Being a young writer in today’s society requires a man to resort to any means necessary to get some work. Although I wrote an killer article or two for a few biker rags, the work just isn’t very steady. So to keep my family from starving, I have to pimp myself out to other avenues of writing to make a few bucks.
*Quick sidenote* We recently ate the family dog for Thanksgiving dinner. The meat wasn’t bad, just a little stringy. Although my wife won’t even consider it, I have been force feeding my son to plump him up, just in case times get really bad.
Anyway, I was recently on an assignment in Utah to write about the pitfalls associated with Mormonism. I am not a Mormon, so I personally didn’t care. If you are reading this and you happen to be a Mormon, stop reading now and go smack one of your wives. Also, fer Christ’s sake, stop making those dipwads ride their bikes around handing out pamphlets telling me I’m living the wrong way. I got news for you freaky zealots, my bike has a motor. I think you’re not living right because you won’t join the 20th century, much less the 21st.
Anyhow, I was sitting in a bar after the first day of the huge Mormon conference. No, there weren’t any Mormons in the bar, but the bartender was Catholic and half the customers were Baptist. I was starting my third Crown and Coke, when I saw a young guy walk over to the end of the bar and order a Sprite. I was thinking, “who the hell orders Sprite anymore?”
So I see him sitting at the end of the bar drinking his Sprite and I make him for one of the Mormons. I mean, he’s got to be one. Who the hell would be in a bar ordering a Sprite? So I walk up and decide to casually get his opinion on some of his faith’s by-laws.
“So what gives you the right to marry as many women as you like?”
Looking quite puzzled, he stoically shoots back, “I have no clue what the fuck you are blabbering about.”
“Well ain’t you a Mormon?”
“Mormon, hell no! Do I look like a Mormon?”
“Well, you live in Utah. You walked into a bar and ordered a Sprite. You don’t have any tattoos or facial hair. Yeah, you look like a Mormon.” I was feeling rather pleased with my quick and alert assessment of him.
And last, why don’t you go stick another needle in you ass and pump some more weights, Meathead?”
Whoa! What did I ever do to deserve this hostility? I decided to try a different angle. “Hey look, I’m sorry. It’s just I’ve been working all day and I mistook you for…Oh, forget it. Sorry to have bothered you.” I started to walk away when he stopped me.
“Hey man, it’s ok. My name’s Matt. Matt Kraft, what’s your name?” And so our adventure began. We sat at that bar telling lies for half the night. I don’t remember how late we stayed out, but I woke up in the morning on the floor of a very dark room in a very unfamiliar place. My head was pounding and it felt as if I had a goose egg on the back of my noggin. I looked around and could only see a dim white glow coming from something in the center of the room. I kept trying to focus, but I was just too tired and it was too dark. I dozed back off wondering what kind of lamp gave off such a dim glow in a pitch-black room.
When I awoke sometime mid-afternoon, I quickly realized I was sleeping in the bay of what appeared to be a garage. The mysterious object causing the white glow was gone. I started to get a little worried until I reached down and felt that I was at least still wearing my pants.
“Hey, good morning,” Matt said as he entered the bay carrying two cups of steaming hot liquid. “I bought you a plain black coffee…sugar?”
“Who’re you calling sugar!?” I was busy rubbing my eyes when he squandered with his homosexual rhetoric.
“No, do you want sugar?” He was trying not to laugh, but I could still see his shit-eating grin.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’ll take a couple of sugars.” He handed me the coffee and two sugar packets with purple bunnies on the cover.
“Weird packets, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. Look, enough about sugar. What happened last night?”
“Well, you passed out in the bar after hitting on the barmaid.” I began to smile devilishly thinking of some of my more mischievous nights out in the past.
“I wouldn’t smile yet! Seems her husband was the guy playing pool behind us. He had no problem braking his pool stick in half over the back of your skull. You went down like a ton of bricks.”
“No shit? That’s messed up. That’s not passing out, that’s getting knocked the fuck out. My head doesn’t hurt as bad as I would expect after getting cold cocked.”
“That’s what steroids do for you. They help you recover quicker to traumatic tissue damage.”
“Knock it off with that shit! I don’t stick nothing in my body except food and those toys my wife likes.”
Laughing his ass off, Matt chokes a few times on the Danish he was scarfing down his throat. Prick didn’t even offer me one. That’s probably why he was eating it so fast.
“Hey Matt, what was in this room last night? I woke up at one point and could have sworn to see a dim white glow. Do you have some sort of lamp or something?”
“Nah, that was my newest bike.”
“You gotta be shittin me. Out of all the Mormons to run into, I actually find one that has a bike.”
“Fuck you! I’m no Goddamn Mormon! I already told you that!”
“Ok, ok, calm down. I forgot you’re one of those tree huggin, Shirley Mclaine lovin, bleeding heart types.” With that he swung a large monkey wrench at my head. “Hey asshole, you almost hit me with that!”
“Good, maybe something will shut yer trap!” He seemed to be a little agitated with me.
“Damn man, I was just bustin yer balls. So where’s your bike?” I walked to the head to take a leak and admire my dashing looks in the mirror on the wall.
“She’s outside, I’m getting ready to ship her out for a photo shoot. She’s actually not my bike, but I built her.”
“You build bikes for a living, no shit?” I had just finished washing my hands when I saw the back door swing open revealing the brightest white I had ever seen in my life.
“Come and check her out,” he was grinning from ear to ear and beaming like any proud Poppa would. “She’s done pretty well in a few shows.”
“Oh, what shows has she been in?” I walked aimlessly around the bike. There were too many details to just focus on one simple part of the bike. The paintjob reminded me of artwork I’d seen on WWII vets who had been to the Philippines. Lines so clear the bike almost looked like one piece of China.
“Oh, I don’t know. She’s won a few. You want to hear her?”
“Hell yes, I do!” With that he turned the ignition over with a button and BOOM! What sounded like twin explosions rhythmically going off in sequence filled the atmosphere with the unmistakable sound of a finely tuned big inch v-twin. He smiled broadly as I just froze with excitement. This bike was really something special to behold.
We sat around and just soaked in the Utah sun while we ate the brownies Matt’s wife had made us and sipped on some funky tasting tea. She called it mushroom tea, but I have never tasted a portabella like this. Before long the paint seemed to come alive with details and movement. I learned of the seven ways of the samurai or “bushido”. Each part of sheet metal on the tank represented a different way of this time-honored life.
Though Matt does manufacture a lot of metalwork on his bikes, some of the parts are farmed out. The Martin Brothers Pipes jump out and bite you with an angry growl. The Independent gas tank looks like a Sportster tank on steroids. The frame started as an ’04 Extreme, which Matt modified to his own style. Every inch of this bike exudes class and just clean style. Like all the bikes Matt builds, he puts a little bit of the customers’ soul into consideration when designing the bike. The owner of this bike wanted to give his son something to remember the honor of his family name. I believe he succeeded.
I started to get really hungry when I remember Matt shaking me to wake me up for the photo shoot. Seems I had passed out while he was telling me about the details of the bike. He had me and the bike loaded on the trailer for the photo shoot.
This time, however, a drop dead gorgeous model was lying all over the bike painted just like it. Seems the painter, Jonathan Pantaleon painted the girl just like the bike. She was topless, but her boobages were covered with a combination blue and white paint to match the House of Kolor paint on the bike. I was in awe.
“Holy Shit! That’s Don Rogers taking the shots, isn’t it?”
Matt had to laugh as he tried to answer me, “Hey, I told you I go first class all the way.”
I couldn’t get over the beauty of the bike mixed with the lines of the girl. They were perfect for each other. Matt just sat back and took it all in. Something about watching the fruit of your labor getting the attention it deserves that makes a man feel good about his time here on earth. Matt Kraft is no different. He built a bike specifically for a customer and put the highest quality parts on it the customer could afford. The bike he built is sleek and clean, while still maintaining the lines that make it a custom motorcycle. Check the spec sheet on Munewari, you can see the quality is definitely in the details.
After the photo shoot, I wandered aimlessly around the Greyhound Bus Depot waiting for my ride to Long Beach. I had to give Bandit the report on the Mormons so he could check into the validity of changing over to their religion. Hey, why else would a guy get married 5 times?
Engine-121” TP
Carb-Mikuni 42
Ignition-Crane HI-4
Exhaust- Martin Bros.
Transmission- 04 Baker RSD 6 speed
Clutch-Barnett Scorpion
Primary-Billett 4 U
Frame-04 Extreme/Kraft Custom Cycles 280 Softail
Stretch-4up 3 out 42 degrees rake
Forks-10” over Perse Performance
Triple Trees-Perse 6 degrees
Suspension-Legend Air Ride
Wheels- PM Wrath 21” front 18×10 rear
Tires-Metzeler
Brakes-PM-Driveside Rear
Controls-PM/Billet 4 U
Bars-Kraft Custom Cycles
Gas Tank-Independent
Fenders-Extreme/Kraft Custom Cycles
Headlight-Headwinds
Taillight-Billet 4 U
Seat-Kraft Custom Cycles/Bitchn Stitchn
To reach Kraft head over to this site:
