Wild West Custom; Making Motorcycles the ol’ fashion way-one bike at a time!

Back when I had all my hair and a gallon of gas was two bits, muscle cars and Brit bikes were our chariots of choice. Motorcycles were one step below dependable (except for those nice people you met on a Honda) and though the cars were basically reliable, we worked real hard to make them run as badly as our bikes, then we worked at making the bikes run even worse. All in the name if individuality and the need for speed.

We took Brit bikes and Jap bikes (and some of us Harley’s) then tweaked, twisted, welded, raked, and stretched any part we could so that our sleds would look like the Billy Bike and take off like a banshee. Some shade tree techs got what they wanted, we all blew up lots of motors. And thanks to those years of distinct effort by demanding individuals, a new genre of American motorcycle came into its own; the Custom Cruiser.

Today you can buy a brand new bike and before you’ve taken delivery have all the hot whiz-bang-do-dads you like added on. Chrome, powder coating, custom paint and then there’s cams, carbs, and stroking. You can even get on a dyno and have a custom computer chip burned specifically for your bike’s setup.

Or you can just buy a Wild West custom, and have all you’ve dreamed about, lusted for and drooled over, straight from the crate, that I if you’ve got a spare 35 grand stashed under the mattress.

The location of the Wild West Motorcycle Company is anything but wild. They’re tucked away in a non-descript commercial building on a dead-end street in an industrial park in Poway California. Which was a two-hour freeway extravaganza from where I was staying in Venice Beach (and after making the trip I understood why no-one else wanted to go with me). Fleeting freeway flyers on cell phones and my New Yawk pedigree aside, I was well received by the Wild West folks in Poway, right about the time the sun started a dive toward the horizon. Andy Paluczak, Wild West’s Sales and Marketing Manager, gave me the nickel tour then pushed a Vigilante out of the plant’s freight entrance.

That was my first and only look at the bike in the daylight, which was fast becoming a scarce commodity. I could have stared and photographed it all day, the reflection of setting sun in exploded over the yellow tank with orange flames. The finish was impeccable, the welds smooth, and not a burnished fastener in the lot. But it was time to ride.

I confess; I’m not a cruiser rider. I’m partial to having my head tucked in behind a sport fairing and scouting for the fuzz, so every time I get on a bike that wants me to put my feet out in front of me and drag my bum along the pavement, it takes me a bit to get into the groove. That first time I let the clutch out I was waiting for the bike to tell me off, but it didn’t. I eased the lever out and the throbbing S&S twin and I rumbled out to the road.

Hands down, no argument, the Wild West Vigilante is the most solid motorcycle I’ve ever ridden. There isn’t any resonance, at any RPM. No buzz no boom, just seamless power. I’m sure the oil-in-the-frame protocol can be thanked for that. Coupled with the fact that Wild West doesn’t take the S&S engines out of the crate and bolt them to frames. Each motor is balanced and blueprinted, and Wild West’s tolerances are tougher than most, few parts make the grade. Ditto on the wheels, while they’re bought from another manufacturer but tested and only the best accepted. Stay tuned, they’ve recently installed a huge CNC machine and are testing designs for their own wheels.

Mounted on the Vigilante’s rear wheel is a 250 tire. Probably the only piece of over-the-counter rubber that could transmit the throbbing 105 horsepower to the pavement, other than a drag slick. I expected poor handling due to the rake and resplendent rump of a tire but was proven wrong. Again the proof is in the engineering, the Vigilante is perfectly balanced, take your hands off the bars (which took a ton of testosterone to try, the bike does cost 35 grand!) and the sucker tracks straight as a laser.

Wild West credits the Baker RSD (Right Side Drive) transmission for that. By switching the drive pulley to the right they’ve eliminated the need to offset the drive train. The result, perfect balance, and rolling along a mere 21 inches above the pavement balance become a noticeable issue.

It doesn’t surprise me that a small company of a dozen or so people with sales of about a hundred bikes a year would set a benchmark for quality construction and design. Distinctly American in concept and execution, the Vigilante lives up to its name, it takes no prisoners.


Motorcycle Courtesy of: Biker's Dream of Atlanta, 9560 Highway 9, Alpharetta, GA 30004
Owner: Don Parkinson
Phone: 770-752-9160
Fax: 770-752-9156
e-mail: donpbiker@aol.com
Web address: bikersdreamatl.com
Our bike builder: Jason Orsborn
Ideas for media kit-

Vigilante - Specifications

Frame: Steel tube cradle frame with integrated oil storage in 2" O.D. backbone and seat post tubes
Engine: S&S 107 ci – roller rocker arms, forged pistons, 600 cam, 9.6:1 compression ratio, 4.0 in bore x 4.25 in stroke, 105 hp, engine finish: polished
Carburetor: S&S Super G
Transmission: Right Side Drive - 5 speed, constant mesh, backcut gears, by Baker
Primary: Polished inner primary, chrome outer primary, double row chain drive
Clutch: Rivera Pro – 9 plate heavy duty wet clutch
Fenders: Rear - IST™ (Integrated Support Technology) strutless carbon fiber
Front - carbon fiber
Tank: 4.0 Gallon
Fuel Cap: Aircraft style, flush mount, polished aluminum
Forks: Inverted, 54mm, polished
Shock: Progressive with adjustable rebound damping
Wheels: Performance Machine forged aluminum, polished. Choice of Wrath, Trinity, Villain, Vintage, and Trespasser.
Brakes: Performance Machine 4 piston billet calipers, polished, 11.5” rotors
Tires: Avon – 250/40 x 18 rear and 90/90 x 21 front
Exhaust: Drag pipes with baffle, chrome
Rear Axle: 4140 chrom-moly
Seat: Leather, by Corbin
Belt: Gates HTD Polychain
Battery: Absorbed Glass Matt (AGM) – sealed, no maintenance
Handle bars: 1 1/4", internal wiring
Speedometer: VDO – electronic pickup, digital trip meter and odometer
Oil lines: Stainless steel braided lines with aircraft style fittings
Starter: Compufire – 1.5 kw, chrome
Grips: Arlen Ness - billet aluminum, chrome, with bearings
Forward Controls: Performance Machine – billet aluminum, polished
Paint: Tank/Fenders - level 4 custom paint,
Frame: matched powdercoat

Yamaha Road Star Warrior – Power Cruiser for the Vertically Challenged -

June 2002-HALF MOON BAY, CA. Buying a motorcycle is an emotional purchase tempered with minor bursts of reasoning. But for an experienced rider who’s inseam sends them to the kids department for jeans, the emotional element completely loses out to reasoning. Despite suspension lowering kits and techs that will install them, usually with some sort of liability waiver or disclaimer, short riders keep riding and keep falling over at stoplights.

Enter the Yamaha Road Star Warrior with its 28-inch seat height. While taking the trophy at a limbo contest was not what the Warrior’s designers had in mind when they started the project it is certainly a major benefit to a large part of the motorcycle market and for those of you not vertically challenged the low seat has another benefit; you can really raise your ass off it, far enough that your head is above the smoke from the burnouts you’ll inevitably be doing.

One part muscle bike, one part streetfighter and one part cruiser the Warrior is the two-wheeled embodiment of the timeless icon that seduced so many before it: the classic, all-American Hot Rod.

It’s 102 cubic inches translates into a 1670 cc of air-cooled V-twin engine that produces 79.9 horsepower at 4,400 rpm and 103.8 lbs/ft of torque at 3,500 rpm. The air intake system is comprised of two intake boxes, their combined volume is a massive 7.5 liters. Offering a 115% increase in volume while lowering the intake resistance by 70% when compared to earlier Yamaha cruisers.

The engine has been bored from 95 to 97 mm increasing the displacement from 1602 to 1670 cubic centimeters (stroke remains the same at 113 mm). The cylinders feature a new high-volume, two-piece head (vs. the Road Star’s three-piece head).

An engine this massive has its worst drawback when it isn’t running and you want to start it. Ever watch a guy try to start an old Harley that’s been stroked? It takes a lot of power (leg or electric) to crank that sucker, so Yamaha added the same engine decompression system as on the Road Star. Simply put it releases the valve a bit during the start-up sequence. While this works just fine the bike makes some unfamiliar sounds when you press the starter, but you’ll get used to it, after all, it’s the sound power to come.

Fuel and air are mixed in the two 40 mm downdraft throttle bodies. The mixture then passes into the cylinders via a revised cylinder head design that offers a straighter intake path. Cooling fin area has been increased to keep the Warrior from getting hot under the collar.

The muffler weighs in at 8.3 kilograms. That’s 1.6 kilograms less than the standard Road Star muffler, while increasing internal capacity by 1.8 liters to 11.5 liters. The engineers also managed to keep the front and rear manifolds on the two-into-one system within and inch and a half, balancing the back pressure close to perfect. The exhaust looks large… it is but it sounds great, offering up a note that will please the most die-hard cruiser addict.

All this engine technology is managed by a seven sensor EFI system that tracks everything from barometric pressure to front and rear cylinder temperature, the most sophisticated EFI system on two wheels. An ECU works with a throttle position sensor to meter the fuel. Three-dimensional digital CD ignition mapping ensures that the spark ignites at just the right moment, delivering crisp throttle response. This system provides a power curve that rivals high performance sport bikes.

The engine is mounted in a newly designed and stiffer double-cradle design frame, 71% stiffer and 10.5 kilograms (Warrior frame weighs 17.5 kg) lighter than the standard Road Star frame. The engine is also rigidly mounted to stiffen the frame up even more.

Just as important to the handling as the new frame is the 41-mm, R1 inspired front forks, which are adjustable for preload. In the rear a preload adjustable mono-shock connects to an all aluminum cast, extruded and rectangular pipe swing-arm that also boasts an R-1 inspired pedigree.
Power is transferred to the super-fat 200-section rear via belt drive adopted from the original Road Star but shaved to 8.5 mm and 5-speed, wide-ratio, with multi-plate wet clutch transmission.

As the daylight began to wane the instrument cluster took on a light of its own. Traditional incandescents have been replaced by LEDs and that goes all the way to the taillight, which looks ineffective, until you grab the binders. A grand prix style digital bar graph tachometer sweeps across the rev range while the speedometer is nestled in a very retro looking brushed finished housing.

Looking for excellent stopping power Yamaha’s designers lifted a set of calipers from the R-1 and ditto for the diameter of the master cylinder. Sumitomo calipers bite into the two 298mm diameter front discs easily scrubbing off those few illegal mph’s you might, scratch that, WILL accumulate when you get lost in the Warrior’s personality. The single rear disc boasts similar specs. None of this will matter at all when the rubber meets the road.

While the Yamaha Warrior isn’t the first Japanese power cruiser that’s made it to our shores it has set a new standard for cruiser performance and handling.

Another trip to Cali!

I just returned from ten days in California. Halfway into the trip, T Bear dropped me an e-mail that began, "Hey Caliboy, did ya die yer hair blonde yet?"

The location was Willow Springs International Raceway. A dozen or so of us slightly weathered journalists had gathered to enjoy the clean air and warm sun of California's high desert and to spend some track time with Ducati's Redvolutionary 999: the slipperiest, slickest and speediest Duc Bologna's ever sold.

I'll call it an early holiday gift from Ducati, only because when I call it work, people groan. Thanks Ducati!

Many, many laps and couple of days later, I was in a rented Saturn with my friend Mike Salisbury, motoring to Streets of Willow Springs for a day at Keith Code Superbike School. My lap times fell from 3:45 to 2:11 in one day, thanks to Keith and his team, especially my instructor, Nancy "the Perfect Carrot" Montgomery, a strawberry blonde with piercing blue eyes. She would blow by me just close and fast enough to get my attention, then turn around and point to her tail, the universal signal for "follow me." As if there was ANY chance I wouldn't!

The setting sun signaled time for our good-byes. Mike navigated while I piloted the Saturn back to Venice Beach for a couple days touring the bike shops, surf shops and ethnic restaurants of Santa Monica. Ah, California, where life's a beach.

I had been in contact with the guys at Wild West Motorcycles, some two hours' ride away via freeway, and Mike had a Yamaha FJ1300. One Yamaha, two hours, and a handmade power cruiser sounded like an excellent recipe for mischief to me.

The Yamaha was fast, but I like my license and everywhere I looked were motorcycle-mounted police, mostly on BMWs and Harleys, but some local cops were riding Kawasakis. I gingerly toured toward Escondido.

The Wild West Motorcycle Company might as well be the "Hole In The Wall Gang Motorcycle Company." The factory, if you could call it that, is hidden in an industrial park, standing out only for its lack of signage. Wild West built about 100 bikes this year, each motorcycle made to order, like a Bentley. Engines balanced and blueprinted. Billet wheels measured for run-out and only the best accepted, combined with the most incredible fit and finish I've seen. All the work is done by hand. One man builds one bike.

I rode a Wild West Peacemaker as the sun sank in the west. Some guy in Atlanta had to wait an extra couple of days to take delivery so I could ride and photograph it, so I didn't ride it far. I felt bad for the guy.

I've got to thank the folks from Biker's Dream of Atlanta and offer kudos to Jason Orsborn, who built this Peacemaker. The next time I'm in Atlanta, I'll stop in and buy your customer lunch and a beer, but it'll cost you another ride.

Back on Mike's Yamaha and headed northwest, I took the longer ride to Venice Beach, where I had dinner in yet another restaurant of unknown ethnicity.

Flying home I started recording my impressions of the motorcycles and racetracks I'd experienced. It was time for the real work of motorcycle journalism.

When I reached the baggage claim in Newark my bag was the first one out of the chute and onto the carousel. I picked it up and suddenly I felt the urge to dye my hair blonde.

Typos 'R Us

As publisher of this magazine, I’ve gone to press with my share of screw-ups. The first major one was five years ago when we issued telephone debit cards illustrated with a photo of Main Street in Daytona during Bike Week. The caption read: “Main Sreet.” At least 30 people had looked at the proofs and not one of us noticed the error. Sometimes you only see what you expect to see.

I’ve also made my share of grammatical errors, in my writing and in editing other writers’ work. All this despite owning a copy of Strunk and White’s Elements of Style, which happens to stand on my desk with Punctuation Made Simple, Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, and the UPI Stylebook. I guess it would help if I occasionally opened one of them. But questions of grammar and style always seem to arrive at three o’clock in the morning when the boards are due at the printer by five. A time when my body is running at redline but my brain synapses are coughing at a lean idle. While in this condition I have to make decisions about correcting one, two, ten more little items (some or all of which might not be incorrect) or getting the magazine out. Publishing is not rocket science, CC Motorcycle News is not the Space Shuttle’s operating manual, and I don’t have five astronauts whose lives are in jeopardy, so the decision is easy: Damn the typos, full speed to the presses!

A couple of years ago I was invited down to New York University for an open house to inaugurate their new Masters in Publishing degree program. The panel of instructors asked everyone to introduce themselves and explain why they might be interested in taking the curriculum. I soon realized that I was the only actual publisher in attendance. When it was my turn to greet the assembled, I said, “I’d like to learn what I’m doing wrong because I have to work thirty-six hours straight prior to deadline.” A chorus constructed of all the people in the room rang out, “Why should you be any different?”

Needless to say, I never registered for the course.

What brings this discussion to this page is that I recently received a very formal letter from one of our writers. During a conversation, I had criticized the lead paragraph in one of his articles. He used the same noun in two consecutive sentences. Grammatically there is nothing wrong with that (I think). Style-wise, it bothered me. As far as I was concerned it was merely light commentary, but he took it very badly. It seems that I had made such a multitude of errors while editing his work that he felt it reflected badly on him. Additionally, I had made such grave errors in my own writing that he also felt I had no right to criticize him. He went as far as to return clippings of the stories corrected with very professional proof reading marks in red ink. Which I thought was really cool except that I didn’t know what those marks meant. (But I did figure some of them out.) What upset him the most was that I had misspelled some proper names. Two instances were in photo captions that I wrote. To one name I added a letter, in another I left one out. In a third case I printed the name wrong throughout an entire story, courtesy of the “Replace All” button on SpellCheck. As a result of my inadequacies, the writer felt that he needed to send letters of apology to the potentially offended individuals.

I admire him for his zeal. I wish all my writers were as adroit at protecting the quality of their work and cared equally about the quality of our publication. However, before I formally apologize to him, you folks, and any and all victims of my typos, I’d like to lay some facts on the workbench.

I am NOT nor have I ever been an English major. I have never, or at least to my memory, formally studied grammar or English usage. I go by the rule that if it sounds good and runs smooth, it is good. (Which is also why I’ve hired copy editors.) If it wasn’t for wood shop and auto mechanics I might have never made it out of high school. But I did, then I had five more years of education, during which I never took an English course. Before I bought this magazine I worked as a photographer—commercial, advertising, and fashion. Not a lot of spelling or syntax errors to make in that business. Yet during all those years I had written stories for many publications, all of whom had editors to correct my deficiencies.

I never claimed to be the Caped Crusader of Copywriters and I conceive no calamity in an accidental inaccuracy. So riddle me this, my antagonists: Who rides a motorcycle, was raised by two English teachers, and just returned from a honeymoon of motorcycling in Greece? The Answer: Edward Batchelder, our current copy editor. Since Edward the Accurate was on vacation when I wrote my column for last month’s edition, it was peppered with typos, non-sequiturs and run-on sentences. Sorry, kids.

As a publisher, editor and journalist, I take solace in knowing that among the erroneous I am in good company. History has provided us with some great journalistic gaffs. The most famous of these occurred in 1948, when the Chicago Herald Tribune declared Thomas Dewey the newly elected President of the U.S. This wasn’t correct; Harry Truman won the race. The editor, convinced by early polls declaring Dewey the winner of the Presidential election, ran the story. Then he decided to get to bed early, only to wake up the next morning to find himself, the early polls, and his seventy-two point headline wrong. The moral here is that when you screw up big time, you can earn a place in history. CC Moto News and our offended writer will be remembered by those folks whose name I misspelled long after all the other magazines are recycled into blank paper. And we will be forgiven for our digressions.

In conversations with other publishers, I’ve learned that I am not alone. We all agree that no matter how many times a publication is edited and proofread, somewhere between the office and the printing press a little gremlin creeps into the work and changes something around.

So if a typographical terror that appeared in this organ has ever offended anyone, be you readers, writers or relatives of people we’ve published stories about, I AM SORRY. I suffer serious brain farts at 3 a.m. and I am undereducated in the technical aspects of the English language. Rest assured that corrective measures are being taken.

Truthfully though, no-one has ever been maimed by motoring under a dangling participle.

Winning Awards!

Excuse me a moment, I’ve just a couple of more connections to make. Could you hand me that screw driver, yeah, the one with the green handle. OK, the relay is secure, now I’ve got to reconnect the ground strap. Where’s that 10mm wrench? Ah, done at last.
Step back a bit, this could be loud. “BLAAM!”.
Oh that sounds good, nothing like an air horn. Watch out, I’ve got to hit this button a couple of more times.
“BLAAAM,” Think I woke the neighbors yet?
“BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Hey, sometimes you’ve got to toot your own horn, after all, who else is gonna do it for you? And I’ve got what to toot about. I earned two major awards this month.

The first is the 2000 APEX Award for Publication Excellence (thumb through this magazine and read that sentence again) and the second is a BMW Motorcycles 300,000 Mile Award. Neither award is on par with a Pulitzer prize, which arrives with a six figure check or an Oscar for which I could dig my Tux out of mothballs, buy my wife a slinky satin dress then parade for an international television audience. So instead I mounted an air horn on my bike.

One more time, “BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!!!!!!”

As with all journeys, there is a story behind them. Comparatively, the BMW Award was much longer in coming than the Apex award. Well, maybe not. I started learning printing in seventh grade at the Orangetown Junior High School. I learned how to set type by pulling each letter out of a California type case and placing it in a composing stick. I printed assorted business cards and invitations on a pilot press. By the time I got to High School, photo offset had taken hold and I was printing the school paper, along with being the photography editor. I still have samples of all that old work. during my Senior year in High School I got a job on the local newspaper. I’ve often said that if it wasn’t for wood shop and graphic arts I would have never graduated High School. I studied photography in college then returned to New York City to work in the advertising business. Eventually I opened my own studio in downtown Manhattan and worked as a fashion photographer.

There is a fabulous, little known fact about the fashion business in New York City; from Memorial Day to Labor Day no-one works on Fridays or Mondays. They all have country/weekend/vacation houses that they must go to. So not only can’t you book a model but there are no photographers, make-up artists or hair dressers either. It was the perfect field for someone who wanted to spend weekends traveling by motorcycle. At the coffee maker on Tuesday morning everyone would be talking about so-an-so’s party at the beach and I would tell tall tales of two wheeled travel. I’ve often thought that my career in the fashion business might have reached greater heights had I attended those Hampton beach parties, but truthfully I was happier being in the middle of bum*#@^ nowhere, sweating in my leathers while gassing up my motorcycle at the only filling station within a two hour ride.

The BMW Award started with my first serious motorcycle. I bought an ‘83 BMW R 80 ST. I didn’t start out to be a Beemerphile. I was shopping for a motorcycle to travel long distances and happened to like the R80 when I saw it. It’s inaugural voyage was to the first Rocket City Rally in Huntsville Alabama. Nine hundred and sixteen miles. Cockily, I figured I could do it in eighteen hours straight. I loaded my camping gear, kissed my wife good-bye and hit the road. Four hours later I crossed the Delaware Memorial bridge, my butt was so sore I pulled into the Howard Johnson’s Motor Lodge and got a room. (Mikes Famous Harley-Davidson is now on that very spot.)

I finally made it to Alabama around noon Sunday. I rode into an empty campground. There were a couple of members of the Alabama Beemer Club still cleaning up.

“Hey guys,” I called as I took off my helmet. “I just got in from Brooklyn, where’s the rally?”
Well, I missed the Rally, but those who where there took me on an incredible ride that encompassed all the Poker Runs and Tours that they had during the Rally, after which they argued over who would buy me dinner and who’s lawn I could camp out on. That weekend trip turned into ten days and I made friends that I’ve kept in touch with all these years.

After 140,000 miles, 10 rear tires and 14 front tires the R 80 ST became a K 75 S. I wanted a bike with more current technology and more power to carry my ever increasing collection of camping equipment. Then in 1985 I bought a K 1100RS. On September 20th of this year the K 1100 RS will be mine after 60 payments. (At 1.9% APR!!! If you want a BMW, you’ve got to check out BMW’s financing deals!)

Both the motorcycle and the magazine have launched me on more journeys that I have the ink to print. I’ve ridden across the Mojave Desert and the Alpine mountain range. I’ve been lost in the back woods of North Carolina. I rode moto-escort for a photographer as he shot pictures of Lance Armstrong crossing the finish line at the Core States Classic bicycle race in Philadelphia. And I’ve stayed awake for days finishing this publication so all of you could read about it.

So...

“I’d like to thank the Academy and the Board for these Awards, a special thanks to my wife who stood by me all these years and my parents and professors....”

Aw, screw it!

“BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!”