Archive for October, 2015


October 31, 2015

Click here for Home


Photos by Snow

ANIMAL MOTHER: With the new wheel.

I’ve always said that a Sportster is like a hotass skinny chick— small, light & tight with big jugs and a bad attitude. The final hurdle to stuffing AniMo into that 66 short frame has been the issue of the rear wheel. I hate a 16 on Sportsters & after hanging with JR and admiring his pair of racing KRs as well as drooling over pics of KR flattrackers over the years, I’ve been resolved to run a 19 on the rear.

I’d anticipated an ongoing project— looking at getting some high dollar dirt bike rim, spokes, ironhead hub, brake drum & plate— but I found exactly what I wanted on ebay. Someone, at some point, had laced a 19″ aluminum front XL wheel to a rear hub/drum/plate. It even came with a Dunlop with good tread, all for $250. Much much less than the time & money I though I’d have to expend.

I don’t have more than a couple of miles on her, but she sure feels racy— much more nimble and agile. I cut a little off the rear fender and am experimenting with the right angle— then the grinding will begin. No more fender light. I made notes of good sidemounts that forum members recommended, but have since lost ‘em. Anyone refresh my memory?

So I’m damn close to the frame swap. Just need oil tank mounts welded on & some powdercoating. Then the logostics to insure the least amount of down time….




October 31, 2015

Click here for Home

Photos by Genghis

ON MY WORK COMPUTER: Mabel on Avenue A.

See that picture above? That’s a photo of Mabel, my ever-lovin’ ’71 Super Glide. I happen to have this photo as the desktop background on my computer at work (I work in an ophthalmologist’s office). One day, a tech from an ophthalmic equipment company was in my office. He saw the picture of Mabel and said….

“What is that, a Sportster?”

Turns out that this guy had just bought one of Harley’s Dyna Glide variants (there are so many, that I can’t keep track of ’em). Instead of entering a tediously detailed explanation, about what Mabel is, and the differences between a ’71 Super Glide and a Sportster, I just said….

“It’s just an old Harley.”

I don’t have the appetite for Biker Lites’ lack of knowledge regarding Harley history, which requires an extemporaneous lesson from me, about said history. I also don’t have enough patience for their not having enough self-respect to just shut up about the biker subculture, until they’re had a chance to research the subculture—a culture into which these Brando-Come-Latelys have presumably joined. Hey man, this goes to show that a Harley in the garage does not make you a biker, know what I mean?

If I have to explain, then you wouldn’t understand.

That old t-shirt saying says it all, doesn’t it? Aside from being a pain in the ass to have to explain to Biker Lites, what a Shovelhead is, it is a matter of self-respect, a matter of pride for someone new to the culture, not to reveal how clueless that person is, about the culture. Individual Harley motorcycles, have been the backbone of the culture, since at least the 1930s.

Real bikers have an ingrained knowledge of Harley models—most of whom know bikes back to the first OHV (the Knucklehead) in 1936—up to the present. Of course, some of us don’t formally recognize anything beyond 1984 when the last Shovel rolled off of The Firm’s assembly lines, but that’s a separate story. Bikers should at least know about the three classic Big Twins, the Knuckle, Pan and Shovel, as well as the Iron Head Sportsters. Okay, maybe the Blockhead (Evo), too. But to show total ignorance of a Shovel? Unforgivable, man.

THE REAL THING: My old ’68 Sportster.

Why? Why would somebody enthusiastically demonstrate their lack of a clue about a culture, when all it does is reveal that person’s ignorance of Biker Etiquette? Biker Etiquette says this:

Don’t show yourself to be frickin’ idiot, okay?

It’s simple, ya stugotz. Don’t show how stupid you are, and then maybe you’ll have a chance to develop into a Biker. It is incumbent on Brando-Come-Latelys to learn about the culture, without lookin’ like frickin’ morons. Bikers hate phonies, and clueless nerds.

There was another guy that came into my office, to install a new phone system a while ago. During the period when he made several visits to the office, he began asking me questions about Harleys, because he was considering buying a bike. Some months passed before I saw this guy again, when he came back to fix a phone problem we were having. At this time, he proudly showed me pictures he had on his cell phone, of a Japanese motorcycle he’d bought.

Some months passed after that visit, until he came to check one of the phones. I said, “So howzitoin’ with the bike?” He said in reply….

“Oh that. I sold the bike because I had an accident and fractured my collarbone. It’s okay now, but I’m not gonna ride anymore…it’s too dangerous…”

There’s not much to say about that, except to state what I believe: that a biker should go the distance with his bike, no matter what. A true biker will keep riding. Most Iron Horse readers knew that I had a bike wreck in the 1990s. I won’t say that I was unaffected by my wreck in ’94, when I broke my left leg in several places. Did I have some fear about gettin’ back on the bike, after I healed? Sure. That’s only human, man.

But at the same time, I knew I was committed. Committed to ride the rest of my life, and committed to my Harley 74, Mabel. My girl wasn’t going anywhere. David Snow said during my recuperation period….

“You know what they say Scott, that if ya wreck on a bike, ya gotta get rid of the bike and get a different bike.”

That wasn’t gonna happen, man. I admit to being superstitious to some degree, but that wasn’t going to make me trade Mabel away.

Both Mabel and I had to be repaired. Me, in Beth Israel Medical Center in New York City, where I had several surgeries, and Mabel at ROSA’S CYCLES out on The Island. Hey man, mebbe I wouldn’t end up as good as new, but I knew that Mabel would. My girl was gonna be as pristine, as before the wreck. But no way, no how, was I gonna get another bike. I love Mabel!

There is clearly a difference in philosophy between me, and the two techs who came to my office. That difference actually consists of a righteous commitment to riding and The Bike. That’s the essential difference between True Bikers and people who merely have a bike in their garages—a commitment to going the distance with motorcycles. To a True Biker, the heartbeat of the motorcycle, beats in unison with our hearts. There is a true symbiosis between man (or woman) and motorcycle.

How else to explain why True Bikers predominantly keep their old motorcycles, instead of trading in every few years for new bikes? True Bikers develop a real relationships with their motorcycles—as if our motorcycles are living entities. Hey man, forget “as if.” I know that our bikes live, and have souls.

Why do ya think I talk to Mabel? She’s alive, man, with feelings and tendencies. Outside the tight circle of the biker subculture, people don’t get it and don’t feel it. I feel it every time I start my Harley up. That Harley Heart beats in complete synchronization with my Human Heart. Outside the culture, it’s just another machine with a specified price tag on it. To me, Mabel is without price. Bread has nuthin’ to do with it.

OLD MOTORCYCLES RULE: My Harley is 44 years young!

That’s why bikers own old Harleys, refusing to trade in for that new shiny thing, put out by The Firm. Perhaps “own” is a misnomer. It’s more of a partnership between biker and bike, like a marriage—and every marriage involves a contract between the partners….

“I Genghis, take you, 1971 Harley-Davidson Super Glide, to be my lawfully wedded bike, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”




October 16, 2015

Click here for Home


BIKER LITES: Clueless.

So I’m now back in Cali after 16 years living in Arizona. My wife and I felt there was nothing for us there anymore, neither one of could seen to find suitable employment there either, not to mention we became sick to death of the heat. All our savings were depleted due to my 3 eye surgeries, but thats a whole ‘nother tale.

Before I get into what I wanna talk about, I do need to point out that Az has the best bike people and best bike shops you’ll find anywhere. I mean that, and I miss both terribly. Here in L.A., there just isn’t much in the way of great old time hardcore bike shops like in Phoenix, I’ve been back here for three months and can’t find shit.

Even Micah McCloskey’s, where I usta work has shut down. Just the one place that has been in my hood since the ’50s is still here,and that is Casey’s Cycle in Pacoima. And there are no good automotive speed equipment shops here anymore either, this fucking blows, but I’m getting away from my subject matter at hand, and that is the ridiculous Biker Lites.

This situation has gotten waaaayy out of hand, I would have figured these putzes on bikes would have long gone away by now. On the Seedy board on Facebook the other day, someone posted a pick of a Roadking, I believe complete with a huge built in contraption on the side of it to haul some BL’s huge bag of golfclubs. I commented that this guy MUST be here in Cali because bikerlite douchebaggery goes to a whole new level here.

To illustrate that, I am gonna do a quick Biker Lit Crit of a publication in California called Thunderpress–Harley Davidson Motorcycle News. Those of you who live here know what T.P. is, it is a free newspaper like rag that is stacked by the door of Harley dealerships, and other Harley oriented dumps B.L.s like to to gather at. My brother picked one up and left it at my Ma’s house which is where Nancy and I are staying. She by the way broke her ankle falling off the back of the Penske truck I rented to get us here.

While waiting the many hours at County USC for them to take care of her, I took the Thunder Press with me for something to read. I will now refer to the rag as T.P. as I feel it most appropriate. First thing I see and read is some middle-aged twat going on and gushing about the Harley Barbies her local dealership had a drawing for! This is a grown-ass woman in her mid forties going on like this folks. Accompaning the article was the photo of the weaners–umm, coff, scuzz me, winners of the Harley Barbies. 5 MEN and the beformentioned gushing twat. Those in the pic were everything in a nutshell you would imagine a B.L. being. Living caracatures. This is biker lite moral relativism example #1.

Next we have the letter to the Editor section cleverly entitled “And Then They Said”. First off was some poor crybaby screaming that his T.P.s never reached his home until long after the freebie ones hit the doors of dealerships and what not. This puss was so angry and was pretending to cuss, but doen’t have the balls to write it as such, fuck is spelled f**K, asshole is spelled a**hole, you get the idea. Example #2.

Next in the letters was a genderbender whose comment was entitled “Impulse Shopping”. This is his(its) letter, note for note:

“A year ago a couple of my buddies bought some Harleys and told me to get one too. I told them to leave me alone. I kept hearing talk about all the fun the were having riding all over So Cal, so i called the local Harley Store and asked if they had any Fat Boys in stock. They said no but to call in the morning. I did for the next five mornings until he said they got 4 in the night before. I grabbed my checkbook and got there in 10 minutes flat! I walking in and all the Fatboys were sold! Oh well, I then looked at a Heritage. It was beautiful, and what a piece of art. The next thing to do was find one of my “buddies”to get this thing home for me( I didn’t have a motorcycle license.) Now I have a harley in my garage and a chubby going on. When I got home from work, I found a G-string hanging from the mirror. I guess this was my wife’s way of saying it was OK since I neglected to tell her we bought it.

Well, 2 weeks later one Sunday morning my buddies called me up to go one my first ride with them. I’m cool now because I just had a chrome front end and pipes installed. So me and the little lady showed up and the first thing the guys said to me, ‘Where the hell are you long pants?’ I said ‘This is SoCal dude, I dont own any.’ Well now I have some and am still learning after a bee flew into my shorts and stung me on my ass. (is this fuck serious——–zap)

A year, 4000 miles, one Laughlin and two weekends in Palm Springs, my wife and I are having the time of our lives (lies—–zap). We go on rides to raise money for charity, and heart rides.

Now lets get to what has been eating at me for a time.
I read this magazine and a few others. The articles say people towing their bikes behind motorhomes or on trailers are not bikers. Well what is a biker? Do you have to stink? Do you have to have socks and underwear stick to your body? Bugs in your teeth if you have any? Or just live in a trailer? If ya do, then call me a harley rider instead. That way you can keep the stereotype “biker” for ex-cons and dirtbags as it has been for decades…..

If we ever go to Sturgis, we will tow the bike on a trailer behind our motorhome. So What! Its a long way from San Diego and my ass would be sore(its already sore from other things———zap). Besides we have a warm place to sleep and shower. So What! I earned it, I deserve it! I even eat sushi, so what! That still doesn’t make me a Yuppie!

So the next time you go to a ‘biker’ get together, remember, everyone there is human. Bikers, Harley riders, or anybody else,Fags don’t count. (yep his words——–zap) One more thing: you that have shirts and stickers that say ‘Trailers are for boats” can kiss my bee sting.’

Mark Hildebrand, El Cajone, Ca.”

This is B.L. moral relativism # 3. I am quite sure miss Marcy Hildebrand’s smirk has been soundly smacked from her big shit talking mouth by now.

At the end of this drival of a rag was the classifieds. One Harley Barbie for $400.00, another for $700.00. Jeeezzuus Khryyst, these punk are a breed of their own.

This B.L. moral relativism just shows how shallow, and what pathetic no nothing jackoffs these people really are, and why the rest of us who really are in the game, and in the trenches can’t stand them.

I experience the same damn thing in my musical life, I am also a hardcore punk rock musician. I left my last band in Phoenix just before I moved to Cali due to punk rock moral relativism, on the part of my ex bandmembers. I believe either you do it right, or not at all, and certainly not a watered down version of it. There is enough fakery in the world.
Just look at you country’s politicians.