Claydog's Bikeography is under construction...

I was born the third, and unplanned child of working parents (descendents of farmers and coal-miners from Kentucky ) on a hot summer day, just before the start of Sturgis in 1948, the first year Harley made the Panhead, that would rule for years to come. It could have been a sign.

Living in rural Missouri, hunting and fishing were the way of life. Running through the woods and pastures, swimming in ponds, creeks, and any run-off was what we did for fun. Fixing things was also a part of life, we were poor, and if it was broke you just fixed it or did without. There was no one to call, no money to buy a new one, that was it, FIX it. I could weld with a stick welder, and burn things apart when I was 8. Then we moved to Colorado Springs. I missed the farm life and made up for it by spending most of my time outdoors, hiking, rock hunting, and the like. One day me and my buds were out in the hills rock hunting when we heard this sound coming up over the dunes, it just stopped us in our tracks, what could it be? There were no tractors out here. It was two bikes, old bobbers, just striped down street bikes with two good ol boys riding in the sand and having a blast. We watched for a while, then they rode over to us . It was magic, the ground shook, and the air seemed to be alive with all kinds of sounds, and smells. I was hooked. I had to know all about them. Where could you get one , how fast ,how far, could they go? The good ol boys talked some , and give some answerers, (one said to me " boy we just try to have a little fun every day") but were mostly just resting for a bit, then they took off in a cloud of dust, and gas fumes, leaving behind at least one kid that would never forget those great machines, and the freedom they could mean.

In 1961 I got my first real motorized bike . It was a Cushman, and yes it needed fixin! I bought it from a guy I went to school with, he told me " if it don't weight over 200 lbs. you don't need license. As it turned out that was wrong. I worked on that thing until I got it running and rode all over Trenton Mo. Then the cops stopped me one day and said not only did I need a drivers license, but I needed a license plate on my ride. If they saw me again they would take me to jail. Well that kept me off the main streets, but there were plenty of back roads, and night riding was always a great adventure. One day I was workin on my ride , and my older brother decided he would help me, he got things so messed up that the thing wouldn't run, and me so mad that I forgot where, or who I was talking to. We were yellin and, and scraping when my mother came out to break it up, my brother just walked off and mom was askin me what was going on. I spit and sputtered some , then Explained that my brother had "Fucked up my bike so much that it wouldn't run". Then I remembered who I was talkin to, I just kept on telling her about my problems until she just walked off, never said a word about my saying FUCK, I still don't know if she heard it , or just let it slide. Later that day when I got my bike running again I was busted by the local cops, they took me home to my dad, not to jail , which would have been better. That was the end of my Cushman, sold and gone.

Two years later I as working out in the country when I spotted a old bike in a garage of a deserted house. It was a 1951 FL. I found out that a bank owned it and went in and ask if they would sell me the bike. The banker said that some guys had been in some time before and offered them $ 50 for it and said they should have sold, it what would I offer? I said $ 60. And it was mine . My first real bike, Yes it needed fixin. A new battery, and gas, a little fiddling here and there and it run. I road it pretty much as it was for most of a year. Then in the winter of 65 I decided to tear it down and Chop her ( "Springer panhead" ). It was the tearing down and rebuilding part when I found out it had a front cylinder of a 74 and a back one from a 61. I just had the back one punched to 74 +, cleaned up the front , and then had a real 74. I bought a 45 Springer front-end and stretched it out 6" over stock, a sportster tank, up sweep pipes, made my own seat , painted the whole thing with rattle cans , and I had myself a Chopper. Riding back form Kansas City one time I lost the back pipe, and stopped in a gas station to see what I could do to fix it. Well no back pipe, a little more nose, but I thought I could get her home. Just to show off a little I was spinning a doughnut in the gravel, when the front axel broke, down I went. Had to hitch hike home, get the truck and go back and get her. It was time to rebuild. I rebuilt that bike serval times.

1969 I bought a brand new sportster, last year you could get magneto only. I made them take the front fender, and seat off before I left the dealership. Road from Kansas City to Trenton on the bare frame ( sounds like El Butche ), later I put a solo seat, snatch-rack, shortly mufflers, and 6" over front end, and I had a cool bike. ( see Iron heads ). I road that bike all over the place. One year, after roaming over most of Colorado for the summer, I started home for Mo.in early October. I left Denver about 10.am and road straight through to KC. It gets cold in Kansas at night, I didn't stop shaking for two days. The good and bad things about that bike were, it never left me sitting, just kicking and kicking, but once it fired I was good for the day.

I bought another 51,FL, and this time I went all the way. I tore it down to the last nut and bolt. Rebuilt the motor, trany, cut, raked, and stretched the frame. Put on a 18" over stock front end, and had parts chromed. It was a cool bike of that time. I just had finished putting it together one Sunday morning, it looked like it could rain any time, but just one quick ride. Ran like I thought it would , I stayed out a little longer than I should have. It was just starting to sprinkle, and I was in a hurry to get back to the shop and get my new bike out of the rain. I may have been going a bit too fast, as I rounded the next to last right hand corner, when a woman coming the other way decided that she would rather drive on my side. I had a choice, try to go around her or center punch her door. I tried to go around. She hit me in the right knee and down I went. The bike and I went sliding across the road. When we stopped I got her shut down and got up. Now I was pissed! I ripped my helmet off and threw it at the ground, took off my leathers and slammed them down, and was cussing and just stomping around. I looked in the car that had just hit me to see a mother and daughter with eyes as big as saucers; I was scaring them. The mother just cracked the window and said " Are you alright? "

"Well, NO!" I said. "What in the hell were you thinking?" Then she started telling me her husband would just kill her--like I could care--and how sorry she was. I was just thinking how I didn't have the right tags or any insurance on my bike. When the cops showed up, they just looked things over a bit , helped me push my bike over to the side of the road, and took me to the hospital. That was my first broken bone.

About two weeks later a kid come by to see if I would sell that bike. As I was in a cast and on crunches for the next six weeks, I said yes. He had a bike, and I had money to build another one. Shortly after my knee had healed and I was back to work, a friend of mine, Wild Bill from Kansas City, came by to tell me about two old bikes he had found and wanted to buy. Trouble was, he was short of funds. Seems that the price was $300 for the two and he only had $150. If I would kick in $150, I could have one of the bikes. Now sometimes you just couldn't say no to Wild Bill, a good guy, and a friend, but you just couldn't tell him no. Anyway, I was in need of a bike and said ok. Turned out, my half was a ‘47 Knuck, all in a basket, but it was all there. This one I built as a full custom: molded tank and frame, my own Springer front end--just 4" over, and narrowed down to fit the 21" wheel I laced up. By this time I was spraying paint with a real spray gun. I am really glad there are no pictures of this one. It was painted in the Captian America theme.

I had several other bikes in the next few years: Sportsters, Flatheads, Knucks, and, Panheads. One Pan I bought and sold four times. It was a 1962 cop bike from Arizona; basket case, and I put it together in a swingarm frame. As my funds were low at the time I had the triple clamps but no lowe legs, sooooo… no problem. I just took pipe and made a solid front end. A bit rough to ride, but I was in the wind. Later, I sold it .It went through two other guys then I helped a long-time friend buy it. We made a real nice ride out of it. He got into a little trouble, and I had to buy it back. I had a pretty good Knuck going then, and another friend form Denver wanted the Pan. So, we made a deal, and the bike went to Colorado. Some months passed, and he sold it back to me. I was still riding the knuckle so I sold the pan to two brothers that thought would ride it for ever. I don't know much about there story but I herd they sold it in a few months.

My friend Mike was over one day telling me about a bike that was for sale and he thought we should go take a look at We bought a 12-pack, and off we went. When we found the farmer that had it, most of the 12-pack was gone. Mike was driving, so I had an unfair advantage with the beer. But no matter, I bought the bike for $600: A 1957, mostly stock, and as it was only 30 miles home. Mike said he would like to ride it back to my shop. All was going fine 'til it started to rain. I stopped after 15 miles or so to see if Mike wanted me to ride for a while. He was soaked and kind of mad. I gave him the last beer and he decided to ride on in. That was a good bike. I sometimes wish I had kept it. (the one with flames )I was working with a kid that thought he just had to have that bike, so we made a deal: He was to take it home and work on it, pay me so much a month, get it in good shape, but not ride it ‘til it was all paid for. Good plan? No! I started to hear he was riding it on my tags. When I ask him about this, he denied ever riding it. Well, I saw him on it one day. Now you can't fault a guy wanting to ride, but, to me, a deal is a deal; your word better be good when you give it to me . I went to his house. He was not home, so I told his friends I was repossessing the bike, that he could get it back when he had all the rest of the money he owed me, and if I saw him before that, I would kill him. I never seen him again.

My friend Mike built a real nice flathead 80, spent all winter molding the frame and doing the paint. He was a good mechanic and did everything right on the motor and transmission. He spent most of a year building this bike. Won first place in his division at the KC bike show that year. After a few months he went through a messy divorce and got a job on the rail road. Now he needed a truck . I had a good el Camino and two weeks before I got married we traded. It was a good bike, 16" over stock glide front end, and even had a front brake. Mike had always had trouble starting it and we were both surprised when we traded I walked out of his house to my new ride turned on the gas and ignition and it lit on my first kick. Almost always did

The ‘62 Panhead came back to me from a guy they called Mina night Mike. He had put it together rather poorly and never got to ride it much, and now was in need of money. He was asking $600 for it. I said I would give $500, and we had a deal. While I was rebuilding the motor, I found a set of stroker wheels and made me a 90" panhead. I stretched the swing arm 2" and put the oil bag in the back fender (Picture in 30 years) It made it ride better, and lighter looking. The bars on this bike I have had on five bikes; the same ones on my 46 knuckle that I just put together. I loved this bike. I think I have more photographs of me and this bike than any other I ever owned. Building a 47 Knuck, and family responsibilities, lead me to sell it at a KC swap meet. This time it was gone forever.