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The most famous of them all was Evel Knievel.  During 1975, he jumped his Harley Davidson a distance of 151 feet at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada.  That was a new distance record for a motorcycle jumper.  He tried to best that at the Snake River Canyon but, as is well known, the effort on his rocket bike failed due to a malfunctioning parachute which opened prematurely.  Evel was lucky to escape that attempt with his life.  Well, Evel is long gone now.  His harrowing daredevil exploits and his life are behind him - may he rest in peace.  He was, indeed, the master motorcycle-jump artist of his time. 

This past weekend on 24 May 2008, Evel Knievel’s son, Robbie, bested his father’s record with a 220 foot jump

            Here’s one for you.  A vintage person is said to be one who has “been around long enough to be back in style.”  That’s a true statement in the case of Al Eshenbaugh of Phoenix, Arizona.  Take one look at his fully restored 1913 Indian Boardtrack Racer and you get the idea that Al, the owner and restorer of this fabulous and antique metal pony, knows his stuff.  He is the man who rebuilt this icon from the past to such a supreme state of pefection.  And that took know-how.  The restoration of this motorcycle was a five-year project. 

                       1913 Indian Boardtrack Racer
 

            The bike rebuild was a labor of love for Al.  He is an Arizona Hall of Fame motorcycle race driver.  He

“Be there from 1 to 3 p.m.”                          Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  The Govanator

The 24th Annual Antique and Classic Motorcycle Show and Swap Meet will be held on Sunday,

16 March 2008 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. at El Zaribah Shrine Auditorium - 552 N. 40th Street,

Phoenix, Arizona.  Registration begins at 0800 and ends at 1100.  Entry fee:  $15.00 per bike

(discount for multiple bike entries); Swap Spaces (8′x 18′)are $25.00.  Parking fee $5.00 for

cars/trucks; bikes are free.  For more information - email: dhogan@sprynet.com or call

Mike (602)841-6064, or Karen (623) 849-3049.

Skid Lid

You might call this an open letter to the management of Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company or “A Word to the Wise” in hopes of avoiding  a future tragedy.  During 2007 Harley Davidson announced that they were going to shut down their motorcycle production facility for one week and temporarily lay off a number of their employees without pay because of insufficient new bike orders.  Also during 2007 the HD employees went on strike.  Recall the five year period during the 1980’s when Harley Davidson had to have U.S. Federal Government help to stay alive under intense foreign motorcycle manufacturers targeting of the American motorcycling market.  These are all bad omens for America’s most prominent motorcycle company.  Wake up, Harley, before you lose it all.  Beware!  You

 

The first book signing of First to Last - The Tale of a Biker went fine.  Met and talked to lots of folks, passed out flyers and business cards with the book cover on one side and my personal information on the other, and sold seven books in four hours.  Sold two more books as a follow-up to the book signing event.  Most of all, I gained invaluable experience for setup and operation of a signing event.  I’m ready to do more of the same. 

     The key to success is to talk to people instead of letting them pass on by . . .

ZMC

     I recently received a couple of emails from two of my old riding buddies and former members of the Zama Motorcycle Club (ZMC) of Camp Zama, Japan.  Both of these friends are getting “ripe” like yours truly; both are ready for retirement or fast approaching that time.  They are in their early sixties.  I just hit the big “70″ this month.  Time is definitely taking its toll on all of us.  Time!  There is only a finite amount of it in every life. 

     It’s a strange thing, but time doesn’t erase the camaraderie established during its passage.  That is something you all have to look forward to - the preservation of that gift you are benefiting from now called “camaraderie.” 

     In the beginning was the bike, and the bike was with rider, and the rider formed the club.  Not long ago on the Kanto Plain in the Land of the Rising Sun an entity was born.  It was in the form of a motorcycle club that does honor to all aficionados of the two-wheeled conveyance.  This rendition of the birth, life and death of an organization unique in character known as the Camp Zama Motorcycle Club (ZMC) is a tribute in honor of its memory.  It is gone now, but once it lived and roamed the highways and byways of Japan

     The club founder’s first name is Larry, an African American soldier formerly stationed in Japan, whose last name

This is a photographic story of the Steel Steeds of Yore brought alive, once again, by The Antique and Classic Motorcycle Enthusiasts Association of Phoenix, Arizona.  During early April each year, the association members conduct their annual one day event and bring to the fore their Steel Steeds of Yore.  Behold!  The classics that follow are a feast for the eyes of every motorcycle aficionado.  Enjoy as you walk the line and view these beauties from the past.   

1960 BSA 650cc Twin Owned by Ken Sherwood

1975 Kawasaki Z1 900cc Owned by T. J. Jackson

1925 BSA 350cc Side valve 3.49 hp Owned by T.J. Jackson

1930 BSA 500cc Sloper Owned by T. J. Jackson

Guess Who?  Yep!  T. J. Jackson and Wife Pam from Eastside

The trip to Phoenix was a real fiasco.  Got there, but what a mess downtown Phoenix is right now — all the one way streets downtown are under construction.  We arrived at almost dark.  “Holy mackerel, Andy!”  What a mess.  Had a heck of a time finding the hotel, then a place to eat.  Got so tired out and worked up that we over slept the next day and had to go to a late Mass instead of an early one.  Got to the 23d Annual Classic and Antique Motorcycle Show and Swap Meet late in the afternoon, missed our appointment with two people and their better halves at the event (Angry Bob, Doug and his wife).  Had to double-time through the photo taking and interviews with only three

     It was a normal, late afternoon weekday just after I got home from work when the doorbell rang.  By the time I got to the door, opened it and looked to see who was there, the two-feet-square box on the front stoop was the only strange object in sight.  The UPS truck that delivered the package caught my eye as it powered up the road and rounded the corner at the end of the block.  I don’t receive many parcels, so this was a rather unique experience.  Who in the world would be sending something to me?  I hadn’t ordered or purchased anything of late.  As I picked up the box, I noticed the name in the return address as that of a