A Texas Legend

How often in life do you get the chance to share part of your life with a real legend? I was thoroughly blessed by having one of the greatest men Texas had to offer be a part of my life, Johnny Allen. Johnny was quite a man, with gunfighter eyes and absolute nerves of steel.

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When Johnny hooked up with two other legends by the name of Pete Dalio and Jack Wilson, he won 38 dirt track races in his first season. (I could go on forever about Dalio, Wilson, and also Stormy Mangham, but this is about a kind, good man named Johnny Allen.)

Johnny is best known for piloting Stormy Mangham's Texas Cigar. It was tuned by Jack Wilson to a speed of 214 mph at Bonneville Salt Flats on September 6th, 1956. His fame was such that in November of the same year, he toured Europe to tell of this great achievement.

Besides this kind of fame, Johnny was involved in the motorcycle community at every level. He was the Triumph dealer in Ft. Worth, Texas, and added Suzuki to his store later on. The Trailblazers Motorcycle Club met in his store and they still are meeting in Ft. Worth to this day.

As a young racer, Johnny supplied me with a Triumph Roadracer for our Texas races, and later on a Suzuki 500cc Twin, so as to promote his new brand. Not only was he generous and kind, he was tough as a boot. I will never forget the time back in 1966 when I was racing in the Wooley Bugger Enduro and John was on an X6 Hustler, the TC250 high pipe model. Not much of an enduro bike, and I couldn't believe he was riding it.

We were flying across one of the Trinity River levies when the trail all of a sudden veered off and down the sides. Johnny fell for what seemed like forever. I stopped and ran back to help him up, and as I approached him, I could see that he was bleeding down both arms and knees, and he still had that short cigar in his mouth as he jumped up and started the X6 and left me standing there wondering how an old man could do that. After all, he was 36 years old, and to me that was really old.

When John passed away on February 7, 1995, his wife Reva gave me some of his keepsakes and I wanted to share a couple of them with you. The picture of the streamliner was taken in Smithfield, TX, at Stormy's airport -- Mangham Field. In the picture from left to right are Stormy Mangham, Jack Wilson, and Johnny Allen. The dirt track picture is of Johnny after one of his many wins on Texas half-mile tracks.

I would ride my motorcycle out to the airport and just stand next to the streamliner and try to imagine the feeling that he must have had piloting that rocket at 214 mph. I'm sure that he was a lot cooler than I would have been.

Oh, yes, one more thing. We are all so familiar with the legendary Triumph Bonneville. FACT - three years after Johnny's 214 mph run, Triumph named that bike the Bonneville in honor of what a 26-year-old from Texas did.

Thanks for listening to my ramblings!

Little General

No Whining!!--Just riding

WOW--Take a look at these pictures that Kim H. sent me a link to. These guys knew how to have fun, and they aren't exactly riding dirt bikes are they? I just love pictures like these, they draw me back to a time when things seemed to be much simpler, long before we spent so much time polishing our bikes and spent more time in the saddle. Click below and enjoy the link.

Click here: Superheroes of Old for link to a really cool site.

A Day in the Life

Saturday was to be a big day of motorcycles and Scooter Trash, riding dualsport and going to Dallas with the ST people. I started my Saturday off in a strange way. I was going to meet the other riders for our dualsport ride at 8:00 a.m. for breakfast, so with great excitement I jumped out of bed at 7:00 a.m., put on all the winter riding gear (it was 30 degrees outside), went to the shop, pulled out the KLR, fired it up so as to be warmed up and ready to ride by 7:40 a.m. I threw my leg across my trusty steed, plugged in my Gerbings, and, just as I started to put it in gear, I stopped and looked around -- "Hey, it seems to be awfully dark out here for 7:40." I reached down to my GPS and flipped to the time page -- it was 6:40 a.m.! In all the excitement of a new adventure, I misread the clock. Oh, well, that just meant I got 1 more hour in a great day.

After breakfast, we departed for our adventure. We were only going to ride until 2:00 p.m. because at 4:12 we needed to be on the train heading for Dallas. I had sent out an email inviting both dirt and street Scooter Trash to join Debi and I at the train station for a field trip. Sixteen people showed up for the ride to Dallas on the big iron horse. When we arrived at Dallas, we all went to the Cadillac Bar and Grill for a wonderful time of Mexican food and fellowship.

After dinner we walked to the arena for FMX Freestyle Motocross. Oh, those young men and their flying machines, what a great time was had by all. By the time we arrived back home, it was midnight and I had myself an 18-hour motorcycle day. I still say that Scooter Trash are the best people. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, instead of egg as usual. I thank God for America and the great state of Texas.

Clutched in the Jaws of Winter

Well, here we are, January 2009, and the Southern cruisers had their annual Polar Bear Ride on New Year’s Day. The turnout was pretty good at 50, and it was made up of different chapters and riding groups. It’s real hard to say Polar Bear Ride when the high temp of the day was 80. You’ve just got to love thisTexas weather, 80 on the 1st and then the electricity at my home was out for 16 hours on the 5th due to ice. Oh well, they say that variety is the spice of life.

Since we do ride all year round here in Texas, and sometimes the weather is quite cold, I wanted to tell you how I survive comfortably on these cold days. ELECTRIC GEAR--I have used the electrics with a great deal of success. I use them for both street and dual sport riding. There are a large number of brands to choose from, about ten if you count what you can get out of Canada. Out of the ten, eight are priced about the same. I personally have used two different brands and my friend Mark uses a third. The one that most of us use is Gerbing, which has kept a big wuss like me very comfortable on all my cold rides. I have a multitude of jackets and with the Gerbing jacket liner I was able to remove all the liners and store them away and use just the Gerbing liner. It also doubles as a light jacket for kicking around in after the ride. It is also washable and has a life time guarantee on it. With the liner you don’t have to fool around with extra wire,s as it has the wires for the gloves built into the sleeve, unlike the heated vest where you run wires down your jacket sleeve.

GLOVES—I also use Gerbing gloves because they are so supple. I prefer the classic model with the gauntlet for extra warmth and wind protection at the sleeve area.

This is what I have learned about fit. The liner needs to be of a snug fit so as to transfer the heat to the core of the body, but use caution with the gloves so as to not get them too tight. The gloves need to be just a little looser then your other gloves. I find that the next size up works for my buddies and me. When you pull or squeeze on the handlebars, your gloves pull up tight to your fingers and hand. I suggest that you need a little extra room from the heating elements and your fingers so as not to have any hot spots or feel the wires.

TEST—A test that I have tried a multitude of times to prove how important it is to keep the body core warm: While out riding in temperatures of 25 to 32, I will be comfortable all the way down to my feet. I just turn off the electric heat and within a short few minutes my feet and legs start to get cold, and next my hands and arms get cold. I turn the heat back on and the whole body starts to warm back up by pumping warm blood from the heated core to my extremities.

So here is how I dress for those cold rides:

· Warm socks that wick moisture away from my feet and Alpine Star boots.
· Long underwear with the Joe Rocket Ballistic overpant.
· Long-sleeved shirt made of cotton under my heated Gerbing Jacket liner, topped off by the jacket choice of the day.
· A full face helmet,
· then my electric gloves and I’m ready for all weather including rain since all the outerwear including the boots are waterproof.

One other thing is that when you are warm, dry and comfortable, you are a more alert and a safer rider. Remember: dress to slide and enjoy the ride.

Sore Butt, not Iron Butt

Well, here we are post-Love Story and recovering from the knots on my head.

This week I wanted to share a story from a friend of mine, Larry Preston. I had marveled at this story that Larry shared with me -- not so much for the trip, but for what they were riding. In this day of long distance motorcycle touring, we have at our disposal--ST's, Goldwings, BMWs and all sorts of high-performance bikes to choose from to make the long journey quite easy. But 3500 miles on a Seca 400 or XT600 single! My butt started hurting just listening to him tell the story.

Enjoy, and we'll talk next Wednesday about electric gear for your winter comfort.

Here's Larry's story:

My buddy Greg and I left out of Weatherford, Tx on a Friday afternoon in mid-August 1989, our sights set for Yellowstone National Park. Our weapons at hand for this ride, my 1982 Seca 400 twin and Greg’s 1985 Yamaha XT600 dual sport single.

We passed through west Texas on what must be the flattest, straightest (read boring ) roads in the world. Due to our late start, we fell short of leaving Texas day 1, and landed in Muleshoe, Tx.

We got started day 2 and cut across a corner of New Mexico and headed for Colorado, where we stopped for photo ops at Royal Gorge and Great Sand Dunes Monument.

We then began climbing into the Rockies. As you would expect, climbing up and over 10,000ft + passes on our small bikes went something like this, “I think I can, I think I can, whew, made it, WEEEEEEE”. The next couple of days blurred together into chilly mornings, beautiful days with scenic winding roads. We caught a rain shower here and there and the most heinous storms rolled in each evening. These storms left us scurrying for a motel and forgetting the tents and sleeping bags we were hauling. We did camp one night just to prove we could, and I woke up in a rain puddle.

We next passed through Grand Tetons National Park, where we watched the mountains slowly materialize through the clouds. Then headed on to our target of Yellowstone.

Although still recovering from the fires of ’88, Yellowstone park was magnificent. We had a day of seeing incredible hot spring, geysers and ‘moose jams‘. There aren’t that many animals seen from the road so if a moose or other animal pokes its head out, people just stomp the brakes, stop wherever the skid mark ends and reach for the camera. It keeps your skills sharp.

After our day in Yellowstone, we touched the lower edge of Montana and headed East for Mt. Rushmore. We got there on our fifth day, spent a little time with the big heads, then pointed our wheels towards home.

By now we were getting a little saddle sore, averaging about 500 miles per day. Feet on the pegs, feet on buddy pegs, feet on the turn signals front and back, we tried it all. The last couple of days were all about enduring the ride home, since we didn’t find much to look at through Nebraska and Kansas, except someone's reproduction of Stonehenge in junk cars.

We got home 1 week and about 3500 miles later. Or little bikes just ran and ran, asking nothing more than chain lube. Just goes to show that there’s fun and adventure in all sorts of packages.

Larry Preston

A Love Story

Well here it is, just as promised. A love story---now try really hard to keep your mind focused on the fact that this is about the motorcycles.

A Love Story, Part 1

It was like any other summer night for a boy and his BSA, or so I thought. I had just gotten off work pumping gas at Wayne’s full service Esso where I made 75 cents an hour. Doesn’t sound like much, but gas was 31 cents a gallon and a burger and malt were 40 cents. You could get a brand new BSA Lightning at Carlton’s BSA for $1500. The sun had just gone down as I entered the parking lot of Connie’s Uptown Drive-in. This was the spot where all the kids cruise in and out all night, or sit and drink Cherry Cokes served by the carhops under the car canopy. As so many times in the past, I would rev the engine of my Lightning and the sound of the megaphones would echo through the night. This was a siren call to some teenage girl to come running up and ask for a ride – worked every time.

But, just before I revved it up, my eye caught the sight of something different tonight. Sitting under the canopy was a beautiful, totally black 1963 Harley-Davidson Sportster with the neon lights of Connie’s reflecting off the well-polished steed. OH, NO – unexpected competition. As I pulled in next to the Sportster on my candy apple red BSA, I noticed that the rider was a beautiful woman wearing black Bates leather pants and jacket, and her shoulder-length black hair was hanging out the back of her black half-shell Buco helmet. This was a sight – just like an ad out of Cycle Magazine. Trying to be cool, I looked her bike over from front to rear, then looked her in the eyes and said, “Nice bike – what brings you here to Connie’s tonight?” She said, “Just looking for someone to ride with. My name is Raven, what’s yours?” Trying hard to cover up the fact that I couldn’t remember my name, I blurted out, “I’m called The General.” She said, “Alright, are you up for a good ride tonight?"

With all the strength and composure that I could muster and with a shaky voice I said “OK”. Raven said “Good, how about we ride out to Grapevine Lake?” Unlike today, it was way out in the country back then. So, off to the lake we go, leaning in and out of every corner I was captivated by the beauty and ease in which Raven took the corners and accelerated out of each, with the sound of the HD’s pipes exciting every motorcycle sense that I had. As we crossed the dam, I could feel the cool breeze coming off the lake. I motioned for her to pull over as we exited the dam, and asked her if she had ever ridden up to the top of the spillway. “No, but I’m game for anything tonight,” she replied.

Come back tomorrow for...the rest of the story....

Love Story, Part II

I'm sure you've all been waiting with great anticipation *smirk*, so here it is -- Part 2.

As we pulled off next to the spillway, I said to her, “It’s really tall, are you sure?” And before I could finish, Raven had opened the throttle on her Sportster. The pipes were screaming, the rear tire squirting dirt, and it’s headlight bouncing up and down on the side of the spillway as it made it’s way to the top.

I was totally overcome by what I had just seen, and my adrenaline was flowing like never before. I, too, opened up the throttle – with my megs screaming, I had to stand up on the pegs and lean forward to keep the front wheel down as the BSA clawed at the dirt. As I topped the spillway, I locked my brakes and slid up next to the HD with my BSA. With both engines now silent in the cool night, we both looked down at the bottom from whence we had come. “ WOW that was some climb, huh, Raven?”. “Sure was” she replied. Then we looked across the moonlit lake, and back at the bikes. I noticed that I had stopped at just the point where the end of our handlebars was touching. As the moonlight glowed over the curve of the bars, it made a shadow of a heart on the ground – was that a sign? In the quiet of the moment with the moon shining on Raven’s face, she said – “Let’s ride.”

We mounted up and sped into the small town of Grapevine. In town we were stopped by a traffic light, and the sound of our powerful bikes was spoiling the peace of the little town. Just then I saw a red light come on as a local sheriff did a u-turn. Raven turned her head so fast to look behind us that her long black hair flew across her shoulder. One quick look, then she looked at me with those big brown eyes full of excitement, she said, “Let’s show him what we can do.” As the rear tire of the Sportster started to smoke, I took one last look at the quickly-approaching police car and got all caught up in the moment. That’s what will happen when riding with a woman like Raven.

The next thing I knew, the BSA was on its rear wheel. As we both accelerated to the speed of 100, we leaned forward to get out of the wind. We headed down Highway 121 for Hurst. It seemed that the old Plymouth the sheriff was driving could not catch us. We turned off 121 and sped down Glade Road, which was very dark and twisty. It was all this young man could do to keep up with the HD. As we came to a T in the road, and in all the excitement and confusion I went right and Raven went left. Thank goodness the law followed me and not her, and I was able to lose him. From past experience, I did not ride the BSA to my house, but parked it at a friend’s house about a mile from home and walked home. As I walked alone in the night air, I looked at my watch. It was midnight and the start of a new day. I wondered if I would ever see Raven again. To this day, every time I hear the sound of a HD, I spin my head around and hope to see a beautiful 1963 black Sportster. I sure did love that night way back then, and all the memories the BSA carried me through. I sure miss it. Oh, by the way, there were as usual two cop cars sitting in the dark, just waiting for me and the BSA. As I climbed over the backyard fence, and started in the back door, I stopped, looked around, and took in a deep breath of night air. I smiled and said, “Life’s good”.

P.S. My wife of 35 years just shook me and said, “Wake up and go take your meds.”