It's been a hell of a summer. A twisted journey I could have never imagined,a series of sky highs and surreal lows. For those out there who read myarticles on Bikernet and in The Horse and see only a person who does highprofile paintwork, goes to bike events, and gets magazine covers, believeme, it was not always like that.
I say, horrific because, to live each day with your stomach inknots because worry is eating you alive feels horrific. Worry about what?Mainly about paying bills, the rent, gas, phone, and then trying to keep abusiness alive. Much of it was my own fault. Bad decisions, screwed uppriorities.
It was no picnic. 13 years ago, all I wanted was to get a “real”job, doing welding or parts inspection, some kind of manufacturing job thatwould give me the security of a weekly paycheck. A successful paintingcareer was a far off pipe dream.
Sure it wasn't all hell. There wereadventures mixed in, breaks from the reality of what my life had become.There were those rare moments when I'd be able to see clearly through thehaze and see the beauty of life in this world. The two men who had hoped Iwould achieve some kind of stability or success in my life both died beforeit finally happened.
I would get close and then an event in my personal life would derailthe momentum and I was forced to start over again and again and again. Andup until last year, it was like that. In the middle of some crisis, I wouldthink back to the few years of steady employment, basking in the memory ofworking a set amount of hours each week, then doing whatever I wanted,whether it be riding motorcycles, hiking or cleaning the house.
ThenSturgis 2003 happened and it all changed. Suddenly all the pieces began tofall into place and all those years in hell began to mean something.
That's how it happens. For some fortunate people, it happens early in life.But for others, it happens late. And that's how it happened for Indian Larry.Most people, including me had never heard of him prior to The MotorcycleMania Show on Discovery. I was completely blown away by the bikes he built.But to him it was always a team effort. I especially admired the paintworkon his bikes and he was quick to give Robert Pradke the credit. “He justcomes up with this stuff,” Larry said. “It blows me away.”
I only met Larry a little overa year ago at the Smoke Out. But I was just another face in the crowd. Itwasn't until Myrtle Beach of this year, that Larry became someone who gaveme a hug each time I saw him. I was staying with Sam Morgan and the ThrillArena stunt riding crew. Looking back on that sunny, quiet morning when heshowed up at the drome, I knew then what a treasure that time was. In factthat whole weekend trip was priceless. But then that's what Larry tried totell me a few months later in Sturgis.
Sturgis wore onLarry hard. He'd been mobbed wherever he went. So he began to take breaks atAmerican Motordrome Company's compound. It was a relaxing hideout where hecould sit back and BS with Jay, Sam and the rest of the crew. I know he hada few good talks with Sam. She and I are very similar in our backgrounds. Iwas fortunate enough to see him there a few times as I had been using it asa refuge too.
Located on Main St, it was perfectly situated. I could ridedown the back streets, bang a left into an alley and park my bike right atthe drome. I never waited in traffic. You never knew who'd you'd runinto there. I'd pull up and see certain bikes parked and could tellwho was hanging out.
It was at Michael Lichter's bobber bike show that Ispent the most time with Larry. I knew he was busy but wanted to tellhim something and next thing I knew, it was a half hour later that ourconversation finally ended. I felt bad for taking up so much of his precious time buthe was on a roll, asking me questions, explaining things to me. It was thekind of advice a father gives.
My dad has been gone nearly ten years. I hadnot bothered to take his advice seriously when he gave it, as I was youngerand “knew more than him.” And now that I am older, I sorely miss hiswords. So it was with great interest that I listened to Larry, trying tofile each and every word away, so I could remember it forever.
He explained that the days I had spent inhell made me into the person I am now. “Without going through that, youwouldn't be who you are. You had to go through that to get here, where you're standing right now,” He said.
“But,” I explained, “I'd probably wouldn't have such a bad attitude.”He looked at me with a slight smile on his face, shaking his head. “And allthat makes you a survivor. You can handle situations a lot of people couldn't deal with. I know, believe me, I know,” Larry said.
His words that day will stay with me forever. I will honor Larry by tryingto live by that advice. I'll try and be more patient with people. I won'ttake a single moment of life for granted, wishing things had gone different.That's just a waste. Instead I'll put my emotions, dreams, and wishes intomy writing and painting. And if I succeed in my career, that's great. Ifnot, I gave it a hell of a try and it was an awesome ride that let me meetincredible people and took me to fantastic places. Hopefully Larry met my dad. I know my dad would have loved Larry's bikes. Maybehe can tell him that I didn't turn out to be such a hopeless mess after all.
Thanks,
–JoAnn
Crazy Horse Painting
