Deja' vue

 Shortly after I bought my first new Harley Davidson, I was out taking a ride on a sunny summer afternoon.  I was enjoying the day and the ride. As I got close to the county line, I noticed something move in the shade out of the corner of my eye . At first it resembled a dog coming up from out of the ravine. But then  it squatted down hiding itself in the tall weeds just off the shoulder of the highway.

It was just a blur,  when it suddenly  jumped up and out into the middle of the other lane. I could see  spots on it and knew it wasn't a dog at all but  rather a young deer.

The sound of my motorcycle may have startled it originally. There was absolutely no time to react, even to let off on the throttle.  A split second later it jumped again into the middle of my lane and directly into my path.  All I could do was brace for the collision.   I stiff-armed it just before the impact.

The bike jerked  hard and I could hear the cry of the deer as if it were a calf calling out for its mother. The blow suspended the motorcycles momentum nearly stopping the motorcycle in its tracks when the front wheel hit.

The rear wheel  raised completely off the ground, increasing its speed while it was suspended. It was no longer aligned with the front  when it finally hit the pavement. The results caused the motorcycle to bounce wildly. Its failure to follow the front wheels travel caused the motorcycle to wobble and jerk viciously and uncontrollably.

As I Squeezed the clutch and tried using both front and rear brakes, struggling with it before getting it under control.  Gradually the motorcycle slowed down before finally coming to a full stop.

It was all I could do to keep it in my lane and on the highway. I was lucky to be alive. Fortunate to have kept the Harley upright without laying it down.

Upon inspection I realized why it had taken  so long for it to slow down and to get it stopped.  The rear brake reservoir had been broken off completely. Rendering the rear brakes totally inoperable.

After I  stopped, I turned the Harley  around to look, but the deer was long gone. The motorcycle had some significant damage. Other than being shook up, I was all right.

Being out at the county line, there weren't any houses nearby to be able to use a phone to call for help.  There wasn't any reason to wait, so once I had calmed down, I decided I would continue on my ride and opted to ride the remaining eight miles home.

Once there,  I called my insurance company and was asked if there had been a police report. Later,  an officer came to my house to take the report and see the bike damage. It was fixed at the dealership shortly thereafter.

I added a new set of Deer Whistles and mounted one on each side of the Oil cooler cover. I have lived in a very rural wooded and hilly area nearly my entire life.

 The smoothly paved roads, with gradual inclines, sloping hills filled with all kinds of twists and turns make for some great riding. The road surfaces and paved two lanes are excellent in this part of Jefferson County, compared to other parts of the state and country. They are kept up and marked well here in Missouri. So it was easy to put on the miles since hitting that deer in more than a decade of riding since.

 It's maybe another in a long list of reasons I am as fortunate as I am because to have ridden for as many miles on two wheels as I have, I couldn't have asked for better conditions. 

 Unlike the majority of riders, I gave up drinking many years ago. Simply put, beer and bikes don’t mix. Because of my non-drinking, I believe that also has contributed to why I have spent as much time in the saddle riding as I have.

 Then there are times when I suppose everyone gets a little restless. Everyone has their reasons for riding, especially if it’s a warm summer night when the moon   and stars are shining brightly. That or maybe it was a wild hair that caused me to take a ride on another night. 

There are countless horror stories I have heard over the years of riders who have met their fate meeting up with a deer in their headlights. Many more have suffered with severe injurys to themselves and their passengers. A few were not so lucky. These tragedies make me that much more humbled by this event. There is nothing like the wind in your face to help blow the cobwebs from your mind and since I hadn't been able to sleep, I knew a ride would do me a lot of good.

On this particular night ride,  I was just going to head down to the local service station to get something to drink. I hadn't given any thought to the missing Deer whistles as I began throttling through the gears bringing up the speed  as I approached the straightaway, well over 70 mph. The thrill of that ride couldn't have been more intense. I had just backed off the throttle, rolling off it as I crossed the Dutch Creek bridge. Within a few seconds,  I was climbing up the next hill before seeing a flash of light, from an oncoming vehicle. Suddenly in the corner of my eye a deer appeared. It was all I could do to stiffen my arms and brace for what was to happen next.

Everything went into a slow motion from there.

 The deer had crossed the other lane and was virtually broadside directly in my path. There was no time to react. A second later the lights of the oncoming vehicle blinded me. In that instant it was as if I were transported to what could have been. Had I gone down, the bike would have leaned into the oncoming lane and not only would there have been scrapping me up off the highway, but they would have been picking parts of me up from under that oncoming vehicle.

 There is nothing more humbling than knowing you have escaped almost certain death and or a disaster and then realize you missed another opportunity to meet your maker. There is no doubt in my mind and I know that I am not only blessed but I live a charmed life as an individual as well.

In both instances, at the time, I did NOT have deer whistles on my Harley. And in between those times, I have put a couple hundred thousand miles on my 'O1  and saw with my own eyes what the hundreds of deer do when the DEER WHISTLES are on.

 Say what you want, but until you have ridden as many miles and experienced it first hand, you have no clue. Granted,  loud pipes can be heard,  but a startled deer is a bikers worst enemy.  If you believe Gremlin bells work, this is one thing, but I am telling you,  I KNOW deer whistles are worth the effect. Do what you want, but as for me, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what works and what doesn't.  Experience is one of the best lessons,  but why take a chance on your or someone else's life riding without taking this advice.

For those that are serious about riding, heed these words. For the rest of you,  good luck on your deer encounters.  I wish you all a safe and enjoyable ride. And while I am at it, let's leave deer hunting to those with Rifles instead of MOTORCYCLES,  shall we ?

The Legend of STURGIS BEER

By STIX DOUGLAS

Once Upon a Time…at a place not far from here, many, many years ago there was a lad who had dreams of going traveling to far away lands. Born and raised poor he believed that if there ever was a will, there is always a way.
To reach the goal of his dream he made a decision to give up the habit of smoking,saved up his money and eventually, bought himself an old broken down Iron Steed.


There would be many long days and many more nights while burning the midnight oil working to fixing it. His dreams were slowly becoming realized as he begin to take it for rides around his humble village.  Soon He became more confident and began to increased the distances.

One day while stopped out on one of these rides he overheard others talking of this place that they referred to as the Mecca of Motorcycling. In the other villages he heard more wild stories of things that had happened to those whom had gone there.
At first It seemed as if all knew of or claimed to have gone…..at least once to this mysterious place.

There were so many tales and myths that hardly any of it seemed believable. Each story was more exaggerated then the next. Each was filled with every type of challenge imaginable. Those that had gone unprepared often suffered great consequences. There were so many extremes that many hadn't been ready for.

There were tall tales of mind altering road mirages as well as some who had experienced organized confusion. There was ghastly and dreadful stories of terrible storms unlike any that he had seen or had heard of including the Winds of Change. Where once you had gone through you would never be the same again.

Others told of heat so unrelenting that it caused delusions. Some had barely survived while they were broke down on the plains. They had been trapped, stuck out in the sun in the heat for hours with no shade. They described it as merciless as if they were in the desert.
.

Secretly he knew if he were to ever go to this place that he would have to plan and be prepared to take on this quest. Many that would go to the Mecca often would travel together in caravans. There is always safety in numbers.

To prepare himself he begun to ride the Iron Steed even greater distances. This would be an epic journey. He believed a true biker would have to have knowledge of his “Iron Steed”, his survival would depend on it
He heard of the dreaded Road Gremlins that could attach themselves for the ride to cause mischief and difficulties along the way. But one of the stories that he heard and believed was from the well seasoned travelers. Then he heard of the legend called “The Legend of the Sturgis Beer”

When the time came to leave everybody was gone. It was as if by magic that everyone who had
been there had disappeared or that they had gone on without him. If he was going he would have to go alone.
He mentally prepared himself the best way he knew how. Packed up all the things that he thought he might need for himself and his trusted steed for any of the unforeseen events that might happen along the way. Then set off on what became an adventure that would change his life forever.


There is always some truth to a legend; it’s what lends a little magic to it. The truth be told many years ago, because I was that "lad"

I quit smoking, saved my money and bought a wrecked Liberty edition Electra-glide AMF shovelhead. Within a year after repairing it I rode it alone on my first trip to Sturgis, South Dakota. Little did I know at that time what to expect or how much of an impact it would have on my life.

It wasn't just a simple vacation trip. It was so much more. I observed and participated in an experience that others could only dream of, and even though I cringe at the words ‘In the Old Days’ I am reminded of those earlier times even though I am much older and much wiser now because of it.

But even now I am compelled to tell you of this legend and what I learned from that first initial trip.

It was back then that I first heard of the legend of Sturgis beer. it’s been called many things but the Beer legend went something like this....

Traditionally, and in ‘Those Days’ when anyone and everyone rode his or her motorcycles to Sturgis. The legend was that IF you made it, you were to celebrate. (Remember there was a time when motorcycles weren't as reliable as they are now? Some of us may still remember the Dark Ages when a lot of bikes would be seen broke down along the sides of the highways.)

But if you managed to "get" to Sturgis, on your return trip back you were to load and pack your motorcycle down with all of the beer you could possibly carry.
The point being that if you broke down you won’t die of thirst while you waited for a rescue or repair. Besides it might help keep you from losing your cool. On the other hand if you didn't break down then you’d have a little bit of the Mecca to share, with those near and dear to you.  By passing on the experience of your trip with a coveted Sturgis beer you would give to your friends.

I have continued this tradition every year since, giving away those memento’s that have become collectors cans from each of my Sturgis trips, providing them to other motorcyclist as well as to close friends and family members. To those that ride I ask they continue the tradition. Since then I have seen the cans I have given out shown with pride as they sit on bookshelves, fireplace mantles, even trophy cases. They are lined up with each year’s memory.

To me it feels a little like Christmas passing out those beers, sharing the memories
of that years trip to Sturgis with those that wish to return one day or to those that have never been. It’s a comfort and a sign of appreciation for those that have already been there and perhaps dream of going back. It’s a tradition that is worthy to be kept, there are so few left to even be aware of now. Its a story with meaning which there seems to be less of and that becomes more faded in time. Like those that still ride their motorcycles there and back.
I maybe one of the last bikers who can recall the past a traditionalist that remembers what it was like when it was unheard of, even ridiculous, to trailer a working motorcycle.
Passing out each one of those cans allows others to share in the experience and in a small way, they are thought of, and are included in the quest to the Motorcycle Mecca and back. (Besides, it’s cheaper than T-shirts). The true value represented by one of these collectible beers from Sturgis, only grows more valued over time, just like friends.

Keep in mind how much better it is to share. When you can talk over a beer, or in this case (no pun intended) the talk and the story behind a can of Sturgis beer.


May you all live long enough to go to the Mecca of Motorcycling. But now that you have been entrusted with the LEGEND, I hope you will fulfill the meaning of this legend with others so they can (again no pun intended) be able to fulfill their dreams as well.

I wish you well, and that you enjoy many years of travels because legends aren't just born, they are made…

HELL NIGHT

By STIX DOUGLAS


When the weather turns cold and all the leaves have fallen from the trees, the best part of the riding season draws to a close in the Great State of Missouri. It is about that time I will often reminisce about some of my more recent traveling adventures.
But with having taken so many of these expeditions, my thoughts about them often becomes a pleasant stroll down memory lane that only improves, over time, while many get bitter sweet with age. But, there is always one that is and will remain being the exception. It was during a 24-hour period as I was returning from yet another of my many Sturgis excursions.

To fully grasp that day and get the full impact you would first have to understand and know what led up to it prior.

I had planned for this particular ride to be the ultimate. One in which to expand my comfort zone, stretch my horizons a bit further, and by pressing the envelope to make it not only the longest but I would also be riding through more states of any of my Touring endeavors to date.
Using two weeks of my vacation, instead of the usual one, I thought I would be making it easier on myself by traveling alone. My reasoning in theory were I could travel at my own pace and do more miles without anyone slowing me down. There was a certain optomism that I had thinking this journey would also be one of my most memorable. In a lot of ways, it became that way, but for the wrong reasons.

When I first left out on this particular tour I had first headed to Ontario, Canada for a Provincial HOG Rally, and had enjoyed visiting and riding with Suzie Sydney while we collected points for the ABC's of Touring.

It was two days after leaving from there, that I had ridden over 1,000 miles in a single day and then had the misfortune of laying my Harley down as I arrived into Sturgis.
I managed to repair the bike myself, but was in alot of pain, from an ankle injury caused during the accident.

Against my better judgment, and even after the accident I had refused to vary from my original plan and was even more determined to go through with completing the entire route as scheduled.

It was now, well into the second week of this journey, and I had only slept two nights on a mattress since my departure. My body was well tenderized from the combination of the pains and sleep depravation. I was unaware I was making the perfect formula for a disaster.

I was neither well rested nor was I feeling my best on that particular day, as I left Nevada. I had gotten up to get an early start expecting to beat the heat. But it was of no use. The un-relenting dry desert heat was persistent. The overnight low temperature had only gone down to 90*F. I was totally unaware of the impact the heat was having upon me.








As I pulled into Kingston AZ I seen a rather enormous Cactus near the towns Informational Center. It reminded me that I wanted some digital photos of these magnificent Sawarro cactus. I walked inside and was given directions on where to be able to find them in their nature habitat. I figured it would be well worth the effort. But the detoured route took me several hours and a couple extra hundred miles off course far deeper into the state and on some of the worst single lane, semi paved, and twisted back roads that could NOT have been imagined. It was far worse and more than aggravating to be able to get back onto my homeward heading.

It was late in the afternoon by the time I reached Prescott. Unknowingly I had been traveling a little faster than the required speed limit as I hustled through town. My hands were shaking and I wasn’t sure if it was because of my nerves caused by the uncertainty of the roads getting to there, or if it was just because I had not eaten yet all day, which would make things even more dangerous. I just should have slowed down then.

Unable to find a suitable place to eat I kept going and had turned my attention to the freshly paved black asphalt that had also been freshly painted. I failed to notice a signal light up ahead that had just changed, and unaware of the Traffic already moving into the intersection, when I did, it was nearly too late.
I applied both brakes hard enough to cause the bike to go into a skid, turning it to slide sideways. The bike came to a paused stop as the momentum slowly lifted itself back up into its upright position right along side the car driven by an startled elderly woman, whom had also just come to an abrupt stop. It was a very close call and a collision could have easily have taken place, that would have been my fault.

My nerves were completely shot. All I could do was apologize, as I pushed the bike out of the intersection, and onto the shoulder as I tried to calm down. It was at that point that I realized I had been making way too many mistakes and things had just gotten out of hand. The domino theory of the events of this day were becoming obvious and were clicking in succession.
It was then that I realized I was starving, and pulled into a Blimpies Sandwich Shop in Cottonwood, AZ. While I ate inside I took another look over the maps once again and tried to re-evaluate my situation. Having taken the detoured route for the Cactus photos I was now much further south. Having planned on spending the night at the rest stop near Winslow, AZ. I was still several hours and nearly 200 miles away. But then if I made it to there I knew I would be back on schedule.

I was hoping that the next day I could be “standin’ on a corner in Winslow, Arizona” But as I arrived in Winslow late that evening, there where massive amounts of surface and major road re-construction taking place.

Even the interstate highway overpasses were shut down. Which meant that the rest stop I had expected to spend the night at was unfortunately closed as well. It was being used as the storage depot area.

I felt stunned and shocked being totally unprepared and unsure of what to do next. I immediately pulled into a restaurant at one of the Winslow exits. I sipped a few cups of coffee while I briefly looked over the Road Atlas and studied over the state map once again. Realizing there wouldn’t be another rest stop until the state line.

I was dumfounded when I got back out on the Highway and the first sign I happen to see was for the Petrified Forest National Park. That's when I remembered on an earlier trip, that there was a roadside park on the eastern side of that exit.

I suddenly got this Euphoria that everything was going to be “okay” the closer I got. Maybe I was already delusional. Or that it was just wishful thinking. The marathon of riding hundreds of miles that day coupled with the intensity of the heat had diffenantly taken its toll.

I was more than a little tired and it was well after midnight by the time I pulled into that roadside park. Having already been in the saddle of that motorcycle for more than seventeen hours that day. I rolled the bike in quietly trying not to disturb others and parked close to what looked like a pavilion that had a picnic table under it that was the furthest away from everything else.

I noticed water standing in places as the ground was completely saturated. Which caused me to be even more careful as I carried my gear to the picnic table nearby.
Once the bike was unloaded I treated myself to a late night snack, finishing off the rest of the sandwich I had saved from earlier. Then I got situated to laid down for what I thought would have been some much needed and well-deserved rest.

As I stretched out on the top of that picnic table I was physically and mentally exhausted from the entire days ride. Tossing the blanket over me as I covered myself up and had just closed my eyes. I was moments away from dozing off into a restful bliss. When all of a sudden I felt something touch my nose.
At first I thought to myself “That’s strange, must be my imagination.” Then it happened again, only this time it felt wet. Immediately I thought “Could this be a leak? “

My eyes opened and I blinked as I looked up taking a moment for them to focus as I felt several more drops. “How can this be?” I thought as I realized that I was now looking at the sky through where a roof should have been. “Did someone steal the roof? Or was it under construction too?” Then it dawned on me as I realize this wasn’t a pavilion at all but rather what is called a Pergola that was only designed to shade the picnic table area from the sun.

Just then the skies opened up, and suddenly there was a loud crack of Thunder and within seconds rain was pouring down in buckets. I grabbed all that I could carry and in two trips quickly moved everything across the parking lot to a pavilion that “DID” have a ”shingled roof”

Once I finally got situated I then climbed onto that picnic table and begun stretching out once more as I tossed my fleece blanket over me. Considering the fact that I had now solved the crisis and that I could finally get that much needed and uninterrupted sleep.

Laying back down I closed my eyes and was just getting relaxed when I heard the loudest most awful screech followed by with what sounded like a collision of two cars colliding at a high-speed impact. The sound was so loud and so close that it scared and startled me. I literally jumped up thinking it was right there on top of me.

Before I could turn around I heard an ear splitting sound of a train whistle blowing at full volume from less than 100 feet away. How does it get any better than this? I thought to myself.

For the remainder of the night I was gnashing my teeth with each sound. Nearly every 15 minutes after that was constantly being interrupted with trains, train whistles, Trains passing by or latching on and or shunting one another. When it wasn’t the trains it was the roaring sounds or the cracking of Thunder. I was feeling each fiber of my hair standing up on the back of my neck as the breeze from the storm ripped though. There was nothing I could do. The harder that I tried to shut everything out the more noise there seemed to be. It was “hellish” to say the least.

For hours on end throughout the night the sounds continued to haunt me. Then early in the morning during what is referred to as the predawn the Thunder finally had quit rumbling. The rain had stopped, as the worse of the storm had finally passed. The train’s noises quit and the quiet and solitude of another day were at hand. My bloodshot eyes hurt as I tried in vain to fall asleep. But there would be neither peace nor any rest for me there.

The busy hustle and bustle of the early morning commuters had filled the streets and with them came the splashing sounds made from the puddles of the standing water that now seemed to become amplified. That was it; I couldn’t take it any longer. Miserable would vaguely relate to the intensity of how I felt when I got up.

Reluctantly I loaded everything back up on the bike and then headed back to the Petrified Forest National Park thinking I could at least get my first morning cup of coffee there.

At the entrance of the park I stopped to take a picture and then realized after reading another sign nearby that the parks facilities wouldn’t officially be open for at least another half hour. So rather than wait I got back on the bike figuring my time would be best served on the road heading on my way back home.

Gloomy looking patches of low ceiling clouds gave the morning a rather futuristic and supernatural appearance that was still evident as I exited Arizona.
Raindrops began to fall once again just as I turned off the exit headed into the state Information/Rest stop inside New Mexico. Parking the bike under one of the roofed picnic table areas as I stretched out.

When I finally awoke later, I felt I had fully recovered, the “power nap” had served its purpose and that rest two hours had done me a world of good. I felt much more relaxed and totally refreshed.

But it wasn’t until that moment that all of the things that had led up to this really hit me. I realized that I had just experenced the worst night of my life while on the road touring.

I got to thinking, "Who in their right mind would ever attempt to travel 7,000 miles in two weeks, or to have done it alone or the way I done it?

It was then that part of the puzzle sort of fell into place and I had come to my own life's terms and it became crystal clear to me that I had already spent a lifetime doing things the hard way. It is just something within my own nature that I have not been able to choose to have the control over. For instance when you ride alone you are not as aware of your own mistakes. (There is no one to correct or to argue with you.) I had learned a valueable lessons. But I have already learned plenty.

I am very thankful to have had this exerperence and for it to be behind me. THere are always those things that have a way of happening that are unplanned and out of our control, but the way I see it I am convinced that it could have been a lot worse.

The benifit is knowing and passing that information on. Be careful what you wish for or be willing to suffer the consequences…..

The other thing that stuck out about this tour that I would like to say is..."You just can’t force yourself to have the worst night of your life while Motorcycle Touring; it is as if, when or if the time ever comes ... it find's you. "

Another lesson learnt the hard way. Fatigue is no reason to keep going on. Being in a hurry will only get you killed or injured. And it is better to be late when arriving, then to not make it at all.

I guess if the truth were to be told then the secret to all of this would be to not let any of this bother us, but to accept it, and learn from it before moving on.
I can’t believe the amount of mistakes I had made and yet am still alive to be able to tell about it.

Thus that maybe my reason and or another purpose for my life. That’s why I am STIX DOUGLAS…. and I ride!

Thinking back I believe this was not for my own benefit but rather it was for the benefit of others, that bringing this to you, for you to heed my advice.

Be Safe, or you’ll be sorry….

250,000 & Still Counting

At this rate I will run out of sleeve

When you start a journey, you really never know how far you will go or where you may end up.
No one ever sets out on a goal unless they believe the rewards are worth the effort. Since I decided to buy a broken down and wrecked  Harley, my objective was to ride.  I wanted to go further and ride longer with some real class under my ass.The object was to be able to do the distance on whatever pavement  or unforeseen weather in all it's circumstances

I repaired and updated that first Harley.  Then I upgraded and traded it in for another, then yet another.  Dale Walkster, the owner of Dale's Harley Davidson,  and " Wheels Through Time: Museum " said something that I want to pass on to you.  He said:," Everybody thinks they are an expert."

Do not be fooled by imitators. I've heard enough from "Pretenders" and "Week-end Warriors" to last more than a life time.  I don't drink, so I don't spend my time drunk bragging with a bar-stool under me instead of my bike. I don't always have to agree with Harley Davidson either.  I still believe Willie G should apologize for saying Harley's are Recreational Vehicals.  Instead he should of concentrated on making them more reliable and more economical Transportation Devices.

 I'm also the only person to ever have paid NOT to have owned an Anniversary Harley Davidson motorcycle.  But that's another story.  Motorcycles are made to be ridden. Enough said?

It's taken years to reach this level.  I've traveled and have ridden  in all the lower Forty Eight States and  Five Canadian Provinces.  Doing all this before I retired.

I've gone through a week long training to be a MSF Motorcycle Safety Instructor.  I took an additional week through the  Harley Davidson  Riders Edge Program. I taught for a while, but I'm a bit too much "Biker"  to be a soft spoken motorcycle enthusiast.  I refuse to be "Politically Correct."

STIX @ MO 1st State HOG Rally "93

The point I want to make is this. You never know what you are capable of doing unless you try. In my case I went ahead and joined H.O.G. Nationally.  ( Harley Owners Group ) Then kept up with it, its benefits and programs. One of them being the Mileage Merit Award Program. But you can't be awarded if you don't register first.. Not everyone does.

Who knows how far you will go? But then not everyone knows where they may end up. I never would have believed when I signed up I'd have this many miles under my belt.  H.O.G.  keeps the documentation and I have the Mileage Merit Award Rockers to prove it.

I find comfort  in the slogan "The Eagle Soars Alone"  You don't need others to go riding. I wish you all safe travels.

Sturgis 75th Anniversary

sev

Although this was the Seventy Fifth Anniversary of Sturgis Rally and Races, it was also my twenty-second out of the last twenty four rally's that I have attended.

Unfortunately not everyone who rides makes it to Sturgis.  My motorcycle mechanic, travel buddy, and friend Butch Clayton, blew the motor on his 97 Electra Glide Classic while on the way.  It happened on I-90 20 miles from Mitchel, SD. He was forced to return back home



.

My next Dream Machine?

While there, I took the opportunity to test out the latest that Harley Davidson had to offer.  I took four different  Demo Rides on the newest
 Road Glide models.

The CVO was mighty nice. It comes with a lot of chrome,  bells and whistles. I'm just a little unsure if I would want  to part with over $40,000  for options I don't want.  Then spend addition money for other options it does NOT have that I would require.

Plus, the jury is still out on the benefits of the new water cooled heads.  It's something  I really would want more proven data and information on before making the decision to purchase the
 next "Dream Machine".  They say a fool and his money are soon parted.
Maybe I am just too "Old School"

This year  was the first time since 1993 that I was there alone. I fully enjoyed myself getting to be able to do what ever I  wanted when ever I wanted to.

It was especially nice to be able to spend some quality time with my South Dakota  friend Larry Vista,  His hospitality was exceptional.

I scored big on points while playing the ABC's of Touring this year. Having traveled and  collecting points in the following states, Iowa, Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Nebraska, Montana, Colorado, and Kansas before heading home.
..

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Bear Butte is a Sacred Indian Burial Mountain near Sturgis and part of the Black Hills

There is always more to do then there is time for.... Until next year, may the Great Spirit be with you.

Devil's Gultch

(By Stix Douglas)

As the wind gusted it was blowing large drops of water into my face and leaving spots on my safety glasses making it even more difficult to see. My two Wise Guy buddies and I had been riding on an extended two lane alternative/scenic route to the Mecca of motorcycling (Sturgis). We were just coming to the end of our first full day of riding. It was nearly dusk and we were desperately in need of a place to spend the night. Hopefully one that was dry.

We were like a posse riding hard all day, and now trying to stay ahead of a storm. The rain had been falling on us for the previous 20 mile and although we had heard several reports on the radio, we knew the worst was heading in our direction. We desperately wanted to avoid it. It was right upon us. We were in need of shelter or a place to hide out from it and to be able to bunk for the night.

Our original plans were to spend the night at a Palisades State Park, which is located in the most southeastern corner of South Dakota only a short distance from the Minnesota state line. When we arrived there we had been informed by the Park Ranger that there were no vacancies and it was suggested to us to continue on Hwy 11 to Split Rock Park a few miles further and on the northern side of the town of Garretson near a place called Devils Gulch.

Following the directions we were given we turned off the Hwy onto a small paved road that led us to the entrance of Split Rock Park. Just before we turned into the park we noticed another sign for Devil's Gulch that continued on up ahead. We had been on many an expedition before but for the time being we were just looking to get a roof over our heads.


The single lane road leading into the park was nothing more than a path of loose pee gravel that made it extremely difficult to ride on with a motorcycle.

At the end was a cul-de-sac where we parked under several large Cedar trees. They reminded me a lot of the ones back home in Missouri. At least now we were able to remain out of the rain for the most part while we unloaded the gear from our bikes and set up our bed rows for the night under a pavilion nearby.

A short distance away you could see and hear the delightful sound of a waterfall from a dam as it rushed over a stair step of Cut Granite Rock.



That night the water sounds were like listening to a lullaby for us weary and tired travelers. We were worn from the days hard ridden miles as we slept soundly almost unscaved from the fierce storm as it passed through during the night..

The next morning we headed back into the small town of Garretson. There was no diner, but it did have a small local grocery store that had a place for customers to buy breakfast that came complete with tables and chairs for its customers to enjoy their meal.
As we drank coffee an ate breakfast we struck up conversations with the locals. Trading stories and founding out that it was other Missourians Frank and Jesse James to be exact that made the area a novelty with the Historical site, which was now a Municipal State Park, called Devil's Gulch.
Marked on the road Atlas and forever in the history books from an incident that happened there dating back to September 7th 1876. When we finished we thanked everyone for their hospitality and the story and we decided to have a look at this Devils Gulch for ourselves.

According to the documentation the facts were that during that time the notorious outlaws Frank & Jesse James had been involved with the Youngers in a Bank Robbery in Northfield, Minnesota, that had gone dreadfully bad. Several of the Youngers had been killed along with some townsfolk.



Many people were angered by the killings and went after Jesse and his brother. The two had separated near Split Rock Creek. Frank heading alongside the creek to the north while Jesse headed south taking the posse with him in hot pursuit

According to Frank in an interview in 1870 many years after the fact and without any other way of knowing other than by his account of the events Jesse had either trained his horse prior or forced it to jump a 18 to 20 foot Gourge. . Leaving the posse behind, unable and or unwilling to attempt to do the same.


I had a hard time understanding the signifigance and was captured by the magic of this location. Its hard to put into words realizing we were at the place where this had actually happened. A place where myth meets legend.

Was this planned or was it just plain luck of the draw? We may never know for certain but in either case I felt more in touch with my Missouri roots and a alittle more comradely with my outlaw side after having been there.
This was where there was more to the story than what mets the eye.

As my Wise Guy buddies and I pulled out on our Harleys heading to our mecca that morning I couldn't help but know in my mind that I'll always remember this place. The fact we mirrored trying to excape and were from Missouri makes it sort of ironic. We could have passed it up and missed it but I am so much more impressed that we took the time, and investigated it for ourselves.

It wasn't just another night out on the road to Sturgis, with my Wise Guy buddies. Instead it was a tremendous experience. It felt as if we were a part of history and it was another notch in our travels on the journey to our ultimate destination.
We often collect the memories and remember the thrills it is that makes us Legends and that's why we continue on....

You can find out more by clicking up the words " Devil's Gulch " on your search engine of your computer about this special place in South Dakota and or I suggest you go to these web sites for more information. Its one way to know, but its nothing like actually having been there.

http://www.trailsandgrasslands.org/gulch.html
http://www.uwsp.edu/geo/projects/geoweb/participants/dutch/VTrips/DevilsGulchSD.HTM
http://www.outdoorplaces.com/Destination/secret/garretson/index.htm

My 1976 Bi-Centennial FLH

 

By STIX DOUGLAS

Could this motorcycle be the equivalent of a Harley Davidson Edsel? I seriously doubt it, and I would be one to know.
The year 1976 was a very special for a lot of people and for a lot of very different reasons. Besides being the year that I graduated the nation was busy with marketing products for its 200 year celebrations, it could also be a year before most of you were ever born and thus the reason for this to be explained and the need to clear up some misconceptions of motorcycle history. 

There were many items marketed that were considered patriotic products as well as a certain amount of collectables, throughout the year. It was also during the period when AMF owned Harley Davidson, and it wanted to get involved in marketing its own rare collectable with the Bi-Centennial. 

Many refer to the time that AMF ran things as the “Dark Ages” of Harley Davidson. It’s a shame that it also seems the majority also believes that nothing good ever came out of its ownership. It’s hard to understand why, although it still remains a highly disputed and controversial topic as well as a very difficult and touchy subject to deal with especially from the motor company. AMF motorcycles were shun and thought of as the least valued for one reason because of the company’s business strategy at that time. 

AMF was interested in quantity and in doing so the quality of its product suffered substancually and done ill reputable damage to its brand in the process. Often when you would see a Harley Davidson motorcycle on the side of the road, it would be a fair assumption it was broke down. Design and in most cases modifications of private ingenuity contributed to the subliminal connection that Harley Davidson motorcycles were inferior. 

During the AMF years, records weren’t completed or kept up with as they had been with the family owned company. This was another of Harley Davidson’s “Official” positions. 
Things got easier for Harley once the AMF period was over, by avoiding the inevitable confrontation and side step any further arguments, allowed them to get on with the business at hand which was its recovery.
What makes the Bi Centennial stand out from any other Harleys were two items not found on other bikes at the time. First was its “Special paint” that was used. Up until this time no other Harley had been considered or adorned with any different or unusual paint. By adding a large grain Metal Flake into the clear coat it gave the base a slightly diverse look especially in the sun. 
The importance and significance of any 1976's AMF Harleys was the true symbolism that this was the first time that an Eagle was incorporated into and with the Harley Bar & Shield and , where it has remained ever since. It was also the first and only time the year of the motorcycle was decorated with a emblem showing its year. Also making it noteworthy.


Then there were the highly controversial Decals. Many claim that it was the artist PETTER MAX who designed the decals that adorn the Bi Centennial gas tanks. Because of AMF's inability to pursue copyrights the decision was made to not have them reissued or duplicated. 
The importance of this fact alone makes a difference. During many motorcycle restorations it is common for them to be repainted and for decals and emblems to be copyrighted and available. But this is the one critical stipulation and exception for the Bi Centennial. Otherwise the Bi Centennial would lose its original status and no longer be a true Bi-Centennial. Instead it would just be a repainted shovelhead.

So technically it is impossible to repaint a true Bicentennial. Would this make the bike more valued over another that had been painted? Perhaps but it also divides the traditionalist from the pretenders.

While at motorcycle bike shows many goof and quickly walk away from an AMF Shovelhead. A few from the old school take a look and talk or make a comment. Some even share their own experience on how this bike reminds them of times gone by or one of theirs.


I suppose it could be said that I bought the Bi Centennial as an impulse purchase. It reminded me of my very first Harley which was also a 1976. Since then I have bought and still own two other 1976 models, a 1976 XL Sportster and of course this FLH Bi-Centennial.



Having owned a '76 prior I figured I had a general idea as to what to expect. Instead I got another lesson in life. I had no idea of what I was in for. The first clue should have raised a red flag when the previous owner claimed he was only selling it because he was pressed for Cash. He easily departed from it at what I considered a reasonable price. But he would have had to of already known that the oil pump was out of it, and made no indication and said nothing to me about it.


As with any and all older bikes there is usually a horror story or two that comes along with it. This bike would be no exception, especially one this old. As luck would have it disasters have a way of happening. Even if you escape one there is usually another waiting in the wings that has a way of tracking you down and finding you. 


As fate would have it while having it parked in the basement while I was repairing the damages to the oil pump another set of unexpected change of events took place. The basement flooded, leaving 14 inches of water in it. The devastation was just too much and the repairs on the Bi Centennial would have to be shelved for a later time.


Several years passed, and a few people looking to buy a Harleys asked about the bike. They showed some interest in it, but with it apart and non running it seemed to them as a dreadfully insignificant disappointment.

I refused to allow it to go quietly and become a scraped collection of parts. There had to be something done with it. It was just plain wrong for a bike of this caliper to be hidden and ridiculed I made the decision to do what had to be done. It took a lot of effort to get the bike up and out from the dark and dreary dungeon, where it had remained at for nearly seven years. It had to be towed into the daylight..

A lot or consideration was given to the restoration of this project before it was taken to Butch Clayton. A well respected Harley Mechanic. Having his experience, and expertise, insured me that the Bi-Centennial was in the best and most capable hands. I felt it was important to restore the Bi Centennial to as near original and genuine as humanly possible. We both agreed that if it were worth refurbishing it would have to done right. The motor would have to be completely torn down and thoroughly gone through. In doing so we found out the cam gears did not match, which explained what had caused overheating problems prior to my purchasing of it. 


All the aftermarket parts were removed and disposed of. Anything not Genuine Harley Davidson or an original OEM part would be closely examined. The integrity of this project had to be of the highest priority.

Once the aftermarket parts were scrapped and removed the real work was just starting. Finding original OEM parts to replace them was no easy task. Especially since they were no longer stocked or could be found any longer at your local Harley Davidson Dealerships. Plus they hadn’t been in more than two decades.

Many of these items had been discontinued decades ago. The accuracy and verifiable of each part could not be questioned. This had to be an absolute authentic and as close to original as each piece was painstakingly given the old school treatment. This chunk of coal would have to be a diamond on its own merit.
In 1976 Harleys didn’t come with chrome. In fact the only chrome that was ever added usually was done while the engine was being rebuilt during the off season
Traditionally many who valued their machines would show their pride when it came time for repairs or upgrades. Depending on finances because not everyone could afford the repair and to chrome their bikes at the same time. Points covers, rocker boxes, primary covers even transmission ends along with anything else made out of aluminum were either chromed or massive amounts of time and energy were spent on cleaning polishing, and buffing each piece into a mirror like luster. Hours of elbow grease surprisingly made a real noticeable distinction. 


1976 was also the last year for the FLH to use the factory “Pogo Stick” seating. As well as the last year for the “Buddy Seat”. The following year Harley started using frame mounted seats and many would change theirs over to a more comfortable and lower mounted aftermarket seats, which by then were becoming the norm.

For instance the Rear Fender were “hedged” Making it possible along with a optional Center stand, which this bike had, that allowed the rear wheel to be taken off without a jack and or without lifting it over the rear
During its restoration there were a few items that remained on the motorcycle even though they do not belong. Someone who owned it previously had drilled holes through the rear turn signal bracket, and had added chrome Bullets to decorate it. This was all the rage “back in the day” of course since chrome parts were almost unheard of..
In keeping with its Original and or Stock status, every detail with this bike was kept to its correct time period as is humanly possible.
With the lack of a suitable OEM rear turn signal bracket I believed it was better to fill the holes of the missing bullets rather than replacing it with a chromed aftermarket one. To keep with the original/stock theme, it seemed that with the bike being in Black and having bullets why not set it up to resemble a police bike.

Often what make a big difference with any motorcycle are its accessories. However in 1976 you didn’t have a choice of genuine parts or accessories from the factory. Instead many would “RAT” out there motorcycles. Whenever anything broke or needed replacing on their motorcycle they would use alternate or aftermarket parts. 
AMF made motorcycles, everyone else made the aftermarket parts and upgrades. 
It was like an “unspoken rule” that the company made the motorcycles and everyone else made the improvements for it. If you wanted chrome chances were you went with purchasing a cheaply made part that was already chrome plated. The quality might have been slightly better than Harleys at the time but that started the battle cry “Chrome won’t get you home”.
One of the accessories that did come with the Bi Centennial was the medallions of the eagle and ribbon with Made In the USA. These were the first of what has later to become a very successful Harley Davidson Parts & Accessory market. It combined Eagle Iron which was later phased over into the Genuine Harley Davidson Parts and combine it with the performance and racing parts of its Screaming Eagle line.


It is not the most beautiful bike but what it lacks in looks it more than makes up for in its own significance .for being noteworthy. It remains an Icon. The last in a long line and a prime example of the way things were done.
The stereotypes that were earned as well as all the finger pointing and divisions within the ranks have eased over time. But the fact remains that in the case of the Bi Centennial like that of all things AMERICAN or dealing with Pride have faded and are nearly extinct from the way it was. Sometimes the things like that of importance slipped between the cracks and are forgotten forever. 
Being rebellious and defiant the Bi-Centennial might be a thorn in the side of Harley Davidson but I believe it should also be used as a reminder and I am a stickler for details. This Bi-Centennial represents  all that went on before and has since been changed. I also believe the Bi-Centennial never received the respect nor the esteem that it properly deserves.