Like most motorcycle-related things, it started with a phone call from Dangerous Dan. “Hey, Mark, you got a minute for some motorcycle nonsense?” is a standard opening, one for which I have no defense. “My friend Ryan,” he said, “and a bunch of his chopper-riding buddies meet at his workshop on Thursday nights for a bike night and I was wondering if you’d like to come along.” That was the verbal equivalent of chumming over a school of Mark sharks and started a mental feeding frenzy.
I’m not a “chopper” guy, at least not in the way the people from that Discovery Channel show are concerned. Hanging out with a bunch of poseurs who might be able to endure their S&S-motored, tart’s-handbag money pits long enough to get to the nearest gin joint is not my style. DD assured me, however, that Ryan and the gang were the real deal and that’s how I found myself in their company a couple Thursdays ago.
Their shop is less than six miles from my house, so I mounted my 500 cc Honda single for the ten-minute journey. I figured I might as well show up on the antithesis of a hardtail V-twin to see if Dan was right and that they’d welcome me just the same. I needn’t have worried: when I pulled up alone and unknown before a crowd of over a dozen chopper enthusiasts, they universally welcomed me with not only friendliness, but enthusiasm for my vintage, rice-country ride. I arrived before DD, so I simply explained that I was his buddy, although I’m pretty sure it would have been OK even if I’d been some schmuck who was just passing by, as long as I was genuinely interested in bikes.
Introductions were made and I, being me, remembered about two names, but we were soon linked by our shared love of all things two-wheeled. Inside and outside the shop were a collection of bikes that were the diametric opposite of the ones I feared they would be. The choppers in residence were a collection of basic, handmade hardtails with modestly-extended forks, no front brakes, and stepped-tandem seats with sissy bars. If you picture Dennis Hopper’s bike from “Easy Rider,” that’s the ethos. There were no “fatties” crammed into overly-styled rear fenders: like the people - the bikes were clearly “riders.”
The human riders were no less laid-back: working-class and/or professional local guys, husbands and fathers, sans extensive “atts and tatts,” who actually ride their machines, and not short distances, either. Ryan shared that they had a couple bikes to finish before an annual spring ride to North Carolina for a campout. I tried to imagine having the balls - and the back - to ride one of their basic creations that far and he said, “Oh, we gotta stop about every hour for gas anyway.” He also showed me that their bikes do NOT have forward-mounted controls so that they can actually stand up on the pegs to absorb any big bumps that might otherwise unseat them.
They like old-school, bright metalflake three-quarter helmets, a couple of which were perched on tall sissy bars. The engines on the bikes were mechanically, if not cosmetically, nice and functional, with a variety of air cleaning apparatus ranging from pod filters to…none. A variety of humorous stickers were scattered around and one tank sported a simple, hand-lettered admonishment to the rider, “Don’t f***ing die!” Ryan proudly informed me that a photo of that one made it into “Easy Riders” magazine. Just to complete the picture, they’re not one-dimensional: the shop included a Gold Wing in need of some TLC and several Japanese dirt bikes in various stages of restoration (something I’m certain DD will have a hand in assisting). There was a newer, production Harley and even a four-wheeled ATV to round out the collection.
The “clubhouse” is a “barndominium:” a large pole building with three huge rollup doors and an upstairs apartment. There are a couple refrigerators, a pool table, a big-screen TV, and an audio system hooked to a computer. Despite the ethos, it’s not a steady diet of Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild;” Doc Watson was strumming out “Walk on Boy” at one point. There’s a plethora of tools and a couple welders and a whole bunch of vintage/non-vintage spare parts. The building is as interesting and eclectic as the humans who inhabit it. Oh yeah, there’s a set of “cornhole” boards painted with the group’s logo, a chopper-riding corn cob. DD’s chum worked: I’m a t-shirt-wearing Corn Fed Choppers guy now. They’re the real deal.