Easy Rider and Chopperguy

I am an unrepentant old school chopper fiend. As anyone who talks bikes with me will know, given the opportunity I would chop anything and everything. From a classic Indian to a brand new Ducati, I see bikes as chopper material. Every now and again I think of getting a tourer for the long haul, but these urges pass. The desire to chop is a constant.

When I started building my first chopper, I found myself scrounging for parts, scouring swap meets, and ending up in old barns and garages in pursuit of what I needed. The American custom motorcycle scene was nearing the end of what was the pro-street era that culminated with Harley manufacturing the V-rod. While the young bikers were flocking to the sport bikes and doing front-end wheelies on the highways, the rice side was starting to produce cruisers that looked suspiciously like the American ones.

Starting in 1984 Harley-Davidson introduced the Evo engine. The engine was a departure from their previous designs in that it was a tight unit that tended not to leak and was quite reliable. Each year more people were buying into their old fantasies of being a biker. As the 1990's kicked off, their were waiting lists. Depending on the model desired, you would have to wait six months to two years to get your new motorcycle. People were actually selling their brand new bikes for almost twice the list price to those with the cash who just couldn't wait. By the mid 90's, the streets were flooded with Harley riders trying to capture some of that poser outlaw freedom and Harley was feeding their desires with official riding gear, an officially endorsed 'gang' called HOG (Harley Owners Group), and official bolt on customization gear so you could look just as unique and individual as everybody else down at the shop.

I admit that at one point I caved to the hype. I also wanted a Harley and even gave a dealer my $500 deposit to wait a year for a brand new Sportster. My senses kicked in, I got my deposit back, and started looking for an older bike. When I handed over $1000 cash for a bunch of boxes full of parts and a clear title, I had no idea what I was in for. I had been reading Easy Riders, Hot Bike, and even Ironhorse. During that process I had become enamored with the idea of building a bike. I didn't start out to build a chopper, that just happened. Many choices had to be made along the way. Every time I chose on the side of chopper.

A few months after my chopper hit the streets, Hot Bike magazine released a special edition of the best of Street Chopper. It was a collection of the pictures and articles from their old 60's-70's magazine. I still have that tucked away in my filing cabinet. I have read through it so many times that I had to tape the spine with packing tape. It wasn't too long before they announced the return of Street Chopper. Choppers were starting to pop up everywhere. It was inevitable, really. The first chopper wave was fueled first by a need for speed and later as an artistic expression. With every rally filled to capacity with Harley's decked out with Harley gear and ridden by people who were walking advertisements for Harley-Davidson, the old crew was bound to rebel. Choppers were synonymous with rebellion. They were big, bold attention grabbers. I was certainly tapping into that first wave of what would become a national obsession.

And what do we have now? People watching shows like American Chopper and Monster Garage. Every major bike shop has a line of 'production model choppers'. California Motorcycle Company, Paughco, and Panzer cashed in by making replicas of the bikes in Easy Rider. While I am the only person at work that actually owns a chopper, it seems like half the folks at work have a shirt that says "Choppers for Life!" I don't.

While I hate this new breed of so-called choppers with their fat front forks, fat tanks, and softail style frames, the chopper resurgence has been very good for me. I can now get new just about every single part on either one of my bikes. I no longer need to drive to a barn in bum-fuck-nowhere with a wad of bills trying to buy the last known clutch basket in existence. It's nice to be able to look up a model number and find the part you need rather than finding something close enough you can modify it to your needs. While that is a fun endeavor, it drives you nuts when you just want to ride.

And what about "Choppers for Life"? Hardly. The chopper is on it's way out. Too much too fast. The next craze is going to be the side car. Already two guys at work have purchase Ural's with side cars. Two more guys are looking into buying Vespas with side cars. It makes sense. Those middle aged folks who made Harley-Davidson rich in the 80's and 90's are retiring, slowing down, wanting an easier lifestyle. A long rigid vibrator no longer sounds appealing. There is safety and comfort in a third wheel. Sidecars have that nostalgic appeal as well. And you don't see a whole lot of them around... yet. And if anyone is interested, one of the guys who joined the sidecar club is selling his rigid BMC Bobber real cheap, only $15,000. Hardly used. Too rough on his back.

So farewell chopper scene. Thanks for everything. I'll still be here when you come back 'round again.

"DOOM! Chaka-laka! All your base are belong to us Mutha-Fucka!" Those were the first words out of my mouth when the 73 finally lit up and roared.

A guy at work who was trained at MMI for sport bike mechanics gave me a few hints and a couple of his specialty tools for tracking down ignition trouble. He used to be called Sport Bike Mike, he prefers to be called Michael, but when I learned his initials were M.D. I started calling him Mad Dog of course. And while his tools weren't key to my success, they got me pokin' around in the right area to discover the real problem.

TAZ worked when I parked him this winter, didn't when I rolled him out this spring. Under that scenario, Mad Dog suggested that it was either corrosion of the points or a shorted condenser since I wasn't getting any spark. I had supposed lack of spark when I could kick and kick without so much as a sputter. The FAB (Fucking Anarchist Bitch) helped me out by holding the plug out of the cylinder and against the head as I kicked TAZ over, looking for a spark. Just to double check that, Mad Dog gave me a couple of nifty spark testers. I might have to pick one up since the FAB isn't always around to help. It confirmed that I had no spark.

So it was time to poke around the points. To do this, the ignition needs to be on. Unfortunately my voltmeter only has the spikes on the ends, no alligator clips. That's something else I should pick up for working alone. It made testing the points a challenge, especially since I'm not overly fond of electrical shock so tend to be cautious. At first the voltage read 11.5 volts (battery charge and normal for points open). I was afraid the points were shorted. Then while poking around, the voltage kept fluctuating between 11.5 volts and .7 volts (points closed normal). Interesting. So I took my screwdriver and manually opened the points. A spark leapt across the gap and a cylinder fired, causing a small chug to come out a pipe. Hot DAMN! First sign of spark. I got a piece of fine sand paper and cleaned the contacts on the points. Five kicks later came the magic words printed above.

It was supposed to be sunny and warmish today. Instead it's drizzling. Who cares! I'm ridin' to work!

He may be a sport bike rider who doesn't drink alcohol and continually misquotes Monty Python lines in a horrid British accent. He may be a real half-assed machine maintenance man at work with a short fuse for the elusive problems. For today, Mad Dog is the man.

When I parked TAZ, the 1973 Ironhead ('old Harley' to the uninitiated), he ran. I took the cover off of him this spring, and he didn't. I hate that. The old battery wasn't taking a charge, so I bought a new one and charged it up. Nope, that didn't work. Oh, I forgot to polarize the generator after having the battery disconnected for an extended period. Nope, not that either. I'm getting gas, but I'm not getting spark. Well, let's check the coils. Input resistence is low at 3 ohms instead of 4.5 to 5 ohms. Maybe. No continuity between the inputs and the high voltage outputs. Everything is normal there. Resistence between the two high voltage outputs should be 11,000 ohms. This thing is reading 20 ohms. WTF? But I'm using a crappy little radio shack ohm meter. Let's get out the back-up one.

Yes, I'm one of those guys who not only has one of those esoteric devices for taking all manner of electrical readings but actually has a back-up one. I don't normally keep a battery in it because I generally don't need to use it. I hunt down a battery, do a quick test, yep, it's all good. Let's try those readings again. My back-up model has one of those nifty digital displays. It takes several readings over a few seconds, numbers changing dramatically, and then gives you an idea of 'normal' if the situation is considered in a normal range. First test, inputs, 2.83 ohms. Ouch. Second test, input to output, no continuity. As it should be. Finally the high voltage outputs, 18.437 ohms when it should be 11k. Yeah, I think I found the problem. Time to order up a new ignition coil.

Throughout the 1960's and 1970's, biker gangs frightened the bejesus out of a lot of people. Hardly anyone is frightened by them these days. Most people think of bikers as those nice yuppies on new Harleys going on toy runs and poker runs.

In some parts of the world, outlaw bikers are still large and in charge and not a force you want to mess around with.

"...six members, a prospective member and an associate of the Bandidos No Surrender Crew are dead, shot and dumped in a farm field, as part of "internal cleansing" within the gang,"

Read the news from Canada.