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! 😎
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’. 🙄
The Bitch, my beloved 1974 shovelhead, has been sitting and gathering dust and cobwebs for several years more than I care to admit. Long story, but anyhoo….
Jackie and I are packing up the house in Austin — it’s already listed for sale — and prepping for our anticipated move to San Antonio, so I’ve felt fortunate to have the 2016 Freewheeler to ride, and assumed The Bitch would be trailered to SA in its existing condition.
But then I saw the announcements for this coming weekend’s Handbuilt Motorcycle Show, including a call for entries. I scanned the photo galleries of past events, and didn’t see anything that looked like The Bitch, so I thought, ‘Hmmm…. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head, getting my weary old road warrior in a show with all these slick, sleek professionally built custom bikes?’ What can I say? 🤷🏻♀️ I’m evil that way. 😈
Only trick is that when you submit an entry, you promise that the motorcycle you show will be running when you deliver it to the showgrounds. Hence, with Jackie’s encouragement, I started scrambling to get The Bitch fired up.
That’s just the color you want to see on a set of plugs!
First step: drain as much sumped oil as possible from the crankcase. I pulled the sparkplugs, still a lovely shade of tan because I know how to tune the shovel properly, and dropped the feed from the oil-bag, and started kicking, and kicking, and kicking….
Oil being returned to the oil-bag as I kick drains into the oil pan on the floor.The flow from the crankcase, as I kick, is forced out the chain oiler through the crankcase breather.Imagine: we used to let that waste oil drain into the ground and think nothing of it. Now we have to collect it in containers, and make an appointment to take it to the Hazardous Waste Recycling Center, which is all the way down IH35, south of Ben White Boulevard! It’s a wonder more people aren’t just dumping the stuff on the ground, still. Not me, of course — I’m a good steward of the earth these days — but I’ll bet there are a lot of gearheads who can’t be arsed to drain and retain the way I do. UPDATE: a couple weeks after publishing the post you’re currently reading, I rediscovered this clipping I had in my files, fromPopular Science back in 1963, and thought I’d share it with y’all.
I finally got enough oil out that I thought I might be good to go, so I reattached the feed line and poured two quarts of Valvoline Grade 50 into the oil-bag. It will officially hold three, but in my experience, that includes any oil stored in the external filter and connecting lines. The tank itself might hold two and a half. However, since the 50 is just to flush the system, two will do what needs doing.
The last battery I bought The Bitch measured 5.25×3.5×7″ and weighed 11 pounds! 😮
Next up was the battery. I’d been buying lovely gel batteries from the BMW shop on North Lamar, but the bastards had the nerve to go out of business. However, Cycle Gear over on US Highway 183 at Burnet Road came to the rescue. It took a couple of tries, but they came up with a Lithium Ion battery from Duraboost. First one I’ve ever purchased. It’s smaller and lighter, with no acid to fuss about, and has the added advantage of being mountable in any position, even upside down, without leaking or malfunctioning. Not a cheap date, but worth every penny, IMO. I imagine chopper builders the world over are ecstatic about these things!
This little jewel measures 5.3 x 2.6 x 3.6″, and weighs a measly 1.3 pounds! 😮😮😮 It also fits neatly into the battery box with inches to spare!
Added bennie: Cycle Gear gave me a discount for being a veteran! 👍🏻
Thinking I might be ready to give The Bitch a try, I took her off the hydraulic stand she’d been resting on for years — an adventure in itself — and leaned her over on her kickstand, where she immediately began puking oil all over the floor. I started to panic, thinking all my nice new 50-weight was going to end up soaking into old issues of The Austin Chronicle. Apparently I hadn’t cleared as much of the sumped oil as I’d thought, but it stopped in short order.
So now I have oil, lights and power. What next? Oh, yeah…. petrol! 👍🏻
Behind that very ‘old school’ panhead air cleaner cover is a fifty-year-old Zenith Bendix 38mm carburetor that has served me very well for forty-five years!
The Bitch still runs the OEM Zenith Bendix carburetor she came with from the factory — a juicy, easy-to-kickstart mixer that has served me well over the years. The Bendix has powered The Bitch and I well over half a million miles, from sea-level Galveston and Corpus Christi to the top of Rocky Mountain Nat’l Park — 11,798′ above sea level — and from the Texas border with Mexico to the Badlands of South Dakota. We’ve been up and down the Rockies on numerous trips, and all over the desert Southwest, with nary an adjustment or stutter. I spent years working the parts counter at Bud’s Motorcycle Shop on East First Street, and I was just agog at the pains some riders went through to rejet their carburetors in advance of road trips. Some even installed adjustable main-jets! Me, I was always, like, ‘Why?‘ 🤷🏻♀️ The Bitch just never needed it.
But as good a carb as the Bendix is, no carburetor will tolerate being ignored for years. They develop…. issues, you might say, and mine was not the exception I was hoping it would be. Nope. I poured some petrol in the tank, flipped the petcock lever, and….
Nothing. Nada. Zip. Not a drop of petrol was getting from tank to jet. Curses! 🤬
The carburetor prior to disassembly….
I dropped the bowl, catching the requisite handful of petrol as I did. One of my least favorite things, the smell of gasoline on my hands, because it lingers. C’est la vie, right? I wiped the bowl clean and blew compressed air through the passage from fuel pump to jet, clearing the passage of whatever obstruction it had, and thought I’d scored big-time! I reassembled the carb, turned the petcock back on, and watched heartbroken as petrol Niagara’d all over my engine from the vent at the back of the bowl. Curses again! 🤬
That petcock has less than fifty miles on it, and leaks like a sieve. Apparently, that’s a common problem with aftermarket petcocks. If the one I get tomorrow fails, I guess I’ll be shopping at the stealership again.
I took it all apart again, inspected and cleaned the float needle, and gave it another go. Same mess. Dammit! And, as if that weren’t enough, the petcock, which is virtually brand new, has sprung a leak as well. Imma have to get used to eating food that tastes like gasoline for the next several days. 🤢
I have a coffee can filled with petcocks, fuel filters and carburetor parts — even a spare Bendix carb — but in the rush to prep the house for sale, I naturally packed it and stowed it in the storage unit we rented. 🙄 I ran up to the storage unit and retrieved that tin and another filled with fuel line and clamps, but did not find the Bendix rebuild kit I thought I had in stock. Need I say ‘Curses!’ again? 🤬
The carburetor in amongst spare parts from my stash, but I decided against trying to piece it together with odd parts. I’ll have the rebuild kit tomorrow, and handle it then.
Since Bud’s is no longer in business, following Bud Reveile’s untimely death in 2015, the odds of finding a rebuild kit in town are slim to none, so I jumped on Amazon and, sure enough, they have ’em available for next-day delivery! They also have a petcock that will allegedly fit my 1997 Softail tanks. Fingers crossed they’re right. 🤞🏻
So, I’m at an stopping point for the moment. More anon….
….but during all the mad dashing to get the bike running, I received a message from the Handbuilt Motorcycle Show staff telling me my entry has been rejected! 😭 REJECTED!?!? How could they do that to my baby? 😢
Seriously, I knew my last-minute, unconventional entry was a longshot in a show packed full of sleek, pristine machines, but it was worth a shot, no? 🤷🏻♀️ And it gave me the kick in the ass I needed to get The Bitch fired up. No reason to quit now!
And I’m still going to the show, despite the slight! 😎 Maybe see some of y’all there!
UPDATE:
I did in fact attend the show, with my old friend Bil (one ‘L’ only) from ‘way back in my glory days. It was fun enough, wandering around checking out the flash machines. A lot of shiny chit to gawk at, most of it Euro or Pacific Rim in origin.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 😏
I’ll take ‘Things I Wouldn’t Be Caught Dead On’ for $400, Alex.I’ll take ‘Things I’d Be Embarrassed to Park Beside’ for $1000, Alex.Some nice details on these knuckleheads, but there really is such a thing as ‘too much’, y’know?I mean, I like Steampunk effects well enough, but….….there’s cool accents and then….….there’s overload.Newton R-n-D Yamaha Triple. Odd AF, but at least they broke the mold.The flip-side of Newton’s Yammer-Hammer.There were some old school chops, like this very classic panhead and the Honda Four beside it….….and then there was this Sporty trike set up for a wheelchair rider. If you’ve read my posts titled chal•lenge, and chal•lenge, part two you know that I’ve long been fascinated by handicap adaptations for motorcyclists, so this really caught my eye.This part in particular intrigued me – a fold-out transfer board for shifting from saddle to wheelchair. The other wheelchair users I’ve known – motorcyclists and cagers alike – just muscled their way back and forth. That’s what I did when I was in a chair after my accident, but it requires upper-body strength not all wheelchair users possess. This would definitely make life easier for those folks.Trick, no?Then there was this oddity – another Yamaha creation – which happened to be parked right beside….….the Coroner’s Office? 🤷🏻♀️ The show was held in the old printing plant of the Austin American-Statesman on South Congress, right where the billboard company I worked for once had their headquarters. I have no idea why the Statesman might have had an office for the Coroner, or if that was some wag’s idea of humor. Maybe this was actually the newspaper’s morgue, where old back-issues are kept on file for reference?🤷🏻♀️ In any event, using the Statesman’s property for a motorcycle show was an interesting choice, given the daily’s editorial bias against motorcyclists. Or maybe it was just bikers they disliked so intensely? All I can tell you is that I have my own ‘morgue’ of newspaper clippings from the Statesman, documenting their long history of anti-biker bigotry.In any event, Bil and I had a good enough time, walking our mutually gimped legs off checking out the displays….
….but I soon realized that, of the two choices I had for that weekend’s entertainment, the Texas Fandangoout in Gillespie County would have been much more my speed. Hosted by the Cherokee Chapter of the Antique Motorcycle Club of America(of which I am an erstwhile member), the Texas Fandango features vintage machines – many of them American – along with a vintage swap meet, bike show, chopper show, Xtreem Flattrack Racing, drag racing, Custom Van show and free camping. It also has the advantage of being held in the scenic Texas Hill Country, with great riding roads all around, as opposed to the Handbuilt Show, which is held in very un-scenic and hard-to-get-to downtown Austin.
The Texas Fandango is coming up soon, April 4th through 6th, 2025, and I’m really, really wanting to make the scene if I can. My friend, artist Norman Bean, is slated to be there, with his incredible artwork on display, and it is to be hoped that other old faces might pop up, as well.
It would be nice to spend time with my tribe again. 😎
Some of you may have heard me mention that I am the founder, curator, chief cook and bottle-washer of a little thing I like to call MMMoMMA. New York City has MOMA, aka the Museum of Modern Art, and Central Texas has MMMoMMA, aka My Miniature Museum of Modern Motorcycle Art. 😎
The entryway to MMMoMMA featured works by (from top left) Norman Bean, Sara Ray, Jim Lightfoot, James Guçwa, Damian Fulton, John Guillemette and a piece titled Triumph of Love by an artist whose name escapes me in the moment (and my sincerest apologies to that artist for my brain fade). The collection is temporarily in storage as we seek larger quarters, or I’d just step out in the entryway and tell you their name. 🤷🏻♀️ At right, several photographs of your humble narrator, an original dealership postcard announcing the release of the 1953 model-year Harley-Davidsons, and a fine miniature of a slabside shovel by yet another artist whose name escapes me. I swear I’ll be better about this when we reopen the Museum, honest!A small sampling of the rotating exhibit at MMMoMMA, including David Uhl’s The Enthusiast, a long-time fave, and the piece at lower right by Ian at HotRodPencil on Etsy, personalized with the Shovel Shop name.
One of my favorite tasks at MMMoMMA is spotting those excellent artists who capture our lives and lifestyle (and motorcycles) in their chosen media, be it painting, photography, sculpture, film….
Veer Left by Lyndell Dean Wolff is the painting, more than any other, that I’m craving for my collection
….and an artist I spotted a while back is one Lyndell Dean Wolff, a California-based artist who has done some incredible work in that field.
Beautiful Buzzard from Berdoo by Lyndell Dean Wolff
What first caught my eye, naturally, was his series of paintings inspired by Bill Ray’s famous 1965 photographs* of the Hells Angels and other California MCs, like Beautiful Buzzard of Berdoo, seen above. Others in the series include Tickle It, Bakersfield Run and Berdoo Salute.
Tickle It by Lyndell Dean WolffBakersfield Run by Lyndell Dean Wolff (2024)Berdoo Saluteby Lyndell Dean Wolff (2024)
However, Lyndell isn’t confined to just reimagining Ray’s iconic photographs. He has another series of works — a near-to-photorealist collection titled Wabi-Sabi — that feature historic motorcycles in OEM and custom trim.
Wabi-Sabi, No. 12 by Lyndell Dean WolffWabi-Sabi, No. 11by Lyndell Dean WolffWabi-Sabi, No. 3 by Lyndell Dean WolffWabi-Sabi, No. 4 by Lyndell Dean WolffWabi-Sabi, No. 5 by Lyndell Dean WolffWabi-Sabi, No. 6 by Lyndell Dean Wolff
One of my personal favorites is Lyndell’s portrait of this motorcycle queen, a shovel rider from Japan whose photos appear regularly across the interwebs. I don’t know her name, but I admire any woman who rides her own, and especially a rigid kickstart-only shovelhead like hers.
Wabi-Sabi, No. 13 by Lyndell Dean Wolff….….and the young woman who inspired it!
Outside the Wabi-Sabi and Bill Ray collections, Lyndell creates some brilliant images of vintage motorcycles like these:
Knee-High by July by Lyndell Dean WolffHarley-Davidson WL by Lyndell Dean WolffDavid ‘Huggy Beahr’ Hansen, 1948-2023 by Lyndell Dean WolffExcelsior Super-X by Lyndell Dean Wolff
Another Cuppa by Lyndell Dean Wolff features New Zealand Indian rider Burt Munro, whose story was memorialized in the film The World’s Fastest IndianDavid Mann Tribute by Lyndell Dean Wolff
However, if you visit Lyndell’s gallery, or his website, you will see that he is not limited, any more than David Mann was, to ‘just’ motorcycle-themed art. Lyndell is truly a fine artist in every sense of those words, accomplished and acknowledged, endowed with wide-ranging vision, and possessed of a keen eye for dramatic vignettes and an exquisite hand for detail.
Embodied Cognition by Lyndell Dean WolffCognitive Phenomenology, No. 13 by Lyndell Dean Wolff
For instance, his series titled ‘Cognitive Phenomenology‘ (seen above and below) is a brilliant exploration of human form and cityscape, reflection, light and shadow. The works bring to mind one of my personal faves, Edward Hopper, and yet frequently surpass Hopper in depth and emotion. Those who know my love for Hopper are probably shocked to see me write that, but it’s true.
What can I say? 🤷🏻♀️ I calls ’em as I sees ’em! 😏
Cognitive Phenomenology 5 by Lyndell Dean WolffCognitive Phenomenology 11 by Lyndell Dean Wolff
He has other works, as well. Here is one I love, that appears to be an homage to American artist-cartoonist Robt. Williams. Part of the draw for me may be that Lyndell here reimagines traditional representations of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Jackie and I were married at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church here in Austin, and the lay ministry we were involved in at the church featured Our Lady in much of its iconography.
Spiritual Gentrification, No. 1 by Lyndell Dean Wolff
I’ve been saving my milk money for a while now, hoping to acquire one of Lyndell’s paintings for MMMoMMA, but in the meanwhile we’ve struck up a friendship, and just today he did me the incredible honor of releasing his newest work, entitled “’87 Sturgis Run” (16×20 inch, acrylic on panel). Some of you may recognize that handsome devil standing beside his trusty shovelhead, with the stone faces of Mount Rushmore peering over his shoulder.
’87 Sturgis Run by Lyndell Dean Wolff (2024)
That handsome devil is none other than your humble narrator….
….although it’s damned hard to be humble when a talented artist like Lyndell Dean Wolff makes your mug the subject of a painting! 😎
This painting is based on one of my favorite photographs. Every time I see it, I am reminded of the young man I was, and the adventures I had on my beloved shovelhead. I might not be smiling in the photo, but you can bet your bottom dollar I was one happy biker!
Me and my shovelhead at Mount Rushmore.
Lyndell has been invited to exhibit at the David Mann Memorial Chopperfest Motorcycle, Art and Kulture Show taking place next weekend, February 11th, on the beach at the Ventura County Fairgrounds. He has been a featured artist at this prestigious event for several years running, and his latest paintings, including “Bakersfield Run”, “Berdoo Salute” and “’87 Sturgis Run”, will be on display.
20th Annual David Mann Memorial Chopperfest
Lyndell has also been invited (again!) to contribute a custom painted helmet to the Biltwell Helmet Show, which is a regular part of Chopperfest. His helmet and paintings will be available for sale on-site.
The lineup for the 2024 Biltwell Helmet Show at Chopperfest
I am very proud of my friend, Lyndell Dean Wolff, and sincerely hope you will check out his work, either online or in person at Chopperfest. Better yet, take a piece home. I know I’m dying to! 👍🏼
FOLLOW-UP:
I actually made it to last year’s Chopperfest – the 20th Annual – and tell the tale here. Now it’s time for the 21st. My friend Lyndell Dean Wolff will be there again. This year. he was asked to paint a poster (below) for the event. If you look hard, you might see a familiar figure limping along in the crowd! Thanks, Lyndell!
Read about my trip to the 20th Annual David Mann Memorial Chopperfest, and my meeting with Lyndell Dean Wolff and Sharon, at I took a little drive one night…
JUSTFYI:
*Bill Ray, mentioned above, was on assignment from LIFE Magazine in 1965, in response to the spate of news reports about the Angels and other ‘outlaw’ clubs. His photographs were ultimately rejected for publication at the time. The editors wanted visual reinforcement of the stereotypical larger-than-life ‘biker thug’ that pearl-clutching news reports were describing. Bill Ray disappointed them when he handed in images of everyday women and men on motorcycles, enjoying their lives. His iconic photographs showed the bikers in too good a light. 😎
The Shovel Shop 