I’m trying to write something, but for the first time in my life I can’t get a solid story line rolling. I almost bought another chopper project yesterday. It would be my first build project in Deadwood.
A buddy of mine came over yesterday. He’s from the old school Chicago streets and he’s a riddled with wild stories. He just bought a book about the Hangmen MC from back in the ’60s. For a minute I met and rode with some Hangmen and Outlaws, in Long Beach. They weren’t associated with the gang back east.
In the early club days, a group of riders would just pick up whatever club name they thought was cool and run with it. Sorta the deal applied to the Berdo Hells Angels and the bay area group.
I’m curious to get this Hangman book by Arenson. It just might cover the Yuma run I went on in about 1970. I’ve written about that run out of Pedro and Long Beach. I’m always hoping to find Seymour, the Long Beach Outlaw who introduced me to Outlaws and Hangmen in Pedro. I hope he survived. His picture turned up in this book, and I will share it with you.
Remember, if you want to get stabbed go to San Pedro. That’s where we hooked up with the Hangmen and I learned about rain grooves and riding fast. We were young in those days and didn’t understand the code. We searched the streets at night for romance and spare parts to build another chopper.
Okay, so recently the Redhead and I started to make the move to South Dakota. Every day contained a rush of the senses. I opened a Louie’s Chinese Fortune Cookie and it said, “It is brave to attempt anything when the outcome is uncertain.” I kept it on my desk.
So, in the middle of this move, my grandson Frankie sent me some shots of a roller with a hot rod Panhead engine (could be an aftermarket engine with STD heads) and a rebuilt and polished 4-speed transmission. It was sorta complete with a new stock configuration Paughco rigid frame, a complete wide-guide front end, spoked wheels, Performance machine brakes and rotors and a Paughco gas tank, plus a polished aluminum round oil bag.
I was intrigued, but I needed some stretch in the frame for my size. Plus, just as we were discussing this project, Haul Bikes called. They were going to come get the remaining five bikes and the Salt Torpedo Trike. That’s how I planned to get the roller to the Badlands. The time window for roller negotiations rapidly closed.
Besides my Grandson was interested in buying it, but he has plenty of projects already taking space in his small garage: His wrecked Dyna, a ’73 Triumph triple and a partially built by me, 650 Yamaha. He’s riding the FXR mudflap girl chopper I build for his dad and Bob T’s famous FXRP from the desert.
I coached Frankie and let the roller go as Haul Bikes came and picked up the Dicey ’46 Knucklehead built by Randy Simpson and the Milwaukee Iron gang, the Paughco flat side tank bike I built with the Rick Krost designed single loop frame, the 1928 Shovelhead built with a cop bike I bought from Arlen Ness, re-pop JD gas tanks and sidecar fender, a Paughco frame and a new stock Harley springer. It was assembled by the Rick Fairless team in Dallas and painted by a good friend outside of Sacramento, Calif. A 1939 WLDR and a 1958 Triumph TR6. Plus, we were able to load the Salt Torpedo streamlined trike we plan to take to Bonneville this year, hopefully.
I have a ’69 Rapido I’m taking to Deadwood in the van. It’s the Redhead’s desire to ride the two-stroke. Finally, I will get around to it. Rick Krost gave the 1968, frozen-engine bike to me.
I would love to be able to reach out to Chris Kranzler and see if I could buy the Sturgis Chop back. I loved that classic with a stretched Paughco frame and about an 8-over Paughco taper-legged black springer. Maybe somebody knows how she’s doing and where the bike is?
Movers are coming tomorrow. Today, I need to borrow the forklift from next door and drive it into my yard. Two days with movers and they will be gone. It gives me and the Redhead one day to clean, load the high-top van and haul ass on Sunday toward the Badlands.
Every time I want to use the battered forklift from next door, it won’t run. First time, the battery cable was loose. This time I said, “Fuck this piece of shit.” I walked around the corner to Harbor equipment rental and drove a well-maintained forklift back to the shop. No bullshit, it ran like a champ and helped Jeremy’s crew immensely.
I’m as excited as I was in 1969 when I pulled up in front of Long Beach Harley in the rain, in a lowered Covair only to find out the fucking dealership was closed…Monday.
I came back the next day and bought a new XLCH with a Le Pera button tuck Cobra seat and shorty pipes from the previous year. I should have left it like that. It was perfect but didn’t fit me.
Back to the move. We’ve been packing for months and as I wrote this, it was the final day before the movers arrived. I haven’t wanted to ponder this ordeal. It’s been stressful from a packing standpoint, from a financial angle, from an emotional perspective, and a physical stance. Plus, there’s the uncertain adventure aspect.
I will try to make this as informative as possible, because a brother said recently the three most stressful elements in life are death, divorce and moving. Some of what I impart might be mistakes on my part, but I’m not sure yet.
Here’s the big factor: shit. As we get older, we accumulate a lot of shit and some shit means money and valuables. I’ve spoken to lots of brothers who were forced to move their shops and homes. Jason Mook, the Hamster owner of Deadwood Custom Cycles moved from North or South Carolina. I always cross them up. He towed a 14-foot trailer to Deadwood 15 times to bring all his shop shit to the Badlands.
I spoke to Keith Terry, Terry Components, about trailer horror stories. If you have a trailer over two years old replace the tires and service the wheel bearings. Trailer stories are treacherous and never end.
The moving process started with a call to Jesse James who recommended the Dunkel Brothers to move the shop. Then I got involved with a couple of moving companies to move the living quarters. When the bid came in at $37,000, I gagged. I started to unload shit to reduce the weight. I sold some stock to pay for the moving expenses, because I wouldn’t have the funds from the sale of the building until escrow closed.
Josh, and his team attended another walk-through. We got the bid down to $24,000 and just one truck.
Hang on, I was in escrow with a house on 2.3 acres in Boulder Canyon which should be considered Deadwood. It’s next to the Deadwood Cemetery, which is in Lawrence County and only a half mile from the Deadwood City limits sign. The mail address is unfortunately Sturgis. It’s not Sturgis that bothers me. I just would prefer both addresses the same. I spoke to someone at the city, and they said, “Start a petition.”
A guy flew out from Chicago and looked at my Port of LA building. He immediately made an offer and Tony convinced me to take it. I didn’t like the notion but went along with it. Tony pressed him for a 45-day escrow.
He started to process to seal the deal with an SBA Loan. Shit started to get quirky. I found the place in Boulder Canyon (Sturgis) and the owners accepted the offer. So, here were the elements in play. I had three moving folks working on the project: Haul Bikes, Dunkel Brothers and Atlas. First there were bids, negotiations, requirements, and finances. We had phone walk-throughs and no response from some companies. Larry Dunkel gave me my first bid, then Josh from Alexanders which is somehow connected to Atlas Van Lines.
In addition, I had to deal with two property brokers, one was missing most of the time. I needed to deal with two escrow companies and one exchange company due to capital gains taxes, which turned into a major financial threat. So, I also had to deal with my accounting expert, Palma, of Just Relax Tax Service. She’s the best.
Wait a minute, there were a few other factors like boxes and a guy I met who built crates and special pallets. And of course, Jeremiah wanted to change his Dyna from a belt final drive, which he mauled for the second time, to a chain drive.
The Redhead took on packing the loft area as best she could, while I kept the supply of boxes coming. I spent over $1,500 just on cardboard from Uline.
Anthony, the crate guy was absolutely the most helpful. He followed the process with advice, guidance and support right up until last week.
My old-time riding partner reached out, and I offered some of my equipment. One of the scary aspects of this process is the vast unknowns, from moving companies to you name it. One of Anthony’s suggestion was folded-together file boxes. They are strong and easy to lift.
Uline makes a solid line of very strong boxes with handles, another major help. I was going to get another crate for three antique engines, but the Uline boxes did the trick.
I’ve bought and sold several properties, but this was way different and mostly because of all the elements and all the additional government requirements. I seem to remember escrow officers taking the reins in the past and with the encouragement of the agents helped the customer through the process. That wasn’t the case this time.
Almost immediately I notice a lack of coordination. I reached out to Tony who runs a commercial real estate office with his brother, and they manage properties in downtown LA. Plus, with the covid, most of their tenants were told they didn’t need to pay rent and didn’t. Tony basically said there was no front runner making sure all the papers were filled out and filed.
Tony was there for the property inspection, but the buyer’s agent never made it. Fortunately, the buyer didn’t bug me about a myriad of repairs and the inspector was a supportive, good guy. Tony was there for the final walk through, but the buyer’s agent never made it. Again, fortunately, although I tried to get rid of lots of accumulated shit, the owner said I could leave anything I wanted. Plus, he wanted all the plants in the patio.
I basically had to coordinate every fucking nut and bolt in the building. We repaired funky faucets, wall cracks, with the help of Jeremiah, but the building is almost 100 years old. The repairs never end.
Here’s where it started to get interesting and costly. Jeremy, the big guy with the full beard, who handled the packing, grew up in Berdo and his dad knew some Hells Angels. He ran the team who loaded everything from pajamas to welders and crates. His professional Atlas or Alexander’s moving crew did a masterful job and were able to move the shop and the home aspects, with the help of our packing and the forklift.
They managed to get every last stitch and crate in the 53-long trailer, packed to the ceiling. But there was a glitch. He was only allowed 34,000 pounds and we came in at 44,000, the largest load he was ever able to pack into his rig. So, they had to peel six 40 by 40 by 48-inch crates out of the trailer to be loaded into a separate van. Suddenly, I was back with two trucks (the price almost doubled) and there was another factor.
We planned on escrow closing on the 30th of May. I had loaded all my shit in the costly moving van on the 29th. Escrow was due to close on the Sturgis property. It was due to be paid off through the exchange. I was about to climb in my high-top van and drive 1,400 miles and Tony said in passing as he reached his slick BMW, “It might be the first or second of June.”
I choked. That started a process. I had to negotiate on several fronts. The truck could arrive at a house to unload in two days, and it hadn’t closed. I couldn’t move in. I started a daily routine of reaching out to everyone on the list. I followed the paperwork, the loan docs, the buyer’s movements, etc. I was forced to negotiate a moving van delivery delay, a stay of execution on the Sturgis closing, and pay rent, but I couldn’t move in.
An email arrived and a second-hand rumor floated on the surface. Closing might be around the 7th. What the fuck does, “around,” mean? Now, I was paying daily rent and exorbitant moving delay costs and being pressed emotionally. I could lose the home and be stranded with my shit on a truck.
I reached out to Sue, my ranch agent for a storage property. “They are all sold out,” she replied. “Nothing is available.”
I followed the paper trail daily and received notice of the loan docs being issued. Here was another glitch. Tony told me the loan company wanted a face to face with the buyer for loan signing in Orange County, Califa. He was in Chicago. He said he might arrive on the weekend, but never showed.
The loan docs were issued, and Tony told me the exchange could take two weeks to fund my property in Sturgis. It was getting to be panic time. I negotiated through Sue to have my escrow extended at more cost to me, but I couldn’t even bring up the two-week scenario. Sue told me that exchanges are handled the same day in South Dakota.
Isn’t California wonderful? I followed the loan docs, and suddenly we discovered that the buyer could sign them, if he found an out-of-state notary to confirm and certify, another delay. It’s not so funny how short weeks become, when something causes you to blow through Monday, and then Tuesday and you wonder if it can be handled by Friday.
The movers arrived and I was able to negotiate through Sue to move my stuff first into just the garage, not possible. But then the owners said we could move boxes into the home also but not unpack. Remember, we had a lot of shit.
Jeremy arrived and we set to work unloading everything. He had a new team out of Rapid City which were all young guys, who worked extremely hard and never stopped until the job was completed, and he performed a walk-through with us.
Unfortunately, we weren’t allowed to unpack, so we were cooked, done deal. We had all our shit in a home we didn’t own or have a loan for.
I was stressing and trying to follow the paper trail without getting pissed off. At one point I told Tony to blow up the deal. I would get a loan, buy the Ranch Road property, and keep my building. Suddenly, shit started to happen.
I tried to get a handle on my anxiety. I quit drinking, tried to meditate every day and focus on the positive. I was stormed by a myriad of conflicting thoughts. First, I was so damn lucky to get up every morning, healthy, walk to a magnificent workout facility and pump iron. Everywhere I looked were jack pine trees and beautiful hills and clear skies.
Brothers and sisters were already rolling into the hills. When I stepped into the Deadwood home with views over the town, it was clean and the Honeywell thermostat held the temp at exactly 68 degrees. I wasn’t forced to fight Indians and ride in a covered wagon at 3 miles an hour for weeks to get there.
That’s what I don’t get about our society. We are living in the absolute best of times and so many want to make it the worst. We are so lucky, and maybe my luck was making me anxious.
As following week kicked in, we found out about the loan docs and then somehow, they were mysteriously signed and the Wilmington building closed finally on Thursday, but would the funds be transferred into the exchange and finally to the Dakota title for Ranch Road closing by Friday. I was in touch with every move and player.
My stress levels started to dissipate, and the news came in, but there were a handful of additional factors. More bikes were on their way from Haul Bikes. More crates were out there somewhere. We needed to track utility bills on all the properties.
I wanted to start to meet with builders, contractors, tile guys, electricians, you name it. We had a few requests or mods to the new house that needed to be handled before we could sleep there or order a bed. The previous owner for 30 years (raised a family) built an office/family room on the house with an entertainment center. I protruded into the master bedroom closet, sorta fucked it up. It had to go, and Jerry came over to patch the wall.
Shit started to happen fast, and Memorial Day arrived and the opportunity to go for a ride with the boss of the Buffalo Chip campground surfaced. We rode to the final Indian battle site 88 miles north on highway 79. We rode with 20 other riders and Marilyn Stemp took on the photo duties.
We discovered why Rod Woodruff or Woody named his campground the Buffalo Chip after Johnathan White an Indian scout who died on the battlefield. Here’s the story:
It took us a long time to discover where Buffalo Bill Cody’s best friend, Jonathan “Buffalo Chips” White, was buried.
I expected him to have been buried at the Fort Meade Cemetery with many of the horse cavalry troops who gave it all while helping to piece this Republic together. It was quite a surprise to find his grave and the Official US Scout Memorial right at the battlefield where he lost his life to a bullet believed to have been sent his way by Chief American Horse.
American Horse was leading his people in a flight for freedom. Buffalo Chips was riding ahead of the 5th Cavalry and headed to Deadwood. The paths of these mortal enemies met just a few weeks after Greasy Grass (Custer’s Last Stand) about 88 miles north of the Buffalo Chip. As fate would have it, it was the end of the trail for both men, killed by what turned out to be the last battle of the American Indian Wars.
It’s a beautiful ride up to the Slim Buttes battlefield. Pass a couple of ghost towns, a bunch of pronghorn antelope, a few dinosaurs, a stage stop or two and we’ll arrive at a historical marker that tells the tale. The graves and Memorials, almost hidden on the hillside, are set just above the draw, the site of the deadly violence. It was not a cowboy & Indian movie.
Some might call it a colorful bit of our history, a clash of two cultures. It was not that long ago. Memorial Day seems a call for reflection, a day of peace and freedom. It’s a great day for a ride.
–Woody
Okay, so the wall is fixed, another wall is down, the tile for the basement is selected and scheduled for installation. An electrician is coming on Tuesday, so I can take another wall down. Every time I walk into this place I’m amazed although everything is covered in drywall dust.
We now live in the Badlands. It’s amazingly beautiful, clean, open, green and fresh. There’s a new factor we must deal with daily, the weather. It can be 90 degrees one day with chilly, wind-whipped thunderstorms the next. I’ve spent two winters here. When the sun is out, it’s warm, even in the winter and you jump at the opportunity to get shit done.
Whether it’s rain, snow or whatever, as soon as the sun shines it’s beautiful once again. I’m getting the impression that living in the Badlands is like getting’ hitched to a fiery Redhead, which I did the other day. The weather is just as mercurial. Hang on!
