Baker's Dozen

2. Shifting Gears-1

CHAPTER TWO

SHIFTING GEARS

The whole motorcycle thing, started innocently enough, but would evolve, and in turn, shape the lives of many, for years to come.

It began, when REB, showed up at the property, that Robby’s parents owned, and the kids now used, as a hang out spot, one afternoon. He said that he had found an old, what were called; Pie Wagons or Servi cars, and he had it bought off some guy who owned a gas station down on River Street, cheap and rode it there on the QT, avoiding Cops. He didn’t have any ownership for it, as it had been lost years ago, but didn’t care, they weren’t going to plate it, or take it on the road! It was nothing to look at, but it ran OK, and they all loved it!

REB’s folks owned quite a bit of land out this way and this was a parcel that REB really took a shine to, and they he and his friends use it. His folks, were figuring one day, they might move out of Town, and be farmers one day, as farm land, around here, back in those days, was plentiful and cheap! This parcel, that they bought, even had a rickety old house, a dilapidated old barn and a drive shed that were still standing! When they died, they left everything to REB.

This was the perfect spot for this bunch, to hang out and riding the Hell out of that old Trike was a bonus. They took the lid off of the box and would load everybody they could in there and just tear around the fields, bouncing through ruts, ditches and small creeks, terrorizing groundhogs, rabbits and other assorted woodland creatures, and just had a ball.

It would break down on occasion, because of all the hard use and a***e, they put it through, and, by necessity, they all, even the girls, learned how to fix everything from ignition and electrical problems, to tires and wheels and welding stuff back on. Snagging gussets and brackets in place became a regular pastime and occurrence and they were also always on the lookout for hunks of metal. Calamity, was probably the best of the bunch when it came to fixing those old buckets of bolts.

Then someone else, found a deal on an old Indian Chief, that had been chained up to a telephone pole or something on this service station parking lot, for years. It was painted bright orange with black stripes like a tiger. The motor was seized and it took a lot of effort just to load it into the back of an old pick-up truck, and get it back to the property. It was a real challenge, but they got it done. Now to get it running!

They did all that they could, but to no avail. One day, a few of them stopped into a small motorcycle shop down on Elm St., and chosen spokesperson; Calamity, went in and talked to an old mechanic, who worked there, by the name of Tony. Tony didn’t seem to mind answering their questions and giving them tips, he even loaned them a couple of manuals and parts catalogues. He was rough looking, swore a lot, had a bunch of jailhouse tattoos, chain-smoked cigars and constantly and regularly could be seen swigging from a large bottle of tequila, that he kept in a drawer in his tool chest.

He seemed to like them, and even loaned them some of his specialty tools like pullers and wrenches, some of which had been modified just to work on one specific part for one specific job. Many of these tools had been designed and fabricated right in the shop, welding, heating, bending, cutting, filing, and twisting or whatever was necessary until the tool worked. Sometimes it took longer to fabricate the tool than it did to do the job that it was designed it to do. The magic, came in the fact, that without that tool; the job wouldn’t have been able to be accomplished. Patience, ingenuity and knowledge were key and they learned that from Old Tony and others whom they had yet to meet.

This old Indian, though, appeared to be well beyond their skill level. Calamity went back to this mechanic and told him the situation, he agreed that it just might be more than what they could handle at this time. He said that he would come by in the evening after work and take a look.”

“He showed up, just like he said he would, driving this old Chevy panel truck, that was his main transportation. His absolute pride and joy, however, was a 1949 Panhead FL Hydra glide, that he treasured. At first glance, you wouldn’t know that anyone cared about, or for, his motorcycle, judging from the bike’s appearance!

We learned, that this particular, style of motorcycle became affectionately known as a “Rat, or Rat Bikes”. These bikes had a distinct appearance that could be easily be mistaken as neglect! The one thing these Rats had in common, is that they were interesting and had a charm, character and personality that was as individual and personal as those who rode them. They came to love and appreciate them both.

Tony’s bike and he, suited each other well, the bike, had character all its own, and got as much or more attention, wherever and whenever he rode it, than those with the fancy paint and kept in pristine condition. It was always, very dirty, the leather and padding on the seat was worn and tattered and almost non-existent. The bike, had, over the years, gathered many stickers, pins, bottle caps, sports pennants, raccoon tails, rabbits’ feet, and anything else, that captured Tony’s imagination, or unusual sense of design and it could be glued, taped, screwed, bolted, or otherwise attached to the body of this unusual motorcycle! He even had the actual skeleton of a dead rat in a sprung trap, that he had glued in place on top of the front fender. A Davy Crocket lunch box sat where the tool box used to sit, a wooden Coca Cola crate was bungee corded to the rack over the rear fender and it was full of odds and sods. Derby covers, fabricated from old canned ham cans replaced OEM covers. Tons of little things that could keep you occupied for hours and you still would probably have overlooked something.

That damned motorcycle was fun, and fun was supposed to be the objective! Was it not? Sometimes, friends would just stick something on, that they spotted on their travels and Tony would always be able to spot it right away, and was appreciative of his friend’s contributions to his labour of love. He could identify where each and every item had come from, and for him, every look at that old motorcycle was like a ride down memory lane!

It was however, in perfect running condition, and mechanically, was well maintained. But it also, naturally, because of its appearance, got the attention of Law Enforcement, on a regular basis, and he would get pulled over, often.

Initially, they’d looked over the bike to see if it was roadworthy, and then, the inspection could go on for an hour or more, as the bike inspired interest, and closer examination, as it captured people’s attention and appealed to their natural curiosity, sense of humour, and could be a real conversation starter!

These inspections usually just turned into a gabfest with old Tony shaking hands with the Coppers at the end of it, and they would part company on good terms. Sometimes, the Cop, would have something that he thought would add something to the bike and occasionally he would get stopped just so the Cop could give it to him! Tony, was only too happy to attach it! It was indeed a labour of love and a bit of a Community project!

He had painted it yellow, although, over the years, the paint had become faded, chipped or worn off in places. He had given it the name, or it just became known as “The Dirty Rat” which was hand painted in white and black paint on each side of the tank, above that was a caricature of a Rat, dressed in a dark, pinstriped, double-breasted suit, wide colourful tie, wearing a wide brimmed Fedora hat and holding a revolver in his hand, which he had also personally, hand painted, showing off his artistic flair and talents as well as things, mechanical. The rat was done to resemble actor “James Cagney” who was often misquoted for the line “You dirty rat! You killed my Brother” from the 1932 film Taxi! The actual line was “You yellow bellied dirty rat,” Tony had the kind of unique character and personality that he could carry over to his motorcycle and visa versa and they were like a matched set.

Anyway, he gave that old Indian that they had named “Tony Tiger”, because of it’s black and orange paint-job, a once-over, and just shook his head. He then, went back to his truck and when he returned, he was carrying a complete Indian motor in his arms! “This one works fine and it will fit in here nicely! You can have this one and I’ll take yours back to the shop and rebuild it, I have all the parts, you can help if you want, and learn how to do it yourselves. Then you can have it back as a spare. I got enough old crap taking up space at the shop!” he told them. He then, proceeded to swap out the motors and started to give the bike a real good look over. He’d shake his head, take something off and go back to his truck and get some other parts and replace this and that or he’d swap out the wheels and tires.

He was working away for about four hours and they were starting to worry. No one had asked about what all this would cost, as money, they had none! They were hoping that he could just give us advice, not do all the work! He was rough looking, and there was talk that he was a member of a motorcycle g**g. Were they nervous and more than a little scared? Damned straight!

“Cal was picked to talk to him, and in spite of being scared stiff, just walked up, and flat out told him, that they were just hoping for advice, on what to do, and how to do it, but had no money to pay him for motors and all the work he was doing.”

“He suddenly, threw his tools down into the dirt in disgust, and looked her straight in the eyes. “No f*****g money eh? No money? Who, the f**k mentioned money? I sure as f**k didn’t! The loud tirade brought the others rushing into the shed, but no one spoke! “You needed help! I’m helping, or trying to, if you f*****g kids would stop f*****g interrupting me! If a helping hand from a friend, for some friends isn’t good enough for you, f**k you all!” They were all totally taken aback by the outburst, and didn’t know what to say.

Old Tony continued! “Now this thing is almost ready to go, do you want me to continue, or do you want to f*****g insult me some more?” With that he, chomped down hard on his cigar, picked up his tools and continued to work. A half hour later, the Old Indian responded to his kicks, by springing to life, for the first time in years.

Tony Boiko, was their new friends name, a Ukrainian, who had Immigrated here just before the war, and joined the Canadian army and served as a despatch rider, which is where he hooked up with many of his buddies, and formed a real bond with them, which just carried over into civilian life. He was a highly intelligent man, mostly self educated, but he was an avid reader with an insatiable thirst for knowledge and the ability to retain absolutely everything he ever learned, read, saw or heard about with a photographic memory and natural intelligence, that knew no bounds. He was fluent in eight different languages, including profanity!

Tony seemed to know something about absolutely everything, it didn’t matter if it was, World history, local history, geography, how and why, something was made, anything! He was a wealth of knowledge and information and they loved being around him and he seemed to like them pretty well too! When that old Indian fired up, he was as excited as the kids were, perhaps even more so because he got to see the look of pure joy on their faces.

Old Tony, was their first introduction to anyone remotely resembling a “Biker”. They were impressed! They then learned that all “Bikers” were not the same, and the same holds true with people, animals and anything else, he would tell them! “Always look for what lurks beyond the surface. Look past what appears to be obvious.” He told them over and over, that in general, no matter what race, creed, colour, job, education, religion or profession, there was always going to be a mix of good, bad and sometimes evil. The trick he said, was to be able to spot the difference and avoid whatever or whomever before they could do you harm. If you think someone is going to hit you and you can’t get away, hit first and give it everything you got and don’t stop until you can walk away!