I was over fifty when I went back to complete the bachelor’s degree I’d started in January of 1979, at the age of twenty-two. It ultimately took me thirty-five years, gate-to-gate, to limp across the stage at the University of Texas and collect my degree in December of 2013, at the ripe old age of fifty-seven.
With honors, if you please! 😏
Every one of my siblings, some of their kids and a good number of in-laws were in attendance that day, raising the roof as I gimped across the stage. Mine was the last name called.
Anyhoo, as an English major, one of my classes was on poetry, and one day we were presented with a sonnet by William Shakespeare:
We followed that up with a modern-day retelling of the sonneteer’s great love by poet Harryette Mullen, from her book Sleeping with the Dictionary (2002, University of California Press, Oakland).
Then we were pressed to create our own. Me being the biker what I are, I decided to have some fun with it. As you will see (at least, I hope you see), I relied heavily on stereotype for broad comic effect. 😏
I’m pretty sure I also got an A on the assignment. 🤣
* Obligatory (but still true) Disclaimers:
First; I really have never met any of the models from Easyriders, and have no idea what kind of women they are. The characterization is used here only for effect, in keeping with the narrator’s ‘voice’, and does not reflect my own or The Shovel Shop‘s opinion of said models.
Second; and I cannot stress this enough: this is not a description of my wife, or any woman I have ever been involved with! I swear! 😆
Anyhoo, I hope y’all enjoyed this brief meander down the garden path. I’ve been busy getting Jackie and I, The Shovel Shop and MMMoMMA settled in our new quarters at San Antonio, Texas. We will resume our regularly-scheduled chaos ASAP.
‘Til then, ride free, ride safe, but most of all, ride! 😎
Clint Eastwood and John Compton ride into town on bobbed Big Twins. Both were filmed riding, and both handled the tank-shift motors easily. It was obviously not their first time on bikes!
In an episode of the 1950s television show Highway Patrol, aired 2 April 1956, two motorcycle club members (Clint Eastwood as ‘Joe Keeley’ and John Compton as ‘Nick West’) ride their stripped-down Harleys into a small town and stop at a café for breakfast. They are shocked when the café owner (Jack Edwards as ‘Bernie Sills’) confronts them with a shotgun, forces them outside and orders them to leave.
We just want somethin’ to eat, mister.
It turns out the café owner’s wife (Paula Houston as ‘Mrs. Sills’) was injured during a ‘motorcycle raid’ by a renegade club eight months earlier. Sills just assumes that because Joe and Nick are on bikes and wearing leather jackets, they must be part of that renegade club.
‘Mrs. Sills’ (Paula Houston) limps into the café, and is greeted by her doting husband, ‘Bernie Sills’ (Jack Edwards).
As his wife calls the Highway Patrol, her husband menaces and provokes the bikers until Nick snatches the shotgun from Sills and punches him on the jaw. Joe drags Nick away, they jump on their bikes (accurately customized in the fashion of the day, BTW) and roar out of town.
Nick and Joe make their getaway.
When Sills learns that his wife has called the Highway Patrol, the first thing he does is hide the gun. Then he lies to the responding officer, who is also on a motorcycle, telling him the cyclists started the trouble, that they’re dangerous and so on. Relying on the café owner’s words, the motorcycle cop sets off in hot pursuit of the bikers, only to be struck and fatally injured by a distracted trucker who runs a red light.
Sills is there when Broderick Crawford (‘Chief Dan Mathews’) shows up, and does his best to convince the head cop that those ‘cycle bums’ are responsible for the patrolman’s crash. He swears out a complaint against the bikers for ‘disturbing the peace’, infuriated that a more serious charge can’t be laid against them immediately.
‘Captain Dan Mathews’ rolls his eyes at Bernie Sills, who is vehemently insisting that ‘those cycle bums’ are responsible for the patrolman’s crash.
Back in his squad car, however, Mathews questions the café owner’s story — he doubts two bikers would take on an entire town — and tracks them down solely to question them as possible witnesses. When he hears their version of the morning’s events, he is incensed that Sills lied to him, so Mathews sets a trap for Sills. He outfits one of his motor patrolmen with a customized Harley and a borrowed motorcycle club jacket, and sends him into town to stop at the café.
A Highway Patrol officer in mufti, wearing a jacket borrowed from Nick and Joe’s club, shows up for breakfast at the Sills’ café.
Sure enough, Sills goes off on the ersatz ‘biker’, knocking over his Harley, beating on it with the stock of his shotgun, and threatening to shoot the ‘biker’. Sills even admits he’s using the same shotgun he used on Joe and Nick.
Sills vents his rage on the patrolman’s motorcycle, not realizing that Dan Mathews is watching from across the street.
At that point, Mathews and his driver appear, having witnessed the entire incident, and arrest Sills on two charges of assault with a deadly weapon. As he tries to weasel his way out of the trouble he’s in, the café owner’s wife calls him a bitter old fool, and vows to tell Mathews the truth about the incident with Joe and Nick.
‘You’re not gonna arrest me, are ya?’‘We sure as hell are, asshole!’
I tracked this episode down because, as a longtime biker, I’m interested in anything and everything to do with our history, and this episode is part of that history.
HISTORY
The ‘outlaw biker’ of today first became an identifiable character in the summer of 1947, when the town of Hollister, California, hosted a Gypsy Tour (a large motorcycle rally) which included races, hill-climbs, tire-kicking and socializing. This event was sanctioned by the AMA – the American Motorcycle Association, as it was then known – and drew a large number of ‘straight’ clubs: mom-and-pop touring clubs and sport-minded racing clubs.
‘Little Bobby’ Kelton of the Wing Nutz MC does donuts on the main drag of Hollister in July, 1947.
However, a small number of clubs, with names like Galloping Goose and Boozefighters, and comprised primarily of recently returned World War Two combat veterans, were more interested in partying than anything else, and began drinking, brawling, racing and performing motorcycle stunts on the town’s main drag.
Boozefighters MC members play games in the street, as townspeople and other riders watch.
Some windows were broken, some people were arrested, and the overwhelmed local police called the Highway Patrol in to assist in restoring order. This was finally accomplished by commandeering a dance band and a flatbed truck to serve as a stage. The damages were paid for on the spot, and the roughhousing came to a halt as the rebels took to the streets to dance!
Crowds boogie-woogie around a makeshift bandstand.
It would have been a non-story but for the efforts of an enterprising (and desperate) photographer named Barney Peterson. The San Francisco Chronicle sent Peterson to photograph the reported carnage, but he reportedly arrived too late to capture anything but the peaceful aftermath. According to witnesses, the photographer, eager to secure his commission, artfully arranged broken beer bottles beneath a bike parked at the curb, to make it look as if the town were awash in drunken revelers, and then grabbed a local fellow named Eddie Davenport and posed the visibly intoxicated Davenport on the bike with a bottle in each hand.
The resulting photograph appeared in LIFE magazine two weeks later, and seared the image of bikers as drunken louts and ruffians into the consciousness of Americans from coast to coast. Similar shenanigans at a rally the following summer, in Riverside, California, cemented that image.
August ‘Gus’ Deserpa, the young bearded man seen in the background of this photo, was a projectionist at the local theater. He had just gotten off work and wanted to check out the scene. Later, he told researchers that photographer Barney Peterson had staged the shot, gathering and arranging beer bottles around the parked motorcycle to make it seem the debauchery was worse than it really was. The myth of the ‘outlaw biker’ is based on a lie that traveled around the world in the pages of a popular magazine.
The AMA reportedly insisted that ‘99% of all motorcyclists are upright, law-abiding citizens,’ and announced that the clubs misbehaving at Hollister and Riverside would be ‘outlawed’ by the AMA. This merely meant that its members would be barred from taking part in AMA-sanctioned competition – a harsh punishment for a club that cared about winning trophies and national titles.
However, for a band of hooligans that described itself as ‘a drinking club with a motorcycle problem,’ the way the Boozefighters MC did, being ‘outlawed’ was a badge of honor. It wasn’t long before certain outlawed clubs (and those that aspired to be) devised a diamond-shaped 1% patch, which marked them as proud members of the 1% of all motorcyclists who did not fit in the AMA’s neat white-picket-fence world. They would be the elite, the baddest of the bad.
Rooney’s ‘Cyclist’s Raid’ and the real-life events at Hollister and Riverside helped inspire Stanley Kramer’s 1953 film The Wild One, which featured a smarmy motorcycle club leader (Marlon Brando as ‘Johnny Strabler’) opposite a far more realistic biker named ‘Chino’ (Lee Marvin) and his outlaw club, The Beetles. That, in turn, led to the April 1956 airing of the Highway Patrol episode titled ‘Motorcycle A’.
So why is this relatively unremembered half-hour television program worth all this verbiage? Well, kids, it stands out because, unlike The Wild One or Rooney’s fiction, or a lot of newspaper reports of the day, the bikers in this Highway Patrol episode are not the bad guys!
See? History, made fresh right here! 😁
And just to show that Highway Patrol wasn’t a one-off for Clint Eastwood’s riding abilities, here are two more pics of the man on wheels.
Clint Eastwood with his son.Clint Eastwood and Sondra Locke in ‘The Gauntlet’ (1977) aboard a panhead stolen from a ‘biker gang’ member they’d been brawling with.
A Facebook friend reposted a two-year-old screed about late-model wankers with their heated handgrips, windshields, stereos and security systems, and I felt moved to respond. As is my wont, I got windy about it. Here’s what he wrote:
To which I replied:
I don’t even like needing a windshield on a motorcycle, and wouldn’t run one if I hadn’t broken my damn back, but I have never seen the purpose of stereos, GPS systems and such. Get your Prius out of the garage, if you need all that shit!
My 2016 FLRT Freewheeler: no fairing, no stereo, no GPS, no cupholder, no bullshit…. It’s early days – I’ve only owned her for a couple of years – but she’s already lost weight, like the heavy chrome bumper and engine guards. Don’t be surprised if she loses even more weight as time goes by. I like my motorcycles stripped near to naked! 😏My 1954/66/74 shovelhead stripped near to naked, at left, and with the pogo-stick saddle and windshield I was forced to add after the 35′ fall that broke my achin’ sacroiliac. As you might imagine from my rantings on this page, I would much rather have the iteration at left! 😏
Still, I remember in the early ’70s, cats mounting alarm systems on their rides because…. hey! If some motherfucker gets off with your bike, the odds are you’ll never see it again. Most broke tramps I knew had everything they owned in that machine, and no insurance company was gonna cover a custom bike. You and your bros were all that stood between your bike and the forces of evil.
I’ll never forget sitting at a party back in ’73: we’re all getting drunk and high and grooving to the tunes on the turntable, and all of a sudden we hear a fucking police radio right there in the room with us! Turned out to be the remote for the new alarm system on Al’s Sporty. It could receive a signal from the alarm module if anyone fucked with his bike. No one knew until that instant that it could also pick up radio transmissions! 😱 Talk about freaked out! 🤣
I’ve never had an alarm system on any of my bikes, but I also avoid parking them where I can’t keep an eye on them. If the bike’s not in my line of sight for any reason, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!
Even in my bolted and alarm-secured garage, my bikes are locked up. I worked hard to get and keep that shovel, and the FLRT parked beside it, and I’m not taking any chances on either of ’em going walkabout. Not on my watch! 😏
….if the bike’s not in my line of sight, it’s locked up tight and I’m checking on it at infrequent intervals. Gotta keep them thieves on their toes!
I remember sitting at local beer joints, watching as those of us who rode took turns hopping off our barstools and checking the parking lot. It looked kinda funny, seeing us go up and down like a whore’s knickers, but we all knew none of our rides were safe unless we watched out for ’em.
And it wasn’t just paranoia. I had a customer come in the shop with a Sporty shock that was bent almost in an ‘L’. Naturally, I asked him what happened, thinking he’d been t-boned by a cager. Nope. He was at a titty bar on the north side. He recalled parking his bike and passing a cluster of UT frat boys leaving as he walked in. Nothing happened, he said – no harsh words or dirty looks or anything – but a few minutes later one of his buddies walked in and said ‘Man, what happened to your bike? It’s layin’ on its side out there.’
Turned out someone – presumably the frat boys – knocked his bike over and did a fandango on it: stove in the fuel tank, bent the handlebars, fucked up the gauges, broke the mirrors, et cetera. 🤬🤬🤬
A few months later, I was sitting in a titty bar on the south side, rapping with a friend, and told him that story. He got this sick look on his face, jumped up and ran out the door. I just sat there, kind of amused, figuring he’d be right back…. but then he didn’t come back, so I went to check on him.
As I push my way through the double doors to the parking lot, I see Doc on one side of his bike, and a young couple standing on the other. Doc’s finger is in the guy’s face – he’s obviously pissed – and I’m thinking ‘Oops! Looks like we’re fixing to get down.’ I hit the second set of doors like a freight train, and as I do the chick turns to me and chirps ‘Oh, you think you’re bad?‘ 😲
WTF? 🤷🏻♀️
The guy already looked like he was about to wet himself, with Doc growling at him, but when the chick said that the dude went bone-white, like he was about to faint right there. 😆
Turned out that when Doc walked out the guy was just about to throw a leg over Doc’s Triumph. The kid wasn’t a thief – he was just an idiot showing off for his girlfriend – but Doc told me later that when he hit the parking lot, all he could do was point at the guy and say ‘Don’t!‘ His hand was shaking from the adrenaline rush, he said, and the one word was all he could muster in the moment. By the time I came barreling through the doors, Doc had caught his breath and was just detailing the young man’s near-death experience for him, in great detail. 😈
Then the chick mouthed off at me, making everything worse. 😏
Oooooh, it could have gone sideways real quick-like, but we checked the bikes over, made sure nothing was damaged, and the kid (who apologized the whole while we were out there) insisted on buying us both drinks. He must have had a come-to-Jesus discussion with his girlfriend, too, because before we were done with our free drinks the girl came over, knelt beside my chair and begged my forgiveness. She even kissed my hand! 😲
Damn, I had a hard time keeping a straight face! 😆
Of course, all that happened before ‘biker’ became synonymous with ‘middle-aged empty nester‘ and ‘man-bun-wearing hipster’. 🙄
Once upon a time, in the dark ages of the pre-internet world, there was a magazine called Easyriders.
The cover of the magazine’s very first issue. From the onset, Easyriders was determined to do things differently. What other bike rag of the day would boast of featuring the ‘World’s Ugliest Trike’? Image courtesy the author.
Easyriders was the brainchild of several California-based riders – Lou Kimzey, Joe Teresi and Mil Blair – who dreamt of a rag for bikers, by bikers, with none of the usual mealy-mouthed product reviews, and clean-cut models posed aboard factory-fresh machines from Europe and Japan.
In their very first issue, Easyriders‘ editors proved they were following a different path than their predecessors and competitors. Image courtesy of eBay seller Cruzin’ for a Deal.
No, this new mag would be for hardcore bikers, patchholders and independents who lived, breathed, slept and dreamt motorcycles: preferably big American motorcycles like Harley-Davidson and Indian. The first issue trumpeted the new title as ‘For the Swinging Biker.‘ They later identified as ‘Entertainment for the Adult Biker.‘
The other biker rags – even the ones that claimed to be hip to choppers – weren’t covering events like this!In fact, those other guys were more likely to be sneering than cheering. Choppers were ‘cool’ but chopper builders? Those long-haired, greasy-bearded outlaw types? Eww! 🙄San Quentin pages courtesy of the author.
Within its pages, Easyriders featured handbuilt choppers – genuine rigid-framed, long-forked machines with psychedelic paint jobs, sky-high sissybars, glistening spokes and heavily chromed engines like the ones featured in the magazine’s namesake movie. They were laid-back, long-legged beauties – dream machines – and in the ’60s and early ’70s many a young man (your humble narrator included) lusted after them. We looked for them at custom car and motorcycle shows, built plastic models of them, pressed our noses to the windows of Dad’s station wagon whenever one rumbled past and, naturally, pored over magazines about them.
Captain America by artist Ray Drea.A unique take on the anti-heroes of Easy Rider (1969) by artist Ray Drea.A life-size Billy Bike, seen at the 20th Annual David Mann Memorial Chopperfest in February, 2024. Image courtesy of the author.Now that’s a chopper! Also spotted at the David Mann Chopperfest. Image courtesy of the author.
Choppers may have been works of art, but for most builders they were much, much more. Those workhorse v-twin engines – the ones that carried police officers through city traffic, and gave Mom and Pop a breath of fresh air and outdoor life at the end of a workaday week – were broken down and rebuilt, and in the process they were blown, stroked, bored and balanced to achieve ultimate performance in flat-out style. We’re talking balls-to-the-wall, explosive power.
Editor Lou Kimzey’s knucklehead chopper appeared on the back cover of the magazine’s first issue. Image courtesy of eBay seller Cruzin’ for a Deal.
The bikes may have been built for cruising the highway with a chick on the p-pad and a fart sack strapped to the forks, but the engines were built for red-light racing and the quarter-mile, popping wheelies and other displays of brute acceleration. These weren’t upstart Jap scrap that whined like angry hornets, or prim European motorbikes with finely tuned suspensions and muted, throaty exhaust notes. You weren’t going to see choppers competing in Timed Trials challenges, or road-racing on the Isle of Man. They were, with few exceptions, big, loud, powerful, gas-guzzling, straight-line-balling, quintessentially American machines.
One of my favorite builds ever to appear in the magazine’s pages. The bike also appeared on an Easyriders calendar and in an anniversary issue. With its monochromatic color scheme and futuristic design, it stood out from the psychedelic dream machines most builders were crafting. So far as I know, the builder has never been identified. The bike itself is far cleaner than anything I’d feel comfortable owning, but the detail is mind-boggling. This bike also gave me a low-level craving, as yet unfulfilled, to build a chopper on a single-loop frame.The Mystery Sled also gave me a new appreciation for Morris Mags – beautiful wheels! – and the process of cleaning engine parts known as ‘bead blasting’. When I first went to work at Bud’s Motorcycle Shop in Austin, in 1979, I spent many an hour with my hands up to my shoulders in the glass-beading machine. I still love the soft grey finish the process leaves behind on aluminum and alloy parts. Mystery Sled images courtesy of the author.
Easyriders was the first biker lifestyle magazine to make it beyond a handful of issues, and reach a national (and later international) readership. Others, like Colors, produced by East Coast biker Phil Castle, and the California-based Choppers, created by signman-turned-customizer Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth, were short-lived and regional. You weren’t going to find issues of those magazines on the rack at your local 7-11 store, and by 1971 both had gone out of print.
Choppers experienced a comeback of sorts in 2018, when fan Cary Brobeck secured rights to the title from Ed Roth’s heirs. The new Choppers hit newsstands in April of 2019, and is still in production as of this writing, January 2025. Image sourced from the internet.
Easyriders, on the other hand, endured, in part because it was so much more than just shiny paint and polished chrome plating. The magazine swiftly became the big dog on the block, its readership dwarfing titles like Big Bike, Custom Bike, Street Chopper and Supercycle, because Easyriders went farther than any of those titles dared. The rag truly was ‘entertainment for the adult biker’.
A typical Easyriders cover in the early days: a gal you could believe knew her way around a pillion pad, maybe a tattooed biker and his motorcycle, and a few tantalizing teasers for what’s inside. Image courtesy of eBay seller pqu698.
For starters, Easyriders had bare-breasted models draped over choppers or curled up against the bikes’ owners: real biker women – often the bike owner’s ol’ lady – with tattoos, pimples and other ‘flaws’, showing more skin than other bike rags would dare.
A typical photograph from the magazine’s early days. Image sourced from internet.
They also began a feature (copied from Big Bike, a title editor Lou Kimzey created and edited prior to joining forces with Joe Teresi and Mil Blair) called the Ol’ Lady Contest, in which women (or their proud significant others) could submit photographs for the chance to win cash and prizes, and be named ‘Ol’ Lady of the Year’.
A ‘Ol’ Lady Contest’ in the magazine’s February 1983 issue. Image courtesy of author.
Later, in a barely-perceptible nod to gender equity, they began including small (usually one- or two-page) spreads on bikes owned and built by women, titled Foxy Riders.
A ‘Foxy Rider’ gets her motorcycle featured in the magazine in June 1988. Image courtesy of author.Spider’s column fronted the magazine for decades, sharing humorous stories and factoids like those shown above. Note that political correctness was not a concern. At times, misogyny and subtle racism permeated the magazine’s editorial content. Homophobia and transphobia were constants. Image courtesy of author.
There was also Spider’s Leg-Wetting Facts column (later renamed Taking It Easy, as shown above) that featured humorous factoids and anecdotes culled from the mainstream press and other bike rags. Farther back in the magazine were pages of jokes, too, usually submitted by readers.
Miraculous Mutha as envisioned by Easyriders cartoonist Hal Robinson, and identified on the magazine’s masthead as ‘Resident Nympho’. Some of the other job titles are just as outrageous! Images sourced from internet.
Miraculous Mutha, depicted above, purported to be an overweight, disease-riddled ‘mama’, doling out advice to the lovelorn and wayward in Miraculous Mutha Tells All, below. Her responses to readers’ letters were frequently lewd, lascivious, and more than a little perverse. Readers loved her!
If you’re not offended or repelled, you’re not paying attention! Image courtesy of author.
On a more serious note….
A Tribute to Brothers Lost and Male Call were just two of the ways the magazine attempted to foster community in the biker world. Image courtesy of author.
In the magazine’s back pages, one feature allowed bikers to offer up A Tribute to Brothers Lost, while a separate feature titled Male Call helped incarcerated bikers hook up with pen-pals and potential post-release lovers. Another page of classifieds called Choppershopper let bikers reconnect with brothers, announce events, clear potential club names for conflicts, and trade and sell motorcycle parts.
Choppershopper from Easyriders # 118, February 1983. Image courtesy of author.Asstrology, word games and other amusements made random appearances. Image courtesy of author.
An Asstrology column made random appearances, along with word games, crossword puzzles and the like. Easyriders also ran an occasional Downtime column with reviews of new music, books and movies of interest to bikers. Finally, there were letters to the editors: some poignant, some profane, some laugh-out-loud funny. The editors’ often-acerbic replies were often even funnier.
Letters to the editors were handled by Wordmonger, who must have had some fun sorting through the piles of mail the magazine received. Image courtesy of the author.Tech tips might include a write-up on Harley-Davidson’s recently released five-speed transmission, and increased visibility for traffic safety. Others might include recipes for marijuana meals. Easyriders also featured updates on political issues of interest to bikers, like what the eggheads at the U.S. Department of Transportation might be up to. Image courtesy of eBay seller pqu698.
Easyriders also featured tech tips. Some were useful articles about motorcycles: how to decide what rake you needed for your chopper, or tune a Mikuni carburetor, or how to decipher Harley-Davidson’s Byzantine numbering system, so aspirant chopper builders could determine what year and model engine they were looking at when shopping for the Big Twin or Sportster engine of their dreams. Experienced bikers knew that a dodgy set of numbers could result in confiscation of the rider’s motorcycle by police. Rest assured, if the cops took your bike, you lost everything connected to it, even if you had receipts for every nut and bolt!
David Duke, the man who was going to mainstream racism with his ‘new and improved’ KKK, went on to win a seat in the Louisiana House of Representatives and make several runs for higher office, including Governor of Louisiana and President of the United States. After several unsuccessful campaigns, he dropped all pretense of civility and came out as a neo-Nazi. He also pleaded guilty to fraud charges in 2002, which netted him a fifteen-month sentence in a federal prison. He is reportedly still spewing his bile. Unfortunately, Easyriders recognized and exploited the fact that a large percentage of hardcore bikers adhere to racist and fascist ideologies. Image courtesy of eBay seller pqu698.
There were also handy ‘tech tips’ on how to conceal weapons, drugs and other contraband, grow marijuana and make prison tattoo machines, alongside interviews with controversial characters like Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke. These articles – and adverts for White Power t-shirts, swastika belt buckles and devices for smoking leafy products 😏 whilst riding your machine – were gradually phased out when prison and military censors began banning the magazine. Because so many bikers were in prison or serving in the military, the publishers of Easyriders went to great lengths to be sure the magazine was available to all, even offering free subscriptions to prison libraries.
A typical cover from January, 1982. Note the featured articles include a ‘how to’ on making contraband prison tattoo machines. Image courtesy of eBay seller pqu698.
In a regular feature titled Easynews,the magazine also included political news relevant to bikers: the progress of helmet laws and other anti-biker legislation, R.I.C.O.1 prosecutions of Hells Angels members and other outrages. When ‘safetycrats’ in Washington used federal highway funds to blackmail states into enacting mandatory helmet laws, Easyriders and A.B.A.T.E.2, the homegrown Motorcycle Rights Organization (MRO) the editors created, led the fight against the mandates.
Easynews was a regular feature. Image courtesy of author.
Through the 1970s, ’80s and ’90s there was a push-and-pull contest between pro- and anti-helmet law factions, which resulted in a patchwork quilt of requirements across the nation. One state might mandate helmets for all riders, while another only required them for riders under the age of twenty-one, or eighteen, or on machines over a certain engine size. To obfuscate the issue even more, in later years a wave of bills across the nation permitted riders to doff their helmets if they carried a certain amount of health insurance, which would cover them in the event of a motorcycle crash. Enforcement was unsustainable, and those states effectively became free choice states again.
In the late ’90s, with passage of an insurance exemption bill as described above, Texas offered a Helmet Exemption sticker for those riders who carried proof of the requisite health insurance. It was optional, cost about $5 if I recall, and did not guarantee LEOs wouldn’t stop you for riding sans helmet anyway. The sticker program was eliminated in 2009.
But helmet laws weren’t the only issues facing riders. Some states attacked the ‘chopper lifestyle’ by mandating seat and handlebar heights, chain guards and front fenders, full-length rear fenders, turn signals, restrictive mufflers and more.
A motorcycle like my shovelhead could earn me a ‘seat too low’ ticket in certain jurisdictions, because I ran a frame-mounted butt bucket saddle on that low-slung OEM rigid wishbone frame. I neverran the sky-high apehangers some riders opted for, but my ‘baby apes’ were probably tall enough to get me ticketed in some states, and I have twice been ticketed for ‘exhaust too loud’. On both occasions I had brand new mufflers recently installed on my bike.
The low-slung frame-mounted butt-bucket saddle that would have earned me a ticket in places like Florida, and the brand-new exhaust system that garnered me an ‘exhaust too loud’ ticket in Bell County, Texas. The state trooper who wrote me up (after slowing down and forcing me to pass him) rubbed salt in the wound by claiming his dirt bike was quieter than my muffled Harley. I’d bet dollars to donuts that was a bald-faced lie! Photograph courtesy of the author.
Elsewhere, motorcyclists were being profiled by law enforcement officers – stopped and treated like armed-and-dangerous felons solely for being bikers – and businesses were discriminating against riders, with ‘no motorcycle attire’, ‘no club colors’ and ‘no motorcycle parking in lot’ signs popping up at bars, restaurants and other premises.
I recall a run from Austin to Lake Buchanan, in a pack of thirty or so bikes. We stopped at a roadhouse in rural Burnet County for lunch. As we were leaving, we found ourselves surrounded by law enforcement of all stripes – local police, county sheriff’s deputies and state troopers – with weapons drawn as they confronted us. We were put through the mill. License, registration and vehicle identification numbers were slowly and laboriously checked via radio, one at a time, to drag the process out. Bikes were searched and riders questioned as we sweltered in the blistering sun for over an hour – and the sum total of their efforts was one (1) arrest for an outstanding traffic warrant!
My shovel and I outside the Burnet County roadhouse where we were held at gunpoint by LEOs from every available agency. There were local yokels, county mounties, smokies… all armed with shotguns, hunting rifles and AR-15s. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn the local dog catcher and building inspector were out there, getting in on the action! Photograph courtesy of the author.NO COLORS ALLOWED…. but those young men seem to disagree with the sentiment. Hmm…. 😏 This photo appeared in Easyriders # 79, January 1980. Note the poem by Jody Via at right, and then see my footnote on him at the end of this post. Image courtesy of eBay seller Vintage Variety 60.
In another instance, I was attending a bachelor’s party for a friend. Despite the fact that we were all sober riders, he wanted his party to include a tour of the topless bars around Waco, Texas.
The evening began with an excursion to a dive outside the city limits, with fully nude dancers. The first thing I saw, as we entered the bar, was a drunk crashing to the floor after leaning his chair back too far, and the naked teenager on stage raising her hands in fright, screaming ‘I never touched him!’
Later in the evening, we arrived at a ‘swanky gentlemen’s club’ in the city proper, and sure as hell, there was a sign saying ‘No Motorcycles in Parking Lot.’ The groom-to-be and most of our party were content to park in the lot next door, go in and carry on the festivities. Me, I do my best to avoid spending my money or time in places where I’m not wanted, so I stayed outside and rapped with the bouncers, most of whom were riders themselves!
And, for the record, there are damned few ‘gentlemen’ in those so-called ‘gentlemen’s clubs.’
David Mann’s painting titled ‘Gentlemen’s Club’ appeared in the magazine’s June 1995 issue. Image courtesy of the author.Larry (Rabbit) Cole was one of my favorite writers in the magazine’s best years. I have no idea what his personal history may have been, or what became of him once he stopped writing for Easyriders.
For me, one of the biggest differences between Easyriders and other magazines was that ER published short fiction about the biker lifestyle, by writers like Larry ‘Rabbit’ Cole (above) and Jody Via 3, and humor by psychotics like former Mouseketeer J.J. Solari.
One of the erstwhile Mouseketeer’s twisted ‘masterpieces’. I will post one of his longer pieces in a separate post. Image courtesy of the author.
Some of the writing was mediocre, but most was outstanding. There was real talent on display in those pages: well-crafted stories with vivid characters and dramatic arcs worth following. Easyriders was a huge influence on me as a teenage wannabe in the early ’70s, and was still thebiker rag of record when I began riding later in the decade. I take great pride in the fact that my first manuscript sales — fiction and non-fiction — were to Easyriders, and I consider Lou Kimzey my first editor and mentor in the world of writing.
This artwork (by an as-yet-unnamed artist) accompanied my short story ‘Bloodlines’, which appeared in the June 1988 issue of the magazine. More about that and other short stories in a later post. Image courtesy of the author.
Easyriders also ran the occasional poem, usually an ode to brotherhood or a motorcycle or, less frequently, the good woman who made it all worthwhile.
A love poem by Dan Pierce from a volume of the spin-off In the Wind magazine. Image sourced from internet. Photo-illustration by author.An un-love poem by Sharon Wallace in Easyriders # 185’s In the Wind section, November 1988. Image courtesy of the author.
Notably, the magazine’s editors broke with traditional publishing practice by accepting handwritten manuscripts – unheard of in that era – because most prison inmates did not have ready access to typewriters.
Duffy Duggan’s work appeared often in the magazine’s pages, illustrating short stories and articles. Here, a hapless biker serves time in prison, a common theme for hardcore bikers. Image sourced from internet.
In another groundbreaking move, Easyriders made a practice of publishing motorcycle-themed illustrations and paintings by talented artists like Duffy Duggan, above, and cartoonist Hal Robinson, below.
Artist Hal Robinson could do ‘funny’ easily, but occasionally took a turn at more contemplative works like the one above, at right. Images sourced from internet.
Most noteworthy of these was the godfather of chopper art, David Mann, who first broke out with a series of posters painted for Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth of Choppers Magazine fame. Mann created his first masterpiece centerfold painting for Easyriders‘ third issue in October, 1971. The artist – the Frederic Remington of the biker world – painted large centerfold paintings for the monthly magazine, and story illustrations, even as he cranked out book covers, centerfolds and illustrations for other publications. Despite that workload, the artist produced at least one piece for every issue of Easyriders from October, 1971 until his retirement in June, 2004. David Mann passed away in September of that year, but his paintings continued to appear in Easyriders and her sister publications for years afterward.
You can learn about David Mann and see much more of his artwork here.
David Mann’s first and last paintings for Easyriders Magazine, in the October 1971 and June 2004 issues. Images courtesy of David Mann‘s Facebook page.
IN THE WIND
From Easyriders # 118, February 1983, the come-on to readers, to submit their photos for consideration. I can scarcely imagine the volume they received! Image courtesy of the author.
One of Easyriders‘ more ingenious innovations was their In the Wind pages, where they offered readers cash (above) for ‘good, in-focus’ photographs of bikers at play, riding, partying, brawling or posing with their machines, and women, usually flashing their breasts for the camera.
There were often older photographs, resurrected from Grandpa’s old picture album: proud farmers and sales clerks, and their bemused sisters or girlfriends, posing with Popes, Thors and Excelsiors. There were Allied soldiers aboard strap-back Harley J-Models and WLAs, Triumphs and BSAs, and their German counterparts on BMWs and NSUs. Other pages might teem with photos submitted by readers in Europe, Asia, South America and Africa, each with their own biker subculture.
Pages of typical ‘In the Wind’ photographs from the August 1988 issue. Image courtesy of the author.
And, of course, there were hundreds and hundreds of pics of bikers, male and female, outlaw and straight, on original or restored classics or wild-as-fuck radical customs. They were jamming down the road, hair floating in the breeze and tight grins on their faces, or scowling at the camera and flipping the universal biker salute – one raised finger – to friend and foe alike. They were drinking beer, wrestling in the mud of a campsite, or tearing a motorcycle apart beneath a tree as friends gathered to offer assistance….
Pages of typical ‘In the Wind’ photographs from the June 1988 issue. Image courtesy of the author.
….and women, in denim and leather or not much of anything, baring their all at a rally, packing behind their ol’ man or geared up and gripping the bars of their own machines. All ages, all shapes and sizes, but most pretty and slender and lithe enough to curl up behind a man as they blast down the highway together, her feet on the high pegs of that rigid frame and her arms around her man.
What it’s all about, really, in Easyriders, June 1988. Image courtesy of the author.
I called In the Wind ‘ingenious’ because, while the editors paid for photos they published in the magazine itself, they reserved the right to use any and all submitted photographs free of charge in a spin-off magazine called In the Wind. It featured page after page of readers’ photographs, very little editorial content, and ran through well over a hundred and fifty issues. Aside from layout and pasteup, it couldn’t have cost much to produce, and every issue sold by the tens of thousands.
These appeared in Easyriders # 118 in February 1983 ‘In the Wind’ pages. Image courtesy of the author.
I submitted a number of photos to the magazine’s for-pay column, but only ever saw them in later issues of In the Wind.
One of my many submissions to the magazine’s ‘In the Wind’ pages: a shot from one of the ABATE Texas annual members’ rallies. Several showed up in the spin-off publication, but none made the paid-for pages in the magazine itself. 😡 Image courtesy of the author.
EXPANSION
Iron Horse featured bikers and babes just as down-to-earth as Easyriders, but with a more inclusive flair. Image courtesy of eBay sellers Gallimore’s Goods.
Realizing that they had a good thing going, Easyriders‘ parent corporation, Paisano Publications, soon sought to expand the brand into a world-wide empire. First came the In the Wind magazines. These were followed by Iron Horse, a magazine more dedicated to metric riders. Still the same hard-partying, hard-riding biker ethos, but with more Triumphs and Hondas than Harleys and Indians.
Paisano Publications‘ burgeoning publishing empire featured created titles like In the Wind, American Rodder and Iron Horse, and acquired titles like Tattoo and Biker. Image courtesy of the author.
Later, we saw titles like Tattoo, which cashed in on (and helped fuel) the passion for skin art sweeping the nation in the ’90s and ’00s. Another spin-off magazine was V-Twin, intended as a ‘family friendly’ version of Easyriders. No topless women, fewer four-letter words…. 🙄 Worse still was VQ, a magazine ‘for the connoisseur.’ 🤢
Image courtesy of eBay sellers Gallimore’s Goods. Adverts for a number of Paisano Publications titles, including Easyriders, Biker, In the Wind,the aforementioned VQ, Tattoo and Quick Throttle. On the opposite page, a pitch for Easyriders store franchises. For reference, the $500K investment listed would be the equivalent of about $1 million today. Image courtesy of the author.
Other cash cows turned up. There were Easyriders products like t-shirts, hats and scarves, which grew into a full-sized catalog insert in the magazine every Christmas season. Then came brick-and-mortar Easyriders stores – franchised outlets as advertised above – that sold clothing and custom parts. Some even tried to be full-service motorcycle shops, with bikes for sale and mechanics on duty.
An Easyriders Store as envisioned by artist David Mann. Image courtesy of the author.
Then there were the Easyriders Rodeos and other events: a series of prepackaged biker parties – mini-rallies, really – at venues around the country. These events were heavily sponsored by corporations like Custom Chrome, Chrome Specialties, Barnett and others, all purveyors of parts and equipment for Harley riders. At the rodeos, there were diversions like burnout contests, barstool races, poker runs, girly shows and live music, wedged in between the ceaseless marketing of products by Easyriders and its sponsors.
Artist David Mann did numerous adverts for the rodeo series. Image courtesy of the author.Just a few of the diversions to be seen at the rodeos. Photos courtesy of Easyriders Events.Those of us who were fans and collectors of David Mann‘s art were pissed that some of his monthly centerfold paintings were nothing more than advertisements for Easyriders events like the rodeo…. ….or an Easyriders Invitational Bike Show. We didn’t appreciate seeing our favorite artist pimped out this way. Centerfold images courtesy of the author.Adverts for upcoming Easyriders Rodeo events in Easyriders (June 1988) and Biker Parties (Summer 1998). I’ve done some event production and coordinating, and that slate at right looks like a damned grueling schedule. Image courtesy of the author.
DEATH OF THE DREAM
Some say it was overreaching that killed Easyriders, but I have a different theory.
For decades, Easyriders remained the ‘biker rag of record’, in part because it was as ‘biker’ as any of its readers: tough, take-no-bullshit and ready to rock. However, that brutal bastard, time, and the harsh realities of print publishing eventually took their toll.
The first advert for Harley-Davidson appeared in the magazine’s April 1978 issue Image courtesy of the author.
For instance: at its onset, the magazine’s editors swore they would never be beholden to any corporate master, and hence would never accept advertising from the Harley-Davidson Motor Company or its dealers. They held out for seven years, but ultimately the money was too good.
However, three issues later, the MoCo had a change of heart. They yanked their full-page advert at the last moment. Easyriders‘ editors responded with the black box page above. Image courtesy of the author.
They also vowed they would never do new bike reviews or test rides. They eventually did….
However, a few years later, both sides had become more ‘accommodating’, and HD adverts were a regular feature. In fact, as seen here in the November 1988 issue, they were actually cozying up to Spider’s politically incorrect Taking It Easy column! Image courtesy of the author.
Very few magazines can survive on subscriptions alone. The money had to come from somewhere. I’m sure the magazine’s publisher shrugged and said ‘Well, why not the MoCo?’ 🤷🏻♀️
This appeared in the Easyriders issue of June 1988. Not only was it an advert for the Harley-Davidson Motor Company, but the ad features a fully dressed ‘bagger’ and rows of neatly uniformed club members, looking like motorcycle patrol officers! 😮 That’s a loooooong way from the chopper esthetic and hardcore biker ‘tude the magazine touted in early years. Image courtesy of the author.
The Motor Company has offered riding gear from its earliest days, but when AMF (American Machine & Foundry, best known as the primary outfitter for bowling alleys) merged with Harley-Davidson in 1969, more effort was made to market ‘stylish’ clothing. Imagine leisure suits of sky-blue suede (seriously!) and his-and-hers t-shirts and jackets. When the two companies split again in 1981, marketing began in earnest, and Motorclothes was born. Old-school riders grouse that Harley dealerships look more like fashion boutiques nowadays. A common plaint is They used to hate us. Now they want to BE us!
They’re not wrong.
During the AMF years, Harley-Davidson struggled to counter the outlaw persona many street bikers affected: the long hair, beards and tattoos, black t-shirts, ragged jeans and greasy leather. Dealers refused to serve ‘chopper riders’ or work on modified motorcycles, and corporate headquarters demanded that dealers spruce up their premises and run off the undesirable Easyriders element. Austin’s own Austin Motorcycle Company, a family-owned franchise since the 1920s, surrendered its franchise in the late ’70s rather than comply with the Motor Company’s demands.
Austin Motorcycle Company, Austin’s premiere Harley-Davidson dealership, fell victim to corporate paternalism when owner Dan James (no relation, sadly) refused to upgrade his dusty old shop in the heart of downtown, or run off the ‘disreputable element’ that formed his customer base. Killeen auto dealer Ace Connell picked up the franchise Dan dropped, and a new, more-palatable dealership was opened on the city’s north side. Austin Motorcycle Company puttered along as an independent shop until Dan passed away in 1980. Two of his employees attempted to keep the shop going after Dan died, but soon moved on to other pursuits, and the shop faded into history. Image sourced from internet.An advert for Harley-Davidson’s own clothing line, appropriately titled Motorclothes. Image courtesy of eBay seller Vintage Variety 60.
However, the MoCo’s new owners – most former executives of the AMF-owned division – recognized a cash cow when they saw one, and Motorclothes stores and catalogs were soon teeming with fashions aping the look of those hardcore bikers HD once shunned. Witness their willingness to have their advert placed right beside Spider’s crude, frequently misogynistic column.
A Harley-Davidson advertisement for their ‘Harley Owner’s Group’ – a ‘motorcycle club’ with no membership requirements other than a wallet fat enough to afford a Harley-Davidson motorcycle – in the July 1983 issue. If you recall, the magazine started out catering to members of actual motorcycle clubs. They may as well have been peddling Sons of Anarchy fanwear! Image courtesy of eBay seller M&M Media and More.
….but it was the publishers’ abandonment of the outlaw ethos upon which the magazine was founded (see Harley Owner’s Group advert, above, for example) that hurt the magazine the most. Gone were the grungy patchholders and those generous four-page features on the radical chopper some hardworking Harley lover crafted in a drafty garage with nothing but sheet metal, a crackerbox welder, swapmeet parts and bleeding knuckles.
That ain’t no chopper, baby! Worse still, look at the spec sheet below. The owner hired out every aspect of the work on the thing. 🙄 This appeared in Easyriders # 181, in July 1988. Images courtesy of the author.
In their place were Harley owners posing with made-to-order machines (see above) that they’d purchased in a shop and paid someone else to customize: ‘RUBs’ and ‘Rolex Riders’ who wouldn’t be caught dead mingling with the street bikers who made the magazine what it was. Builders like Arlen Ness and Rick Doss and pseudo-clubs like the Hamsters were given loads of press, with photos and glowing articles. Meanwhile, old school builders’ efforts were relegated to a tiny spread titled ‘Readers’ Rides’. No one seemed to remember or care that, back in the day, featured bikes were all ‘Readers Rides’! 🙄
A ‘Reader’s Ride’ from Easyriders, July 1988 Image courtesy of the author.
Gone, too, were the women we loved: those hardcore biker gals and dewy-eyed fender bunnies who brightened the pages of every issue. They were replaced by polished, airbrushed professional models who had obviously never been near a motorcycle until the photographer hired them for a shoot. These were women wearing too much makeup, ridiculous high heels that had no place in the rough-and-tumble biker’s world, and…. and…. they just weren’t our people. 🤷🏻♀️
Compare this cover, from 2004, to the covers of earlier issues, circa 1970s and ’80s. A little ‘different’, yes? Image courtesy of eBay sellers Gallimore’s Goods.
Easyriders went under in 2019, after almost a half-century in print. As noted above, its quality and integrity had waned considerably in its final decades, even as print publications in general were hemorrhaging readership, so few longtime adherents mourn its passing. However, an upscale clothier has acquired and is attempting to revive the title as a ‘less trashy’ and ‘more inclusive’ publication. Some wag described it as ‘GQ for Bikers,’ but I think Easyriders beat them to the punch with VQ. 🙄
I’ve only seen two issues of the ‘new’ Easyriders and am thus far notimpressed. 🤷🏻♀️
Original since 1970?😮 I don’t think so! That’s like Indian claiming they are ‘the oldest American motorcycle manufacturer’. The revivalists — Indian and Easyriders alike — bought a name and nothing more. No lineage connects either venture to the originals, and it annoys me to no end when they cavalierly claim lineage and longevity they have not earned. Image sourced from internet.
FOOTNOTES
1) R.I.C.O. (Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970) was written for use against organized crime outfits like the Mafia, but prosecutors quickly realized it had implications far beyond that narrow aim.
For instance, federal prosecutors used R.I.C.O. to go after board members deemed responsible for the Savings and Loans crisis of the late 1980s and early 1990s. One unique feature of R.I.C.O. was that it permitted civil as well as criminal prosecutions. Civil trials require a less stringent burden of proof than criminal trials and, with R.I.C.O., prosecutors could seek triple the estimated damages of any violation. Hapless board members of S&Ls found themselves in court, targeted not because they were guilty but because they had the deepest pockets.
R.I.C.O. was also used to prosecute Hells Angel spokesman Sonny Barger and other members of the Oakland HAMC chapter. However, the fed’s case collapsed when they were unable to prove a ‘pattern of behavior’, or link the alleged illegalities to club policy. Barger, et alia, walked free, leaving prosecutors red-faced, frustrated and bitter.
Sonny Barger around the time of the R.I.C.O. prosecution. He dodged the R.I.C.O. case, but did time for other offenses. He emerged from prison even more a celebrity than when he went in, and turned to cashing in on his notoriety with books, a movie, and public appearances around the world. Photo courtesy of the author, from Supercycle Magazine‘s interview with Barger.
2) A.B.A.T.E. was alternately styled ‘American Bikers Against Totalitarian Enactments’ or ‘American Bikers Aiming Toward Education’. Both monikers applied. The group did fight against mandatory helmet laws, and laws restricting the customization of motorcycles, as numerous states enacted laws regulating seat and handlebar heights, requiring chain guards and front fenders, even mandating the length of rear fenders and the height of sissybars.
However, the group also fought for motorcycle rider education, to train new riders in street survival skills, and driver awareness campaigns to make motorists more aware of (and, it was to be hoped, more respectful of) motorcyclists in traffic.
I acted as State Awareness and Safety Coordinator for A.B.A.T.E. of Texas. In that capacity, I developed and spearheaded a statewide billboard campaign, and helped promote a tripart Safety and Awareness Rally which gathered motorcyclists together in three cities across Texas, to raise awareness of our cause. As a state officer for A.B.A.T.E., I was also involved in efforts to bring mandatory rider education to the state, and create a statewide training program for novice cyclists and the instructors who would train them. In my spare time 😆 I also edited the group’s newspaper, and designed a number of popular fundraising t-shirts.
Our billboard campaign, using no-cost or low-cost Public Service Announcement space provided by billboard companies like Duplex Advertising Company of Temple. Left to right, from top left: a) State Director of ABATE Texas, H.E. ‘Sundance’ Mitchell, at the press conference we held at the site of our very first billboard. b) Your humble narrator speaking at an ABATE State Members’ Rally in Llano, Texas. c) The stage at Llano, backstopped by one of our new full-color billboard posters. d) Our second billboard, on US Highway 190 west of Belton, Texas. e) Our first billboard location, on IH35 in Temple, Texas. f) It didn’t take long for the Texas Department of Public Safety‘s Motorcycle Safety Bureau to horn in on the act, stealing our headline and the billboard space we’d previously occupied. Photographs courtesy of the author. A Jody Via short story from Easyriders # 181, July 1988. Not his usual crime story as referenced below; just a quick yarn about a good ol’ fashioned beer-joint punch-up between two bikers and a room full of rednecks. Tropes and stereotypes ooze off the page. The bikers are brave, take-no-shit nomads: strangers until the fist started flying but brothers in arms in the heat of battle. They are, of course, outnumbered three-to-one, standing back to back against all odds, and the simple-minded, bigoted rednecks who were all bark and no bite. Here Via was simply tapping into the romanticized vision most Easyriders readers held of themselves. They were knights errant, living out the celluloid dreams of Easy Rider and Then Came Bronson in between shifts at the factory or feedlot where they earned their living. Image courtesy of the author.
3) In researching this article, in a deep dive search for some of my favorite Easyriders writers, I unearthed the tragic tale of Jody Via. Jody was one of my faves from back in the day, capable of fashioning darkly compelling crime yarns from bolts of whole cloth….
….except that, per police, Via’s ‘yarns’ weren’t fiction at all. They say he was effectively recounting crimes he himself had committed during a murderous spree across Pennsylvania and Ohio in September, 1972, and selling them for publication!
First, we have Good Samaritan Harry Hoffman. Mr. Hoffman was a kindly gas station owner who stopped to help what appeared to be a young couple stranded at roadside. Hoffman took them back to his service station, and even made a fresh pot of coffee so they could warm up from the chill night air. For his troubles, Mr. Hoffman was bound, shot in the head and left for dead in the back room of his service station. He survived, and later identified his attacker in court.
Next, we have nineteen-year-old college student Jane Maguire, who fell for Via’s ‘stranded’ ruse and offered him a ride. Her body was discovered in a highway rest area. She had been raped, bound, shot in the head and left for dead. Sadly, Ms. Maguire did not survive.
Larry ‘Jody’ Via after arrest in 1972, from Allentown (PA) Morning Call.
Via, who had holed up in his wife’s home, was arrested, charged with and convicted of the crimes, and received a life sentence. While serving that sentence, Via began submitting poetry and short stories to Easyrider, which published several of his works. He later sold some pieces to Outlaw Biker magazine, as well.
One of Jody Via’s poems appeared in Easyriders # 79, in January, 1980. Image courtesy of eBay seller Vintage Variety 60.
However, in 2019, investigators working the September 1972 cold-case murder of twenty-nine-year-old salesman Morgan Peters, in Pennsylvania, were directed by two of Via’s ex-wives to look at Via’s published writings. There, in the stories Via sold the biker magazines, police found detailed descriptions of each of his crimes, including the as-yet-unsolved slaying of Peters. Via, still in prison for the rape and murder of Jane Maguire, was charged with Peters’ slaying in 2019. He was seventy-five years old.
I have yet to learn what became of those charges or the defendant.
Man, that took a dark turn, didn’t it? 😮
Larry ‘Jody’ Via’s alleged final victim, Morgan Peters, from the Franklin County District Attorney. May he and Jane Maguire both Rest in Peace.
If you’re a biker, you know that Hollister is not just an über-hip clothing line for spoiled mall rats. No, Hollister — a small farming community in Southern California southeast of San Jose — is the birthplace of the American Biker, that enduring trope perpetuated by media and entertainment ever since that hot July 4th weekend of 1947, when a ‘riot’ broke out during a motorcycle rally.
For much of postwar America, this guy served as introduction to the two-wheeled menace known as ‘the biker’. Even today, decades after the Yuppie invasion has convinced much of America that most Harley riders are Empty Nesters in full Midlife Crisis mode or well-to-do RUBs (rich urban professionals) with more dollars than sense, the menacing trope of ‘the biker’ endures. We serve as villains in movies and television shows, as objects of perverse sexual attraction in an alarming number of bodice-ripping romance novels, and as bogeymen for law enforcement agencies looking to gin up support for larger budgets and more deadly weaponry. In LIFE magazine, the photograph was credited to Barney Petersen. However, numerous sources have his last name spelled ‘Peterson’, and that’s the spelling I use here.
The scene at Hollister was a familiar one: a small town, eager to bring in tourists who might spend money at local businesses, built a racetrack at Veteran’s Memorial Park, and began hosting motorcycle races and ‘Gypsy Tours’: popular family-friendly gatherings sponsored by the American Motorcycle Association, as it was then known. The events were well-attended and profitable, and in most cases the worst local authorities had to deal with was a few Drunk and Disorderly arrests and some hospitalizations due to injuries suffered in motorcycle crashes on and off the track.
This photo of a ‘straight’ club appeared in the magazine LIFE just three weeks after the infamous Peterson/Davenport photo.
However, the 1947 event, one of the first held since the guns of World War Two fell silent, drew a new breed of rider. These were not the nice Mom-and-Pop ‘straight’ clubs pictured above, that frequently appeared at these events in matching uniforms, riding pristine motorcycles kitted out with numerous factory-approved accessories.
One of the field games played at many a motorcycle rally. The idea was to ride at the lowest possible speed while the passenger tended to the task at hand. If the rider’s foot touched the ground, he and his passenger were disqualified. Note the American Motorcycle Association patch on the rider’s shoulder. Membership in the American Motorcycle Association (now the American Motorcyclist Association) precludes membership in an ‘outlaw’ club.
No, these were rough, hard-bitten young men — most of them combat veterans who had seen the worst the world had to offer in the killing fields of Europe and the South Pacific — and they roared into town en masse aboard stripped-down, hopped-up motorcycles unlike anything those at Hollister had ever seen before.
The lot at Veteran’s Memorial Park, packed with motorcycles — many Harley-Davidson or Indian motorcycles stripped for action — on the July 4th weekend in 1947.
These were rattletrap bombers with front brakes and fenders removed, and rear fenders ‘bobbed’ as short as possible. Chain guards, windshields, engine guards, saddlebags — anything that might increase weight and wind-drag, and slow the machines down — were all shitcanned in favor of better performance, until all that remained was the bare essence of a motorcycle: a massive engine, rigid frame and springer forks, two wheels, a petrol tank and a saddle.
A typical ‘bob job’ Harley-Davidson at Hollister: no windshield, no front fender, back fender cut short and the original taillight – not that large or bright to begin with – replaced by a front fender light even smaller and less visible to following motorists. The hand belongs to the bike’s sleeping owner, rolled up in blankets on the ground beside his Harley, as any good biker would.A Galloping Goose and a Boozefighter race heads-up on January 18, 1948. The Boozefighter’s sweater has their trademark Triple-X bottle on its front, a logo the club still uses to this day.
These men also came sporting motorcycle club sweaters or jackets with new, more menacing names — Boozefighters, Thirteen Rebels, Galloping Goose (in military argot the ‘goose’ was the upraised middle finger we call ‘the bird’) and more — and they came not to sit docilely in the stands watching as racers on the track went round-y-round, but to ride and race and party themselves, and that is exactly what they did.
13 Rebels MC in an undated photograph, all wearing their club sweaters with the Bad Luck Cat emblem on the front. The back of each sweater bore the legend ’13 Rebels’ in large stitched-on letters.13 Rebels MC members and friends loading a racing bike kitted with specially-lugged mudder tires. As you can see by their boots and trouser legs, those tires were sorely needed!Boozefighters MC members in a photograph purportedly taken at Riverside, California, in July, 1948, where a second ‘riot’ allegedly took place. Some researchers have suggested the photo was actually made at Hollister in 1947.
Many motorcycle clubs of the day wore sweaters with the club name emblazoned on them, rather than the paramilitary uniforms of the Mom-and-Pops or the cutoff denim vests of later groups like the Hells Angels.
The Boozefighters MC, led by ‘Wino Willie’ Forkner, described itself as a drinking club with a motorcycle problem, and did their level best to live up to that claim. Other clubs, in turn, tried their best to keep pace.
‘Wino Willie’ Forkner was a combat veteran who had been thrown out of his previous motorcycle club. He founded and led the Boozefighters MC, and passed away at the ripe old age of 78.♪ ♫ Wine, wine, fruit o’ the vine, when you gonna let me get sober…. ♫ ♪ Club members play two-wheeled games in the middle of Hollister’s Main Street.‘Little Bobby’ Kelton, a member of the Wing Nutz MC, at play on the streets of Hollister…. ….but it wasn’t just the boys. These women are identified as members of the Tracy Gear Jammers, an all-female club that got down with the boys in the streets of Hollister that weekend.A trio of Tracy Gear Jammers giving Eddie Davenport a run for his money!The Tracy Gear Jammers may have harbored a penchant for sailors’ blues, although the tall brunette second from far right is very noticeably NOT hugging a sailor! 😏
THE RIOT
The much-ballyhooed ‘riot’ was really nothing more than a lot of rowdy behavior along Hollister’s main drag, including impromptu drag races and riders doing doughnuts in the street, and raucous drinking in the bars. At one point, it’s reported that a rider did pilot his motorcycle into a bar. In the tumult, some furniture and glassware were damaged, and promptly paid for by the offender.
A heavy police presence brought an end to the most outré behavior.
Still, local law enforcement felt overwhelmed, and called for reinforcements from neighboring counties and the California Highway Patrol. The cops geared up, corralled the partying bikers on the main drag, and commandeered a flatbed truck for use as a bandstand. They pressed a dance band into service, and the rest of the night proved playwright William Congreve’s contention* that ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.’
Alleged ‘rioters’ boogie to the sound of a band pressed into service by the cops.A few of the boys were invited to stay a little longer, but the most serious offenses were traffic violations and ‘indecent exposure’: reportedly the result of a drunk trying to urinate into the radiator of an overheating car. I did some très stupid things while drinking, but whipping it out on the main drag to water down someone’s steaming flivver is beyond even me!😆
NEWS COVERAGE, MONDAY, JULY 7, 1947
Unlike the San Francisco daily, Hollister’s local newspaper, the Hollister Free Lance, didn’t feel the need to exaggerate the weekend’s events.
The coverage in the San Francisco Chronicle included two photographs by Barney Peterson. For your viewing comfort, I replaced the grainy newsprint photos with clear images of the original pics.
CYCLIST’S HOLIDAY, LIFE, JULY 21, 1947
This innocuous cover photo belied the bombshell waiting within.
However, at around the time the band began to play, photographer Barney Peterson arrived in town. Peterson was a freelancer dispatched by The San Francisco Chronicle. His brief was to bring back pictures of the reported mayhem, but all he found was a street filled with happy dancing bikers and civilians, a parking lot full of motorcycles, and a few riders sacked out for the night on the courthouse lawn. In other words, b-o-o-o-o-ring!
Instead of ‘rioting gangs’, photographer Barney Peterson found riders sacked out beside the front steps of the local courthouse.
Desperate to preserve his commission, Peterson improvised. As eyewitnesses confirm, he found a motorcycle parked at the curb — a stripped-down Harley-Davidson knucklehead with no front fender, and a seaman’s bag tied across the rear fender behind the saddle. Perfect! He carefully arranged a bunch of empty beer bottles on the street around the motorcycle, even cadging some from a nearby café, to symbolize the debauchery he assumed had taken place prior to his arrival. Yeah, that will do! Finally, he recruited a local fellow, a drunk named Eddie Davenport, to climb aboard the artfully staged motorcycle and pose for some photographs. Bingo! The editor’s gonna love it!
The shot heard around the biker world.
A series of images were made, including the most infamous: the ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ photograph (above) which the magazine LIFE published in their July 21st issue, along with an overheated blurb about the ‘4000 cyclists’ who allegedly ran amok in the peaceful city of Hollister. Barney Peterson’s posed and staged photo of farm boy Eddie Davenport — he of the slack-jawed, glassy-eyed gaze and two-fisted drinking style pictured above — struck terror into the hearts of pearl-clutching newspaper and magazine editors, chiefs of police and other dignitaries across the nation. Other Peterson creations showed Davenport holding a club jacket belonging to a member of the Tulare Raiders Motorcycle Club named Dave. No word on whether that was Dave’s Harley, or whether Dave approved of his jacket being sported by a non-member.
Per the custom of the day, Peterson noted his subject’s name on the film negative.
However, as he’d hoped, Peterson’s editor did love his photo, but they weren’t alone. The photograph hit the wire services, and was immediately picked up by LIFE.
THE REACTION, LIFE, AUGUST 11, 1947
The response to LIFE‘s publication of Peterson’s staged (and libelous) photograph was immediate. Three weeks later, the magazine’s August 11th issue included Letters to the Editors from motorcyclist Charles A. Addams, film star and cyclist Keenan Wynn, and Paul Brokaw, who edited the magazine Motorcyclist at the time.
Letters to the Editors from Charles A. Addams, Keenan Wynn and Paul Brokaw.
All three correspondents complained of the negative coverage.
Mr. Addams wrote that the 4000 riders reportedly in attendance were notmembers of a single club, as the magazine alleged; that 50% were members of the American Motorcycle Association and the other 50% ‘mere motorcyclists out for a three-day holiday’; and that roughly ‘500 made the event the debacle that it was.’ I checked, and it appears certain Mr. Addams was not the infamous New Yorker cartoonist who created The Addams Family. How cool would that have been? 😏
Actor Keenan Wynn (No. 39) rides like a nutter in the 1957 Catalina Grand Prix.
Keenan Wynn, who later took film star and fledgling desert racer Lee Marvin under his wing, and showed Steve McQueen what dirt bikes were for, wrote ‘I have taken it upon myself to… straighten out what will obviously be an extremely bad impression of motorcyclists.’ He went on to decry the reckless behavior of the wild ones at Hollister, and noted that riding under the influence ‘as our friend in the picture seems to be doing, is one of the fundamental “don’ts” of riding…’ Wynn also felt obliged to cite some examples of ‘safe and sane Hollywood riders,’ like Clark Gable, Randolph Scott, Ward Bond and Andy Devine.
Keenan Wynn (left) with fellow actor and motorcycle aficionado Lee Marvin (right) and Marvin’s Triumph Scrambler, at an unnamed desert race. I do not recognize the other two people.
Motorcyclist Editor Paul Brokaw expressed his shock at the photograph, and was perhaps the first in print to call Barney Peterson out for his chicanery, noting that the picture ‘was very obviously arranged and posed by an enterprising and unscrupulous photographer.’ Brokaw also called out the ‘mercenary-minded barkeepers’ who continued to serve obviously intoxicated customers, and the ‘small percentage’ of riotous motorcyclists, ‘aided by a much larger group of nonmotorcycling hellraisers,’ who actually caused all the fuss.
Brokaw went on to damn LIFE for ‘sear(ing) a pitiful brand on the character of tens of thousands of innocent, clean-cut, respectable, law-abiding young men and women who are the true representatives of an admirable sport.’
LIFE responded to the criticism by including, in the same issue, a lengthy ‘presentation of law-abiding, respectable motorcyclists,’ which included photos of Mom-and-Pop clubs and motorcycling fashion trends.
The first page of LIFE‘s ‘you meet the nicest people on motorcycles’ article.Field games and uniformed riders. Note the writer’s insistence that ‘womenfolk’ are limited to riding pillion, despite the fact that at least three photos in the article feature women riding their own machines, including the full-page photo opposite the damned headline! Sheesh! Fashion for the ‘womenfolk’ and the motorcycle!Instead of ‘Mom-and-Pop’ we have ‘Mom-and-Daughter’ at top, and a sore service station attendant at bottom, with a little daredevilry in the middle.
‘HOLLISTER’, MOTORCYCLIST, AUGUST, 1947
Paul Brokaw’s magazine’s August 1947 number. In the Table of Contents is an article titled ‘Hollister’. I’ve never seen any reference to this article, and have no idea what it might say, but I just purchased a copy on eBay (11-11-2024) and will report back with a scan if anything worthwhile comes to light. Can’t believe I didn’t seek this out sooner!
CYCLISTS’ RAID, Harper’s, January, 1951
The ‘riot’ at Hollister probably would have faded into the mists of time and memory, had it not been for Barney Peterson’s photograph, but the next stage in the evolution of the biker image was even more nefarious. A hack named Frank Rooney took the bare bones of what happened at Hollister and fashioned them into a lengthy, perverse short story titled ‘Cyclists’ Raid‘.
I am convinced the title’s echoing of LIFE‘s ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ is not a coincidence.
Artwork by David Berger, which accompanied Cyclists’ Raid in the pages of Harper‘s.Here, the bikers arrive, organized and orderly for a while.
In his lurid saga, Rooney portrays the bikers as a paramilitary pack of marauders who chose the small nameless town from a list of possible destinations, and even did reconnaissance in advance of their arrival, going so far as to learn the names of hotel keepers and filling station managers. They ride into town in formation aboard matching motorcycles, and their leader, ‘Gar Simpson’, declares them to be ‘Troop B of the Angeleno Motorcycle Club.’ In casual conversation, Simpson reveals the club’s plan to expand across California (‘We’re forming Troop G now.’) and other states: ‘Nevada — Arizona — Colorado — Wyoming.’
Angeleno Motorcycle Club leader Gar Simpson, or is it? Who can tell?🤷🏻♀️They’re all dressed alike!
The riders quickly take over the accommodations in town, including the hotel operated by the story’s main character, Joel Bleeker, a widowed former Army officer and combat veteran with a comely seventeen-year-old daughter. The club members proceed to drink, to sing raucous songs, to ride their motorcycles up and down the street (and eventually the sidewalks), but never ever remove the green-lensed riding goggles they all wear, even at night, even inside the dining hall of Bleeker’s inn.
By dint of their uniforms and mask-like goggles, Gar Simpson’s riders were ‘standardized figurines, seeking in each other a willful loss of identity…,’ or some such psychobabble.
This is crucial to Rooney’s telling, because the goggles allow individual riders to remain:
‘standardized figurines, seeking in each other a willful loss of identity, dividing themselves equally among one another until there was only a single mythical figure, unspeakably sterile….‘
….so much so that when the ‘raid’ comes to its inevitably violent climax — a freak motorcycle crash which kill’s Bleeker’s beautiful daughter — Bleeker and his outraged townsfolk have no one to blame but themselves. The nameless, faceless riders are able to mount up and ride out of town, exempt from consequence by reason of their numbers and unremarkable sameness.
The ‘raid’s’ evening concludes its horrific third act as riders terrorize citizens, racing and stunting in the streets, riding on sidewalks and in and out of business establishments. It is this last which brings about the final tragedy: the death of Bleeker’s lovely daughter.
Rooney’s story appeared in Harper’s, a popular magazine that arrived by post in many American homes, issue after issue. It could not help but reinforce the ‘lesson’ of LIFE‘s ‘Cyclist’s Holiday’ pic: ‘Martha, those goddamned bikers are bad news!‘
A complete scan of the story ‘Cyclists’ Raid’, as published, can be read here.
THE WILD ONE, Stanley Kramer, et alia, December 30, 1953
The Wild One starred Mary Murphy and Marlon Brando, and featured Gil Stratton, Jr. and Alvy Moore, as members of Brando’s motorcycle ‘gang’, the Black Rebels Motorcycle Club.
Rooney’s story, dripping with pathos and armchair psychology, caught the eye of filmmaker Stanley Kramer, who used the Hollister stories as inspiration for his 1953 Marlon Brando vehicle, The Wild One, co-starring Lee Marvin, Mary Murphy and, in an uncredited role, character actor Alvy Moore, best known for his portrayal of county agricultural agent Hank Kimball on the 1960s television show Green Acres.
That “Streetcar” Man Has A New Desire!
Kramer interviewed people who actually attended the July 4th gathering at Hollister, and came away with a clear idea of the story he wished to tell.
Stanley Kramer is introduced to Marlon Brando’s sister, actress Jocelyn Brando, on the set of the 1953 film The Wild One.
A script was commissioned. However, it placed at least some of the blame for the events on the townspeople themselves, who invited the bikers in, tolerated the more benign hijinks they engaged in, and profited from sales of alcohol, food and other commodities. Censors rejected the script as ‘pro-Communist’, in that it made money-grubbing merchants the bad guys. We all know that anyone making money is, by definition, a hero, right? 🙄
Even the French got into it.
Kramer caved, and as a result, we ended up with a bowdlerized version of the story Kramer wanted to tell. The true anti-heroes of Hollister — those brave young men just back from a grueling war, eager to recapture the camaraderie of military life, celebrate their survival and blow off years’ worth of steam — were replaced by Marlon Brando, as stiff as his brand-new Levi’s and monogrammed Perfecto leather jacket, portraying ‘Johnny Strabler’ as a mewling teenager riven with Daddy issues, riding a shiny new British bike, mumbling already-dated ‘hep cat’ slang and mooning over Mary Murphy’s more mature waitress.
Marlon Brando’s ‘Johnny Strabler’ whinging on about his mean old man.
Meanwhile, Lee Marvin, an actual combat veteran with a Purple Heart to his credit, and a real-life rider himself, acted the ‘villain’ of the piece. In ‘Chino’, Marvin channeled the essence of ‘Wino Willie’ Forkner. He rode into town astride a road-weary Harley-Davidson Big Twin, clad in military surplus and thrift store garments the way many of the men at Hollister had been, waving a cigar and loudly greeting old friends.
Lee Marvin as ‘Chino’, riding into town with his club, The Beetles, and yes, the British band said they did name themselves after Chino’s club!Lee Marvin’s ‘Chino’ with that devilish grin, the leader of his pack.
Johnny Strabler was a dilettante, a poseur. Chino was a fuckin’ honest-to-god biker. Johnny’s leather jacket may rightly be considered iconic — it is a fashion staple to this day, even amongst people who wouldn’t go within ten feet of a motorcycle — but so is Lee Marvin’s portrayal of Chino. Talk to bikers you know. How many of ’em wanted to be Johnny Strabler when they grew up? and how many wanted to be Chino? I can tell you my answer!
Chino taunting Johnny for quitting Chino’s club….….and defending Johnny even after Johnny beats him in a lively street brawl, because that’s the biker way, baby!
HIGHWAY PATROL
There’s another chapter to this story, discovered after I completed my post about Hollister. If you’re interested, there’s a link at the bottom about an episode of the television series Highway Patrol that aired in April of 1956. Check it out!
AND SO….
I geek out about this stuff because I love our history as motorcyclists — all the influences that went into creating our lifestyle and all the ways that lifestyle is portrayed, interpreted and further influenced by attention from media and popular culture. The chain of events that lead from World War Two to Hollister, from Hollister to Harper’s, and from Harper’s to Hollywood, are just part of the fascinating origin story we all share.
As I write this, we are less than two weeks from the premiere of yet another biker movie; an A-list Hollywood production starring well-known actors like Austin Butler, Tom Hardy, Jody Comer, Norman Reedus and Michael Shannon.+ The Bikeriders, loosely based on photo-journalist Danny Lyon’s seminal 1968 book of the same title, promises to be yet another milestone in our unfolding story. I already have my tickets, and can’t wait to see what comes up on the big screen!
* Congreve, William The Mourning Bride, 1697. The original lines read ‘Music has charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.’
+ Just this afternoon, I received my copy of The Vandals: The Photography of the Motion Picture ‘The Bikeriders’. Woo-hoo!
That devastatingly handsome model sporting the latest in biker fashion is none other than your humble narrator, AKA the chief cook and bottle washer here at The Shovel Shop!😎
The Shovel Shop Store is now open. If you’d like to help an old scooter tramp stay caffeinated while he hammers out his motorcycle-themed ramblings, just visit the Shovel Shop Store and scoop up some cool biker swag: t-shirts, coffee mugs, patches, and whatever other crap I can think up! Collect ’em all! Tell your friends! Support your favorite greybeard! 😎
….if the viewer is open and brave enough, they are going to meet an America few folks will talk about; a grim, hostile underbelly filled with proud white trash, loud motorcycles, barflies, brawlers, booze and sex and rock ‘n’ roll. George the Painter takes all of this in, and then flings it at the viewer like blood, sweat and spinal fluid, in violent knife-edged spasms of color, light and shadow.
Pussy and Bourbon # 1 by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
The term ‘acquired taste’ was coined for characters like George the Painter, but I confess that it is a taste I have acquired. In my collection I have a number of his prints, purchased from the artist himself through the old The Horse / Back Street Choppers readers’ forum, where we were both frequent flyers in the early ’00s. I look forward to displaying some of them in the Adults Only section of MMMoMMA soon. 😏
Rebel by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. The ‘RAT LIFE’ tattoo is one of GTP’s own.Oh Hell Yea [sic] by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
When he chooses to, GTP can get downright representational, as with the Sporty above and the moonlit chopper below. I find that painting particularly evocative.
* EK87S *, a commission by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. Titles marked with asterisks are ones I made up, because the artist’s title was unknown.
Others evince a technical mastery of light, color and shadow that nudges the neighborhood of realism, without fully crossing the line.
Hogster by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.*Knucklehead *by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.*Knucklehead * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
….and when he’s not painting blowsy barflies, GTP is capable of more pedestrian images.
This looks suspiciously like the scenic and thrilling Tail of the Dragon, which leaves Maggie Valley, North Carolina, (home of Dale Walksler’s famous Wheels Through Time Museum) and meanders over the state line into Tennessee, with a challenging 318 curves in just 11 miles! 😮 Overconfident (or overserved) riders have come to unhappy ends in those hills, but it’s a destination ride for our tribe, and motorcyclists come from around the world to challenge the Tail and visit the motorcycle museum. Highly recommended, BTW.* Peterbilt Posse * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* The Boys * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Pickup * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Cometic * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Chopper Couple * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Kiss *by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
Richie Pan was a renowned artist, tattooist and bike builder from New Jersey who was killed in an auto-pedestrian crash on his way home from the annual North Carolina Smokeout. I mentioned him in my article about David Mann, but GTP knew Richie Pan, had been tattooed by him, and painted two portraits of his friend.
* Richie Pan in his shop * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. Richie is seated on his beloved panhead, Viola.* Richie Pan in the wind * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
As with David Mann, Edward Hopper and other favorite artists, George Frizzell will insert himself into his work at times, as with this oddly-named canvas: Intergalactic Attack Formation # 1….
Intergalactic Attack Formation # 1 by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. That is GTP hisself, trademark sneer in place, aboard the shovelhead he calls ‘Leaky Latowski’. He reports that the original canvas now lives in Australia.
….and this, where he demonstrates Leaky Latowski’s low-end torque.
When Pigs Fly by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
Finally, in this recent canvas, GTP notes that he ‘wanted to paint a loser with a busted ass bike and it ended up being a self portrait.’ He was raffling off the original canvas, and noted, ‘I’ve been off my Shovel for long enough and this raffle will send some cash in the right direction!’ I can relate! If they were still on offer, I’d buy a ticket or two myself! 😎
* Loser * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
However, like a lot of bikers, GTP seems to delight in the age-old game called ‘shocking the squares,’ and he plays it well!
Rothouse 187 by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
GTP’s work is sometimes hard to look at – rude and graphic and in-your-face, much like the artist himself – and not everyone can hang with it. However, if the viewer is open and brave enough, they are going to meet an America few folks will talk about; a grim, hostile underbelly filled with proud white trash, loud motorcycles, barflies, brawlers, booze and sex and rock ‘n’ roll. GTP takes all of this in, and then flings it at the viewer like blood, sweat and spinal fluid, in violent knife-edged spasms of color, light and shadow.
V by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
If you can hang, study what GTP has created on canvas, and you will discover an uncompromising artist with a hard-core, anarchic sense of self, which makes him a Charles Bukowski of the painted word.
Blow Job by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.Two of George’s more noticeable tattoos: WHITE TRASH ICONandRAT LIFE.
SHOVELHEAD LOVE
Like me, George loves his shovelheads, and they feature prominently in his art. I’m always glad to see my favorite Milwaukee motor represented, but….
* Shovelhead SS * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Shovelhead with Swastika * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. With that dual-throated carburetor, the engine takes on the look of a demented, malevolent WALL-E, from the animated film, or a Star Warsrobot…. or maybe Cujo? 🤷🏻♀️* Shovelhead * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Shovelhead * in charcoal by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Shovelhead * in charcoal by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.Some wag suggested * Hogwarts’ Hagrid gets a Harley * as a title. Whatever. It’s another Shovelhead by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.* Shovel Jesus * by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell.
If you’re really brave, read a few of GTP’s columns in back issues of The Horse / Back Street Choppers — the now-defunct biker rag that gave Frizzell a resident platform for his art and off-the-wall screeds — and you’ll see that George comes by his ‘fuck the world’ brand of hardscrabble individualism honestly. He is brutally forthright about living his life his way. Dilettantes and poseurs need not apply.
The Horse / Backstreet Choppers
The Horse / Backstreet Choppers was a weak imitation of the OG Easyriders* magazine, which began in 1970, but The Horse did feature owner-built choppers in amongst all the pouty-lipped models, hipster-bearded and tattooed ‘old skool’ wannabes and eye-boggling graphics. The Horse / Backstreet Choppers was GTP’s home away from home for many years. They published his artwork and many of his rambling, overheated screeds. Those columns were later collected into a ‘bathroom reader‘ that is now out-of-print, and listed for stoopid money on eBay and Amazon.
Yet another shovelhead; this one with the inscrutable title Deluxe Space Robot by George ‘GTP’ Frizzell. That is his Leaky Latowski fuel tank on the floor.
In a documentary series, Richie Pan’s America, George said he wasn’t much of a writer, wasn’t much of a painter, wasn’t much of a bike builder, and yet he’s famous. 🤷🏻♀️
He also made a comment that speaks volumes about him, and about bikers in general. He said, ‘Being poor and destitute without a motorcycle is completely uncool, but you can be the same motherfucker and have a motorcycle between your legs — still have no place to live — and it’s cool….’
I don’t know about George, but in my career as a biker, I’ve been homeless, without a car, a job or bank account, but I’ve always had a bike, and yeah, that’s pretty feckin’ cool! 😎
Let’s let GTP go out the same way he came in, with a hearty ‘Fuck You’ to all and sundry! 😎
❤️ A brief pictorial history of a love affair for the ages. ❤️
Forty-five years ago I was a kid with a dream of owning a Harley-Davidson. I put away the alcohol and drugs that I’d abused all through my teens, got not one but two jobs, saved some money for a down-payment and worked with my credit union to establish credit. Now it was time to find the bike of my dreams….
….and find her I did.
I began my search at the stealership on Burnet Road in Austin, just south of Koenig Lane, where the sales manager treated me like the Julia Roberts character in Pretty Woman. For whatever reason — my age, my long hair, my jeans-and-t-shirt wardrobe choices — he apparently assumed I wasn’t well-heeled enough to afford a Harley. When I announced that I was there to buy a bike he said ‘The used bikes are outside,’ waved a lazy hand in the direction of the door, turned on his heel and walked away. In previous visits to that shop I had watched that man do everything short of performing fellatio on the showroom floor to make a sale, so, yeah, I took being treated that way personally.
But it worked out well for me, because as I was leaving the stealership I spotted a Harley in a used car lot two doors up the street….
….and that Harley — the 1974 FX-1200 Superglide I named The Bitch — has been under my ass or in my garage ever since.
Forty-five years! 😮 Outside my blood relations, there is not a single relationship in my life older than the one between me and The Bitch.
So, Happy Anniversary, baby! Let’s do forty-five more! 😎
In his 1979 article* about the Bandidos Motorcycle Club, Texas Monthlywriter Dick Reavis created a humorous sidebar about the First Church of Harley-Davidson, located in Denton, Texas. The sect’s theology is a little off-center — the church’s founder, Malvern Daugherty, AKA ‘Reverend Box’, describes it as a ‘beer-and-reefer church’ — but some members claim to believe in Ralph, the little tin god of all things Harley-Davidson.
True believers feel that Ralph lives within each Harley-Davidson engine and, as Reavis writes, ‘that he is a jealous and exacting god. In order to worship him, Harley owners must kneel and carry out monkish acts of ritual devotion, like changing oil, tuning up, and keeping Ralph’s motor-temple clean. “The more religiously you carry out maintenance, the more Ralph smiles on you,” oracle Box proclaims. Inspired study of the Harley repair manual is considered necessary to gain Ralph’s grace.
‘First Churchers fear Ralph’s wrath, which a few of them have suffered firsthand. “You’ll be puttin’ down the road one day when all of a sudden your motor will thunder out ‘Rraaaallphh!’ That’s his punishment for infidels. You’ll find that your motor won’t run anymore, if it’s in one piece, and as for Ralph, he’ll be gone from it, back to his celestial home.” This vengeful visitation, Box says, is called “Ralphing it on the road.” ‘
While I’m not a member of the First Church of Harley-Davidson (if it still exists; that was written in 1979) I will allow that somespirit lives within Harley-Davidson engines — that’s what gives Harley-Davidson its legendary ‘soul’ — and that it is possible to piss them off….
….as I have apparently done.
You see, I sinned by taking The Bitch — my beloved 1974 shovelhead — for granted. When I parked her years ago, I didn’t do the things one must do to keep Ralph happy while his motorcycle home sits idle. I didn’t add fuel stabilizer to the petrol tanks or, better yet, drain the damned things. I didn’t put the battery on a trickle charger to keep it fresh, or fire the bike up and run it for fifteen minutes or so, which is apparently what is required to burn off any condensation that may have accumulated in the oiling system. I didn’t do nothin’ except hoist The Bitch up on a stand and slap a chain and padlock on her.
To be fair, I didn’t realize I was parking the bike for years. I’d had a get-off that destroyed the inner primary, and assumed I would make the repairs and get back in the saddle in short order. However, life had other plans.
In December, on my way to a Toy Run, FFS, I had a get-off in a highway underpass. The hows and whys are a story unto themselves, but the end result was a very expensive jigsaw puzzle!
For one thing, I got an opportunity to return to college, to complete the bachelor’s degree I had begun working toward the same year I bought The Bitch. There were forms to fill out, an application essay to write, interviews and appointments and registration…. and then there were classes, and homework, and, y’know, life stuff, like family gatherings and dates with my wife and dinners with friends, and I simply lost track of time. One day I looked up and realized it had been years.
That is when my quest to trike the shovelhead began in earnest, but still, The Bitch sat in the garage, more hat-rack than Harley, as I did all I did to try to procure a trike frame for her. After those efforts failed, and I bought the Freewheeler I am currently riding, any urgency to get The Bitch running quickly waned again. I had something new to distract me, and the learning curve of getting used to life on three wheels. The shovel would wait. 🤷🏻♀️ Yet another sin against Ralph.
As noted in my previous post, I got a wild hair to enter my shovelhead in the Handbuilt Motorcycle Show, so I began working on replacing fluids, battery, et cetera. I foolishly believed The Bitch, my faithful steed of forty-five years, would magically not suffer the degradations of time in idle limbo; that the gas would probably be just fine, the carburetor still fully functional, the inner tubes still airtight.
Yeah. That didn’t happen.
Believing the fuel tanks to be close to empty, I poured most of a gallon of fresh petrol in them before learning that the carburetor was not still fully functional, and that the damned petcock leaked whenever I turned it on.
This leaking petcock would need to be replaced. I had to loosen the fatbob mounting bolts fore and aft to get the petcock, with its 90° outlet, past the backside of the shovelhead’s rocker boxes.
I ordered a carburetor rebuild kit and replacement petcock from Amazon, available for next-day delivery, and called it a night. The next day, when the new parts arrived, I got stuck back into my penance…. umm, my mechanical efforts…. and began draining the fuel tanks as I rebuilt the carburetor.
Yeah, that didn’t happen, either.
The rebuild kit was nothing but made-in-China crap — the gaskets didn’t fit and the float valve needle was a full 1/8th of an inch longer than OEM! 😮 It’s as if, in creating this kit, the manufacturers looked at the pictures in a service manual and used their best approximation of the necessary sizes. Utterly useless, and on its way back to the Commie bastards who created it.
She’s missing something, but I can’t quite put my finger on just what….
So I turned my attention to the tanks, and realized there was far more petrol in there than I’d realized. The first can I used to catch fuel overflowed, so I deployed a second, and thought I’d pretty well gotten everything out. Time to replace the petcock then, right?
Except that, when I removed the petcock, another gallon of petrol splashed out!
I was panicked, getting doused with the stuff and unable to get the petcock back in place, but I did finally managed to get a gas can under the tank outlet and catch the last one-third of a gallon. However, the rest splashed all over the floor and began spreading rapidly, as petrol is wont to do.
In a mad scramble, accompanied by much cursing, wailing and gnashing of teeth, I used crumpled newspaper to sop up as much of the stuff as I could, but the smell remained. Dunno if you’ve ever had the pleasure, but years-old petrol reeks even worse than the fresh stuff you spill on the side of your car at the local convenience store. It reeks, and the stench lingers for a really long time!
Bless her heart, Jackie braved the hail of cusswords and self-recrimination I unleashed in the moment to come to my aid. She also did a quick Google search, and learned that kitty litter will supposedly absorb the odor. I will tell you that at this moment, over thirteen hours after I spread the kitty litter, it is no silver bullet. If any of the odor has been absorbed, or dissipated out the vent fan that’s been running for the past forty-eight hours, I can’t tell. That crap still reeks!
UPDATE: It took over seventy-two hours, the aforementioned application of kitty litter and a good scrubbing of the garage floor with a mixture of vinegar and baking soda to finally clear that stench from the garage! 🤢
I did manage to learn why the tank retained so much petrol after I thought it drained. Turned out that the petcock’s filter was clogged almost three inches up its length — the rust a fuel stabilizer might have prevented, don’tcha know — so that, even with the petcock on its ‘reserve’ setting, none of that last gallon of gas could escape….
….until I removed the petcock, of course! 🙄
Neil Young tried to warn me: RUST NEVER SLEEPS!Who knows what kind of rust and other crud is up there, inside that hole?
So here I am. The shovel can’t be put back together because I don’t have the carburetor rebuild kit required, and I’m probably going to have to remove and cleanse the tanks — just the job I was hoping I would not have to do!
As noted in my previous post, the very talented artist Lyndell Dean Wolff painted a portrait of your humble narrator, based on a photograph of me taken at Mount Rushmore back in the early ’80s. I’d ridden up from Texas with my partner — the late T.R. Evans (R.I.P.) — and just had to do all the famous stuff like Mount Rushmore, Spearfish Canyon, et cetera.
Well, Lyndell completed the painting just in time to unveil it at the 20th Annual David Mann Memorial Chopperfest at Ventura, California. Again, per my previous post, my wife and I are in the middle of packing up MMMoMMA’s exhibits (and all our shyte) for a move to San Antonio. After twenty-four and a half years in this house, and me a confirmed packrat/hoarder, there is a lot of shyte to pack!
However, how many times am I going to witness the first public display of a portrait of myself? 🤷🏻♀️
Hence, about halfway through the week of the Chopperfest, I got the wild idea of actually attending Chopperfest for the first time! 😮
We discussed it — I mean, the timing could scarcely have been worse — but my wife, bless her heart, agreed that if I rendered one room paintable I could light out for the shaky coast, and she’d still have something to do to move us along. I busted a hump and got ‘er done that Friday evening. Insert big sigh of relief here.
Still, I dithered about going — ‘It’s a lot of miles, we’re jammed up with moving….,‘ and so on — but sometime around nine o’clock that evening I threw a few things in a baby duffel, loaded a cooler full of snacks and drinks, filled my venerable ’70s-era stainless steel Thermos™ with coffee and set out on the road.
Late night balling through West Texas.In a lot of stretches, I had the road to myself. That never happens on IH35 anymore!I do love The Land of Enchantment!I took some time — here on a small stretch of old Route 66 — to indulge my passion for architecture.That gorgeous brickwork just amazes me. I hope someone will come along and restore that building, rather than just tearing it down and erecting some soulless pre-fab thing in its place!This view of snow-covered mountains just presaged what was to come.Between the bitter cold, fog and snow and that ice-slicked roadway, this was a bit of a hairy ride!But we survived, and lived to drive another day!Sunset over I-10 on the Saturday night….….and the colors just get prettier and prettier! Looks like colors from a Maxfield Parrish painting!At this point I was running on ‘blues power’ (as I used to call it back in my drinking and drugging days) and was virtually braindead. I could not even tell you what city this was, but this was my last photo of the night.
Jackie and I have a lovely system in place when I’m on the road: we will talk on the telephone at intervals (which helps me stay awake) and when it’s time for me to crash, she’ll go online and book me a room. This particular night, I called it quits somewhere around Palm Springs. After roughly twenty-six hours with nothing but catnaps, Audible books and coffee, I was ready to sleep…. and I did! 😴😴😴
I woke up to this on the Sunday morning. Hell of a day for a motorcycle show, yes?I managed to blast through the Los Angeles area at 80 and 90 MPH without getting clipped. Saw a couple of CHP cruisers and one motorcycle working, but the Sunday morning traffic was sparse, and aside from some left-lane loogies it was a relatively stress-free drive.
It wasn’t hard to find the Ventura County Fairgrounds, where the Chopperfest was being held; just follow the stream of motorcycles. I inched my black road warrior van to the front gate surrounded by the sights and sounds of a vast motorcycling community, found a parking spot and limped my way into the event.
This was a proper chopper show, with plenty of handbuilt scooters of all sorts and sizes, from this well-worn 1946 knuckle bobber….….and gorgeous, race-ready ’47 Indian Chief….….to this Bizarro World 1975 Honda 550, with all sorts of whimsical details….….like the shot-through petrol tank and Brothel badge…….the ‘Fuck Ya‘ hand shifter and copper tank covers…….and expressive rear fender! 🙄There was a replica of the ‘Billy Bike’ from the 1969 cult classic Easy Rider, starring Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper and Jack Nicholson. I’ve seen a lot of star-spangled ‘Captain America’ replicas — at least three so far that their owners swore were the sole surviving movie panhead!!! 🙄 — but never seen a Billy Bike outside of Franklin Mint’s 1:10 scale models. For the record, Franklin Mint’s Easy Rider 1:10 scale replica motorcycles are part of MMMoMMA’s original exhibit. Note that the chopped and flame-painted Billy Bike is parked right beside what appears to be a beautifully restored 1957 Sportster (below). I just love that there was a wide variety of machines here!This was an interesting item: a one-of-a-kind 1942 Crosley, designed and built by Russell Martin.Check out all the beautiful details, and see if you can guess just what it is you’re seeing ….before perusing the menu of ingredients (below) that went into this incredible build.Isn’t that amazing? 😮A brace of gorgeous Indians.Near as I can tell, that’s a 2024 WTF, but the builder insists it is a 1974 Maico. 🤷🏻♀️ Me, I have to take his word for it!A sleek shovelhead….….a more extravagant panhead….….and an even wilder creation known only as ‘bagger’!
I wanted to enjoy some of the bikes on display before making my appearance at Lyndell’s stand, so I wandered about for a while, snapping photos of interesting details like these:
I believe that speaks for itself, don’t you?In its way, so does this one! 😁This carburetor cover went with the Native American-themed paint on this rider’s panhead.Instructions or warning? 🤷🏻♀️Beautifully designed and crafted midships footrest and brake pedal. I would need to have far shorter legs and smaller feet than I do to even use these, and that slick chrome doesn’t offer much purchase if trying desperately to avoid ramming the cager who just pulled out in front of you. On a wet day? No way! Pretty, though! 😁Apparently saddlebags and a sky-high sissy bar weren’t enough for this rider….….but then again, he does put on some miles!However, long bikes like these — the laid-back California-born chopper of the sort immortalized in David Mann’s brilliant artwork — remain the raison d’être for Chopperfest, and this slabside shovel is a prime example of the style.Some fools say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but a tasty shovel hooks me every time. This heavily chromed and polished 1978 is fun to look at, but for my own bikes I avoid parts that are too shiny. It’s a whole thing with me…. 😏I may be a shovel man, but this panhead sure caught my eye: simple, understated, with those stepped-up shotguns and a relatively unmolested wishbone frame. Be still, my heart! 🥰And speaking of unmolested, here we are right where we started, looking at a well-loved knucklehead with an OEM frame in what appears to be OEM condition!Days like these are why Southern California is considered a bikers’ paradise!
But what of the artist I drove all this way to see? There was a crowded food court serviced by an array of food trailers, and a long outdoor market of sorts that stretched from end to end of the fairgrounds, with all manner of goods on offer. I saw leathers, patches, jewelry, custom and vintage motorcycle parts, even rain gutters for your house!
There were also two huge exhibition halls. The first was filled with booths offering much of the same as those in the bazaar outside: parts, t-shirts, accessories, Jesus…. 😮 oh, yeah, the Lord was there and eager to make your acquaintance, if the motorcycle ministry boys surrounding the booth were to be believed.
Finally, in the last exhibition hall, I found the artists. I began with a quick walkabout, to see who-all was there. I spotted some future MMMoMMA acquisitions, and some real dreck.
First were the helmets. As noted in my previous post, Biltwell invites artists to paint and display painted helmets, which are then offered for sale.
I failed to make note of artists’ names. My apologies to them.This being the David Mann Memorial Chopperfest, it just makes sense to honor the man.Imma take a wild-assed guess that these were by Wayne Wreck! 😏Some gorgeous work!But then….….what to my wondering eyes should appear….….but Lyndell Dean Wolff’s contribution to the helmet show! I knew it was his even at a glance because I’d seen the prelim work on his Facebook page.
There were a great many artists’ work on display, and some great pieces.
David ‘Huggy Beahr’ Hanson, who passed away last year, was being honored at the 2024 Chopperfest. This is oil pastel on walnut by artist Cynthia Polk. Cynthia Polk’s tribute to David Mann.Anthony Hicks, who is also mentioned in a recent MMMoMMA Facebook post. I want to pay more attention to what this fellow’s doing!I failed to get this artist’s name, as well. The print is signed Bloody.TPN….? 🤷🏻♀️Finally, it was time to introduce myself to Lyndell Dean Wolff.
When I approached Lyndell Dean Wolff’s booth in the exhibition hall, I saw that my portrait was hanging on the portable chain link fence that backstopped the artists’ displays. We’d never met IRL, so with Lyndell looking on, I gestured at the portrait with my cane and said ‘That’s an ugly sumbitch right there.’
‘Sturgis Run, ’87’ by Lyndell Dean Wolff (2024) acrylic on foamboard
Lyndell said ‘That’s Bill James from Austin’ as he was getting to his feet. It seemed like he was prepared to defend his subject’s honor or his art, or both, and it took him a moment to comprehend that I was saying ‘I’m Bill James from Austin,’ but then all joy broke loose.
He and his sweetie, Sharon, were just amazed that I would travel that far just to meet him, but I told them, as I told you at the top of the post, ‘How many portraits of me are artists gonna paint in my lifetime? I couldn’t miss this!’
From left to right: artist Lyndell Dean Wolff, Early Rider Bruce Shroeder and your humble narrator, leaning on a cane his nephew Devon custom-crafted for him and looking utterly exhausted. You’d think I’d been bustin’ my ass all week, and then taken a hell-for-leather drive across half the continent! 😏 BTW, check out Lyndell’s artwork hanging behind us, and then check out his websites. Damn, he’s good, and I’d like to see him get the recognition he deserves!
This is Lyndell’s own page, with galleries, biography, et cetera.
We sat there and visited for a couple of hours — the great open-ended visiting I love best — talking about our lives, our motorcycle exploits, our work…. After a while we were joined by a fellow named Bruce, who rode with the Early Riders. Bruce could talk for England, as they say. He kept up a running monolog about people I’ve never met in places I’ve never been, and rarely paused for breath. I like a good yarn, but Bruce beat all I ever heard!
As we sat and visited, this fellow motored by. He claimed he was test-riding the prototype 2035 Harley-Davidson bagger, for when all us Boomers are too pooped to crawl up on our motorcycles anymore!
As the afternoon waned so did the crowds, and Lyndell and Sharon started to pack up. I gave them some Shovel Shop ‘Watch for Biker’ t-shirts I’d carried out there for them, we said our goodbyes, and I hit the highway east, retracing my steps back to Texas. It was a real pleasure to get to meet them both, and share that wonderful afternoon with them.
From left to right: your humble narrator with a portrait of a much younger him, artist Lyndell Dean Wolff and Sharon. Do I look sleepy? I think I look sleepy. 😵💫
Took it a little easier going home — a night in the same hotel in Palm Springs, and another in El Paso — but I did my best to make up that time on the road.
Leaving LA.It’s not just me, is it? Actually, just last week I saw a post about this ‘mountain’ on a Facebook page, so I know it’s not just me! 😎Gotta make up time somehow, right? I’d actually hit 110, but by the time I raised my camera I was already losing speed. However, in West Texas most of the traffic was running 95, so I wasn’t that far outta line!Welcome back to Austin. Just part of the reason we’re leaving after all these years, but this shyte definitely plays a part! 🤬