The Panhead is Gone

(Wooley had a nice pair of jugs and here you can finally see what a handsome devil I am if you never saw me at Garage Choppers.)

Well, the Panhead is finally gone. Yep, I sold it tonight to some young guy who came with his dad to pick it up. Seems that his father has a 52 Pan and his uncle has a 57 so its only natural that the younger one would want one as well. His father told me he did not know why his son wanted an old Pan after seeing all that has to go into just keeping one running. Seems that the father had to do a ton of work to get his cases back in tip top shape and the son saw all that had to go into maintaining the vintage machine. But I can see why the kid wants one and its the same reason the father and uncle wanted theirs too; except the son also wants to have his own probably because of Unc and Pop. Its pretty damn cool, that a kid has the interest in the old machines from a bygone era, when everyone else is plopping money down for a new improved updated version of an HD. There is a big plus in knowing your Unc and Pop have helped you bring something along and learned how to maintain. All those other youngsters won't have the same pride as this guy building, tearing down redoing and bringing something back to life. This Pan will see new life in a vintage wishbone frame, I was told, if only he can talk Pop out of the frame that sat in a barn for years collecting dust and rust. He told me tonight that he'd been trying to talk his dad out of the frame for some time now. I recon Pop will hand it over to him now don't you?
Sitting here thinking about it makes me have vision's of the kid and his dad sitting in the garage right now as this is typed looking over everything and making plans. Oh the excitement that he must be feeling like a kid at Christmas time. There was one stipulation from me and that was that he had to ride it over for me to see when its all finished. Think he will? Probably not but what the heck, I'm just glad to know this old Pan will live again.

Don't let our wounded veterans become forgotten.
(Excerpt from my book:)

"We weren’t killers, the government trained us to be killers and then told us it was the right thing to do. That seriously screwed with our minds man. Then when I was lucky enough to make it back home, people made me feel like a mud stained boot. Mud stained boots are to be hidden away and never brought out to be used until dirty work is to be done. Otherwise, nobody wants to see them. Not in their car or house or store or just about anywhere cause a little mud might not look so good you know. They’ve served their purpose so toss them away so’s not to be seen. Does not matter how you try to disguise them or clean ‘em up, they’ll always be mud stained boots!"

"Never could seem to find the right way to explain that myself." Said one of the other men. "We were drafted into that situation, most of us, once there felt proud, at first. You don’t think about proud when lying in a muddy hole with your dead friend beside you.
"All you think about is staying alive. Then we came home." added another.
Frank looked over. "Some of us are still over there!"


Don't let our Wounded soldiers become 'mud stained boots'. Go visit www.woundedwarriorproject.org.

Yamaha Gone:

No, not the company but rather my old Yammy 500 that had been sitting around to long. The last thing I had done to it after pulling most of it down was rebuild the carbs. Old Yammy sat in the garage as a rolling chassis, then made it into my small shop where it became in the way there as well. So, finally it went back in the garage then outside under a tarp (which rotted) and then another tarp...which rotted too. Nuther words, this bike was just getting in the way like a puppy under foot everywhere you turn. Seems I was always having to move it from one point to another to get at something or park my truck in the garage in winter; you can see it needed to go somewhere, anywhere but here. I'd tired of looking at it waisting down to a pile of plastic and rust. Luck would have it, just by chance, that I was invited to a biker dinner get together a couple of months ago. We ate, we talked, we listened and ate some more. Over in a corner of the room sat this guy and his wife whom my wife knows and I've met a time or three. I don't remember how we got on the subject but I let it be known that old yammy was looking for a new home for free. The guys wife looked at me and said "No, don't tell him anymore cause he has enough projects sitting around." why she even tried to shush me but the damage was already done. We ended our conversation after a few more minutes and that was that.

But wait, a few weeks later somebody knocks at the back door and it the fellow from the dinner to look at the bike. Wish I'd known he was coming because after he sees the buke peeking from behind the trash cans, wheel barrows, lawn mower and other stuff he says he wants it. So thus begane the scouring of the garage, shop, rafters and anywhere else I'd put parts and we load it in his truck.