REAL COOL SHIT - REAL BIKES, REAL CARS, REAL TUNES . . . . AND A LI'L BIT OF REAL VITRIOLIC RANTING . . . . AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER COOL STUFF THAT GIVES ME THE HORN . . . . unless otherwise stated, all words, blurbs and drivel herein are entirely mine. I hope you dig it. All my personal photos can be enlarged by clicking on the image.
Well, this is it, Project Shoveller, see, I wasn't bullshitting you guys and dolls, I just didn't have a clue on how to upload the pics I had taken of the fucker, but that is yesterday's news, there's lots to be done to get it to how I've got it in my head . . . . I reckon initially it's gonna remain as a swingarm model, not sure though, got a nice earlier model swingarm from Grant at Freedom Machinery which should lower it further in the arse end and get rid of the existing chrome version, we'll see how we go. Can't wait to get the gorgeous finned rocker covers on from Josh at Throwback, they'll just about be the jewel in the crown for sure !!!
Some of the shit on it that I hate has had to go el pronto, those fucking ugly pull back bars, shitty looking bling dick mirrors and matching headlight, the equally atrocious forward controls, the dinky flame-o tail light, the shocks and the tanks, these are the easy ops . . . . like a lot of Super Duper Glides, the sporty front end that actually works so much better for heading in your chosen direction, has been replaced by the wide glide, that's gonna go to make way for Senor Super Freak Casquilho's super duper narrow trees and 2" over staunchions, likewise the bobtail guard/fender will be flicked in favour of something simple, clean and tyre hugging . . . . not sure about pipes yet either, few ideas bouncing around in the cranial cavity.
Much of the rest of the thing I don't really mind as a starting point, of course I don't mind it, I fucking well bought the thing didn't I, like I said, it appears to be a pretty legit old girl, a good solid base platform to turn into my own piece of the Hardly Rideable Dream . . . . I'm really bloody excited about it actually, it ain't going to be a fully wild, totally hand fabbed, crazy freaky jigger, just a nice, mildly custom crafted, rideable, hopefully cool, scoot, I'll keep you up to date as Project Shoveller progresses . . . . oh boy, is this great !!!!
'74 x 74 ci . . . . wearing the '74's Forever' tee takes on a whole new level of significance . . . . cheers Lucas !!!
Look at those stupid arsed, fugly bars . . . . way too much blingy billet bollocks for my taste in cool . . . . gots to go !!!
"The Right Profile" . . . . well, not exactly, but I've seen worse . . . . just give me time . . . . and the talents of Roscoe
Ye Gods !!! Those bars are freakin abominable . . . . seat's moderately grotesque . . . . it'll do to sit my fat arse on for now
The heart and soul . . . . Project Shoveller's 74 cubic inches of Troubleheaded power . . . . no big bore stuff for this rig . . . . soon to be tarted up with Josh Frazitta's finned rocker covers . . . . giddy up motherfucker !!!
Those of you who have seen the pics of the Purple Penis will realise it's basically a Farty Ate done with a big nod to the 'classic bobber' tradition, I never really cottoned onto the stock factory '48 so called styling and had it pictured in my head exactly what I was going to do to bring it closer to the type of jiggers so beautifully defined in the two videos I've stolen here . . . . obviously I'd love the real McCoy sitting in the garage but little chance of that shit happening for the time being . . . .
There's a real sense of simplicity and honesty to both these Hogglies by the talented lads from the Land of the Rising Sun, they have the purist, 'period totally correct' shit fully going on when it comes to this kind of kit and have done for yonks . . . . just as they do with every other form of the two wheeled kind. I don't know who the owner/builder is but he's nailed it with all the elements of fuck off the dead metal, get more quickerer.
The only thing I've never been able to understand is why so many dudes seem to be in some unspoken competition to see who can have their bike idling the lowest . . . . it can't be doin too much good for the bottom end in an old 45 degree vee twin . . . . anyway, two perfect pans, ready to rock . . . . good shit I say
THE JAM, MORE THAN ANY OTHER 'POPULAR' ACT OF THEIR TIME, MANAGED TO GET SOCIAL COMMENTARY DOWN TO A PRECISE ART, INCISIVE, ACERBIC AND BITING LYRICS AIMED AT THE CHINLESS ELITE, THE RIGHT WING GOVERNMENT AND A SOCIAL FABRIC DECAYING AND UNRAVELING AT THE SEAMS . . . . SUBJECT MATTER SPECIFIC TO THE UK EXPERIENCE BUT A SENTIMENT THAT WAS UTTERLY UNIVERSAL, COMBINE ALL THOSE TRAITS WITH CONSISTENTLY INSPIRED SONGCRAFT, INTUITIVE, TIGHT AND FULLY MELDED PLAYING SKILLS, AND A REPUTATION FOR EXCELLENT LIVE SHOWS AND IT WAS ONLY NATURAL THAT THE JAM WENT ON TO THE SHORT BUT INTENSE LEVEL OF EXCELLENCE THEY MANAGED TO ACHIEVE . . . . ALL THEIR SHIT STILL MOVES ME TODAY, NOT ONE TUNE WOULD I EVER DESCRIBE AS CRAP, THIS IS STUFF THAT DOESN'T DATE, HOLDS ITS RELEVANCE AND INVOKES THE SPIRIT OF THE TIME . . . . WELLER, FOXTON AND BUCKLER . . . . WORKING FROM THE UNDERGROUND, KEEPING THE HOME FIRES BURNING IN THE BELLY . . . .
Been following Kim Boyle's latest masterclass in bike building and fabrication with complete fascination, so many wonderful touches making this No-Tone something really out of the box, reminds me a bit of a Pommie bike riposte to Cro Customs mindblowing Yang Yang . . . . the pipe set up is remarkable not only for its clean, ultra elegant taper but also in its placement and the fact that it works off the line of the primary case and not the frame, oh, and its a left side 2 into 1, I mean, how often have you seen that before . . . . never ??
The other element that really gets me all hot and lumpy in the groinal region is that insanely wondrous and subtly curvaceous ducktail rear cowl, the lines he has sculpted in this piece of metallurgical magic are simple, like the exhaust, yet so difficult to achieve . . . . check out the shot Kim has taken from the arse end, follow the lines of the tail and see how they flow like water into the tank, same sort of radius, angles, the whole fucking shooting match . . . . almost as though there is a middle bit of tinware sitting somewhere in the workshop ready to attach between tank and tail that will join both together in one seamless, perfect form.
I think the overwhelming lesson from this insane journey into perceived minimalism and form truly following function is that the realising of that simplicity and the perception of less equaling so much more is generally the result of an extraordinary skill set and a seriously rare ability to visualise and 'see' what you want to ultimately achieve . . . . it's that special gift that separates the exceptional from the really fucking good in any gig and Kim Boyle is demonstrably another one of that small band of men apart . . . . genius . . . . I reckon.
***** All photos courtesy of Kim Boyle/BCM blogspot.
QUICK RUNDOWN . . . . SWAPPED MY '78, CLEVO POWERED F100 FOR THIS JIGGER WITH MY EX PARTNER AT CLASSIC BIKE TUNE, RONNIE PAYNE, THE YEAR BEFORE, IT WAS AN ALL STEEL, NO BOG, CLEAN, STRAIGHT EXAMPLE BUT NOW RUNNING A 351 CLEVO AS WELL, INSTEAD OF THE ORIGINAL SPEC 351 WINDSOR . . . . MAN, WHEN I FIRST GOT IT OFF RONNIE THE FUCKER WAS DUMPING THAT MUCH OIL INTO THE HEADS I HAD TO RUN AN MSD JUST TO HELP MINIMISE THE SMOKESCREEN IT USED TO LEAVE IN ITS WAKE AND CUT BACK ON MONEY FOR NEW PLUGS !!!!
As usual I did some stuff to it, bought a set of Cragars, had it lowered properly with Koni short travel shocks at the front, GT Falcon sway bars front and rear, had the big Cleveland rebuilt with bigger bumpstick, roller rockers, Holley, Hooker headers and a nice straight through twin system dumping just before the 2.97 nine inch diff, overhauled the C4 auto, new radiator and bugger all else . . . . it went like a very quick, very stable, aircraft carrier, sat super flat and neutral through corners and got up and boogied well onto 130 mph on the long straight stuff, just a simple, honest car that performed adequately.
Ultimately, when the Doghouse Blues Bar failed and my darling daughter arrived I couldn't afford to register the sucker let alone flow the enormous amount of juice the thing required to run, so it sat for nine years in my garage until it was sold . . . . stoked I had the pleasure of its company for all that time.
FILE UNDER - STEPHEN KING . . . . "SOMETIMES THEY COME BACK"
I first saw this U.S spec '74 T140V late in 1989 in a line of British bikes at B.J's Bikes and Bits in Bris Vegas, it looked pretty much like the bottom photo, no front guard, genuine Yanky Bonnie hi-rise bars, dumb, short, 2" Harley pipes with equally dumb, short, no back pressure cans, a damn near bald and perished Avon Deathmaster up front and some bizarre Conti rear bag, still had the Michigan Uni student sticker on the rear guard, likely garaged six months a year . . . . but fuck, it was completely unbastardised in any major way, all original hardware, nuts, bolts, screws, lamps and lenses, even the factory cable clips on the bars and thin alloy cable ties, and of course, both Smiths guages which, miraculously, still worked, the odometer read 14,762 miles, it was the coolest scoot on the lot, I fell into bike lust instantly.
Of course, if I'd had half a clue back then I would have persevered with the '69 T120 that I'd been struggling with for the previous six months to get running properly to no avail but I knew shit, to me, disc brake, 750 against 650 all added up to bigger is better back then . . . . I put $200 holding deposit on the thing and desperately tried to unload the 650, no success, two weeks later I get a courtesy call from BJ's saying they had some nice young teacher with the folding stuff burning a hole in his pocket and wanting the Bonnie, could I come up with the clams, no, would I mind . . . . well, sort of but what the fuck could I do . . . . teacher buys bike.
Six months later, talking to a really good mate of mine on the coast, he's a teacher, a surfer, used to ride a SR500 to Uni, one of the core crew. Johnny B says how he'd bought a used bike, a Triumph of all things, I say get outta here, I was looking to get rid of the '69 and get a '74 in Brisbane but some other guy got it when I couldn't jag the reddies, where did you get it I asked, he says a place called BJ's in Brisbane . . . . fuck off !! Johnny, you bought my bike, we kacked ourselves until he said he wanted to sell it, I nearly fell over, the next day I'd borrowed the Bugs Bunny and it was mine, like it was meant to be, Johnny had been the temporary custodian to stop it from slipping through the cracks once and for all . . . . oddly enough, I'd got rid of the T120 only a month before and had managed not to blow it all on band related activities.
The rest of the story doesn't really matter, I came close to death from ten years of total excess, left the band, quit 'the life' and got clean, didn't drink for eighteen months, spent all I had over the next two years on the Bonnie, ended up hanging with the older guys who were working on it, became part of the business and life was perfect. I'd wanted to bob it but it was so fucking complete I just did minor mods and brought it back to life . . . . motor rebuild with the 3134 cam to get back the grunt, +20 Hepolites, head job, valves, mushroom headed tappets, balanced and de-sludged crank, polished rods, Barnett clutch, high volume oil pump, and just top quality bearings, fasteners and gaskets . . . . it pulled like a fourteen year old schoolboy, never dropped oil and was totally reliable [mostly], local paint God, Rex Windsor, did the tank, I'd already changed the bars, the pipes, recovered the seat, added oil cooler and the big fuck off Wassell exhaust clamps, blah, blah, blah . . . . but left the frame etc in it's original time worn state . . . . I loved the thing with no reservation and to this day regret selling it so badly . . . . at least it was mine for eight years.
AUGUST 199I . . . . SOME GEEK WITH A HEAD THE SIZE OF A LARGE PUMPKIN STANDS PROUDLY AND SOBERLY BESIDE THE RESPRAYED AND REBUILT BONNIE . . . . YOU CAN JUST MAKE OUT THE UNDERSLUNG MIRROR ON THE RIGHT . . . . LOVE, SWEAT AND GEARS
POST MOTOR REBUILD THE OVERSIZED WASSELL, AS PETE AT 'EAT THE RICH' LEARNED ME, EXHAUST CLAMPS AND THE DRAG SPECIALTIES OIL COOLER DID A GREAT JOB OF MINIMISING THE HEAT OF A QLD SUMMER ON A POMMIE PARALLEL TWIN
NOT LONG AFTER THE T140 AND I HAD BEEN REUNITED, MINUS FRONT GUARD BUT NOW SPORTING OIL COOLER, WIDE BARS, LATE T120 PIPES AND MUFFLERS, WASSELL CLAMPS AND . . . . K81 NON TYRES . . . . PERIOD CORRECT . . . . PISS OFF, THEY WERE RUBBISH !!!
This thing drove into the compound, changed the rear meats, lumped and snorted up to the lights, bagged it up and then proceeded to charge hard all day pulling super respectable times for a road registered rig. I ran to where it was to get a shot, the big Munro was so fucking tough, monster cam lumpiness, all black menace and malice, shaking and rumbling on the pad, the perfect noise, not sure what he had under the bonnet but it sure as hell wasn't the 186, 'S' or otherwise . . . .
The HK Monaro was released in 1968, heavily influenced by what was going down in the U.S, from the minute it hit the showrooms it was a complete winner with the public, in entry level fitout you could choose from the 186 ci straight six, the 'S' variant with a few more neddies courtesy of a dual throat tooter and some other tweaks, then you could step up to the 307 Chevy or, the full whack bow tie 327 . . . . the GTS was some whole other visual experience for Australia back then, a two door coupe for a start, [Ford's highly acclaimed GT was a four door family saloon, albeit, a good one], styled here in Oz, sensual, curvaceous and so bloody sexy, it looked the part from the get go . . . . they were also available in some colours that were quite radical to an old school Aussie, Anglo Celtic based population, metalic blue, banana yellow, some super rad wheel dress up options and last but not least the off centre, fat and skinny go fast stripes, and vents in the guards !!!!
I can still recall the first time I saw one on the street, I was all of eight and living up in Darwin with mum and dad, standing on the footpath on Saturday morning in town, then I saw it, so did the old man, he was just as gobsmacked as I was . . . . the big two door rolled past us, red stripe tyres, metallic blue, black stripes, deep throat rumble, I swear I nearly pissed myself, I thought it was some Hot Wheels car come to life, even dad made some comment about how beautiful it looked . . . . mum, as usual, remained stonily unimpressed. That image has stayed with me since, it may not have achieved the same success on the track as the GTHO, however, in my estimations, it still is the best lookin car ever produced in the land Downunder, and I'm a Mopar nutter, so that's saying something !!!
ABOVE . . . . THE BIG, BLACK, BAD MUNRO . . . . CHEESECUTTERS AND SLICKS, DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER, THE DEAD STOCK BODY, NO PUMPED GUARDS, NO FLASH SHIT, ONLY MAKE IT TOUGHER . . . . STANCE PLUS.
TAKEN FROM 'OLD HOLDENS' . . . . THIS COULD'VE BEEN THE EXACT THING I SAW NEARLY 45 YEARS AGO, STYLE WISE, THE FOUR DOOR GT FALCONS HAD NOTHIN ON THIS RIGHTEOUS RIG . . . . TEE NUMERO UNO.
YEAH, SO DON'T GET ME WRONG, I DO HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR BLACK WHEELS, THIS WEE SPORTY IS TENDERED IN EVIDENCE, EVERYTHING ABOUT THE THING IS JUST . . . . RIGHT . . . . STANCE, WHEEL/TYRE RATIO, 'BARS - HANDLE AND SISSY, THE PIPES ARE THE PERFECT FIT, AIR CLEANER, SUBTLY HIGHLIGHTED TANK, ALL THESE COMBINED ELEMENTS SCREAM ONE THING . . . . RIDE ME BABY, HARDER !!!
. . . . . you run into someone who's dancing to different drummer, walking a path less trodden, ridin a road less traveled, fishin from a different river, a man completely on his own trip . . . . the bloke who's gifted on both sides of the brain, hemispherically ambidextrous, a broad circle of friends and acquaintances who respect his work . . . . extremely knowledgeable, hard and hard arsed when he needs to be, staunch and straight with his own values, funnier than shit, and dryer than, than a Kalahari Bushman's scrotum . . . . the kind of bloke who is able to pull off now near full ink, big motherfucker nose ring, even bigger bungs . . . . and still look like the handsome chap about the workshop . . . . the fella who can ride the tires of anything, and rebuild it in a heartbeat when he's exploded it's guts all over the road !!!!!
The dude in the top photo is such a bloke . . . . this is one of his little rockets from about six years ago, the Sporty I mean . . . . the Rockette in the red dress, alabaster skin and Betty-esque blunt fringe is the delightful Chantay . . . . the bike's always stuck in my mind's eye . . . . so has the charmingly sensual Chantay . . . . ooh la la.
***** [Photos care of legit Mr Nice Guy, Rod Cole/Orlando Images]
I realise that 'black' is just the epitome of cool, it's butch, its tough, its sooooo blokey, heavy-heavy biker dude stuff, I was going to rattle can my T140 once, total matt black, everything, leave nothing untouched, even the headlight lens, I wanted to be bad, super bad, mean and scary . . . . then I came to my senses and said 'fuck that shit !!'.
Going back exactly two years when I decided to lay down the smackeroos and commit myself to buying only my second ever new scoot, '94 Speed Triple being the first, a ride that in many eyes would forever consign me to the 'scenester' and 'fad-jumper' bandwagon, my first thought on looking at the '48 hoglette was 'shit, there is just too much black on the thing !', especially the black rims, hated em from the get go, nearly always have, it was just overkill in black . . . . when the thing arrived three months later, it only got worse, black rims and, my ultimate piss off, chrome spokes !!! I've never seen a bike with chrome spokes that is ridden and not just parked or trailered its entire life, where the shiny shit hasn't started to rust, flake, peel or otherwise fuck up leaving the rollers looking like they've got a severe dose of the jack, at some point both the rims and the spokes would have to go, to alleviate the visual crisis I fitted whitewalls, just to break up the MoCo's exercise in ordinary.
Only drama back then was that as the front rim, hub and spoke setup on the Forty Eight was so new, nobody, not even the tried and true Buchanan's mob, had stainless spokes available, nor could I find new or used alloy rims to suit the fucker . . . . knowing my luck, that has likely changed now but the only solution was to order two new chrome rims from the then newly released and fully hideous 16" equipped bastardised Custom, at least the S/S spokes were now available from Buchanan's . . . . anyway, I've had the rims and the spokes for over six months now and as the arse end is being rebuilt the time is right to do the swap, back to running plain black bags on clean, chrome rims with non flaking, non rusting stainless spokes, should look the tits for a non chopped, moderately modified Farty Eight . . . . back in black . . . . not this time baby !!!!
Despite claims to the contrary, the early nineties were abundant with new and exciting musical lifeforms, on both sides of the Atlantic and down here in Oz and Un Zud, there was a return to honest, no bullshit, melodic rock+roll, big hair and mullets, shoulder pads and effete leather jackets and totally suspect metal head blokes in lycra died overnight like the idiot dinosaurs they were . . . . flannels, jeans and sneakers regained their right and proper place along with tunes focused much more on songcraft and simplicty rather than smartarse, clever-dick musical masturbation that had, by and large, blighted the late eighties like a global dose of the clap.
Out of this state of mind came The Teenage Fanclub, a bunch of Scots lads with a knack for penning tunes that proudly showed their influences [Beatles, Byrds etc] as much as it did their not inconsiderable talents, fantastic, catchy and instantly memorable hooks and melodies, straight up, universal lyrical content and the appropriately earthy visual appeal, the whole fucking sheboinker . . . . pretty huge success and popularity immediately ensued and quite deservedly so, it was a complete package and a nice counterpoint to the big guns firing from the Pacific North West, Soundgarden, Nirvana, Mother Lovebone, Tad et al, everything was peachy keen.
Then you started to see interviews and articles titled with shit like 'Bigger than the Beatles' and 'The Next Big Thing' or 'Teenage Fanclub set for world domination' as the press, ever vigilant in the hunt for copy moving predictions and the chance to say 'I picked it' started what has been traditionally the voodoo doll pin sticking ceremony of slow death and disappearance for any band unfortunate enough to be both credible and flavour of the month . . . . the exact fucking opposite of The Knack, Right Said Fred and Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians. Sure enough, the vibe subsided, the band stagnated to a degree and eventually time and taste moved on and all we are left with is a collection of songs that at least justifies both their popularity and their capabilities. Sometimes the 'hipper than hip' musical press and management/A+R teams need to just back the fuck up and let stuff happen.
Featured in this great little short from Duke Video ['DukeArchive' on PooTube] are Bob Heath and Dave Roper aboard their Matchy single 500's, considered the ultimate 'clubman' racer in their day and still a very fearsome presence in current competition, note the bump starts . . . . they were never at quite the level of uber performance as the iconic Manx Nortons, particularly the last short stroke variants, with the exception of the famously ground breaking Porcupine, but they were still nonetheless hugely successful, as were sister AMC marque, AJS, with the 7R and others in their racing stable.
To be straight, it's not so much the bikes in this footage that have me all moist between the legs but it's the wicked film of the guys and their scoots belting it up through the streets, only inches from the kind of shit that the human body, even clad in leathers, lids and kevlar undies is not going to cope with should a motor lock up or a choice of line prove incorrect . . . . this is the Isle of Man, not some fuckin soft, politically correct, miles of run off, air bag surrounded, sand trapped golf course, this is the circuit that so intimidated Barry Sheene he refused to race on it and was single handedly responsible for the the boycott that lead to it's being struck off the G.P tour.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, this is a whole different level of competition, major injury, not to mention death, is always just a second away on this road racers road racing course, the chances that just a micro second's inattention will fuck your shit up for good is at its greatest on the circuit that laps the little island in the middle of the Irish Sea . . . . if you haven't got the requisite sized nuts, don't bother coming, this motherfucker of a widowmaker doesn't take prisoners !!!!
THIS BIG KAT WAS PRETTY QUICK, BY NIGHT IT MASQUERADES AS A SEARCHLIGHT PLATFORM
THESE CHICKS WERE PRETTY QUICK TOO . . . . BY NIGHT THEY MASQUERADE AS . . . . NA, NEVERMIND
ALBERTO'S 'BUSA PRO-STOCK IS MORE THAN PRETTY QUICK . . . . IF ONLY HE COULD STICK TWO PASSES TOGETHER WITHOUT PSYCHING HIMSELF OUT OR REDLIGHTING
NOT A CLUE, JUST SHOT THE FUCKER, I BET IT WAS QUICK TOO
PASSING THE TORCH, FROM THE BEST SEAT IN THE HOUSE, THE KID WAS LOVIN IT
NOW THIS, THIS WAS WAY BEYOND QUICK . . . . SPEED CAFE IS ALL ABOUT QUICK MOSHEENS
HAPPY GAS . . . . EVEN IF THEY AIN'T RUNNING THIS KIT, ALL THESE DUDES HAVE GOT PLENTY OF BOTTLE
BEFORE I HAD TIME TO TAKE THE SHOT A POLICEMAN HAD DISAPPEARED INTO THE S&S SUPER SUCKER, NEVER TO BE SEEN AGAIN, COULDN'T FIND ANYMORE TO FEED IT . . . . BUMMER
YOUNG LARRY, MECHANICAL ASSISTANT TO THE STARS . . . . LARRY LIKES NOTHING MORE THAN WRENCHING ON ASTON-MARTIN'S DURING THE WEEK AND WEARING ROADKILL ON HIS PERTY LI'L HAY-ED
"POWERHOUSE DYNO TUNING" ROCKET THREE - OWNER/RIDER, ALAN MARKS.
SO, IF I CAN REMEMBER SOME OF THE FACTS ABOUT THIS FREAKSHOW, MONSTER TRIUMPH THAT SOME BLOKES I KNOW HAVE COBBLED TOGETHER TO OCCASIONALY THROW IT DOWN THE QUARTER MILE, I TOOK THE SHOTS AT WILLOWBANK EARLIER IN THE YEAR . . . . FIRSTLY, IT'S FUCKING BIG, IN FACT, NEAR TO GARGANTUAN TO BE PRECISE . . . . SECONDLY, IT'S INSANELY QUICK FOR A BIKE THIS SIZE AND SHAFT DRIVEN, CURRENTLY RUNNING HIGH NINES AND LIKELY TO IMPROVE . . . . THIRDLY, THE FORMULA 1 MOB WERE UNABLE TO GET THEIR HANDS ON CARBON FIBRE FOR A WHILE AS IT WAS BEING BUILT, THERE'S THAT MUCH OF THE SHIT IN 'TANK', GUARDS, SIDECOVERS AND WHEELS . . . . FOURTHLY, IT JUST SIMPLY GIVES ME A BLOODY BIG HORN, IT'S ONE OF THE TOUGHEST BIKES I'VE EVER SEEN AND AT FULL TWIST . . . . IT SCREAMS !!!
YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE ALL THIS MEANS TOO, DON'T YOU . . . . AS OF NOW, YOU CAN LOOK FORWARD TO SHOTS OF THE BY NOW ALMOST PHANTOMESQUE 'PROJECT SHOVELLER', THE COUPLE OF PHOTOS OF MY OLD TRUMPIES, F100, FAIRLANE, AP6, THE SS 125, PICS FROM MY OLD MAGS AND BOOKS AND ALL THE OTHER KINDS OF POOP THAT YOU FIND ON BLOGS . . . . IT'S TAKEN A FUCKING LONG TIME BUT I'M UP AND RUNNING AND READY TO ROCK AND ROLL !!!!
EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THE HEAVYWEIGHT HINCKLEY FROM BEHIND I START SINGING 'BABY'S GOT BACK'
WHAT YOU'RE LOOKIN AT HERE IS A FUCKLOAD OF CARBON FIBRE AND A TRUCKLOAD OF DOLLARS
THE SIDE WHERE MOST OF THE NOISE AND GASSES COMES OUT, HAND FABBED, ALL TITANIUM SYSTEM
FOR A BIG GIRL SHE LOOKS PRETTY FUCKING HORNY FROM THIS ANGLE, SHAFT DRIVE SEX APPEAL
LOOKIN THE BOOBIES FROM THE STEER END AS WELL, LOVE THE UPSIDE-DOWN FORKS AND TWIN ROTORS THE SIZE OF LARGE FRYING PANS, HELPS TO STOP IT FROM RUNNING DOWN PENSIONERS
HEAVY BREATHING, DEEP THROATED, BELL MOUTHED BEHEMOTH BITCH FROM HELL, STICK ANYTHING NEAR THEM AT FULL NOISE AND IT'LL BE JOINING THE BIRDS AND SMALL CHILDREN ALREADY SUCKED INSIDE
I RECKON EVERY REDHEAD MUST GO THROUGH A PERIOD OF FEELING LIKE AN ALIEN, AN OUTCAST, HAVING TO DEVELOP RHINO HIDE EARLY ON TO DEAL WITH ALL THE BARBS AND BULLETS, ADVANCED CHARACTER BUILDING . . . . THEN YOU START TO REALISE THAT HISTORICALLY AND PERSONALLY, YOU'RE PART OF A VERY SPECIAL BUNCH OF PEOPLE . . . . TA MUCHLY MR JONES.
LATER, ORDINARY TYPES, THIS READHEADED STEP CHILD IS OFF FOR A DAY IN THE WARM EMBRACE OF SPACESHIP PURPLE PENIS . . . . GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR DOG . . . .
**** AND FOR ANY OF YOU WHO HAVEN'T . . . . BEFORE YOU GO AND TRIP OUT, GET YOUR GRUBBY HANDS ON A COPY OF THE CLASSIC SIXTIES FLICK "THE TRIP", A MUST FOR ALL THOSE WITH A PENCHANT FOR CINEMATIC TREATS OF YESTERYEAR.
Don't know quite what it is, but generally speaking I've never been huge on white bikes, I don't hate em, just never really been head over heels in love with them, personal preference is, well, personal . . . . there have been a few notable exceptions in recent years, especially outta the States and this Gallic, Panhead powered, super skinny double bend pullback, stretched springer, lambswool seat coverered jigger joined the ranks when I first saw photos of it . . . . and now, seeing it actually rollin down the road only goes to confirm it . . . . white can be oh so fucking right . . . . Freakin out the squares Francais style, oui oui !!!!
NOOT'S BLOG IS WITHOUT A DOUBT ONE OF THE MOST INFORMATIVE , CONSIDERED AND ENJOYABLE I'VE COME ACROSS . . . . HE APPEARS TO GO ABOUT THINGS WITHOUT ANY GRANDSTANDING OR GRATUITOUS SELF PROMOTION AND, AS I'VE SUBSEQUENTLY DISCOVERED, IS LITERALLY A WALKING ENCYCLOPEDIA OF AMERICAN MOTORCYCLING HISTORY . . . . IT'S ALSO PRETTY CLEAR TO ME NOW THAT A SHITLOAD OF CREW HOLD HIS WORK AND
OPINIONS IN HIGH ESTEEM. HE IS CLEARLY A MECHANICAL GURU WHO CAN JUST AS EASILY REBUILD A MOTOR AS COMPETENTLY AS HE CAN WIRE ELECTRICS, LACE WHEELS, MODIFY FRAMES AND BUILD COMPLETE, GROUND UP, EVERY NUT, BOLT AND PART BIKES . . . . A COMPLETE, LEGITIMATE, OLD SCHOOL MASTER CRAFTSMAN.
AS A NON MECHANIC/BUILDER, THERE IS NOTHING I ADMIRE MORE THAN A BLOKE WHO IS CAPABLE OF DOING IT ALL AND ALSO POSSESSING AN EYE THAT ENABLES THE COMPLETE AND FINISHED BIKE TO LOOK SO FUCKING GOOD . . . . EVEN PRIOR TO PROPERLY SIGNING UP AND JOINING IN ON THIS BLOG GIG, I HAD RECOGNISED THE DEPTH OF QUALITY SCOOTS COMING OUT OF NOOTSVILLE IOWA, IT KINDA BLOWS ME OUT HOW MANY OF THE BIKES I'VE ENJOYED IN PHOTOS OVER THE LAST THREE AND FOUR YEARS HAVE HAD THE ALL FEELING HANDS OF THIS BLOKE FONDLING THEIR NOOKS AND CRANNIES AND THEIR PRIVATE AND OBSCURE PLACES . . . . I GET THE FEELING THAT RICKY 'LI'L NOOT' NOOTNAGEL COULD LOSE HIS SIGHT AND STILL GET THE JOB DONE RIGHT . . . . IF YOU HAVEN'T RUN YOUR PEEPERS ACROSS THIS DUDE'S PORTFOLIO OF EXCELLENT WORK AND OBSERVATIONS, CHECK HIS CAPER AT 'NOOT BLOGSPOT' . . . . GET YOURSELF A BIT OF HONEST, OLD SCHOOL EJAMAKAYSHUN !!!!
I'm no sensitive new age guy but I stopped using certain words in my daily speech more than 30+ years ago when I tweaked just how fucked up racism is even by unintentional inference, and the descriptors for chicks that some of the black gangsta rap/hip-hop crew like to throw around has never, ever been part of my lexicon, if they choose to it's their call . . . . you know the story, someone speaks up one time when you say something that offends them and in that specific case you actually find yourself re-evaluating 'you', making the classic 'note to self' and consciously start to eliminate whatever it was from your routine speech patterns . . . . it's not being weak, nor is it pandering or selling out, just wising up and showing a bit of class in my book . . . . anyway, suffice to say that at first listen I found Rick Ross' latest pretty fuckin full on, still do for that matter, but every now and again, you gotta feel the pain of life . . . . have a mouthful of reality pie with a dollop of dog turd on top.
THE ABOVE SHOT SHOWS JOHN LENNON, [STILL VERY MUCH ALIVE] ABSORBING THE FINER POINTS OF THE FINAL FORM OF A CHOPPER THAT STARTED THE ENIGMA ROLLING FOR SOME SWEDISH DUDE GOING BACK ABOUT EIGHT YEARS . . . . HE IS WELL KNOWN TO THE "MAN WITH BAGGAGE" . . . .
1984, I was twenty three, playing gigs, skating, getting on it and out of it, a girlfriend, a hot car and aching for a bike I just couldn't afford . . . . a few of my 'mates' had begun to hang around with the city's original 'club', they were to be the 'new blood', the future leaders . . . . when the new fangled Evo powered Harley machinery started making its appearance at the long term Brisbane dealer, up they all went to take a gander, but a strange thing happened on the way to the fair . . . . the concensus among the old heads was that the shiny new 'blockheads' weren't cool, not to be trusted, not worth a squirt of billy goat's piss even, 'better orf gettin yerself an old shovel or a pan, even a fuckin Trumpy or a Beezer, fuck the new poofta things !!' the older blokes said, as Graeme told me back then . . . . it wasn't that long after that I'd notice a bloke on one of the new Heritage Blobtails that looked like he'd never been near a bike in his life, let alone a product of the MoCo, the perception of oil leak free, non failing, somehow 'nicer' and 'better' Hogglies was already beginning to shift the traditional owner demographic.
So here we are, damn near thirty years later and look what's gone down . . . . such a huge number of folk buying, and sometimes, even riding, the fabulous product of the Bar and Shield, so many fine folk who are in every way deserving to enjoy the experience . . . . good on em I say, seriously, they're all entitled to, but that isn't my point . . . . it's just all the shit and drivel that goes along with it . . . . or maybe it's the absence of the shit that used to go along with it . . . . breaking down, fixing it yourself, or at least attempting to, knowing the potential for drama, the possibility of being stuck somewhere without the magic Harley card to pull you out of the shit, the lack of 'merch' and guff . . . . how it used to be, before the days of 'Viva la Evolucion' . . . .
THE BLOCKHEAD HOGGLIES DO NOT GET THE RESPECT THAT THE KNUCKLES, PANS AND SHOVELS DO, THIS SUCKER HAS HAD ME BY THE BALLS FOR YONKS . . . . A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF BALANCE, STYLE AND STREET LEVEL TOUGH, IT SITS LIKE A DRAG BIKE, LOOKS LIKE IT WOULD WIN A SHOW AND A RACE AND FLAT OUT OOZES COOL . . . . I SURE AS SHIT HOPE IT'S STILL IN THE HANDS OF ITS BUILDER/OWNER AND ORIGINAL SINNER . . . . JUDGES, YOUR SCORES PLEASE . . . . 10, 10, 10, 10, 10
***** CHECK OUT 'JOYRIDES ART CO.' FOR MORE STUNNING SHOTS OF MORE STUNNING RIDES COURTESY OF THE TALENTED MR KAWAKAMI . . . . .
New Order are the only electronic based band that have always appealed to me on a melodic level, so much of this musical genre is sterile, vapid, puerile noise, devoid of warmth, soul and passion, from the ashes of a wreck that would've killed off most lesser outfits these guys have gone on to create their own place in history quite separate from the Curtis fronted Joy Division . . . . if you've ever wondered about the name, do some research, who said Ian and the gang weren't about fun and frivolity ???
Back to 'The Perfect Kiss', absolutely nothing to do with Ian Curtis' death whatsoever, simply a recollection by Bernard Sumner, the man fated with standing in the footsteps of his former band mate, about the awkward and irreconcilable feelings he encountered when a gay mate of his went out on the town with him one night . . . . the rest of the story moves from that standpoint, here endeth the lesson . . . . almost.
A long time ago, a mate of mine who had been struggling with his own demons in regards his sexuality, put 'the word' on me one bleary morning in a club, I felt awkward, embarrassed, uncomfortable and so fucking angry I just took off . . . . that reaction is one I will forever wish I had handled so much better, he was way more conflicted and pained than I was, his confusion after a life trying to bullshit himself and everyone else in the 'straight' world was something I couldn't conceive of . . . . all I had to do was say 'sorry Steve*, not my bag man, you know that' and all would have been hunky dory, The Perfect Kiss always makes me feel like I let myself and my friend down that night . . . . even in a gay world you can be straight.
'BLOOMERS', AS HE WAS KNOWN, WAS THE SHOP ZEN MASTER, HE WAS THE WIZARD, THE PROFESSOR, THE FONT FROM WHICH ALL TRUE KNOWLEDGE FLOWED, HE HAD BEEN TO THE MOUNTAIN AND HAD TOLD BUDDHA 'IT'S TOO FAR AWAY, YOU'LL HAVE TO MOVE IT CLOSER' . . . . AND VERILY, THE MOUNTAIN WAS MOVED . . . . IT WAS DAVE WHO GOT ME TO BUY AND THEN READ COVER TO COVER, 'TUNING FOR SPEED', EVEN THOUGH I AIN'T NO MECHANIC, IT IS STUFF THAT STAYS WITH YOU FOREVER.
Dave has a viciously sardonic sense of humour and an ability to take the piss out of anything and anyone at the drop of a hat, which came in handy given how much shit we used to put on him about the pictured G45 that was cluttering up the entrance to the shop for the best part of six years . . . . a legitimate, 500cc Geefer, frame #197, it had been owned and campaigned by Graeme Trinder back in the fifties/early sixties, fallen into disuse, like so many great Pommie race rockets did at the time of the Invasion of the Rising Sun, then resurrected by Dave in the late seventies.
By the time I had connected with Bloomers and our other partner, Ron Payne, in about 1990, it was in fine, but stationary, fettle. I wouldn't have known a G45 from a B52 at this point and old Bloomers would drip feed me info-bytes after which I would do my own research/homework thereby becoming more familiar with these not totally successful parallel twin racers . . . . that Dave was attempting to sort out his B series Rapide simultaneously with his Manx Inter and the Black Beast, along with customer bikes, a penchant for vintage handguns and rifles and a propensity for gabbing to other like minded eccentrics turning up to distract his attentions, it was no wonder the old Matchy stood guard in the doorway for so fucking long !!!
He took it to the legendary goat track that was Lakeside from about '91 through to '95 just to see how it would go in a fast 'regularity' event with a good scratcher on board courtesy of Johnny Stamnas, but it was not until the late nineties that the beast got its chance to run at full noise in combat . . . . beautifully enough with its former owner/pilot Graeme Trinder at the helm, shit had come full circle, what goes around had well and truly come around. So here's a pic of Graeme pushing Dave's, that was once his, Matchy G45 around the goat track at Lakeside circa 2000 . . . . I can still hear the fucking wonderful howl those open, shorty megas made as the crankshaft pushed those slugs quicker and harder in their barrels, as Neil Diamond once sung, 'it's a beautiful noise' . . . . love ya Bloomers, you've been a monumental influence in my life.
**** I've just been informed that anyone wishing to clean up on the second hand/collectable vinyl scene, if you happen to be one of the three people who bought our first vinyl foray then this rarity should net you approximately $90.00 . . . . fuck, if we'd known that, we woulda just hung onto the bastards . . . .
PUT TOGETHER WITH NOTHING MORE THAN A FEW TWIGS, A BIT OF SNOT AND SOME BAILING WIRE . . . . A TESTAMENT TO A DERBY LAD'S PERSISTENCE, DEDICATION AND COMPLETE AND UTTER LUNACY, A SAGA SO SORDIDLY SHAMEFUL THAT IT CAN ONLY BE TOLD NOW . . . . TO PROTECT THE GUILTY, SACRIFICES HAD TO BE MADE, AND SANITY WAS THE FIRST VICTIM, BLOODLUST FOLLOWED IN THE WAKE . . . . BAKING TRAYS WERE DEFILED, NAKED ALLOY WAS TURNED, TEA WAS MADE, AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN, LEATHERS WERE MOISTENED IN THOSE AREAS THAT DEMAND SUCH RITUALS AND FINALLY . . . . VANS BELONGING TO THE LEBANESE PEOPLES FRONT WERE RENTED TO UNDERTAKE THE PERILOUS JOURNEY TO THE NORTH, TO THE PLACE WHERE THE PRECIOUS 'GUZZALINE' WOULD PROPELL TEAM LOVELESS TO NEAR VICTORY.
SERIOUSLY THOUGH, LOVEY, WITH HELP FROM THE LURKER IN THE SHADOWS OF THE TEAM LOVELESS MOBILE R+D CENTRE, HAVE MANAGED TO SNATCH DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY AND THEN ORCHESTRATE A COMPLETE REVERSAL OF FORTUNE AND TAKE THE UPPER HAND ON WHAT WILL BE A VICTORY MOST PROUD . . . . MEIN FUHRER, I CAN RACE !!!!
HAD TO QUICKLY THINK OF SOMETHING WORTHY THAT WAS EASY TO HAND, CRO CUSTOM'S 'GREEN FLAKE SHOVEL' . . . . IN MY TOP TEN ALL TIME BIKES, EASY CHOICE.
NOW . . . . THE ACID TEST . . . . SINK OR SWIM . . . . PUSH JUST ONE LITTLE BUTTON AND . . . .
> > > > > > > >>>
LOOKS LIKE A PARTIAL SUCCESS . . . . NOT BEFORE TIME I CAN TELL YOU . . . . THIS NEW NOMINAL ABILITY MAKES FEEL SOMEWHAT EXCITED . . . . FINALLY, PHOTOS.
****** have to sort how to load a link thingy , in the meantime, this photo came from Caleb Owens blog, used with thanks.
Having always been a lover of the whole Aermacchi shindig, whether it be in the guise of the 'Harley' Sprint, the factory racers or the numerous other transmogrifications of this brilliant and unique single, to see that one of the greatest frame/chassis design teams in history also turned out their own version near knocked my tits off . . . . along with names like Seeley, Egli, Degens, North, Bakker and others, the Rickman brothers made a science out of bending up tube steel and alloy to radically improve the handling performance of some of the greatest motors in motorcycling history, if it was a decent powerplant, chances are that Don and Derek Rickman have stuffed the fucker into one of their frames . . . . 'scrambles', desert, trials, road racing, street, you name it, they built it, and now I know of yet another wicked combo, the Rickman Aermacchi, a wonderful little 'mongrel' if ever there was one . . . . cheers Lovey, ejamakated once again !!!!
THE SPECIALS FIRST ALBUM IS NOW A SCRATCHED, WARPED, TORN RELIC IN MY MODEST VINYL COLLECTION, THE REASON IT'S IN SUCH A FUCKING ABYSMAL STATE IS 'CAUSE NO OTHER RECORD I OWNED BACK THEN GOT FLOGGED AS CONSTANTLY AT HOME OR AT PARTIES AS THIS MILESTONE OF POST PUNK PERFECTION . . . . NOT ONLY WAS I CAPTIVATED BY THE MUSIC ITSELF BUT BY THE BAND'S FRONT AND CENTRE STANCE AGAINST RACISM, [I FUCKING DETEST THAT SHIT !!!] AT A TIME WHEN NOT ONLY THE UK, BUT AUSTRALIA AND THE USA, WERE EXPERIENCING AN UGLY SURGE IN NEO NAZI GROUPS.
Hailing from another once great British industrial city, Coventry, they may have been muso types but soft boys they were not, perpared to wear their righteous hearts on their sleeves in front of many a crowd full of Oi Skins, NF members and other brainless racist thug fucktards . . . . behind the visual side of things was a compliment of talent that gelled cohesively in each others company, Jerry Dammers, Lynval Golding, Terry Hall, Roddy Radiation, Rico and Neville Staple et al moved quickly from the regionally known 'Coventry Automatics' to the nationally famous The Specials AKA . . . .
Their future was assured after The Clash, famously anti racist themselves, asked the lads to play at the Rock Against Racism gigs to monster crowds, they were the talk of the town and they were talking to the town, as London was without question the epicentre of the new musical world at the time . . . . taking the piss out of the previously mentioned hate mobs, the government, bouncers and night club life and highlighting the realities of mass unemployment, police brutality and always championing the music as being for enjoyment not aggression . . . . imagine that, enjoying the gig and not wanting to go the biff, WTF ???
Unfortunately by about 1982/83 it was pretty much all over for the boys in the Specials, they went out with a dark and gloomily apt tune called 'Ghost Town' that really encapsulated the depressed state of the British economy at the time . . . . in their wake was another song that would be responsible for the continued awareness of Nelson Mandela's unjust incarceration and would ultimately lead to such international political pressure he was eventually freed by the then South African government . . . . perhaps only Dylan's tale of Reuben 'Hurricane' Carter can lay claim to such a lofty result.
As Aretha Franklin said a long time ago . . . . RESPECT !!!! Special . . . . fuck yeah !!!!
STARDATE, SUNDAY 19th AUGUST 2012, 2.53 P.M . . . . IN THE MOUNTAINS BEHIND THE SUNNY, SYNTHETIC, SUCKALOTOFARSE SUFFERERS PARASITE [SURFERS PARADISE FOR THE UNINITIATED] 'GLITTER STRIP' A LONE RIDER AND HIS FREEDOM MOSHEEN IMPERIL THE FREE WORLD . . . . UNAWARE THAT JUST UP AHEAD, LYING IN WAIT TO PUT A HALT TO HIS QUEST FOR 'THE DREAM' , ARE TWO MOTORCYCLE ORRIFICERS OF THE LER, SENIOR CONSTABLE GOODBLOKE AND SENIOR CUNTSTABLE HITLER . . . .
The morning's part of my day's excursion on board Starship Purple Penis had been fucking perfect, glorious blue skies, an absence of road clowns in cars and on bikes, 200 odd trauma free kilometres in a looping jaunt through Brisbane, Beaudesert and back into a hinterland town called Canungra . . . . grab a steak and mushroom pie and choccy milk for lunch and then strike out for the Tumbulgum pub, just over the border, via the potentially deadly but fun, 'Hinze Speedway', great roads and sweeping bends rising up through the mountains for nearly 100 klms.
About forty klicks in, smiling that shiteater grin you that comes upon you for no reason other than 'oh boy is this great' I spot the wallopers up in front on the right side of the road, instantly let the throttle roll off, swap down a gear but there is no chance of washing off twenty k of over the limit speed in time to avoid the radar gun pointing at me . . . . I pull over, dismount, remove my lid and watch as John and Panch steam up to greet me, good times ahead, fuck yeah !!! I have fuck all points left on my license and I'm a wine rep, on the scoot or in the car . . . . no license, no job . . . . such is life . . . . the 'thrill' of confrontation rises in my belly, I've always relished this game, thanks to a Naval Officer father . . . . from years of much prior history, this shit can go one of several ways, generally, I get lucky, honesty confuses the fuck outta cops.
Officer Goodbloke walks over and shows me the 'gun' reading my speed at 87 kph, in a 70 zone, any excuse, no, license, yes, any outstanding warrants, no, nice bike, thanks, blah blah blah, meanwhile Senior Cuntstable Hitler is giving himself a tour of the Purple Penis and is clearly not of the same opinion as Senior Connie Goodbloke . . . . where's your left hand mirror, never run one in thirty years, where's your belt guard, in the bin, where's your primary pulley cover, [time to lie with this one] being repaired mate, what's the FTWCO sticker mean, Forever Two Wheels Company cuntstable, honestly . . . .
By this stage of this curious double act old mate Goodbloke intercedes seemingly on my behalf and hands me the completed ticket, goes through the usual, your speed was, the fine is, loss of three points, what to do, where to pay and 'if you choose to contest this charge' stuff while darling little Cuntstable Hitler, hearing an approaching swarm of hyper bikes, sprints back to his cop issue Yammy [FJR I think] and starts waving his radar gun in their general direction . . . . Goodbloke looks across at Hitler, looks back at me and says, "take it easy mate, have a nice arvo".
Good old Hitler pulls over three of Hyper Bike Squadron and I watch the Dynamic Duo doing their stuff while I finish a ciggy, Goodbloke is affable, approachable and just a guy doing his job, Cuntstable Adolf is all angst, tension and conspiracy theorist, two totally different people, the classic 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' caper . . . . maybe they are paired with each other deliberately, maybe it's opposites attract, but whatever it is, it seems to be the way, I reckon chances are that if Hitler hadn't been there I would've ended up having a nice little yarn about bikes, the weather, the old days and kooks on Hyper Bikes, either way, I can't bitch about it . . . . do the crime, stand in line . . . . happy trails kiddies, look out for Cuntstable Hitler, he's got Doppelgangers all over the world . . . . invasion of the Robocops continues.
Ian Broudie, lead singer/songwriter, had departed Deaf School and started up this ahead of it's time band, by the time their second long player was released the sound had been honed into something resembling the Raybeats meets Tenpole Tudor, all twangin guitars, big beat drums and semi chanting vox treatments, I fully dug it, especially in the search for all this wonderful new music that was flooding out of the U.K in the immediate Post Punk vacuum . . . . as I said, sadly for them, they crashed and burned commercially.
Nonetheless, Broudie would go on to do production work for another of my greats of the day, Echo and the Bunnymen among others . . . . more significantly however, Ian Broudie would eventually recieve the recognition he deserved by founding the semi legendary Lightning Seeds circa 1980 or thereabouts. I still so dig the work he did with the Mirrors, take a listen to the title track for 'Heart-Twango & Raw-Beat', fuckin great shit, and different as all get out back in the day . . . . for now, go off and have a bit of knees up with those wascally wapscallions, The Owiginal Miwwors and 'Dancing with the Webels' !!!
THIS BLOKE TOTALLY AMAZES ME, EVERYTIME I SEE SOME OF HIS WORK ON SOME LUCKY BUGGER'S TANK OR WHATEVER ELSE, A FREAKIN PSYCHADELIC WIZARD OF THE FIRST ORDER . . . . DETAIL AND MINUTAE THAT YOU CAN SPEND ALL DAY PERVING AT AND STILL BE DISCOVERING NUANCES THAT YOU'D TOTALLY MISSED ON PRIOR INSPECTION, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE WHAT IT'D BE LIKE SEEING THIS INSANE SHIT IN THE FLESH.
GEN CALLS HIMSELF A 'HIPPIE PAINTER' . . . . MAN, THIS GUY'S ON THE SERIOUSLY GOOD SHIT, WHATEVER IT IS . . . . IT'S A TECHNICOLOR TRIP FOR SURE !!!!
I KNOW THERE IS SOME HOOKUP WITH THE NAME 'LOVEEARART' SO IF ANYONE HAS THE INSIDE RUNNING ON IT I'D LOVE TO EAR IT . . . . FUCK IT, IN THE INTERESTS OF INDEPENDENT RESEARCH I JUST WENT STRAIGHT TO THE INTERWEB CAPER . . . . IT'S JAPANESE SLANG FOR 'WIFE' . . . . HMMMMMM . . . . WHO'D 'AVE THUNK IT ????
This is just one gorgeous wee ride, from top to tail, it's a perfect bit of design and the specific shade of lime green totally did it for me a couple of years ago when I initially clapped eyes on it, everything is finished beautifully and the end result is one of the tastiest lookin Trumpy customs I've encountered . . . . and you don't see a whole lot of the unit model T100 being utilised in chops either . . . . I gotta say from my own point of view . . . . I think I understand why as well.
As gorgeous a little jigger as they were, the baby Bonnie/Trophy did have a couple of weak points, and possibly the most irritating was the pins and needles inducing vibration put out by the 500cc parallel twin at just about any decent road speed, I got to ride more than a few of the little bastards over a six year period in the nineties and I can testify to it . . . . especially the twin carb Daytona . . . . so . . . . I guess the only reservation I'd have about 'Ye Lime Pie' in all its beauty and eye poppin cool would be how much more that buzzing, almost low voltage shock sensation, might be amplified with the smallest Meriden twin doing its stuff in a rigid frame . . . . but then again, who ever said that cool scoots were dictated by the laws and lessons of practicality . . . . fuck that, let's ride !!!!!
A great and superbly informative post on the Vintagent blog yesterday set me off on the Crocker search and deploy mission, I was going to put up a tidy example of the celebrated Indian Conversion OHV model in its road going form but went with this just because of the historical context . . . . Albert Crocker kicked it off at this address all those years ago, resulting in a series of bikes that were mechanically superior to nearly all others of their time, but, as history tells us, ultimately the costs of producing these amazing two wheelers proved their undoing . . . . among other less known factors.
Go and have a read of the Vintagent's write-up for some illumination on a subject that has been clouded by rumour, myth and bullshit for the last sixty years, the Crocker Motorcycle Company . . . . one man's pursuit of excellence, innovation and quality, a legacy that lives on today through the remaining bikes that time couldn't kill . . . .
THE KING OF COOL, A REAL MAN'S ACTION HERO, NOT ONLY A PRETTY DECENT ACTOR BUT A BLOKE WHO DID MOST OF HIS OWN STUNTWORK, NOT THE 'BIG JUMP' IN "THE GREAT ESCAPE" THOUGH, HE RACED CARS AND BIKES, FEATURED HEAVILY IN THE CLASSIC "ON ANY SUNDAY" AND GOT DRAGGED INTO REPRESENTING THE STATES IN THE ISDT BY GOOD FRIEND BUD EKINS . . . . LIKE I SAID, ONE SERIOUSLY AND PERPETUALLY COOL DUDE . . . . AND APPARENTLY THE OLD INDIAN WAS HIS 'CHOP', I'M JUST STOKED TO BE ABLE TO LOOK AT IT IN VIDEO FORM, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE THE THRILL I'D GET FROM STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE CRUSTY OLD FUCKER . . . .
DAVE ROPER WAS, AND STILL IS I THINK, THE ONLY AMERICAN TO WIN AT THE ISLE OF MAN, HE ACHIEVED THAT FEAT BACK IN THE MID EIGHTIES AND SINCE THEN HAS BEEN A TOP PEDALLER IN CLASSIC/HISTORIC RACING . . . . HE WAS ALWAYS FEATURED IN 'CLASSIC BIKE' COVERAGE BACK IN THE DAY AND ALWAYS, ALWAYS, AT THE POINTY OF THE FIELD . . . . TEAM OBSOLETE, IS THE WORLDS PREMIER CLASSIC RACING OUTFIT WITH A STABLE OF BIKES THAT IS MIND SNAPPING IN ITS SERIOUS HISTORICAL SIGNIFICANCE, MANN'S TRIPLE, MV's, 'THE' RC161 HONDA AMONG OTHERS, LIKE, WOW, WHAT A BUNCH OF BIKES !!! AND THE NEATEST THING IS THEY ALL GET FLOGGED OUT ON THE TRACK WHERE THEY'RE DESIGNED TO BE . . . . NOT JUST GATHERING DUST AND LOSING THEIR DIGNITY IN SOME LAME-O STATIC DISPLAY !!!
ARI HENNING HAS RACING BIKES IN HIS BLOOD FOR SURE, HIS OLD MAN, TODD, IS AN AMERICAN RACING LUMINARY, HAVING SWITCHED TO CLASSICS AT THE TIME WHEN RACING CURRENT BIKES STARTED BECOMING IDIOTICALLY COST PROHIBITIVE HE GAINED MUCH SUCCESS AND IT WAS GROWING UP SURROUNDED BY ALL THIS THAT ARI BECAME INFECTED WITH A TERMINAL CASE OF THE BIKE BUG . . . . HENNING THE YOUNGER IS ALSO ONE OF THOSE LUCKY, TALENTED BASTARDS IN LIFE WHOSE DAY GIG IS GETTING PAID TO DO THE THING THAT GIVES HIM THE HORN, RIDING AND REVIEWING MOTORCYCLES, TRAVELLING THE GLOBE AND HAVING A TOTAL HOOT IN BETWEEN RACING, AT WHICH HE ALSO EXCELS, RIDING FOR HIS DAD'S OPERATION.
TO THE FOOTAGE AT HAND, IT'S A FUCKING CRACKER FOR SEVERAL REASONS, THE WAY THE SIMULTANEOUSLY FILMING GO-PRO FOOTAGE FROM BOTH BIKES IS SPLICED SIDE BY SIDE AND SWITCHED BETWEEN BIKES, THE BLOODY NOISE IS FULLY THE SHIT, A TWIN HONDA AT FULL SONG VS THE THREE FIDDY SINGLE AERMACCHI, OOPS . . . . 'HARLEY' . . . . IS A GREAT CONTRAST AND REMINDS ME A POOFTEENTH OF WHAT I'VE HEARD AND SEEN OF THE GLORY DAYS AT THE IOM WITH THE HONDA 6 PAIRED AGAINST THE LAST OF THE SHORTSTROKE MANX'S . . . . LASTLY, IT'S ON A PERFECT DAY, ON A COOL CIRCUIT WITH TWO SUPER TALENTED RIDERS ON TWO DIAMETRICALLY OPPOSED BIKE DESIGNS GOING HAMMER AND TONGS AT EACH OTHER . . . . WHAT ELSE DO YOU NEED . . . . TURN THAT SHIT UP, PLAY IT AGAIN !!!!
***** DAVE ROPER APPEARS NOT TO BE RIDING FOR TEAM OBSELETE ANYMORE, NOT SURE WHEN THE SPLIT TOOK PLACE, ANYONE WANTING TO INFORM ME PLEASE FEEL FREE . . . . FOR BETTER, AND SOMETIMES, FOR WORSE, I DON'T DO 'RESEARCH' ON MY BLURBS, IT JUST COMES OUT, I'M NOT PUTTING MYSELF UP AS SOME KIND OF NUOVO 'VINTAGENT' OR OTHER IDENTITIES OF SIMILAR CALIBRE . . . . I'M JUST A BLOKE WHO LOVES BIKES, THEIR PLACE IN MY WORLD AND MY OWN RECOLLECTIONS OF HOW SHIT HAPPENED, IF THERE IS EVER A FUCK UP OR A MISREPRESENTATION THEN I CAN ONLY SAY WHOLEHEARTEDLY IT WAS UNINTENTIONAL AND JUST THAT, A FUCK UP.
THE LADS PERFORMED THIS LIVE IN FRONT OF A GAZILLION PUNTERS AT THE FINALE OF THE OLYMPICS, [THANK FUCK IT'S OVER, NORMAL TRANSIMISSION WILL RESUME AS SOON AS POSSIBLE] . . . . ANYWAY, SAW IT ON THE NEWS HEADLINES THIS MORNING WHILE HAVING MY COFFEE AND A FAG, THAT'S A CIGARETTE FOR YOU YANKS, AND WAS IMMEDIATELY SINGING ALONG . . . . JUST LIKE THE BLOW MONKEYS WHO I POSTED A WHILE BACK, PURE FUCKING GENIUS, QUALITY POP AND TOTALLY REDEFINING STUFF.
FROM OSCAR WILDE TO NOEL COWARD TO NEIL TENNANT AND CHRIS LOWE, THE ENTERTAINMENT WORLD IS PUNCTUATED WITH THE CREATIVE GENIUS OF THE INTERNATIONAL ARMY OF RAINBOW WARRIORS . . . . AND THAT DOESN'T WORRY ME ONE IOTA . . . . 'HETEROS FOR HOMOS', JOIN THE CLUB, GET MORE OUT OF LIFE !!!
I realise full well that never having met the man, nor seen his creative output in all their cold steel glory, leaves me well short of the league of you who have managed both these things, but I do know what I like and all of what I've seen over the last few years has been fucking brilliant. So, when Noot posted a killer piece on the Love Meister from this year's Sturgeon gig I felt compelled to dredge up something to second the emotion.
The beautiful little '65 Sporty in this vid is an illustration of the case in point, compact, free of fluff and fill, classic lines, everything in sync with the rest of the overall look, more noteworthy is the fact that the motor has also been rebuilt completely by the man from Arizona . . . . heaps of guys build some fucking wonderful 'rolling chassis' bikes, God knows there are tons of them that I love and would really be stoked to one day meet and yarn to their respective owners . . . .
A recent frank and enlightening email 'discussion' with a bloke whose work I and many others of you admire greatly has been lingering in my mind since, and the subject of one Jeremiah Armenta has provided the impetus to give it some air. To the non spotlight seeking 'complete builder' who initiated that spark, I thank him most sincerely . . . . his identity is a noot point, sorry, that should read 'moot'.
Very few blokes who can manage the hand fabbing of tanks, frames, 'bars, pipes, anscilliary bits and bobs, paint, whatever, also do the complete motor rebuild thing as well. This is not in any way a put down on those who don't, shit, I can barely manage swapping out basic components, not to mention full on, hand fabbed, creative stuff . . . . what I can do though, is appreciate as much as anybody, the sheer bloody genius of the fellas out there who undertake the entire fucking caper on their Pat Malone, from the frame to wheel lacing, fenders, oil bags to oil pumps, paint to pegs, carbs to complete motor refurbs, the whole sheboinker. Those dudes are in a very small minority . . . . it's rarified air up there at the mountain top, just them, the bike and the Chopper Gods.
I've seen several of famed builder/actor/stunt dude/bike guy Gary Littlejohn's scoots over the years and just thought there might be some moving pics of any of them floating around on the internude thingy, sadly, no such luck, not a fucking sausage in fact . . . . but, as usual on this kind of trawling campaign, you always end up lucking onto some other tasty shit that doesn't have thirty eight trillion views beside it's name.
1970's "Angels Die Hard" was another flick that Littlejohn had a significant hand in, along with one Dan Haggerty and several others from previous B movies/biker flick fame . . . . the opening titles sequence herein, is just a cracking piece of chopper train action . . . . some super tasty close up shots of the bikes, spools, bars and riders in a fairly large pack slicing through the desert and looking for kicks, they find it as I'm sure everyone knows, care of a smalltown Sherriff with a bumfuck attitude.
Once you've had a gander at this, take a chopper ride to YouTube and search for 'Angels Die Hard' Movie Trailer and take a listen to the intro voiceover . . . . fuck me sideways . . . . talk about over the top . . . . no wonder shit with guys on bikes continued to get blown out of all proportion throughout the seventies, melodramatic shit dribbling at it's finest, don't get it on your new vans and selvedge denim y-fronts . . . . anyway, enjoy the clip and here's to the legendary Gary Littlejohn and all his rides and contributions that I couldn't find on PooTube, yowza, yowza, yowza !!!!
The most eye catching, and sorta sad, part of this look around the laboratory of a bloke who has spawned so many wicked scoots over the last ten years or so, is seeing the 'Lovely Loser' languishing in the corner, covered in a patina of dust and generally lookin kinda down in the dumps . . . . I recall when it was done reading the article in The Horse on it's build history, all the special, one off touches, the guys who helped out getting it done, the heritage of the components used, really special shit.
And, of course, the final visual appeal of the finished ride, if you've ever been into the mix of old school racer with a big injection of twisted engineering genius you would've dug that thing, even now I find myself going back through that issue of BSC and just staring at it . . . . real cool never goes out of style . . . . the fact this garage is also stuffed full with other of Dave's creations that have earned their place in modern chopper/bobber/tracker annals only makes this nice insight even more worthwhile watching . . . . for anyone unsure of just how long and how manically this ChopperDude has been involved in the 'industry' . . . . go and do some research, you'll be blown out, one devoted, passionate, crazy, clued in bloke with huge history and cred . . . . they may have forced him to hate but nobody forced him to get into bikes . . . . loud fast definitely rules !!!!
FILE UNDER . . . . . "THE BLITZKRIEG THAT FINALLY TOOK LONDON"
THERE'S A REALLY COOL CYCLE MAMA IN THE SOUTH OF THE LAND OF THE FROG WHO HAS A LITTLE ISSUE WITH THE KINGS OF GO FAST, DON'T TURN, ROCK AND ROLL, I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT, BUT IT'S NEVER TOO LATE TO FALL IN LOVE . . . . NOT SO MUCH PUNK AS JUST R+ R ON GLUE AND BAD SNEAKER ODOUR, STRAIGHT OUTTA QUEENS AND INTO THE HEARTS OF FANS ALL OVER THE WORLD, THE KINGS OF NO FUSS, DUMBARSED, SOCIAL COMMENTARY . . . .
YOU NEVER WENT TO A RAMONES GIG EXPECTING THE WHEEL TO HAVE BEEN REINVENTED, YOU WANTED IT TO BE SIMPLY JUST AS FUCKING GOOD AS THE LAST TIME, AND IT ALWAYS WAS, FROM JOEY WELCOMING THE CREW WITH 'HELLO PIGSKNUCKLE, TAKE IT DEE DEE . . . . 1, 2, 3, 4, BANG !!!' 90 MINUTES LATER, IT'S ALL DONE AND DUSTED . . . . 'GOODNIGHT PIGSKNUCKLE, WE LOVE YOU !!!!'
THIS EPIC FOOTAGE IS FROM THE U.K TOUR AT THE END OF 1977 THAT THE EPIC 'IT'S ALIVE' DOUBLE SET WAS TAKEN FROM, ENGLAND HAD TAKEN JOEY, JOHNNY, DEE DEE AND TOMMY TO IT'S IMMEDIATE PUNK AND POST PUNK BOSSOM AND THE FILM FROM THE GIGS FEATURED ILLUSTRATES WHY . . . . THE FOUR DUDES FROM NYC WHO INITIALLY WANTED TO PLAY LED ZEP AND SABBATH BUT COULDN'T, TOOK NO PRISONERS FROM THE GET GO, INFLUENCED A TRIPLE GENERATION OF MUSIC NUTTERS FED UP WITH THE SHAM THAT ROCK AND ROLL HAD BECOME AND WERE PIVOTAL IN THRUSTING PUNK INTO THE GLOBAL SPOTLIGHT
AN ENDLESS LIST OF SUB THREE MINUTE, AUDIO RIOT ROCK MISSILES THAT WILL FOREVER REMAIN AS FRESH AS WHEN THEY WERE FIRST RECORDED, TELLING TALES FROM THEIR OWN BACKYARD AND ALLEY WAYS . . . . STOOPID SHIT WAS NEVER SO MUCH FUN AND SO UNIVERSALLY APPEALING, A DEPTH OF SUBJECT MATTER THAT IS KALEIDOSCOPIC IN IT'S NATURE . . . . FROM CBGB'S TO THE RAINBOW AND FROM BRISBANE TO RIO, THR BROTHERS FROM FOUR OTHER MOTHERS TRULY ROCKED THE FUCKING HOUSE . . . . AND ALWAYS WILL . . . . LONG LIVE THE RAMONES . . . . GABBA GABBA HEY . . . . COME ON OLLIE BANANAS, HEY HO, LETS FUCKING GO GRRRLY !!!!!
I don't know what it was like in the U.S of A or Europe in the late eighties/early nineties when the grey, industrial town of Madchester was undergoing yet another phase of musical rebirthing that spread like herpes to the world beyond, but out here in the Antipodes it was an almost palpable feeling of . . . . being completely fucked up on the love train express, clubbing in the old school way, gigging until one in the a.m, on the piss, on the Big Eezy, on the fucking move, 24 Hour Party People extended way beyond it's birthplace . . . . the 'shit' was clean and pure, 12 hours from a single ticket, grinding teeth, face aching from smiling, beaming, loving, throbbing without any gristle, I described it's sensation on my first ride as being struck up the arse by the freight train of love, and it was, people you'd seen around for ten, twelve years but never actually met . . . . 'gidday mate, I've seen you around before and I just wanted to say how much I think you're a good bloke' . . . . no agro, except out of towners or footy heads wondering what the fuck was up with happy people, not just riding the Love Train either, constantly slurping gins, beers, interspersed with doobs, hot ones, buckets, clearlights, redlights, micro dots, blotters, the yang yang, Afghan Black . . . . the world was a beautifully toxic multi coloured oyster and I was at the smorgasbord of life . . . . and my constant companion was the Mondays, more than the Stone Roses or any of the others, Shaun and Bez and the lads provided my personal soundtrack to all the madness, gladness and occasionally, motherfuckin badness, psychadelically trance enducing, mesmerizing, the perfect partner, three in the arvo or three in the morning, it was Happy Monday every day of the week . . . . until jaundice, viral hepatitus and total dysfunction of the liver threw me off the Madchester Express like a drug fucked zombie in '91. It was my saving grace, and not a moment too soon . . . . I wouldn't change a single thing though, not one.
