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Read More TOYRUN SEASON 2005
By Bandit |
I am originally from Franklin County, Kansas. In Ottawa, we had one of the largest Toy Runs in the Nation. We started out the year with a Christmas in July, which would bring in the largest part. There would be cars being auctioned off, tons of events, raffles, and the whole community would gather for this event, which was organized by Shep and Judy Collins and Gloria and Allan Crane. One year the total contributed Toys and Cash were $18,000.
They had a good system worked out with the E.K.A.N. to distribute the toys. We were 100% positive the toys were making it to the needy.
Five years ago, I relocated to Southeastern Kansas and for years sat through some sad Toy runs, with no flyers, one pot of chili and their Santa wearing a tattered old outfit for years. I bit my tongue as long as I could and started up the Christmas in June Toy run benefit here in Pittsburg.
I did not want to step on any toes by interfering or taking over what they had already arranged. Their toys were dropped off at the Salvation Army. The Captain here sometimes, never even met us there to receive the toys. If he did meet us there, he acted like it was a pain in the ass for him to have to come out. Now the previous Captain before our current one, was wonderful. Always a greeting with arms wide open.
No one thought much about what happens after the Toy run, but my suspicions were raised when a friend of mine’s daughter was refused assistance.
I called up the Captain of the Salvation Army and said there was a great potential of donations increasing drastically. I wanted to know what their guidelines for signing up were. Such as the dates, income levels, etc…, to receive toys during the holidays. In addition, if he could prove that the toys were being given to our local needy.
He told me that he wouldn’t furnish me with the guidelines and that the toys were resold through the Salvation Army and that some of them even went up to Kansas City and was sold there. I was so shocked. I always assumed once the toys were dropped off, I pictured a happy boy or girl opening my present.
I informed the Toy run and expected the reaction I had about the Toys, but was told to keep quiet and yes they were still going to keep taking them to the Salvation Army. Santa had a brother that was on the Board of Director’s for Salvation Army and didn’t want to upset him, I guess was the reasoning.
There are other options for donating. I called the Safehouse to see what they needed and also the Shriners. The Safehouse, which is a Battered Woman’s Shelter, showed me a whole closet full of toys and the Shriners said they didn’t know what or when they’d have a child. The best way to help the Safehouse was through Annual Swim Passes, especially helpful for the Teenagers, and the the Shriners were in need of funds for transportation of the children to doctors appointment and hospitals.
After a phone call to the City of Pittsburg, Parks and Recreation suggested I buy one Swim Pass for $50. 00 up to 25 people age group 13 and under, they match me $50.00 for the other age group, how could they say no.
Not all Salvations Army’s maybe like this one.
Yes, they are a very good worthwhile organization to give donations to. Their relief efforts for the Hurricane victims are very commendable. This is probably just a isolated situation, however, WHO KNOWS.
“ The proceeds from the sale of the toys do go back into the community that they were sold in, for it’s other needs,” Captain of the Pittsburg, Kansas Salvation Army replied.
Something to think about.
Julie Weems
Vintage Motorcycles Find Traction in Soft Economy
By Bandit |
The rarest of rare vintage motorcycles, these decades-old machines are challenging to start and difficult to ride. Yet they are becoming more expensive to purchase despite — and some say because of — the down economy.
For years, ultra-obscure bikes such as a 1936 Crocker Twin or a 1907 Curtiss V-8 were collected by a small handful of moneyed gearheads. They had such deep appreciation for the unique designs and temperaments of these machines that they'd willingly use their shins as heat guards, repurpose their feet as brake shoes and consider it a deal to pay tens of thousands of dollars to experience such evolutionary technology.
Now, they're paying six figures. And the price increases are happening even as the market for new motorcycles is tanking.
More collectors are getting into the market and driving up prices for rare motorcycles, many of which have doubled or tripled in value in as many years. They're fueled by a sputtering stock market that has investors putting their money into hard goods, a weak dollar that's drawing European buyers and vintage car collectors who see historic bikes as a significantly less expensive fulfillment of their multimillion-dollar desires for ancient pistons and camshafts.
“Good machines have been performing well over the last few years, and prices are still on the ascent,” said Mark Osborne, head of the motorcycle and motorcars division at Bonhams & Butterfields. The English auction house is offering about 70 vintage motorcycles at this weekend's Quail Motorcycle Gathering in Carmel, Calif. The event will offer an additional 115 bikes for show on the lawns of the Quail Lodge.
Osborne noted that the most expensive bike ever auctioned through Bonhams — a $383,400 supercharged Vincent Black Shadow — was sold in October, just as the worldwide economy was diving.
“We put it down to the fact that people like to buy something that they can touch, smell and enjoy,” he said. “They can get out and use these things. It's not like paper held in a bank that's sort of disappearing on a daily basis.”
This weekend's show is the two-wheeler version of a car show called The Quail, a Motorsports Gathering, which takes place in August. It's the first of two esteemed car-centric events that are branching into bikes for the first time in their long and rarefied histories. In August, the Pebble Beach Concours will also include motorcycles for the first time in the event's 59 years.
“I've been with the Concours almost 25 years, and I don't think there's been a year that's gone by that somebody hasn't requested a motorcycle class,” said Sandra Kasky Button, chairwoman of the Pebble Beach event. “We've always resisted the pressure and stayed focused on cars. It really is time.”
The market for new motorcycles is down 30% so far this year, according to the Motorcycle Industry Council. And sales of high-production vintage bikes such as Harley-Davidson Panheads from the '50s, '60s-era Triumph Bonnevilles and '70s Honda CB750s have softened along with the economy.
But the market for motorcycle manufacturers of the long-ago, lesser-known and mostly defunct variety has seen dramatic increases. Prices for Crocker, a Los Angeles-based marque from the '30s that's known to have produced a mere 39 bikes, have quadrupled in the last five years. Others that are bringing top dollar include the British manufacturer Vincent, original-condition bikes from pre-World War II American manufacturers and anything with a racing pedigree.
The 1957 Manx Norton ridden to victory by Brit Derek Minter is expected to fetch as much as $100,000 this weekend. The Vincent “Gunga Din” crashed in defeat by racer George Brown in 1948 could bring more than $200,000 at Pebble Beach.
“The factory race bikes, these seem to be the bikes that get people's attention and seem to draw the most amount of money right now,” said Jeff Ray, executive director of the Barber Vintage Motorsports Museum in Birmingham, Ala.
The museum, which owns 1,100 motorcycles, is on the hunt for more but is waiting for the market to settle.
“There's a saying in collecting motorcycles: 'You never pay too much, you just buy too soon.' If a 1915 Harley-Davidson twin was offered 10 years ago at $150,000, people would have thrown rocks at the guy and told him he'd lost his mind. Well, one just sold for $165,000 in January,” Ray said. “We're putting our hands in our pockets and standing on the sidelines and watching.”
Don Whalen, a collector in Monrovia, is taking a similar stance.
“My partner and I used to buy 10 to 12 bikes a year,” said Whalen, 63, who for the last 40 years has been collecting primarily pre-1920 motorcycles from the dozens of American manufacturers that existed at that time. “Now we buy two or three or one, if it's an important one.”
Of the 160 bikes in Whalen's collection, about 30 came from Otis Chandler, the former Los Angeles Times publisher who was an avid motorcyclist and collector of exceedingly rare, high-end motorcycles. After his death in 2006, the auction of his dozens-strong collection provided momentum to a market that was already gaining speed.
The current craze has its seeds in the Guggenheim's Art of the Motorcycle show that toured the world in the late '90s. Showcasing hundreds of bikes from motorcycling's history, the exhibit broadened the public's view of a sport that, at the time, was dominated by Harley-Davidson cruisers and Japanese sport bikes.
The Art of the Motorcycle was also the inspiration for Legend of the Motorcycle, an annual showcase and auction of premium vintage bikes that started in 2006. The event further raised the profile of exotic, two-wheeled machines that founder Jared Zaugg said have been “giving men instant sex appeal since 1869.”
Exclusive Jack Daniels Tour
By Bandit |
Photos by RFR
We are fortunate to have whiskey drinking correspondents on all points of the earth. Here’s an exclusive tour of the Jack Daniels distillery, museum and a few back doors by Rigid Frame Richard.
–Banditto it as Lynchburg, Tennessee but these are the laymen that have not felt the “light”.
First rule – No Matter what direction you are coming from Atlanta, Chattanooga, Nashville or wherever. There is only one way to reach your destination. That is off highway 24. We rolled out of Nashville, and while I do not recall the highway number it is the Shelbyville exit! Shelbyville is the same exit where the walking horse competitions are held each year. There are stables around Shelbyville that make many residences look like a dumps.
The first part of the trip off off 24 is somewhat flat. After you leave Shelbyville and start down into the valley towards Lynchburg there is some very fine scenery.
The tour is unbelievable. You are taken into every building that has to do with the making of Jack Daniels. I just took last Tuesday and would enjoy it again today. There are so many things to experience and absorb, that it is hard to remember it all. It began with a group photo at the “Rickyard”, where the charcoal for the “Mellowing” process comes from, unfortunately they were not burning any of the “ricks” while we were there. I was there on the 20th of August & there were 20 group photos posted on the site for just a single day.
Jack Daniels died at an early age from kicking the safe in the original office one day because he couldn’t get it opened and got an infection. He had no children so he left the distillery to his nephew Lem Motlow, who only had daughters that were not interested in running a distillery.
It was then sold to an outside company with the one rule that if they ever changed anything about the distilling process the company would revert back to the Motlow family.
There have only been (6) Master Distillers in the 152-year history of Jack Daniels. Jack Daniels was number 1 & Jimmy Bedford is now number 6. To be a Master Distiller at Jack Daniels requires a Masters Degree in Chemical Engineering, as well as 10 years studying under the previous Master Distiller.
During the distilling processes Jack Daniels is clear and 140 proof. The color comes from the barrels, which are only used once then are sold to other whiskey distillers, to wine makers or to the public at the “Barrel Store” in Lynchburg. There are some extremely nice things that have been made from Jack Daniels barrels such as Bars, Card Tables, Bar Stools, and even a trailers for motorcycles.
Gentlemen Jack is run through the “Charcoal Mellowing” process twice. That is what makes it even smoother.
Jack Daniels is a blend of different barrels, however they will come across barrels from time to time that the flavor is so rich as well as the color that it will sold under “Single Barrel” label. If you would like, you can purchase an entire barrel of “Single Barrel” Jack Daniels. It will cost around $9000 depending on your state fees & taxes. Apparently Washington DC has the best rates for this. Imagine that.
You can actually return to Lynchburg and choose your barrel from 4 candidates. This is the ONLY time you can have a drink at the distillery since it is a dry county. At that time it will be bottled (about 240) with a limited medallion with your name placed on each bottle. They are then boxed, stacked on a pallet, along with the empty barrel you choose. Which now has a brass plate on top with your name and the dates purchased and Jimmy Bedford signs the barrel. Then your name is placed on a wall along many others, such as George Strait & Arthur Anderson or someone who worked there. No wonder they can’t count. Then it is shipped to your house, what could be better in life, except a sweet honey refilling your glass.
Every barrel of Jack is aged four years in the “Barrel Houses” the one on site is only four stories tall. Many others exist around Lynchburg which are seven stories tall. No one batch of whiskey is kept in the same barrelhouse due to the fact that if there was some thing bad was to happen they don’t want to lose the entire lot.
There is also nothing wasted from the distillery. Everything is reused in some way from food for livestock made from the mash residue, to the charcoal being sold for use in Bar-B-Q pits. We are currently investigating this charcoal that has enjoyed 140 proof JD wash over it for days on end.
There are 3 different stories as to what “Old No.7” stands for and the only one that knew for sure died many years ago.
That is just some of what I learned. You can take the tour on their website, but it is so much better in person. It is worth going out of way. I did enquire how the small fortune I have invested was used in the betterment of the distillery? Still waiting on an answer.
Everyone Ride Safe & enjoy a glass of Jack Daniels at the end of your journey.
–Rigid Frame Richard
Note the barrel in the author’s livingroom.
Enlightenment
By Bandit |
Editor's Note:Jared is the youngest employee on the US Avon Tyre staff. Enjoy his youthful inspiration. –Bandit
I remember a particular enlightening time in my life. It contained quite possibly my single greatest act of stupidity, and ended up teaching me more than I will probably ever be able to really put into words. I was riding too fast on icy roads and lost control of my motorcycle, then highsided into a telephone pole. I blacked out at first, when the bike skidded, but I remember waking up as I hit the ground on my back, unable to breath or move. A lot of things happened after that.
I ended up in the hospital with a titanium rod in my left leg where just a femur had been the day before, and an incision running the entire length of my torso that looked poorly stapled back together. The doctor had cut me open to put all my organs back to where they should have been, sew my lacerated liver back together, and cleaned up all the internal bleeding that had occurred in the meantime.
I almost died, and the creepy thing is that I didn’t even know it until after the fact. I turned and looked at my girl friend when I woke up. She didn’t know whether to cry or smile, and neither did I. I smiled. She cried. I will never forget waking up and not recognizing my own body. I will never forget having more tubes and hoses running in and out of me than I cared to count. Water to this day still tastes like it never did before, because I couldn’t drink anything for a week.
The crash had bruised my stomach and intestines to the point where they would not function, their contents pumped through a tube that ran up my throat and out my nose, green and black and bloody. Just like the urine in the bag below my bed. Drinking without a functioning digestive system will wear a hole in your stomach. So I couldn’t drink, anything. My friends would swab my mouth with a damp sponge. I couldn’t eat for a week either.
I will never to this day, almost 4 years later, let a meal go to waste. Everything still tastes good to me. Doesn’t matter what it is or how poorly it is prepared, It all tastes good.I keep wondering what all this did to me. I don’t think I’ve ever really been the same since. I just wonder where my place is in this life. I struggle all the time. I sometimes feel as though maybe to my friends, family, and loved ones, I am a bit like an animal. You pet it and feed it and are generally nice to it, but you never really let it all the way in. There seems to be something violent about me. The way I take life. The way I struggle to control it and not let it take control of me.
I think that’s maybe why I ride. There is some connection maybe between the act of riding and the way my life always seems to play out. The bike has definitely changed for me over the past years. What it means to me and what place it holds in my life. It was at first an outlet for my aggression and compensation for a lack of self-confidence. Almost something evil. I would be cool and cover it up by saying something like “I ride to live.” I didn't have any idea what the hell I was spewing out. I was angry. Pure and simple. But it’s funny. I think I get it now.
Now I ride for the pure and simple pleasure of it. I catch myself actually living my own lie. Not to live, but to remind me to appreciate why I live. To remind me that I DO live. The sheer violence of the whole experience of riding, the asphalt shredding below you, the wind that pushes and thrashes to fill all void, the power of explosions tamed and tuned into something more precise than a razor's edge driving your foreword, the orchestra of intake and exhaust and valves and gears and chain and resonation; all serve as reminders that death, the end, is always just four inches below your toes.
On the bike, you break free of the box. The world outside isn’t just a part of another movie you see through the box of a window like the boring part of a film you’d like to fast foreword through. NO. You are in it. You are a part of it. You feel it, smell it, play with it, make your peace with it.
Life can be like the road at night. There are the bright spots, were the road is illuminated by streetlights. You'll fly around a corner and the lamp light catches the fog just so, and the entire world is bathed in gold. Everything around you is beautiful. The world glows. But you can never stop in one place. There is always change.
Then sometimes you roll into a dark spot where you are away from the streetlights and all is bleek around you. Your only proof that you are moving are the two lines on your left and right ticking away like the hands of a clock, constant and unstoppable. But no matter how dark it gets, you can always be sure that there is another street light, another bright place, somewhere on the road ahead just waiting for you to reach it. You just can’t stop. And as long as you don’t, you’ll always make it to the next bright place.
When you’re in these darkest places, you can always look up. Up there are the most beautiful stars you will ever see. I looked up tonight and I saw Orion so bright it was like he was painted on the sky above me. I saw this with nothing between me and him but my own eyes, the air I was breathing, and space. No windows, no shields, no filters. Just me. You can’t tell if the tears are from the beauty of it all, the thoughts that enter your head at times like this, or from the wind stinging your eyes. I can’t take all the credit. I have my helmet on. A helmet is a lot like your family. It protects the most important part and always does its best to keep the outside world from hurting you. And without my gear on I'd freeze. Friends are like that. They help protect you as well and keep you warm when you need it. Without any of these things I wouldn't be able to be here. Thank you all.
I guess I don’t know where I really meant to go when I started this. It’s really just all the thoughts that I had to get out of my head while I was riding home tonight. This life keeps me confused most of the time. I try to make a feeble attempt at times to figure it out by throwing my thoughts onto a piece of paper and seeing if they make sense but it always seems like I've forgotten something, just bringing up more questions.
I have so much to learn and it frustrates me. I don’t want another moment to go to waste. I don’t want to miss anything. I don’t want any of it to go to waste.And just like that, the thoughts leave your head like a corner on the road behind you. Still leaning through the corner, you twist the throttle and grab another gear and take enough moments to savor the sound of the engine. She sings her song of potential violence, repeating her own serenity prayer. In your mind you hum along with her.This beats driving a car anyday.
KC Rides To Sturgis Through Hell
By Bandit |
My name is SSgt KC Sanger. I just wanted to write and say thanks for a great website. The little time I get on a computer over here in Iraq is spent checking out your site. I have been going to this site every week for the last 3 years. When I get back to LeJeune next year I am looking forward to getting a membership to the cantina and catching up on the news. Anyway, I thought I might share the story of my trip this past year to Sturgis.
I am originally from a small town in SD called Redfield, which is about five hours from Sturgis. In May, a couple of my buddies and I decided to make the ride to Sturgis since we were going to be in the middle east for a year and wouldn't be able to ride. As the day to leave approached, they started making excuses, and one by one my group dwindled.
Finally the day arrived, and I called the only riding partner I had left and he said that he couldn't make it. Not wanting to miss the trip and having made plans to meet my brother, who was hauling his bike up from Cali, I rushed home from work and strapped the small bag packed with tools, oil and one change of clothes, to my short back fender. I strapped on my pistol and leather jacket, taped my directions to my tank and rolled out of Jacksonville,NC on my own.
About 40 miles out, as I pulled onto I40, the sunshine turned to rain. It was a very wet ride all the way into W Virginia. It finally stopped raining about 10:00, and I pulled into a truckstop to catch a couple hrs of sleep on a bench. I woke up the next morning to a light mist and rode a couple miles down the road to a waffle house for a cup of strong coffee and a quick bite to eat.
As I pulled back onto the road, the rain started falling again and continued until I rolled into KY. As soon as I crossed the state line I pulled my soggy ass over for gas and asked about the helmet laws. FINALLY!!!! The rest of the trip with no brain bucket. I got about another three hours in the saddle before the rain started again. As I pulled back onto the road after a gas stop, I rolled up to speed and looked down at my directions and the wind caught my glasses, promptly removing them from my head. I didn’t pack another pair. I pulled off onto the side of the road and walked back looking for pieces. I found most of what was left, about a mile back, picked up the pieces and rode to an overpass to escape the fresh patch of rain and taped them back together. About time that I slogged into upper corner of Iowa the rain stopped and out came the sun. A hundred-and-five friggen degrees!! I was about an hour from Sioux Falls, so I stopped for some gas and water and jumped back on the road. I stopped at the local Harley shop in SF to meet my brother and pick up a new pair of glasses, and I gotta tell ya, it turned out to be the worst eighty bucks I've ever spent. Those glasses were worthless!
We pulled onto the road once again for the five hour ride to Redfield to visit with my old man. Once we got there we took a couple days to rest our bodies, well, my body anyway, and catch up since that was my first time home in three years. During that time I went on a couple rides with my dad so he could get used to the bike he had borrowed from a buddie. He made the final run to the badlands with my brother and I.
From there the rest of the way to Sturgis was terrific. We only got to spend two days in town due to my brother’s Miramar schedule for pre-deployment training.Just an hour outside of Sturgis on our way back, the lack of rain and high heat started a good number of fires, one of which was flailing across the road we were traveling. We went back a mile to a 3 or 4-mile gravel road to reach the next hiway. That “short” bit of gravel turned into 32 miles of VERY loose gravel. After that, the rest of the way into Redfield went well.
The rest of the trip back to NC went down like cold beer on a warm day. I would not have missed it for anything. I met lots of great people and made some lifelong friends as well as getting to ride with my old man and brother. I am going to miss out this year due to being deployed, but won’t miss out again.
All in all, I clocked about five thousand miles on throughout the whole trip and had a great time. I'm looking forward to getting back and joining the Cantina and getting myself a Bandit’s Bedroll.
–KC
