1. East is East

Greetings Cruisers,

This is a sign from Delhi. One day Anuji loaned me his Royal Enfield custom with 90,000 kilometers on the clock. That was the day the carburetor decided to self-eject. An impromptu team of passersby tried to rectify the situation, but no avail. There were internal problems in the one-lung causing excessive pressure to blow off the carb. India’s roads are dangerous and account for 6% of all the motor vehicle accidents in the world. This truck driver survived unharmed but shaken. When we came upon him, we offered him our food which he gladly accepted. One day south of Nagpur we encountered a caravan of traveling Gypsies. Originally from Rajasthan, these Indian Gypsy clans are the source of all Gypsy tribes throughout the world. Hanging with the police force at Sleemanabad, named for Col Sleeman who wiped out the murderous thuggee cult. On our right (outside the lens) is the tree where Col. Sleeman hanged over five hundred rogues. At a festival of indigenous tribal dances, descendants of Africans living on India's West coast dragged me on stage to accompany them in a celebration of peacock dancing, motorcycle boots and all. Before we picked up the bikes, I stopped with the family at the beautiful Taj Mahal. Said to have been once a great Hindu temple to Lord Shiva on the banks of the Yamuna River, invaders converted it into a place of burial for King Shahjahan’s wife, Mumtaj.

I’m back from an awesome moto-adventure through Central India and it’s good to be in touch with all of you once again. I wish that I could have taken all of you with me. Just a small riding party of 100,000 of our best members at CruiserCustomizing.com cruising from the Himalayas to the Indian Ocean!

Several Cruisers have asked me about riding India, so here’s a snapshot. India’s deep heartland holds some of the remotest places on earth, home to primitive tribesmen who will gladly send a spear through any outsider who strays into their territory. My ride skirted such tribal areas, but even Indians are not allowed to penetrate regions reserved for the uncivilized. Anuji, an Indian rider I spent a few days touring with, told me of his strange experience of spotting such a prehistoric tribeswoman, who had strayed onto the road for some reason of her own. Such people are almost never encountered by the outside world.

I took along with me one American riding companion, a Harley rider named Fred who had read my book Motorcycle Yoga, and who sort of dared me to include him the next time I duplicate the journey outlined in Motorcycle Yoga. Indian traffic is legendary for its dangers and her roads are considered the world’s deadliest. We saw our share of collisions, dozens of them, but wisdom prevailed and we managed to stay out of harm’s way. On our slow three week drift into an ancient past we covered only around a hundred miles per day slowing down to capture the old world’s sense of timelessness, so different from our alarm clock society of the West.

Caravans of camel-mounted Rajasthani gypsies passed us by as we meandered through the forested Vindhya Hills. We stopped to feed monkeys as we drove dirt paths through the Pench jungles where tigers and wild buffalo roam free. We ate fresh raw vegetables and drank just-squeezed sugar cane juice in remote agricultural areas, ending up at a 500 year-old castle of a tribal chieftan. We throttled down to crawling speed in villages where antelope and deer wander the nearby fields like semi-tamed pets. We meditated in temples where worship has continued for thousands of years, crawled into caves where austere yogis live underground and swam in sacred rivers where quiet sages spend all day contemplating the river of life. Once in the middle of nowhere, we met two Italian nuns drawn there by their faith. We explored Kokha, the ancient village of the murderous thuggee cult, and saw the tree where the British officer Colonel William Sleeman hanged over five hundred of them. The thuggee ringleaders captured by Sleeman received a more arduous punishment than mere hanging; Col. Sleeman had their heads crushed like melons underneath the foot of an elephant. (For more on the thuggees, the origin of the English word thug, rent the 1990’s Pierce Brosnan flick, The Deceivers.)

In one village we found ourselves as guests at the mansion of Ramesh Gupta, the leader of a political rally and who was running for office. During the campaign speeches, the opposition party was seen bribing voters with bottles of country whiskey. This opposition leader would give one bottle to all voters who agreed to vote for him, and two bottles to those who were expected to vote against him. Why? Because those who drank two bottles would likely be too hung over to cast any sort of ballot the next day. Our host’s son had the men who were passing out the free booze all arrested and their truckloads of bad spirits were confiscated. Later, at a fair of tribal dancers, the young men doing a peacock dance stopped their show to drag me on stage with them. I danced in my motorcycle boots and riding vest, and a photo of the event appeared in the next day’s local newspaper. These peacock dancers are descendants of Africans who had settled in India over five centuries ago, but who still cling to their customs.

One thing about motorcycles is clear; those two wheels we love generate a language that is universal to riders all over the world. When those wide chrome handlebars are under your control and your shifting is smooth, there is no border, no measurement of years, and no difference in skin color. What you do have is the earth rotating beneath your wheels, and the sun or moon illuminating your path from above. You’ve got wind rushing by carrying with it the intoxicating scent of the woodlands, and the friendly waves of children along the roadway. For Indian riders, just as it is for us, bikes are The Great Equalizers, all riders are brothers and sisters and the ride is the religion with the magic handiwork of God and Nature seen on all sides.

My Indian riding buddy, Sadar Anukarana Singh, is well-known among the sub-continent’s tightly-knit society of cruising riders. Anuji, as he is known, disclosed to us many of his favorite rides, his secret roadways and his sacred shrines. When my Royal Enfield Bullet, which I keep stored in India, needed a wash, tune-up, oil change, new battery, tube, rearview mirrors and a few new parts, Anuji obtained a loaner Bullet for me so that I could continue exploring the side roads of a sub-continent alongside him, never to suffer any downtime or separation from The Way. It’s good to know that the brotherhood of the biker stretches beyond all boundaries. So much so that CruiserCustomizing is now shipping parts to India!

For those of you who would like to know about riding India, you can order my book Motorcycle Yoga: Meditative Rides Through India from CruiserCustomizing. Those of you who might like to cruise the Indian sub-continent with me on a Royal Enfield 500cc single can e-mail me at pavandas@sbcglobal.net with your questions. Let’s ride.

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2. Ride Far and Live Long

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3. Labor of Love

“You come to an age when you’ve just got to do what you want to do”

- Weston Marsh

Jim Cote's awesome V-Star reflects his love of riding and individuality.

In 1950 when I was three, my dad’s job took the family to Mexico City, and it was there, two years later, that I got my first ride on a motorcycle, actually in a sidecar. A policeman decked out in his brown uniform and tall black boots was riding by on what looked like a fairly new Harley. Noticing my smile and my wave, he circled back and after a brief conversation with my folks he took me for a ride in his sidecar. That was my first motorcycle ride, but that did it for me. The deal was clinched!

Fast forward to New Jersey, ten years later. I was now fifteen, and an older friend of mine had just made an even swap: a 1957 Caddy convertible in exchange for a 1957 Ford ragtop plus an Indian, suicide clutch and all. My friend’s plan was to sell the Indian, so he parked it in the front yard with a For Sale sign on it. Can you believe he was asking for just fifty bucks? One month later, this proud piece of American iron still had no buyers. Each evening, my group of five friends and I decided to take the old Indian for a spin around the block. Somehow, being the youngest, I always got the last—and the shortest—ride. One night I protested and said, “That’s it, guys! Tonight I go first.” To my surprise they all agreed, so I rolled the big bike onto the street and jumped on the crank. After a quarter hour of fruitless kick starting, the previous owner of the bike happened to amble by, and asked us what we were up to. He then proceeded to remove the gas cap. We all felt pretty dumb when he pointed out that the tank was dry.

Then he asked, “Do you realize that there is a squad car waiting for you at the end of the block?” It seems that some of the neighbors had called the police who were now lying in wait. And, as things turned out, the cop waiting to snag us was my uncle!

Many years passed, and there were so many reasons not to buy a bike of my own: first school, then marriage and kids, a house and then my business. I have a company named Co-planar which makes metal stampings for the semi-conductor industry and that has kept me really busy. But one day just two years ago I was driving by a Yamaha dealer in Pen Argyl, Pennsylvania, called Penn Argyl Cycle, and on an impulse I pulled over to “just have a look.” The big chrome V-Star on the showroom floor looked just right, so I threw a leg over and made myself comfortable on the awesome V-twin. As I sat there with visions of riding and wind blowing by, a gentleman in his seventies* ambled over to me and said, “You know you get to an age when you’ve got to do what you want to do in life.” Finally after about forty-five minutes of conversation, I asked him, “I don’t suppose that you’re the owner of this dealership?” When he answered, yes, he was indeed the owner, I said to myself, “What a salesman!” Of course he was correct; there comes a point in life when you really do have to do what you really want to do with your life. And my time was now!

Well, to make a long story short, I stopped by to pick up my new V-Star the next Saturday, in the pouring rain. The owner of the dealership said no problem; he would deliver it for free. Well, that was two years ago. Since then I’ve decked out my big Yam with thousands of dollars in accessories. It’s a labor of love, and riding the big cruiser is one of the greatest joys of my life.

-Jim Cote (ranger822nd)

*The owner of the dealership was Weston Marsh (1928-2005), who began selling Yamahas in 1963. He passed away just a year after selling Jim his V-Star and spending over four decades putting people on two wheels. Pen Argyl Cycle is now managed by his son Scott.

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4. Backfire: Personalized License Plates

As all Cruisers are aware, the individuality of motorcycling is not reserved for the motorcycle alone; sometimes it is reflected in the license plate. A number of our Cruisers at CruiserCustomizing.com have shared with us their meaningful tags. Take a look:

California Cruiser “Valdo” got his nick name when his boss shortened his last name Valderrama and added an “O”. Valdo used to have his name on his car’s plate, but some fool stole that plate and vexed Valdo with several parking tickets over the years. So Valdo moved the VALDO over to his bike, since he feels even the DMV can tell the difference between a bike and a car! We hope the DMV does know the difference, Valdo!

	For Cruiser Eddie Hicks of New Jersey, the mammoth VTX is his favorite ride, He’s not the only one; the VTX is a perennial CruiserCustomizing favorite ride as well. Eddie notes that the “X” not only designates this big bore bike from Honda, but also “extreme.” Take a look at the ever cool yellow and black Jersey tag on the tail of Eddie’s “X”.
	Another VTX pilot, Cruiser Jerry Chambers of the heartland, has continued the “X” theme on his black and white Indiana tag. (Too bad the DMV doesn’t offer question marks on plates, or this one would have one for sure!)
	Member Rob T. couldn’t shake the urge to ride even after a twenty-two year hiatus. This Cruiser’s California tag reveals how riding has just stayed in his blood.
	Cruiser Steve Payne from the gorgeous Australian state of Victoria has a specific reason for the message on his white-on-black plate. When his two-year old nephew was asked what noise Uncle Steve’s bike makes, the kid answered “B-L-A-A-T.” Steve looked it up in the dictionary, but we suspect that some of his findings might reflect more Australian biker humor than scholarship: Blat (v.) (1) to blurt out. (2) to make a harsh sound (3) Australian (colloquial): to take a motorcycle out for a ride for no other purpose than the ride. “I took the bike out for a blat.” (4) Abbreviation: Brake Late And Turn. Yo, Steve, are you sure BLAT doesn’t stand for Bike Lanes Are Twisties?
	Here’s the cool rear regi of Cal Cruiser David Noe, who has returned to riding after a dry interval of many, many moons. Now he rides with a vengeance on his chromed out Fat Boy, and he knows how to have fun.
	Cruiser James Dixon of California just likes putt putting around on his 2001 Harley Road King—as seen from his blue-on-white plate which declares “I’m Puttin’”)
	VTX rider Eric Flaig of New Hampshire has a plate which also serves as a memorial to his late daughter, a rider who lost her life due to a challenged driver. Her plate said BADMET, but in NH only five letters are allowed, hence BADME. Eric has faced criticism for continuing to ride, but he replies, “My daughter was not killed by her motorcycle but by a lady in a red Jeep who turned left in front of her.”
	Cruiser Donald Spence of Maryland, AKA Bluerauder, wrote to say that he loves trying to figure out the message of vanity tags. Half a dozen years back, when the Bluerauder was just twenty-nine, he was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. That kept Don off bikes for a couple of years, but he quickly returned. And when he did he had a new message bolted onto the rear fender of his blue Marauder 800: F*** Cancer! (note the bullet hole). You’ve got our respect. Thanks, Don!
	Last but not least is a member named M L Rodriguez who rides both motorcycles and Arabian horses. Remember that horses are the source of horsepower! I wonder if he’s bought any custom chrome from CruiserCustomizing for his thoroughbred named Tug-a-Rue Charlie. I’ll have to ask Big Uwe!

Thanks, and until next time,
Ride safely,
-Miles Davis (Pavandas)
Editor Cruiser Customizing Newsletter

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5. “Legend of the Motorcycle”

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