This is going to be a tough one. Hell, this is one of the toughest years in a while. How the hell do you judge it. In a sense we don’t. We just deal with it and move on. That’s life. It’s always changing, whether we like it or not.
So, last year ended with the first run of the Salt Torpedo, the first streamlined trike, destined for Bonneville records, then Micah rolled it. He broke a bunch of codes that day, but he’s a brother. Another lesson I learned from the past. I watched men lose their lives because their brothers turned on them. A brother is a brother first.
I know a guy who was a president in a major outlaw club. He had a brother who stuck with him for 30 years and went to prison numerous times. When that brother purportedly did wrong, the leader immediately turned on him. After being in a club for all that time, the leader still didn’t understand brotherhood or leadership.
One more point about thinking, maybe two. First, fuck the guy down the street or the jack-ass car salesman, but a brother deserves special consideration. And finally, about changing your mind: Several folks pointed out my brother’s wrong-doing and how I should kick him to the curb. I could have taken that path, but I sought another route. I considered the Code of the West and took the path I chose. He’s still the pilot. Although, I’ll kick his ass if he fucks up again.
I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m a nut and at 72 I’m blowing up the farm and heading to South Dakota. With the help of Dr. Hamster, we bought a home in Deadwood and I blasted out here with my high-top van packed to the gills. I’ve never lived in the snow, but I’m going to in a big major way.
Hell, I was just about on the edge of Utah and stopped for the night in Coalville. The next morning snow was everywhere, and I didn’t know what the hell to do. I’m always on a mission, so at 6:00 a.m. it was still dark, but I was ready to roll. I didn’t know until I slid up in front of my new home, that I was supposed to be driving an all-wheel or 4-wheel drive vehicle. Fortunately, it is a ¾-ton vehicle.
At the continental breakfast I befriended another traveler, who lived in Wyoming and was on his way to Park City. “So, what do you suggest?” I asked.
“You might wait until the sun comes up,” he said and probably saved my life. I had to cut a slippery trail across the Continental Divide a couple of times and peel through the notorious Muddy Gap. My newish van was cool but got super shitty mileage. I remember sliding into a gas station in Laramie.
I’m a California boy. I’ve never experienced 15 degrees. You can’t imagine the terror on the faces in LA when you say 15 degrees. They about shit themselves. So, I drove through the entire snow-covered state of Wyoming in January, passing over-turned semis in the middle of nowhere.
So, we closed on this house in the Presidential district of Deadwood. Most of the homes, including ours are over 100 years old, each with a variety of historic details. One of my goals was to live within walking distance of downtown, a town of 1270 folks. I stayed for a couple of months, then the Redhead flew out and I got to test her ability to deal with it.
Alison is 57 and dealing with hot flashes constantly. She doesn’t like the heat, any heat. She melts, and Redheads are sensitive to any climatic changes. She loved the Deadwood digs, slid down the narrow stairs, fell in the black ice coating the steep, cracked concrete sidewalks, got back up and rocked on.
She got edgy about getting back to her job, managing a rickety marina dead center in the port of Los Angeles. I started another Chance Hogan book around the swarm of bad behavior surrounding the drug-infested, outlaw run marina, plus Chance trying to build a 45 flathead for Bonneville.
Last year, I finished a screenplay about board track racing and soldiers coming back from WWI. I’ve started to circulate it around the movie industry, but screenplays are a dime a dozen. I’m astounded what gets made into a movie. So many, you can tell someone who has never been in a fist fight wrote it.
But to me, it’s about the creative endeavor, like building the Salt Torpedo and watching it blast down a desert street in the Lucerne Valley near where Lienweber cams are ground. Sometimes, that’s good enough for me, move onto the next project and there are many. In this case I said the Salt Torpedo would be the racer I could take to the salt numerous times. Can you see the dichotomy in my thinking? Can I let my desire to accomplish something and move on get in the way?
I’ve never liked the celebrity part. Maybe, that’s a factor? I wouldn’t mind if someone else took it and got the fame. That’s why I didn’t expand the chassis so I could pilot it. I wanted it to be as slick and fast as possible, so Micah got to ride it. How many more times can I make it to Bonneville? And there’s always the money aspect. Going to Bonneville ain’t cheap for a grubby biker.
In the middle of trying to finish the Torpedo, which was a long-standing project attempted by some fine builders, but ultimately us shop rats had to take the reins and make something happen. Between Kevin Kahl, myself and Micah McCloskey we stayed the course and she’s ready for the real deal on the salt.
Since the roll-over, I’ve fixed everything except I need to build a couple of front fender brackets and Paughco is making me another gas tank. I spoke to Ron Paugh and Chris, his fabricator yesterday about modifications to the tank. I believe it was a 1.2-gallon puppy, and that could be pushing it. They made it slightly wider.
Of course, the Covid hit and us old folks needed to sequester ourselves, and that worked for me, although it’s about time for a haircut.
Delvene Manning cancelled Bonneville for this year and it all fit into my master plan. I received a fortune cookie recently. It said, “It is brave to do something, not knowing the outcome.”
Speaking of fortune cookies and Chinese laundries. Buddha, a philosopher, not a god, originated in India, but ultimately the mantra slipped into China and changed some, but the words contain the same guidelines. He was just a guy who came from wealth and tried another more-humble path. He was a very bright guy who attempted to understand life and figure it out.
I’m not trying to sell anyone on Buddhism. But the philosophy of mindfulness is real and scientifically proven. If and when you are faced with bad thoughts, they can be altered, removed and replaced. And here’s a big one: You can find nirvana under any circumstances.
Here’s a great example. Dave Zien, lost a leg when he hit a deer. It was the second deer he hit. The first one he gutted and cleaned alongside the highway. Dave rode a Harley for 1 million miles, then was forced to switch to a trike. The guy has a heart of gold and just kept going with a very positive attitude. He’s currently working on two memorials, one the Rock memorial for veterans and another for motorcycle freedom fighters.
Then, of course, there’s a brother who gets depressed over anything. He’s healthy, young and strong. He has funds and friends but can’t say a good word about anyone or anything. The stress is killing him. He could fix that with mindfulness and understanding the mind.
So, when we closed on this property, we made a plan. A house is like a pallet to an artist. You can do so much to make it your home in the style of your choosing. This area contains a myriad of history and western styles, but I decided our theme will be an historic Chinese Whorehouse.
Okay, so that’s just a theme with no solid backing, but it’s going to be a fun experiment with some antique Asian stuff, brass dragons, art with half-dressed women and of course, motorcycles. Kelly Dube is sending me an antique, silk, embroidered, sexy Chinese cheongsam dress to display. Don’t ask me about the opium den. There are poppies in the garden, blooming.
I’ve wanted to cut a dusty trail out of California. When that didn’t happen in the ‘90s I moved to San Pedro, which put me just 6 miles from my aging mom. It was a good thing, because I was able to hang with her until the end a couple of years ago. I stuck around San Pedro and Wilmington for almost 20 years, the longest I ever stayed in one place.
When I turned 70, I had an awakening. Brothers and sisters were beginning to pass away at an increasing rate. When we’re younger we banged along like nothing mattered, but there comes a time, when you start to see physical changes.
Suddenly one day you know you’re no longer climbing the hill, but you’ve crested the top and you’re heading into the valley of death, but fear no evil… We are all going to die, just some die sooner than others.
When I hit 70 and was in decent shape, I figured I might have another 10 years to build shit and try something new. Don’t get me wrong, Jerry Branch helped guys work on cars, tune motorcycles and trimmed his own trees into his 80s, you just never know. Hell, Clint Eastwood is still making films at 78.
I might still run Bikernet, write books and stories when I’m 80 and that’s cool. I can go with that, but I didn’t want to do it in Los Angeles. I needed a fresh pallet, and after years of searching and planning, I set my sights on Deadwood, and the Redhead loves it. That’s a major factor.
Your partner is always a major factor. If it wasn’t for Nyla’s support, I could have never bought the building in Wilmington. Many women would have run from that grubby project in the industrial wasteland of the Port of Los Angeles. It’s amazing, and I supported the Wilmington Waterfront effort for 15 years, and just now they seem to be moving on it.
The worst mistake Wilmington ever made was to become part of the city of Los Angeles and allow all the port’s wealth to slip to Downtown Los Angeles. Wilmington would be magnificent for the kids if they stayed a city.
Just a couple of years ago, I worked with two local artists to create a considerable sculpture to represent the people of Wilmington at the entrance to the waterfront. The port suggested some off-the-shelf Walmart icon entrance with no connection to the people of Wilmington. We will see what happens.
Then, like a nut I stumbled onto a Kraft Tech frame at the Long Beach swap meet, and on my way out of the asphalt parking lot surrounding the stadium, Brad, Nyla’s brother, called and asked me if I needed a Panhead engine. Presto, I was building another bike.
I’ve always considered myself a blue-collar builder. I’m an enthusiast, not a pro bike-builder.
It’s sort of a confession and a cop-out, but I never wanted to compete with the brothers and sisters I covered in magazines and on Bikernet™. I do my absolute best to build bikes that are structurally sound and reliable. But I just don’t consider myself a pro.
I also have a problem. I’m too tall for the bikes I like to build. That fucks with me. Actually, my Sturgis Shovelhead I built 10 years ago, almost fit. Check this shot with Bob T. at the bars. So, when I finished the funky ’69 Panhead Chris Callen said, “What the hell, did you shrink that bike?”
He was right and I ultimately installed the longer, new round-leg Paughco front end and reworked the rear seat suspension for a better ride. It handles better but doesn’t have the tight bobber look I planned.
On the other hand, as we got into Dr. Hamsters 1950 Panhead, I could build something tight and cool. It would fit a thinner, shorter man to a tee. This was supposed to be a joint effort, but the covid fucked with that big time and Christian’s (Dr. Hamster) duties included only finding parts. He’s not doing too well with that.
I’m still waiting on a generator for the Pandemic Panhead with a regulator cap and an outer primary. It took several months, but finally the headlight arrived, in the nick of time. The good doctor saved my health several times, so it’s easy to be patient.
I was sorta in the middle of finishing the Torpedo and a brother Hamster needed to make some bucks anyway he could, so I turned Dr. Hamster’s project over to Mike. Mike, like the rest of us has some health issues and space issues, so the project ended up back at the Bikernet Intergalactic Headquarters.
During the time Mike had the Pandemic Pan, a major shift occurred. We had the Knuck frame straightened and fixed by Dr. John. The Pan engine fit, but the heads were too close to the backbone of the frame and we didn’t want to mess with the frame anymore. The seat post was altered for the engine and we didn’t fix that. Dr. Hamster got frustrated and threatened to sell the project as a basket. Mike and I convinced him to start looking for a Panhead frame. He sold the Knuck frame for a bundle, so it worked out.
That brings us to July 6th, and yesterday Haul Bikes picked up five bikes from the intergalactic headquarters in Wilmington. Two are Dr. Hamster’s, the Pandemic and his ’90 FLH.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make a pass. That was a learning experience about the Run What Ya Brung Class. I was too busy building to read the rule book that year. I thought it was run what ya brung, no rules. Not so Kimosabe.
Live and learn. Which brings us back to the Salt Torpedo and rules. There are no trike classes in the SCTA or the AMA, but there are streamliner rules. The FIM decided to include a trike class, when I reached out to Dennis Manning and found out that there was no Trike Class at Bonneville. FIM stepped up. We have tried to follow all the Streamliner rules for the SCTA, AMA, FIM and the trike rules from the FIM.
In addition, a 25-year inspector from the SCTA has tried to coach us through the process. Rodan recently quit, because they said he was too old, bullshit. There’s more to that story, but he emailed me a Streamliner, inspector’s, check-off SCTA form. We have been through it a couple of times. We’re trying, but you never know. The scrutineering process is way more terrifying than making a pass.
Sometimes I think it’s all about the outlaw in me. I’ve always lived on the edge of the law and always pushed the limits. I don’t like authorities, sheriffs or judges. Hell, I think it’s why we ride choppers.
That’s not all. Property values went going through the roof and I consider selling the Intergalatic Headquarters in LA and setting up a new shop in Deadwood. Talk about a thought process. I started looking into all the factors, challenges, obstacles, resources, you name it.
Just for a test, I reached out to Jesse James and asked him who moved his shop. He said the Dunkle Brothers. This is a big family business and they sold out just a month before the Covid struck. There’s that thing about timing. Timing is everything.
I met with one of the Dunkle brothers and he took me through the process of moving the shop—fuckin’ scary. I had to have a bunch of crates made, capable of working with forklifts, made. All the little shit goes in the crates. They come and move all crates on one truck and all the equipment onto another truck and off it goes to Deadwood.
I thought about my wives and the girls in my life. I’ve loved so many. When I needed a partner who fits, she always arrived. There have been major slip-ups in my life that I regret. When a brother says he has no-regrets, I think bullshit. I’ve made plenty of wild mistakes, some of which I will regret to the end.
If you do lots of shit, ride wild roads, chase the wrong broads, you’re bound to make mistakes, but hopefully you learn something from each encounter. The key is to keep going.
There was a David Mann painting that sported the adage, “Don’t let the bastards get you down.” I asked the boss of Easyriders, if I could have it, since it hung in my office for a decade. I helped him reach his goal to sell the company, but he turned me down. That was one of my favorites for a couple of reasons, the stellar art and the message. Everyday can be an adventure, if you let it. Every day presents you with challenges and opportunities, if you have the guts to get up and get rolling.
Right now, I’m staining my deck and looking out at the hills in the Badlands. This house we bought couldn’t be more perfect. Every day I give a nod to the beauty surrounding me. I walk up the hill to where Wild Bill Hickock was buried next to Calamity Jane. I asked if I could have a plot for Bandit’s bones and I’m working on it.
Covid or riots, it doesn’t matter. life is still damn good, and nirvana surrounds all bikers who read Bikernet, my books or Bandit’s Cantina. Hang on as the next adventure unfolds.
Ride Fast and Free Forever,
–Bandit
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