportunity in this place. I came blastin' into town doin' 65 in a 25 and coasted up to The Town Pump. A guy named Mick runs it - his original bar in Osage burned down years back, and he bought this place since it's all he knows - and he's good at it - a real, original bar owner type. Just as I got my stuff off, the front screen door swang open and out popped Jay - In a slurry vocabulary of jumble and stumble . . . "Holy fuck - look at that - sweet MF'r - damn, shit - I ain't seen . . . Fucken Aye - It's like it rode right off - n David Mann painting ! How much???? I want this fucker. Fuck. Man. I'm just standing there taking it all in. The door flies open again and the skinny, scratchy voice barmaid comes out next. "Jay, you get the hell away from that man's motorcycle . . . Get back !" But, as I talked with Jay, he's led quite a life - all by his own doing. Married, divorced, jail, married, divorced, on-the-run, back again, out and back again. His very own panhead confiscated. His whole life pretty much on the edge - probably due to that bottle of warm beer in his hand. Once I got him settled down - he was real cool to talk with. Jay knew a lot about old choppers since jockey, girder, devil's tail, stroker, flanders, jammer and wishbone were words that came up. I was impressed ! I didn't hang around long, but I thought about him on the way home. If I hadn't been riding that chopper - we might not have met. Maybe see Jay again sometime - maybe not. You meet the nicest people on a Harley.
Side Valve Tappet Covers - Late Model
If you look closely - there are small "ears" that stick out
on the inner covers.
You use this special tool (Noot had an original H-D one)
and lift up the cover, remove clip, and the ears
fit in notches to hold up the covers, so you
can adjust your tappets !
Then you pop the clips in (with square holes)
and undo the ears and the spring tension holds
the covers - and seals in the engine oil.
No Kansas City . . .
PS. We had high water in CC, and I had my pumps ready, but luckily Mother Nature spared me from any water - Thank You !
If it's makin' noise . . . better find out what's wrong.
Falling in love with your own reflection . . .
It will benefit you in ways you never thought possible.
High Aqua
Creeping closer up my street . . . sucks
It's like 15-20 steps down to normal river levels . . .
No fishing today - Hang on Main Street Bridge !
A lot of Minnesota water coming through . . .
we had like 6 inches of rain ourselves,
plus everything up north, it will be high for awhile.
( Morning mist makes foggy photos )
Hopefully back to normal soon ?
we had like 6 inches of rain ourselves,
plus everything up north, it will be high for awhile.
( Morning mist makes foggy photos )
Tasteful Paint - Daring Carburetion
Timing Light
Swell Fellas . . .
Hwy 56 North
Vintage Shasta camper !
The guy needs to pull it with a '66 C-20 . . .
UL Valve & Spring Check
Bummin' around Anamosa . . .
It always interests me the different ways people attempt to go fast on a motorcycle. Car engines, drag bikes, streamliners, multi-engines, minimalism . . .
- Joe checks out the sidecar rig
- Noot & Frankie discuss their meeting in Sturgis
Aftermarket UL Late Model Covers . . .
GM - Bright Headlights ! M.A.D. Enterprises
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