Hank's Leaky Shovelhead

Hank loved his shovelhead, but it leaked like the Exxon Valdez, and he became frustrated. He’d try to fix one leak, then get another. So, a few years back, he bought a brand new Victory motorcycle, hoping newer technology, would make it leak free. So I found a small dropper bottle and filled it with clean 20w/50, and carried it in my pocket, so that when Hank wasn’t looking, I could put a few drops under his bike, adding to his frustration. We’d go out by his brand new parked bike, and I’d say, “Hank, what’s that under yer bike?” And he’d bend down, put his finger in the oil, and say, “What the fuck!:” Eventually, he caught on, and he called me a mutherfucker. Hank died a couple of years ago, but I still have the dropper bottle.

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Whoda thunk: Lake Michigan

Motorcycles and Photography

Motorcycles and Photography: Always liked both, so when I started going to rides and events it clicked. The photo above is of Skinner and Kitty on route to Marcus Dairy. I made my darkroom in the space near the oil burner. It had a sink, a red light bulb, beer and rock and roll. The oil burner would come on loud for heat or hot water and I would have to turn up the music and drink more beer. It was kinda like my own little private party developing pictures but I think the music might have woken my sleeping family upstairs, so I'd turn off the oil burner to be more quiet, then forget to turn it back on and we'd all wake up in the middle of the night freezing. I spent a lot of time under that red bulb developing, making prints and breathing fixer fumes but it kept me out of trouble, somewhat. Most of my riding shots were taken with a 28mm wide angle lens, at f8 or f11 set for hyperfocal distance. EASYRIDERS, IN THE WIND, BIKER, and more. Here's a complete list of my published...

Clutch Repair That'll Put You Back In The Saddle

We were off to the races. We shuffled off to Buffalo. Well not quite Buffalo, but near there: Olean, NY, for the Rally In The Valley, and then to Dansville, for the Poags Hole Hill climbs. It was late Saturday afternoon; the Rally was winding down. My three friends and I fired up and nodded to each other that we were ready to pull away from the curb. I pulled in the clutch, dropped it into first, and lurched awkwardly, narrowly missing a small group of pedestrians, before I stalled her out, and rolled sheepishly back to the curb. My clutch cable stuck straight up in the air, looking amazingly like some kind of strange whip antenna. Hmmm. An aftermarket cable, she came apart at the ferrule. It was late on a Saturday and the closest Harley dealer was an hour away. We plied the dwindling crowds at the Rally looking for a clutch cable. We got a few leads and the best one boiled down to this: there was a guy in a bar outside of town who "might" have one that "might...

Motorcycles Bartenders F-Bombs

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