A Six Shooter And A Panhead. A Story Of The Old, Wild West. Originally published in BIKER December 2009 It was 1972, and I just got damned annoyed at riding in the rain. I was really tired of ducking that relentless rooster tail of water flying off my fenderless front wheel. If there was a Weather Channel back then, I didn’t know about it. It seemed that every time I threw a leg over my scoot, I found precipitation. The tinkling pianos of “Riders On The Storm,” by The Doors, seemed to constantly play in my head. A friend had recently spun me a tale of New Mexico, a tale of him and his girlfriend and the desert. New Mexico was the desert, and I could ride my panhead in the heat next to modern day Western outlaws and hippies, and we could carry guns, and shoot whenever we wanted. I’d had enough of the New York rain, enough of helmet laws, and enough of the bullshit. I found myself a decent, used newspaper van, a white ’69 Ford Econoline, 3/4 ton, with a wide green stripe. I b