Sunday, September 12, 2021

Badass - The End

Among all the annual dozens of shows in remembrance of 9/11, I often think of a post-9/11 occurrence that has happened almost every one of the many times I have flown since. The airport security line and the simple act of kicking off my shoes always made me think of how Bin Laden has changed our lives forever.  Sure we got him eventually but in the end he won immortality, just like Hitler only better in the sense that he seems to pop up more frequently. I guess another concept of heaven and hell I would wish for might be; at the moment Osama's heart beat for the very last time there was absolutely nothing more for him…but the rest of us will have some sort of consciousness of our families, friends, (and dogs yes) that will go on.

I know my consciousness of another meaningful part of life will at least go on until the end of my days and hopefully beyond.  I am referring to the times I loved riding Harley’s, handlebar to handlebar with my friend, Alonso “Coyote” Munguia AKA “The Last Gaucho.”  

Also yesterday, I found out Al has placed his Harley on consignment as he prepares to make a permanent move to the San Antonio/Austin area of Texas.  Over the past 20 years, the Coyote and I have ridden thousands of miles…to the 100th anniversary of Harley Davidson in Milwaukee, round trips to the Sturgis bike rally, to Street Vibrations in Reno Nevada, to countless charity runs in the local vicinity and to regular breakfasts where we would swap some great lies.  As testimony to the fact I absolutely loved those times, I was typically up before the crack of dawn for damn near all of them.  As further testimony, those of you who have seen my book, "Badass" know that Al was with me through most all of those experiences.

You might also remember the quote that has stuck with me for most of my years; “It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.”  I am so lucky Al has been with me through such a huge part of my childhood. But now, as with most good things, it has ended. Sure, I plan to remain a kid and may crank up the HOG in the garage to ride around the block once in a while in remembrance but the days of “Badass” are over.

It was one hell of a ride Alonso. Thanks. All the best to you and your great ICU RN wife, Norma on your new adventure.

The Coyote and I on Idaho's Snake River.
Headed for the Sturgis Rally circa 2003



I will always be your friend.

P.S. - Update March, 2022.  Yesterday, I sold my Harley (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITYXCl9YL-c) to Jaeda.  As part of the deal I included all associated gear.  I am done riding at the tender age of 76.  I consider myself fortunate to have spent the greater part of 40 years riding dirt and street bikes safely and aggressively. (Can you say; "Ten over?")  At this age, I have wondered about my defensive riding skills and now...I don't have to wonder anymore. This is, I am sure, much to the relief of my forgiving bride of near 53 years, Julieann.  Jaeda was thrilled to inherit the "Black Queen" she has finely renamed "Onyx." If she has anywhere near the fine times I have had she will remain thrilled for years to come.

So this is it for this blog.  There will be no more entries here.  To those of you who have been here, figuratively and literally by my side for so many years, thank you for riding along. If you have the patience and interest for other stories about a "charmed" life, check out this blog: https://tclifecycles.blogspot.com/

 

Saturday, September 2, 2017

The Occasional Roar

It has been over 5 years since I last posted on this blog. Now the fire has dimmed to a pleasant glow as I do most of my riding on the 16 mile round trip to Capital Casino and back. It's a mission to engage in tournament Texas hold'em poker and I am fairly addicted to it...winning just often enough to keep a small poker stash and remain fairly even with Lady Luck.
Current ride: Badass IV
Pimped 2008 Street Glide
She's got a load because we're heading for Sturgis!
I have also turned into a fair weather rider in the past few years. Now I like to avoid the extremes of Mother Nature...extremes like rain and hot weather, especially hot weather as it seems we are getting more and more of it in the Sacramento area.

Nonetheless, I still get a kick out of punching that starter and hearing those badass loud Freedom Performance pipes on the Harley Street Glide. Plus, let's not forget I have written two editions of a book, "Badass - The Harley Davidson Experience" and posted more than 50 blog stories about my times on a Harley. That's the kind of love (read-fanaticism) most riders probably identify with.

The last couple of years I have thought about buying my "last" Harley as the look and technical advancements on newer models are getting damn fine in my estimation. Yet, I know my pal and bride of almost 49 years would strongly disagree as I am getting to the age where she would prefer that I not ride at all.

My "prettiest" as Julieann says.
Badass III, 2003 Road King Classic

Another, just as compelling reason to not buy a new one is that I have dialed my Street Glide in and it fits me damn near perfect. I have changed the seat twice and sent the latest one away to get custom fitted with more gel for comfort. I have lowered the front end to match the back and let me stand flat footed while the bike is stationery. This limits my cornering ability and I scrape the floorboards in turns more often but I am much more comfortable at stoplights now. I have changed the handlebars to give me a little more height and a more comfortable reach. 

I have added small aftermarket wings to the front fairing and below the seat for more temperature control. I have changed the mirrors to give me better, wider rear vision. I have more and brighter lights to make it easier for cage riders to see me. And to top it off, I have done a ton of cosmetic stuff. I have received a lot of compliments about the looks and in response I like to say "Yeah thanks, I have pimped it to the max." But....but I really love the looks and technology on the 2017/18 Road King Special so look out folks, the Fat Lady hasn't sung yet!

Badass II - 2000 Road King Classic
at Mark Twain's cabin
on Jackass Hill Road in Calaveras County.
I got her in Sturgis
and put a ton of great miles on her.
Now this may be my last entry on the subject as the passion ebbs. However I would not want that to happen without first mentioning how grateful I am to Julieann Marie for encouraging me to "check one out" over 20 years ago and then putting up with the worry about my safety as I logged easily over 200,000 miles indulging my admitted childhood fantasies. Also, I really appreciate the generosity of Art Jensen, my sister-in-law's brother for letting me use his Heritage during the 1998 Sturgis rally - that hooked me forever. 

I am grateful to have had the best riding pal, Al "Coyote" Mungia, who I think of and often refer to as "The Last Gaucho" along for almost all of my significant rides. Al and I are world's apart politically but when we are on a ride we are handlebar-to-handlebar partners with complete trust in one another. It's a rare thing I believe and I appreciate it.

To those who may stumble across this entry and fancy riding Harley's, or any motorcycle for that matter, I have three suggestions:
  1. Learn how to ride a dirt bike, in the dirt if possible - there you can learn instinctive moves such as getting away from the bike when you inevitably crash. Also how to counter steer...things that will keep you safer on the street.
  2. Take a motorcycle safety course, mandatory in many states.
  3. Go for it!  

Monday, June 4, 2012

Behind the Badass Book

First, editions.
Soon to be enshrined in the Smithson Bar and Grill
museum (seewhatididthere?)
of rare black, pebble grain leather bound books.
As the Badass book second edition
Enters its second year
There is news!
The buttery soft, leather covered
First edition sold out rapidly

(Although I have a hundred or so personal copies I will gladly part with for a princely sum.)

It became an international best seller
When, after just a few months in print
A person from Australia bought one.

Then, just this past year
After relentless demand
(Or maybe it was just my curiosity)
The second edition came out

This was an Amazon exclusive e-book with added chapters,
An expanded chapter, "Riders of the Purple Sage"
And some really astute edits... I think

The award winning (if it were nominated) interior design.
But then, back to the origins. That is, from whence it came...

Once upon a time, a Harley Davidson fanatic
Was also a traveling health care consultant
Who specialized in borrowing people's watches
So he could tell them what time it was

He spent a lot of time on long flights
Learning to obey crotchety stewardesses
And to help kill the time wrote a book
About his runaway fanaticism

Then, one day while
Browsing wares in Seattle's Pike Market
With his blushing bride Julieann

He came across an artisan and poet
Who bound his own works in leather
And also was a self-proclaimed publisher

The fanatic thought...
"Black pebble grain leather, like a biker jacket
Suits Harley riders to a 'T'
So that's how we are going to do it!"

His blushing bride, with a heart too kind, agreed

So the fanatic worked with the artisan,
Editing and re-editing, debating chapters,
Seeking reviews to include with the book,
Reequipping the artisan's fast failing manufacturing facility,
(A one room apartment)
Buying a few black, pebble grain leather cowhides,
And a few cases of paper

In the end, "Badass" was born
And sold via a web site
And sold via the artisan's table in the Pike Place Market
And sold via pressure on close friends to "buy or else"
(Kind of like when your pal throws a Tupperware party knowwhatimeanVern?!)
And sold via postings on Harley Davidson Internet forums

So that is how it all went down
It was an adventure unto its own self

The fanatic author is tickled at the thought others would
Want to read of his preoccupation with Harleys, and with life.

(Don't forget you can click on the photos for hi-resolution close ups.)

And...you can click anywhere on this sentence to check out the book "Badass."






Sunday, June 3, 2012

America's Loneliest Highway


Al and I picked up US Highway 50 not too far south of Provo, Utah.  We knew it had a reputation for being a desolate stretch of road between Provo and Carson City, Nevada, and we thought it would make a good ride on the home stretch of our great Milwaukee adventure.

This mentality is in keeping with the old adage “it is not the destination, but the journey” in reference to motorcycle trips.  If you don’t understand this, just try it.  Once. Beware though because it is like trying to eat just one potato chip, only better, much better.
Yours Truly Somewhere on Highway 50

Our run to Carson City would take us around 600 miles from the eastern edge of Utah to the western edge of Nevada.  It was our first afternoon of travel on 50 and it looked like we were going to get some heavy rain somewhere along the way.  There were dark cloud formations in the west and we figured they were heading our way.

Somehow we went whipping through them.  It was almost like the highway zigged and zagged on purpose, avoiding the clouds to just get us through the area dry.  Once, while dropping down off a mountain pass I felt a splash of water and that was it.  It had to be the briefest rainfall I have ever been in. It was like a cloud just burped or something.

A little later, while coming off another pass, we actually got into a shower for a couple minutes.  We didn’t pull off to put on rain gear because we had leather jackets on but our jeans got wet right away.  We were thinking we would just head for shelter when we got off the pass if the rain persisted.  Well it didn’t and by the time we got to the valley below we were dry.  Blessed again by the gods above!  This is just another bit of evidence to suggest He has a Harley Himself.

Highway 50 goes through several mountain ranges, so you find yourself generally in one of three situations:  You are either heading uphill toward a pass, downhill out of one, or on a 30- or 40-mile run across a flat valley floor with great views of the mountain ranges all around you.  I am sure we hit at least a half dozen passes of 6,000 feet or more on our run across Nevada.

Another feature is there is very little traffic. There is simply no one out there.  It’s like everyone is on the interstate or in a city somewhere and no one is on Highway 50.  If you tour on a motorcycle you know what I mean when I say, “this is perfect riding.”

The Gump Group

Also in that 600-mile stretch we saw a few small towns and what I call the four Forrests. Not trees mind you, but the Gump type– you know, like in “Gump. Forrest Gump.”  The first one we saw was a biker, as in bicycle, who was out in the middle of a 50-mile stretch of nowhere.  Next we saw a solitary jogger in a similar situation.

Then we were heading through some foothills into a valley and along the side of the road was another solitary figure.  He had two large garbage bags full of something lying next to him and he was sitting cross-legged staring out into the valley below.  Finally we were a few miles out of a little town and there was a guy clad in shorts and shoes only, heading for what looked like nowhere.

Now as I recollect these guys all had some things in common.  They all looked fairly old.  They all had gray hair and beards and they all were thin.  So what the hell does that mean?  Maybe it is this:  If you want to get old, turn gray and get thin, head for "the loneliest highway in America," Highway 50.

That night we settled in at an old mining town named Austin, Nevada. Austin had a handful of stores and three tiny motels.  The rooms were cheap at $35 and clean to boot.  We moseyed (That is what you do in an old mining town, right? You mosey!) up the street to the restaurant and bar and had a couple hamburger steaks with fries backed up by a couple damn fine tallnecks and turned in early in preparation for the last leg home the next day.

Just Stop… And Tip Over

While the Coyote and I were on our glorious run along The Loneliest Highway I had an attack.  It was rapture of the outdoors (a total surprise to anyone who knows me).  As a result, I began keeping an eye out for photo opportunities.  Somewhere on the remote route we passed a very scenic outcropping of rock.  I noticed it had an area right in front where the bikes would look great for a photo.   I happened to be in the lead at the time so I slowed down and gave Al a couple of hundred million signals to indicate we were turning back.  As we approached I left the highway to take a short gravel road to the site.

About the time I got the bike on the gravel I noticed a small almost dry creek was crossing the road.  It also had what looked like a pretty large muddy area I would have to cross.  I only had a split second to assess the situation and came up with zip… nada.  I mean, I could not tell how deep the mud was and I was not going to put almost a thousand pounds of bike, gear and person on it to find out.  So I grabbed a handful of brake, put my foot down to steady the bike, got no purchase in the gravel and gently laid the bike down.  What I mean is…I fell over.

If you remember the television show, Laugh In, you may recall Arte Johnson used to do that all the time.  Picture a full grown man riding around on a little tricycle, coming abruptly to a halt and falling over.  That is what Arte did regularly and that is just what I did.  Thanks for the idea Arte!  So, Al came up, laughed at me for a while and then began trying to help me get the bike out of there.

We couldn’t get the puppy up so we finally decided to unload my packs and try.  That worked and we were soon underway none the worse for the wear.  So much for the badass biker concept right?!

Falling over... it has happened to me several times while practically motionless. If it has to happen this is the best time as the worst development is typically a slightly bruised ego.  Conversely, if it happens while you are moving, there are an infinite number of very bad things that can happen.

“So what...” you say, “I have ridden for ten months or ten years or longer and it has never happened to me.”  Don’t worry it will.  As the old Brook Benton standard goes; "It’s Just a Matter of Time."
*****

Monday, May 7, 2012

Fake Hip On a Harley

From January 11, 2011

Today, in recognition of our one month anniversary
The fake hip and I went for a ride on the Harley

Only a few miles but I can assure you
Previously I would have shortly felt
Like I had a toothache in my ass

None of that today.  Nope.

So hide all your valuables
And protect your loved ones
The pillaging is about to resume!

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Pins

Rode dirt bikes in the 70's
Nothing in the 80's 
(Too busy with kids and work AKA "Life")
Then in the late 90's finally...
In the great scheme of things
Was able to buy my first Harley
Wife's fatal words that day were,
"Why don't you go ahead and look?"*
That was my ticket outta' Palookaville

*The one sentence in our 40+ years together that she likely regrets. Well...maybe after "I do."

I immediately caught a serious case of fanaticism
"The Vest"
Notice autographs of Willie G
and his son Bill Davidson
For Sale: $1,000,000 or your first born
(I am looking for a grand kid)
Scouring catalogues and other bikes
For cool things I could do to personalize mine
Also for clothes, knick-knacks, you name it
Anything related to Harley-Davidson
Much to my wife's dismay
After all, how do you correct a kid
Who has hit his mid-fifties?!

I was traveling a lot in my work
That took me to a lot of cities
Throughout the US
I began looking up all dealers there
To visit...and to exercise my fanaticism
A habit likely related to my 
1/4 Chippewa origins
Counting coup as it were...
Except, rather than hitting my enemy with a stick,
Or a hatchet as my ancestors later preferred
I would purchase a dealer pin for my collection
Okay, that was a bad comparison
But I still like to think of it that way

At first I attached the ones I really liked to my leather riding vest
Along with pins customarily given to commemorate bike runs
I also pinned others to a cork board I purchased for my office
Then I ran out of room on my vest
In fact, it got so heavy I retired it from wear
Eventually I also had to buy a bigger cork board

After the first couple of years
I finally got a little more selective
Having noticed, in a very brief moment of lucid thinking
Some dealers stocked pretty pathetic representations of their logos

Perhaps I had the makings of a rational man after all.......
Nah.
"The Corkboard"
I have been fortunate to visit every one of these, and more
Click on it to blow it up for astonishing detail... 
well, maybe not.

Now, I have more than a couple hundred pins
Give or take
They represent places I have visited from all over the U.S.
Texas to Florida, California to Ohio
Washington to the Carolinas (Didn't find one in NY City)
Even Florence, Italy and Cancun, Mexico
A lot of them are from biker Mecca, 
The Sturgis Bike Rally
And other biker events like 
The Laughlin River Run
And Reno's Street Vibrations

Pins... just one more way for a Harley rider to punch the old
Figurative fanatic's card
Like the t-shirt says 
(yeah I have a mess of those too)
"I Was There", counting coup in homage to my heritage of course...

Still, I am missing many...no, not marbles as you may be thinking...pins.
I am missing many pins  
There is work to be done.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Veni. Vidi. Velveeta... (They don't make'em...)

Reno's famous Virginia Street during Street Vibrations
...like they used to.

A recurring September event - dateline Reno circa 10 years ago or so

Veni (I came)
The Coyote, his bride and I
Were to meet early for our annual trek
To Reno, Nevada for the biker event "Street Vibrations"

Both had to work late
The previous night
So they begged off our departure time
I had to get there earlier as I also had
A World Poker Tour tournament
I wanted to enter
I left ahead of them
Had the Harley packed light 
Just for a couple of nights

I should have been forewarned things might be cockeyed that day
But I pressed on
There were warm temperatures on both sides of the Sierras
So I dressed light
T-shirt, shirt and light jacket
Figured I would endure the cold over Donner pass

The trip was smooth and uneventful
Set the cruise control on 80 and let'er rip...
I hit Reno in a couple hours with a little time to spare
So I headed for Chester's Harley Davidson
To present my HOG (Harley Owner's Group) fanatic card
And pick up my 'proof of life,'
A commemorative event pin for members only

Got that done then went to the wrong casino
To enter the tournament
They were both off the main strip
And I'm easily confused
But then repacked the bike
And found my way to the right casino in time

Vidi (I saw)
There I quickly paid up
And had a few moments to grab a bite
Went to the table a couple of minutes early
Sat in my assigned seat
And noticed a player there who looked familiar
I asked, "Is it possible I have seen you on the rectangular screen?"
He said "Yes."
This is TJ
He doesn't look mean at all in real life.
(It took a Poker Hall of Fame pro to knock me out of that
tournament... I'd like to spin it that way.)
I said, "Please forgive me for forgetting but you are...?"
He said, "TJ" and the dealer said his last name but I couldn't make it out
So I said something dumb like; "Well, it's awesome to be sitting at the same table with you."
He turned out to be TJ Clotier
My first genuine poker pro and I was gambling with him
Me and eight others that is

(I'm thinking; 'Wow, these are all pros here? I am in wayyyy over my head.)

Velveeta (OK, so I didn't conquer)
I broke (yes, a play on words) into tournament poker here in Sacramento a few months ago
And have played with some pretty tough hombres
So I was surprisingly comfortable with the table
Got about an hour and a half into the puppy
Was a couple thousand ahead

Then after small initial bets ("blinds"), TJ and I were head to head
After the flop I had a flush draw.
TJ was first to act and pushed all in with over 12 thousand in chips
There was a king in the flop
I correctly assumed he had another as one of his hole, or "pocket" cards
But was still surprised at the size of the bet

I knew I had a 15-20% chance, twice to hit the flush
It would be on the turn (sixth card) or the river (seventh and final) card
I had recently seen one of the top players in the world, Phil Hellmuth
Miss a flush in similar circumstances... three consecutive times in a televised tournament
So I had a little more vivid picture of my chances in spite of the odds

Yet, I had a chance to knock out a Hall of Fame poker player
I took the chance and called
It wasn't to be
My flush missed and I was out of the tournament

I again thanked TJ for the privilege of playing against him 
Wished the rest of the table luck
(Two had been knocked out before me)
And headed on my way with another precious memory
To tuck into the cranial treasure chest

In all, TJ is a really friendly person who plays fairly tight poker
(But I am truly unworthy of judging)
And entertains the entire table with short stories of his past adventures
(That part I CAN judge...)

As for the rest of the trip...
I had a $49 dollar room that night at Reno's Silver Legacy
Right on the strip and in the middle of the biker/vendor action
They close down Virginia Street
For bikes, spectators and vendors only
It was impressive how low key things were...
Not as many bikers and not as many vendors as years past

The recession has made it less than half of what it once was
But the Coyote, his bride and I still got a chance to mosey
Down the middle of the street,
Enjoying the night lights, a damn good Santana tribute band
A couple of beers and a couple of stogies
So it was...beat out of a tourney, a low density crowd and few vendors but great friends, music, and atmosphere

Cheap and cheesy.. just the way I like it... Velveeta
...and a little spam can't hurt either! 

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Pimp Walk

A few years ago I was learning to accommodate
My pimped out 100th Anniversary Road King.
Changed her for a new Street Glide in '08.
I miss her and all her bling!
Click on the photo to enlarge
An arthritic hip and associated back problems
That made me adjust my gait
When I had a memorable chance encounter.

I was at the grocer's
Had parked and was walk/shuffling/limping into the store
When an employee, a black man
Returning carts to its entrance noticed me and inquired, "Hey man... Is that your pimp walk or did you hurt your leg?"

I laughed and all I could think of to respond was; "Both!"

Fast forward to yesterday
Hip just replaced, I now have a fairly normal looking walk.

Daughter Samantha and I were in a theater parking lot
And I said, "Hey Sam!  Remember that story about the pimp walk?
Now that my hip is fixed I can really do it watch!

I then did my best impression and she quickly said,
"Dad, I don't think you own it."
I said, "What?" (A word my pitiful ears have made me internationally famous for.)
"Own," she said, "I don't think you own it."

Another fine laugh and memory.
I love how these things keep accumulating
Adding to a treasure chest of warm hearted moments.

So you are asking yourself what this has to do with a blog about riding Harley's right? Well, before the hip and pimp walk fix... I would hardly ride a mile without feeling like I had a toothache in my rear end. Now...toothache gone!

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Pit E. Full

The World's Greatest Rehab Pro and Yours Truly.
I sit here... on a rainy Sunday.
Bathed in the soft glow of of the fickle lights 
On the Christmas Tree From Hell.
I notice the four family socks
Hung gracefully on the fireplace mantel.
I am surrounded by little things
Aimed to comfort me as I heal.
Water, coffee, cell phone, laptop
TV remote, extra  blanket, dog Molly.
I am fresh off major surgery
A week tomorrow.
The results exceed my expectations.
I plan to ride across the United States in May.
To participate in the Rolling Thunder Rally for Veterans (POW/MIA) in Washington DC.
This surgery is aimed to get me there.
The trip was on my "bucket list" before the term was invented.
Julieann is spoiling me, yes more so than usual.
She is trying her best to anticipate my every need.
She is succeeding.
I am riding high on pain meds and good old TLC.
I should be ashamed of myself.
I'm not.

*For earlier posts that anticipated this situation please refer to "Cairo Practica, Cairo Practica II and III and Rack'em!"

For an update on the surgery 'its own self' see:

"Minimally Invasive" - The Sordid Details

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

A "Badass"' Book Review



Suddenly, it seems I have an abiding moral obligation to quote this entire critique by pal and fellow blogger, Annie King.  Over the past few years, I have had the pleasure to get acquainted with Annie through her terrific stories, poems and observations on life. Annie's amazingly accurate critical review follows:


"TC's Hog" latest version
“It’s Never Too Late to Have a Happy Childhood.” The significance of that line sinks in after multiple re-reads of it within the text of Tom Campbell’s entertaining biker book:Badass: The Harley-Davidson Experience. Tom Campbell is a family man, a Harley owner and rider, a medical consultant, and a reluctant poet. You can read his prose and poetry on his blog, Travel On - Cycles of the Lifestyle Kind. CABG is a recent favorite of mine, along with an entry about his trip to New Orleans.

Badass: The Harley-Davidson Experience is part advice book and part travelogue, chronicling Tom’s ride from his home in Sacramento, California to Sturgis, South Dakota for the annual biker rally. In the second half of the book, Tom expands his narrative style with longer entries and descriptive passages. One of my favorite sections is an entry that has nothing to do with motorcycle riding at all, but everything to do with life: If You Think Motorcycles Are Dangerous, ‘Tri’ a Triathlon! The writing is vivid, and you feel every scrape and bump and exhilarating moment along the way.

Finally, in the Epilogue, Tom admits he is more milquetoast than badass (as if the reader hasn’t figured it out!), and his confession is all the more endearing as he thanks his wife, in an earlier section, for her support. I believe he is more explorer, nature lover, and student of life than milquetoast, but we will leave that assessment up to Tom!

For anyone who has ever ridden or driven a motorcycle, and anyone who wants to take that special ride with Tom, you can follow his journey to happiness by reading Badass. As the tale of one man’s journey, and the portrait of a good guy, the book is a joy to own. (But if your name is Billy, and you rode with Tom to Sturgis, or if you like both orange juice and milk with your morning coffee, don’t read this book!)


Thank you Annie King!  You are a nice person!...and really astute!

Monday, March 8, 2010

Flappin' Cheeks



“Al had decided he was going to become one with the road so he left his detachable windshield at the hotel.  I glanced over at him while we had the baggers mellowed at 3,000 rpm  (about 80mph) and his cheeks were plastered back around his ears.  He looked like he was pulling around 8 G’s, but it was just the wind making his face into silly putty.  I wanted to slow down so he wouldn’t look like he was suffering too much but I managed to overcome the thought and he kept flappin’."
(photo rt: TC, Willie G. Davidson hisownself and Alonzo "El Coyote" Munguia - rear with hat is Bill Davidson, Willie's son and newly appointed CEO of HD as of April 2010 - I have Sharpie authographs of both on the vest I am wearing in the picture)
Signed Hand Leather Bound copies available at: www.badassbook.com 

Sunday, August 9, 2009

The Road Home - Nailing It!

Saturday, August 1st: My day for a planned ride to Deadwood to see Butch at the hospital. Judy was already there and gave me directions on the best route. Earlier, Mel took off on a Badlands run with his pretty pal, Pat on back. They would make it to the hospital for a visit later that afternoon.

First, I would head for the Rapid City Convention Center, where the Harley-Davidson company would have their 2010 models displayed for the first time. I would also present my Harley Owner's Group membership card and pick up a free pin commemorating my attendance at the event. I drooled on a bunch of brand new bikes then picked up bike and accessory catalogs for Butch, Mel and I. Again, it was early in the morning and there were hundreds of visiting bikes parked there. During Bike Week, you will find the same large numbers everywhere including Sturgis, Deadwood, Rapid City, Hill City, Keystone and Custer.

Next, heading to visit Butch I took the most direct route... around 40 miles going past Sturgis with the last 10 miles running through the mountains. The contrast of deep greens there and blue sky along with the reddish cliffs was striking. The scattered white and grey clouds gave us the shadows needed to bath every scene in pleasant contrast. The three dimensional panoramas kept unfolding and revealing a new perspective every second. That ride prompted me to later tell my wife Julieann, "Let's make one thing clear, I love the Black Hills." She was lucky enough to have been born and raised there... she remembers the winters so she limits her love of the place to the summers. That would probably be my take on things too.
(photo r: Deadwood during the Rally)

I hung around the hospital long enough to annoy Butch and Judy, then headed into Sturgis to get my figurative radical fanatic rubbernecker card punched. I stopped at JP Cycles at the edge of the Lazelle street... then I walked a mile or so down the street, occasionally criss-crossing to get a closer view of some of the vendors. Along the way, I stopped in the Jack Daniels tent display and had a "Jack and Diet" in honor of my trouper son's favorite stage drink then headed for the other end of the row and the Broken Spoke saloon, "World's Largest Biker Bar."

After that I crossed over to Main street where most Sturgis photos are taken... there you will see bikes parked four wide for many blocks. To get set up that way, they are backed in to each curb and sit nose-to-nose in the middle. I took in the scene, walking past the huge bars and vendor displays there. It's probably worth noting that, during Sturgis bike week, there are enough t-shirts for sale there to clothe every man, woman and child in China... and perhaps a couple of neighboring countries. They have been staging this event for 69 years so you can imagine the sort of stories Lazelle and Main could tell.
(photo r - Main Street Sturgis - four wide)

Finally, I returned to Butch and Judy's home and spent a chunk of the evening on their porch with some Budweiser Lights and a stogie. In recognition of my senior status, I would be in the sack by 10 while hundreds of thousands partied in various Black Hills camp sites and homes. I know they all missed me too.

Sunday, August 2nd: My last day there. I began the day by calling Julie and mentioning that I was thinking of staying another day. She got a little testy at the suggestion and it had me picturing what my ass would look like in a sling so a few minutes later, I called her back again and told her I was starting the trip home the next day as planned. She didn't try to make sense out of the whole thing as she learned many years ago about my skills with making 'non-sense.

On the way to visit Butch at Deadwood again, I stopped at Black Hills Harley-Davidson... again. This was just to be sure there was nothing vital I had missed. Sure enough, I found a terrific seat at the Mustang vendor and was quickly convinced that it would do better on long hauls than the Corbin seat I had made at Hollister, CA last year. One of my purposes in doing this was to perhaps avoid the dreaded "crotch creep" phenomena. This happens to rider's who do not have a proper motorcycle seat and gives the sensation that their jeans are trying to wrap themselves around the rider's neck. While they were installing it, I went into the HD store and bought Butch a t-shirt.

Then, I made the biggest mistake of my trip... I bought the Coyote a t-shirt too. You see, I just couldn't stand the thought of him whimpering and scuffing the floor with his shoes when he realized I hadn't bought him anything. I know, I know... in the first installment of this journey I promised I would make him suffer for not joining me but I guess I am just an old softy.

Later, at the hospital, Butch was doing great. He even refused the nurse's offer to let him don pajama bottoms. I think he was enjoying the idea of mooning all of us periodically. A little while later, the nurse threatened to "kick (Mel's) ass" when he made a wise crack. I think we all lit up the entire ICU with laughter over that one. They sure make them tough in Deadwood...

Back at the house that evening, I cleaned the Hog and packed up then hit the sack early again... cleverly missing hundreds of raucous parties that would have been soooo much better if I had been there...

Monday, August 3rd: I was up at the crack and headed out early for Rock Springs, Wyoming.. around 500 miles down the road. the first 50 miles or so I was riding adjacent to and in the Black Hills so I got to say a long "see you later" to that wonderful land. About half the trip was across Wyoming flat lands... pretty God-forsaken at times and typically with a lot of
headwinds. Rock Springs is adjacent to the Flaming Gorge area though, another magnificent place on Earth you should see at least once in your life time.
(photo r - The Black Queen loaded and ready to leave the Rock Springs Holiday Inn.)

Tuesday, August 4th: Up at the crack again. Destination Elko, Nevada, a little over 400 miles. The day started on a spectacular note with a few panoramas offered up by Flaming Gorge. 400 miles of Interstate. Speed limit, 75. I set the cruise control at eight over. My 100 horse Street Glide just chewed up the highway like it was born to it. Not much wind from any direction so it was a smooth ride and I settled at the Holiday Inn Express pretty early.

I left the hotel in mid-afternoon searching for three things, a Texas hold-em game, a Mexican restaurant and a car wash so I could do a little bug removal work on the bike. First, I went to the Red Lion but found their poker room totally empty. Then, after riding around a while I found the last two in basically the same strip mall area. I washed the bike first then sat down to a fine meal of Carne Asada and one of the largest Cadillac margaritas I have seen. On that evening , hitting two out of three objectives was pretty terrific.

Wednesday, August 5th: The home stretch! Weather... perfect almost all the way. Temperatures in the 50's and 60's had me dressed in comfortable layers for over half the trip. Dressed down to a long sleeved shirt the last half when I found the heat of the Sacramento valley while riding down off Donner Pass .

East of Reno-Sparks, I had noticed a series of signs placed "Burma Shave" style, set in a series so you could take in one thought at a time. They said,
"A Lot Of Pretty Ladies.
To Sit On Your Lap.
Wild Horse Saloon.
Exit 28. Truck access."
I will leave you to figure that one....

Next I decided to name my Harley. I guess out of respect for all we had been through together in the previous couple of weeks. At first I thought of "Black Mariah" but then as I thought through use of the name I had some reservations. For instance, what if I was sitting in mixed company and volunteered that I had to go home to "clean up BM"? That wouldn't work too well right?! So I am tentatively settled on "Black Queen", after the Steven Stills song. I can call her "Queen" for short. I guess that would work eh? Let me know if you have any other suggestions.

The last stretch was one of the most difficult of the 3,000+ mile trip. I had been dreading the run from Reno to Sacramento as Interstate 80 was in such terrible shape. To my surprise, much of it is now being repaved and new lanes are being added in some spots. It was slow and tough negotiating the traffic at times but it will be a good ride when it is done.

End of story. Good to be home. As with most bike tours, I am already anticipating the next one. I would love to do the Rolling Thunder run across the United States for the Memorial Day ride in the Capital honoring our POW/MIA. Who knows?!

AFTERWORD - Tuesday, August 11th: Called Butch last night. He is doing great and, in fact, returned to work yesterday. We discussed the later part of Sturgis bike week too as Sunday was the last day. One rider was killed during the event (I am thinking that would have to be a record). The rider was on an Interstate ramp and had a straight-line accident - got on the shoulder somehow, lost control and that was it.

Sturgis also got some two and a half inches of rain over the weekend so all the sorry bikers probably had to hang out in bars to wait it out - thankfully bikers always have a back up plan though. With all the rain, it is still okay as veterans can tell you when it comes to weather, "we will have some" right?! I know, you remember that.

Also, the Black Hills can get hail that time of year and, at the same time it was raining in Sturgis, they got tennis ball sized hail at the famous Buffalo Chip campground (the place where Steven Tyler of Aerosmith expertly falls off stages). It was knocking out vehicle windshields and damaging gas tanks on motorcycles it was that bad. I got lucky when I left early eh?!

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The Road Home - Looking Back

This trip...this Sturgis trip has been one of extremes. Here is an introduction, a little background on Sturgis and an accompanying chronology of sorts:

There were several reasons while I hightailed it to Sturgis this year; Sturgis bike week itself, friends and family who would be there, and son Tyler's bands were booked for two pre-rally shows in Rapid City.
(photo r w/captions... click on it and you should see a larger version)

Sturgis!
Look for estimates in the 500,000 range for the years overall attendance at the 69th Sturgis Rally. From mid-July to mid-August, no matter where you are in the United States you will see (mainly) Harley riders with large packs on the highways. You will also see trailers and RV's marked with Harley-Davidson and related logos. Ninety percent of them will be going to or coming from Sturgis. You could make book on that and likely get rich.

Also consider that a handful of of riders will be killed and at least one of them will be involved in a collision with a deer. I know that sounds terrible but understand that a city of several hundred thousand has suddenly sprung up in the Hills and it's population is riding millions of miles to get there, ride there and return home. With that in mind, the accident and relative fatality rate may even be low in comparison to similar sized cities. What makes this temporary city more special though is that it's people are on vacation, happy, and dedicated to living life large.

I have written a lot about this event so here I will focus on some small tales from one rider...one of the old Badasses. Earlier posts on this site, going back to "Rack'em!" on July 18th will explain how we got this far. Now, picking up where we left off...

Thursday, July 30th: My brother-in-law, and 'brother' Butch Thomas had to work that day so I set about cleaning the road scum off the bike. It was accumulated from a couple of showers during the Spokane to Rapid City run. When it rains, a grey mix of oil and water comes up off the highway and covers every surface of the motorcycle. Typically a spray wash doesn't cut the scum either. You have to hand wash every nook and cranny. No problem though as cleaning the bike is occupational therapy for Harley owners world-wide. Nothing different for me.

Next, I stopped by arguably the world's largest dealership, Black Hills Harley-Davidson. It was 3 days before the official opening yet there were hundreds of bikes parked in the vast lot there as riders took in the dealership along with dozens of vendors who had paid big bucks to set up shop in tents in several acres of parking lot. Yes, while there I bought a great rally shirt as a keepsake (No shirt for El Coyote though...nope. None.)

Later that day however, the bigger deal for me was riding with friend and brother-in-law Butch Thomas to Robbinsdale Lounge to check out the venue my son Tyler's bands would be playing the next night as part of the Sturgis pre-rally events. We were impressed with the stage size and set up of the place. It looked like a good club. They played two shows there over the next two days and I have described the experience on another blog post: Rock the House.

That evening Butch and I sat on his back porch with a couple of beers and stogies for company. We swapped lies and bashed fellow riders Mel Nelson (who would arrive from Henderson, NV later that night) and El Coyote (who would be notable in his absence).

Friday, July 31: Mel had arrived with his silver Street Glide so now there were three of us. That number elevated our group from a "tandem" to an official "pack" - always a nice word to have available when claiming "Badass" status. Mel's friend and flame, Pat had arrived as well. She would be riding on the back of Mel's bike that day.

We swilled a ton of coffee then headed for Black Hills Harley-Davidson where I had a Sturgis commemorative patch sewn on my riding jacket. I don't typically do that but was somehow motivated by the fact that the trip was extraordinary in it's length and that I was able to make it at all. We also looked at some new Street Glides Butch was considering after his wife Judy suggested he do so. That is a pretty remarkable thing...to have your wife suggest you look at a new Harley. From my perspective, the act has to go down with other great events in history...like the invention of beer and chrome and the opening of the first bar!

The wind was blowing pretty strong at that time so we decided to head for Sturgis through the Black Hills on Nemo Road instead of the more direct route on the Interstate. We took off through the mountains and sure enough there was less wind but we did notice some solid overcast in front of us toward Sturgis. We stopped and visited Butch's in-laws on the way. Wally and Ruth Ann Jensen have built a huge log home and separate bunk house right on a stream in that beautiful area. Ruth Ann is an industrious soul and they have been been running their "Copper Canyon Lodge," renting their basement (for six) and Bunkhouse (as many as 10) to Sturgis bikers and Black Hills vacationers. 

Next, we stopped for lunch at the Nemo Guest Ranch. The 'grub' was all being cooked and
served outdoors and I opted for the pulled pork sandwich with a side of ranch style beans. Food always seems to taste better when it is cooked and served outdoors. That day was no exception.
(photo r - Nemo Guest Ranch)

Shortly after we left the ranch, a light rain began. At first it wasn't too bad. But then, it gained intensity and after a couple of miles Mel dropped back and gave me signal that we should turn around. I signaled agreement and we got Butch's attention with the same result. When we turned I ended up in the lead, Butch was the middle and Mel and Pat were on the third and last Harley. We were trying to duck the rain so our pace was fairly quick on the straightaways and slow on the turns... being mindful of the potentially slick roads.

My routine in the lead is pretty standard for most bikers no matter what their position...to continuously scan all the important points including front, side-to-side and both rear view mirrors. I was doing the same that day although I lingered a little longer on the front view in deference to the weather conditions. When I scanned my mirrors I would see Butch and Mel's headlights behind me. Then, all of a sudden I looked in my rear view mirrors and saw no one.

I thought... well those guys know the area a lot better than I and maybe I missed a turn off. They could be back there waiting for me or there may be some sort of problem. I stopped and waited a few moments for their lights to show. When that didn't happen I turned around and headed back into the rain to find out what happened. I didn't go far before the rain had completely stopped.

Then, I rounded a turn and saw three bikes and a car parked on the opposite side of the road. I knew there had been an accident and, as I pulled up to park Mel walked up to me. He said, something about seeing "him go down" and as he was saying that I was taking in the scene. I was wondering where Butch was and at first thought he was on the grassy shoulder helping the accident victim. I walked closer and then suddenly recognized the badly damaged motorcycle laying on it's side. It was Butch's.
The feelings I had at that moment were not for an average motorcycle victim, nor were they for someone's average brother-in-law. They were more like they would be for a brother and close friend of over 40 years...someone with the same selfless, thoughtful nature shared with his sister, my wife Julieann Marie.

Not far from the bike, I saw Pat, Mel's friend (and later wife) kneeling beside Butch. She was holding his left hand in hers and had her other hand on his helmet. I walked up and knelt beside them on Butch's right. He was conscious and alert. He had some small cuts on his face and a black eye. When I asked, he said "I felt it slide a little and knew I wasn't going to make it." Others there explained that 911 had been called and that police and ambulance were on their way. Butch would occasionally try to move his head, "How's my bike?" but Pat would gently remind him to be still.

The police showed after a few minutes and the ambulance arrived a short while later. The attendants got Butch strapped to a backboard...in the process cutting off a (lucky?) Yellowstone Harley shirt I had just purchased for him in Belgrade, Montana.

After the ambulance left, Mel took care of letting Butch's wife Judy know and getting the bike (totalled I am pretty sure) hauled out. I took off to Rapid City to see if Judy needed assistance. She was doing well with reports from us and took off for the hospital in Deadwood just after I got back. I stayed to go to a picnic Ty's cousin (Butch and Judy's son Rick) had scheduled and reserve tables for guests at that nights concert. Not long after, we got the first report, broken scapula and six broken ribs. An MRI later showed a bruised lung and slight cut on his spleen.
Butch went home a couple of days later after they confirmed the spleen would be okay - he did remarkably well... especially considering the six broken ribs.

Saturday, August 1st to Wednesday August 5: Further adventures in the next installment of this series. Yes, there will be more photos and yes, they will be more succinct... maybe.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

El Coyote

Alonzo "el Coyote" Munguia; of Spanish descent. His ancestors include Texas ranchers who owned thousands of acres of cattle ranches before the gringos moved in and invented Shiner beer. They were expert horsemen which is why I occasionally refer to him as "The Last Gaucho." (photo: Two Badass bikers on the Snake River - L-R - El Coyote and Old Geezer) His father was a career Army man. Coyote' was once a pro baseball player, a wiry second baseman. He is also a retired Teamster which is why I often claim he knows where Jimmy Hoffa's body is buried. He is a master mechanic and a history buff who vows to be a teacher in the next life. For now, he teaches Sunday school. He is also married to one of the best nurses who ever lived, Norma Munguia

Alonso and I met about ten years ago at a cafe and meeting place for Sacramento HOG members who were gathering for an organized ride. We became fast friends when we realized we were both extremely high on the Harley-Davidson fanatic barometer. We have ridden thousands of miles since and he is one of the main protagonists in my book, "Badass (The Harley Davidson Experience)". 

Pause for a plug here: You can read all about it at www.badassbook.com. I can honestly claim that this is the best selling pebble grain leather bound Harley Davidson book that was ever written. This is mainly because it is likely the only leather bound book of its type. Pause for schmaltz here: I believe if you have one friend of Al's caliber in your lifetime you are a very fortunate person. I am blessed to have enough, including my wife Julieann, to fill more than one hand. Of course I don't deserve it... that's where the luck comes in know what I mean?!

(Why this story? Annie K., a reader of this blog to whom I am most grateful asked about him. And thank you again Annie!)

The Chance Dance

Working my way through the mountains, fields and prairies. On my way from Billings, Montana to Rapid City, South Dakota. It will be just short of a 400 mile day. There is rain everywhere. Huge dark clouds are all over the horizon.
(photo: TC's HOG covered with a lot of grey crud)

I am trying to time my trip on the Interstate to avoid getting drenched. The highway curves gently to accommodate a 75 mile an hour speed limit. The highway curves often to accommodate the transition from mountains to valleys and back. I catch a few sprinkles but not quite enough to warrant full blown rain gear.

Just out of Gillette, Wyoming I spot a large thunder cloud on the horizon directly in front of me. I pull over and quickly set up... adding a fifth layer to torso and a pair of leather leather chaps. It was already a cool day, running around 50 degrees all the way so I had on lots of gear. Two t-shirts, a poly fleece with the mandatory Harley embroidery on it, my trusty Harley leather jacket adorned with amulets of all sorts and then adding a "Jen-U-Whine" Harley Davidson rain jacket. I also have heavy gloves and under my helmet, a poly fleece face mask.

As I approached the storm the highway often appeared to directly face, then veer away from the storm. With that, I was at times relieved that I might stay dry and then, with the next turn disappointed that I would run smack into it.

It was a Chance Dance with the weather.

I was reminded of a comment I once heard from a fellow member of the Sacramento Harley Owner's Group. Randy Owen was briefing us all on an upcoming 1,500 mile "Iron Butt" ride. These rides stop only for gas and essentials. Randy said, "People often ask me about the weather and I say; Yes, we will have some." It was another way of saying you want to try and prepare for anything.

I sort of lost the Dance as I hit the fringe of the storm. Caught not too much water but did catch a lot of oily residue from vehicles in front of me. It is a light gray mixture of oil and water that gets on and in everything and is a bitch to remove. Nonetheless I hit Sturgis during a sunny break in the weather and immediately headed for Sturgis Harley Davidson to get my commemorative t-shirt fix. I was one of thousands who will do the same during the next week and a half.

Shortly thereafter, I was in Rapid City sipping a Corona Light with fellow biker, long time pal and brother-in-law Butch Thomas. Butch is among the world's luckiest riders who happens to live in the middle of biker mecca.

The Chance Dance. All bikers do it. Few prevail against the weather. Yesterday, I was fortunate enough to spend 95% of my time dry.

Thanks to the Big Harley Rider In The Sky.


Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Panther Piss - Today's Observations

Panther Piss

Yup, that's what it is.
Cheap gasoline that is.
When we were kids we often had to locate the cheapest gas station around and buy their gas.
We called it "panther piss".
"87" Octane...that's all you get folks!
A fine alliteration to be sure.

It wasn't the octane that warranted this classification in our minds.
It was more so the look of the dealership that made us question the quality of what came out of the pump.

Today, I ran low on gas again.
I was on a fairly remote stretch of Interstate 90.
So I had to stop and take what was available.
87 octane only... panther piss
I was thinking "My Hog is not going to forgive me for this".

I just put in a couple of gallons, honest!
Just enough to get me to Butte,
Where I loaded her up with the good stuff (91 octane).

She rewarded me by handling like a dream all day.
I rewarded her back by stopping in Butte and getting her an oil change,
"Synthetic only please".

Ohhhhh Montana!

Western Montana serves as proof that God rides a Harley.
After all, he must have created this state so he could ride through it now and then.
The mountains, the enormous sky... it's all there before, on, and after the Continental Divide.
Better than you will see it anywhere.
Cruising on the Interstate
(Only "the Shadow knows" who's got a grip)

Through Missoula, Bozeman, Butte and Billings.

The Interstate was smooth and fast,
Posted speed limit... 75.
I cruised it at around 7 over... all day.

Whitehall

At the cafe Elena,
I had trouble with the zipper on my vest.
The waitress came whipping around the counter
and fixed it for me, muttering that it always "happens to my husband".

They had huckleberry jam for the toast.
"Can I stay here forever?"
67 degrees at 11 AM.
I was thinking I was in heaven.

On Second Thought

When old pal Jack Ohl took me bass fishing Sunday evening,
He out-fished me 4 to 2.
Two of the bass he caught were right around 15 inches long
And weighed a pound and a half.

Now I ask you...
Is that any way to treat an old friend?
An old friend you haven't seen in 10-15 years?!
I think not.

More importantly, this serves as testimony to the versatility of the typical Harley rider.
That he can graciously handle this type of abuse.

Yellowstone Harley Davidson

Located in the Bozeman, Montana area.
These folks are truly a class act.
They had a drive-through tent set up.
It was there to protect visiting bikers and their rides from the weather.

When I asked the service manager if I could get an oil change
He volunteered that he would do it himself and fit it in between counter customers.
Around a half hour later, I was outta there... a happy camper
Thanks Yellowstone HD!

Around 400 miles today.
Tomorrow, another 400 miles or so...
Then Sturgis briefly and on to home base in Rapid City!

(Note for el Coyote - I visited three Harley dealerships today, Montana HD, Yellowstone HD and Beartooth HD. I bought you zero shirts. None. Nada. el Zippo. I am hoping to visit a number of other dealerships where I can also purchase no shirts for you.)