The Place Where Custom Comes From
Alright, so this is the last issue of our eleventh year in the Scooter Rag adventure we call the Cycle Source, and I guess it’s a fitting time to take a look back at a new trend…….. was that right? Yeah, as a matter of fact, it was.
  Back when I got into motorcycling, which is now more years than I care to put a number on, I started with some basic principals. I had just enough dough for a used Super Glide and there I was, at nineteen, with my first Harley. I still remember the day I picked it up and took it home. It was what the old guys called a “Plain Jane,†a term I just realized isn’t used much anymore. What that meant was that it didn’t have much chrome, still had factory paint, and had basic black mag wheels. I’ll agree it wasn’t much to look at, but it was mine man and I loved it, never mind the fact that I had to borrow a jacket to ride for the first few months.
During those impressionable early days with my first scoot, I spent a lot of time just sitting with my bike and staring at it. I cleaned each piece of aluminum till it shined like it was chrome; Nevr-dull made big loot on me back then. I had a philosophy that chrome was for lazy dudes and that I’d rather keep my aluminum. Truth was I just didn’t have the money for any chrome, so I made it uncool instead of being bummed. I did, however, have a plan. From start to finish I knew exactly what I wanted to do to that bike someday when I did have a little scratch. I’d look through the magazines and drool over bikes that had this or that I wanted, and make mental notes of what companies carried my ill booten gotty. It was around this time I began to run around with a crew of guys that had bikes in my neighborhood. Each one of them had a cool bike and had been riding for years; we met as one of them rode past my house. The bike he was on was soooo trick man, it had an airbrush mural all over the sheet metal and a ton of chrome. Many of the parts were those I had mentally selected for my bike, many were not, but I stood and watched every time I saw them ride down the street where I lived. The other cat was just four doors down from my pad and we got to talkin’ one day when he invited me to go for a ride with them. From there on I was in, didn’t matter where they were goin’ or how long they would be away, I was always down for riding. These cats, as it turned out, had done a lot of their own work on the bikes they rode and each also had a plan for what they’d be doing next. Ya’ see, that’s how it was then, one thing at a time, and usually a different thing or two each year to change up the look. We’d save all our money up and right before winter, we’d all pack into a car and either head to a swap meet or to a place we all shopped called Cycle Recyclers. They were always good for the $99 pair of Dunlops, one set required per year, and some chrome drag pipes for 40 or 50 bucks. Whatever we had left over went to nonessentials like new grips and foot pegs or for the chance at a big item like new fat bob tanks or maybe a coffin deal. One year it would be drag bars and all new lines and cables, the next it would be sky high apes, and everything changed again.
  We’d swap parts back and forth between each other too. If someone had a girder front end and you had a wide glide, a deal could usually be reached without either party losing any green in the process. I was working in a body shop then, so if I wanted anything in the form of new paint, I just took it to work with me and on my off hours I’d use leftover paint from cars that I worked on. Each one of us had a skill to lend to the community as well.
