Issue #146 May 2025
10 Years Old
20 Years Old
30 Years Old
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<70 Years Old>
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50 Years Old
60 Years Old
40 Years Old
“the way it was & still should be”
At Church
NEW
With Willie Behind His Tattoo Shop, Tropical @ 825 Yonge St EVER 4th Sunday 11am Church At Noon We Ride To Local Bars Or A Long Ride. Times may vary!!!
Cochise CHOPS Magazine
This magazine is NOT politically correct!!! We deal with mainly old bikes, old cars, old people and young folks who have their heads on straight, who are tired of status quo, and walking on egg shells so as to keep the peace. Socialism & Liberalism SUCKS!!! We bleed Red, White & Blue!!! cochisechops@yahoo.com or (386) 690-6270
Salesman, Shiny (386) 278-3370 “Where Old School “NEVER” Went Out Of Style!!!” On The Cover, 2 Brusiers, Pic From Thunder Roads Most Photos Taken By Me Or By Many Mailed To Me May 4: Daytona Abate Monthly Meeting May 4: Swap Meet Webster May 11: Swap Meet @ Morse’s May 18: Mystery Ride The Boat Bar 10AM $5 (includes meal) May. 25: BIKER CHURCH & FREEDOM RIDE @ Tropical Tattoo May 26: MEMORIAL DAY or DECORATION DAY FOR GRAVES!!!
Read CHOPS Online:
cochisechopsmag.com
We Have Gone To 80 Pages This Month Services: *Volusia Powder Coating, NSB *Street Thunder, HD, Mims, FL *Wind Walker’s Leather
The Most Read Magazine In The Daytona Area
Watering Holes:
*The Boot Hill Saloon On Main *The Boot Hill Outpost, Ormond
*Pirate’s Pub, Paisley, FL *The Boat Bar, Port Orange, FL
*V Twin Spealities (386) 310*8333
*The Most Read Magazine
Other Services:
*Wind Walker’s Leather *Sorry Charlies, Samsula, FL
*Annie Oakley’s Ormond Beach *The Last Resort Bar, Port Orange
*A Ok Guns, New Smyrna Beach *Once Upon A Wall Murals & Paintings *Tropical Tattoo (386) 672*1888 *Tobacco Exoctical Cigar Super Store
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Take A Ride South On Route 1 To Mims, FL For Whatever You Need These Men Are Good People ~ Cochise
Have You Stopped In To See
Big Paul, Lately? You Won’t Be Sorry!!! Chops 5
We Have Gone To 80 Pages This Month
My Little Brother Chops 6
cochisechops@yahoo.com or
(386) 690-6270 www.cochisechopsmag.com People Who Owe Me Money: Loyalty Doesn’t Exist Anymore!!!
Andi The Lawyer From Brevard County, An Oral Contract With A Witness, $2,000.00 & Others!!! Formerly Pat’s Place on NY Ave in Deland, $400 Super Wash $800 ********* Someone else is also using the name “Blue Plate Special”, so don’t get it confused with ours, especially our huge Labor Day event at Boot Hill On Main St. I’ve heard through the grapevine that many riders don’t want to ride on our Freedom Ride each month because they “think” we’re to “hardcore” type of riders! I don’t know what gave you that idea, but I can say we don’t break any laws, like running red lights, speeding (much) and are super, super careful when moving in a pack. Now if you’re acting up someone will tell you to go to the back if you can’t act right. So if you are scared to ride with Willie, Shaun, Marcus & myself and other older cats with many thousands of miles of experience, then it may be better for you to stay home, but if you want to really get to know us, come on out. I promise you if someone hurts you, I’ll kiss it and make it better. LOL P.S. You DO NOT have to come to our church service prior to the ride, but all are welcome too. Most of the pics from the Saddle Up Ride For St. Jude came from the Thunder Road’s folks, and they are great pictures. Thank you Beth.
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God’s Corner
By Cochise
We Have Gone To 80 Pages This Month
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“WHERE THE LOCALS” “HANG OUT” About 1 Mile South Of I-95, On Hwy 1 FULL LIQUOR BAR ICE COLD BEER BLOODY MARY SUNDAYS POOL LARGE OUTDOOR PATIO “Owned By The Best”
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Update on my physical health. I’m still taking the shots in my back, at times they help, but don’t last very long. My next ones will be done while I’m put to sleep, as they will go in deeper with a longer larger needle, and if they do get the correct spot, I should be ok for 6 to 8 months, before any other treatments, thank you Jesus. My back has really hampered my activities, especially during Bike Week, but thanks to many of you, including Thunder Roads, who sent me some pics for the mag. I greatly appreciate it. I rode to Warren Lane’s show on the 1st Sunday, and that was the end of my riding until about 4/10. I did make it to Chopper Time on Thursday, in the truck, and even though that was the largest crowd I’ve seen in recent history, I barely made it through the 8 hours I was there, yet it was AWESOME seeing so many friends and making many. many more new ones. The magazine really draws them into our tent. I love it!!! And I love you, especially the locals!!! Cochise As you may have heard I was T-Boned by a lady Friday April 18th, and it tore up my new 1978 FLH bike and me. It set me back on my back feeling better (I get the long shots on 5/7), so with that I messed up my left ankle, knee, elbow & a knot on my right shin. More later!
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We Have Gone To 80 Pages This Month Chops 12
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A OK Guns 648 N Dixie Freeway New Smyrna Beach FL (386) 410-6480 Michael Jones Jr. Proprietor
Specializing In Collectable Firearms Top Cash Paid For Collectable Firearms, Memorabilla, Single Pieces & Estates
We Have Gone To 80 Pages This Month
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MAN Chops 16
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REMEMBER WHEN the Media laughed and said ivermectin was ONLY for horses and cows? THEY KNEW it was made for people since 1987. Here’s what they didn’t tell you about claims that are surfacing. 1 – It prevents the damage caused by drugs created using mRNA technology, blocks the entry of Spike Protein into cells and, if the person was vaccinated, they can treat themselves for damage already done through Ivermectin. 2 – It only has beneficial effects and no harmful effects in the treatment of the C virus. In fact, even before entering the cell, it has already destroyed the virus in the blood. 3 – It has a very powerful anti-inflammatory action against and has a powerful impact on traumatic and orthopedic injuries, it strengthens muscles and has no side effects like corticosteroids. 4 –It treats autoimmune ailments such as: rheumatoid arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, fibromyalgia, psoriasis, Crohn’s disease, allergic rhinitis. Chops 18
5 – It improves the immunity levels in cancer patients and treats Herpes Simplex and Herpes Zoster, plus reduces the frequency of sinusitis and diverticulitis. 6 – It protects the heart in cardiac overload. In an embolism for example, it prevents cardiac hypoxia because it stimulates the production of basic energy so that the tissue is not destroyed and thus improves cardiac function. 7 – It is anti-parasitic, anti-neoplastic (anti-cancer). Allegedly, it suppresses the proliferation and metastasis of cancer cells, preserving healthy cells and improving the effectiveness of chemotherapy treatment. 8 - It can kill cancer cells resistant to chemotherapy, defeating the resistance to multiple chemo-therapeutics that tumors develop, and combined with chemotherapy and/or anti-cancer agents, it provides an increase in the effectiveness of these treatments. 9 – It is antimicrobial (bacteria and viruses) and increases immunity. 10 – It reaches the Central Nervous System and regenerates the nerves. 11 – It helps to regulate glucose, insulin metabolism, cholesterol levels and reduces liver fat in steatosis. 12 - It can be used as a prophylactic agent and has been associated with a significant reduction in infection, hospitalization and mortality rates due to C-19. From EddyDean Winchester (You Be The Judge, I Trust It!!!) Chops 19
Jim RileyLargest Trump Supporting Group in the WORLD. To all the “Hands Off” Protesters (Democrats): We are currently at a critical juncture with a national debt of $36.5 trillion, increasing by $2 trillion each year. This is a critical issue, and most experts are warning us that we have relatively few years left to take decisive action before America faces a financial crisis that would have catastrophic consequences for this country and the world. Amid all your protests, the burning of Teslas, and your petulant vitriol, one crucial element is glaringly missing: any plan to cut government spending. Instead, your goal appears to be to spend even more. We finally have leaders in President Trump and Elon Musk who are courageous enough to finally focus on sustainable spending practices that are critical to avoid risking our economic future. Time is of the essence—instead of being in the way, let’s act together before it’s too late. If not... HANDS OFF - my tax dollars, which were not intended for your pet projects and the corrupt, virtue-signaling Socialists who spew the garbage you all take as gospel. It’s not a slush fund and a money laundering operation through left-wing NGO’s to make politicians rich. HANDS OFF - my child at school. Teach them the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. They are not there to be indoctrinated into your Marxist ideologies. HANDS OFF - trying to force American women and girls to compete against biological men, and then adding insult to injury, forcing them to change and shower in front of them. Stop forcing your fu@ked up theories on the rest of us. HANDS OFF - all the property you destroy in the name of whatever cause you’re supporting that given week. Other peoChops 20
ple’s vehicles are not yours to destroy. Neither are statues or all the other s#it you light on fire. HANDS OFF - our college campuses. Decent kids are there to learn. Free speech is protected. Violence, intimidation, and taking over buildings are not. By the way, if your cause is so just, take off the masks and show yourself. Cowards one and all. HANDS OFF - our president, who was duly elected to clean up the mess y’all created. We sat by and watched as you supported a puppet who was practically dead. It damn near destroyed the nation. Financially, from a security standpoint, and morally. HANDS OFF - to all the federal district judges. Your power does not supersede the executive branch. And, stop using Lawfare by going after your political opponents. HANDS OFF - our ICE Agents, who are taking violent gang bangers out of our country and forcing people who want to come here to do so legally. It should be the only way. Period. End of story. HANDS OFF - our Free Speech rights. For years, you have used the process of cancelling people who simply wanted to express their own ideas. In your world, you think free speech can only be allowed if it agrees with your screwed up ideologies. HANDS OFF - the American family. You have done everything possible to destabilize the concept of families because you believe that our ultimate allegiance should be to the government. HANDS OFF - from imposing your Marxist views of Critical Race Theory (CRT) and the methods you’ve used to implement them through Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI). Most Americans are compassionate individuals who believe in judging people based on their character rather than the color of their skin. These principles are what the vast majority of Americans voted for. You don’t like it, be like that slob Rosie O’Donnell and move to Europe, which is being taken over by radical Islam. So, to borrow your stupid little slogan…. Hands Off... Love, MAGA Country... Chops 21
I Hated My Biker Father Until I Found Out the Sacrifices He Made For Me Secretly I always hated my father because he was a motorcycle mechanic, not a doctor or lawyer like my friends’ parents. The embarrassment burned in my chest every time he roared up to my high school on that ancient Harley, leather vest covered in oil stains, gray beard wild in the wind. I wouldn’t even call him “Dad” in front of my friends – he was “Frank” to me, a deliberate distance I created between us. The last time I saw him alive, I refused to hug him. It was my college graduation, and my friends’ parents were there in suits and pearls. Frank showed up in his only pair of decent jeans and a button-up shirt that couldn’t hide the faded tattoos on his forearms. When he reached out to embrace me after the ceremony, I stepped back and offered a cold handshake instead. The hurt in his eyes haunts me now. Three weeks later, I got the call. A logging truck had crossed the center line on a rainy mountain pass. They said Frank died instantly when his bike went under the wheels. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling… nothing. Just a hollow emptiness where grief should be. Chops 22
I flew back to our small town for the funeral. Expected it to be small, maybe a few drinking buddies from the roadhouse where he spent his Saturday nights. Instead, I found the church parking lot filled with motorcycles – hundreds of them, riders from across six states standing in somber lines, each wearing a small orange ribbon on their leather vests. “Your dad’s color,” an older woman explained when she saw me staring. “Frank always wore that orange bandana. Said it was so God could spot him easier on the highway.” I didn’t know that. There was so much I didn’t know. Inside the church, I listened as rider after rider stood to speak. They called him “Brother Frank,” and told stories I’d never heard – how he organized charity rides for children’s hospitals, how he’d drive through snowstorms to deliver medicine to elderly shut-ins, how he never passed a stranded motorist without stopping to help. “Frank saved my life,” said a man with tear-filled eyes. “Eight years sober now because he found me in a ditch and didn’t leave until I agreed to get help.” This wasn’t the father I knew. Or thought I knew. After the service, a lawyer approached me. “Frank asked me to give you this if anything happened to him,” she said, handing me a worn leather satchel. That night, alone in my childhood bedroom, I opened it. Inside was a bundle of papers tied with that orange banChops 23
dana, a small box, and an envelope with my name written in Frank’s rough handwriting. I opened the letter first. “Dear Melissa,” it began. “If you’re reading this, I guess I finally found a pothole I couldn’t dodge.” Typical Frank humor. I wiped away an unexpected tear and continued. “There are things I should have told you years ago, but I never found the courage. First, you should know that I’m not your biological father.” My hands froze on the page. “Your mother and I couldn’t have children, so we decided to adopt. The day we brought you home was the greatest day of my life. When your mother died, I swore I’d give you everything she would have wanted for you – education, opportunities, a better life than mine.” I had to stop reading. The room was spinning. Adopted? My mother died when I was three – I barely remembered her. Frank had raised me alone all those years. With shaking hands, I continued reading. “I know I embarrassed you. I saw how you looked away when your friends noticed my grease-stained hands or heard my bike. I’m sorry for that. I kept thinking if I could just work harder, save more for your college fund, you’d understand someday that everything I did was for you.” Chops 24
The letter detailed how he’d put away every extra penny from his mechanic shop into my education fund. How he’d turned down a partnership in a bigger garage in the city because moving would have meant changing my school, taking me away from my friends. There were newspaper clippings too – every honor roll mention, my college acceptance announcement. Frank had created a record of my life more thorough than any scrapbook. The final page of his letter broke me completely; “I want you to know I was always proud of you, even when you weren’t proud of me. That’s what being a parent means – loving someone more than your own pride. I hope someday you’ll understand I did the best I could with what I had.” “All my love, Dad.” Not Frank. Dad. I sobbed until sunrise, clutching that orange bandana to my chest. The next morning, I called the lawyer. “There must be some mistake,” I said. “The house deed isn’t in the papers. Where are the property documents?” “Frank sold the house three years ago,” she explained gently. “He moved into a room above the garage to save money.” “But why?” I asked, confused. “He always said the house was paid off.” “It was,” she confirmed. “But your medical school tuition wasn’t.” The floor seemed to drop beneath me. “What medical school tuition? I never applied to medical school.” There was a pause on the line. “Melissa, Frank paid your deposit to Johns Hopkins last month. The acceptance letter came while you were away. He was so proud he called everyone Chops 25
Full Liquor Bar Open Daily “A Cool Biker Bar In The County” “A Great Great Ride To & Thru The County”
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in town.” I hadn’t even told him I’d applied. Hadn’t told him it was my dream. Somehow, he knew. “But how could he afford…?” “He sold everything,” she said simply. “The house, his collection of vintage motorcycles, even that Harley he loved so much. He kept only enough to rent that room and buy a used Honda to get to work.” I hung up and walked numbly to the garage where Frank had worked for thirty years. The owner, Mike, was adjusting a carburetor when I walked in. “Wondered when you’d show up,” he said, wiping his hands. “Come to clean out his locker?” I nodded, unable to speak. Mike led me to a small room in the back. “Frank worked every overtime hour I could give him these past few years. Double shifts, weekends, holidays. Never complained.” Inside the locker was Frank’s spare helmet, a few tools, and a framed photograph I’d never seen – me at my high school graduation, looking away from the camera, and Frank standing at a distance, watching me with unmistakable pride. “He talked about you constantly,” Mike said. “How smart you were. How you were going to be a doctor someday.” “I was ashamed of him,” I whispered, the confession tearing from my throat. Mike shook his head. “He knew that. Said it was normal for kids to want more than their parents had. Said it meant he’d done his job right, giving you the confidence to want better.” Through tears, I noticed something else in the locker – a worn motorcycle magazine with a corner turned down. The page showed a sleek, black Harley Softail. He was saving Chops 27
up to buy you that as a graduation gift when you finished medical school,” Mike explained. “Said by then, maybe you wouldn’t mind being seen with your old man on a bike.” I took everything home and spent days going through Frank’s modest belongings. In a box under his bed, I found notebooks filled with his handwriting – research on medical schools, locations, costs. Notes about student housing options near Johns Hopkins, comparing safety ratings of neighborhoods, distances to campus. Page after page of careful planning to send me to a school he’d never see the inside of, to help me achieve a dream I’d never even shared with him. I found something else too – a calendar with maintenance dates for his beloved Harley. The last entry, dated just before he sold it, read: “Final tune-up. 212,347 miles. Not bad for an old girl.” Below it, in smaller writing: “Worth every mile to get Mel where she needs to go.” That was six months ago. I deferred medical school for a year. Instead, I used some of the tuition money to buy back Frank’s Harley from the collector who purchased it. It took weeks to track down, but when I explained why I wanted it, the man sold it back to me for less than he paid. I spent this summer learning to ride it, taking lessons from Mike and the other mechanics who had been Frank’s friends. They were patient teachers, never laughing when I stalled or dropped the heavy bike. “You sit on it just like Frank,” one of them told me. “Same straight back, same way of leaning into curves.” Last weekend, I organized my first charity ride in Frank’s memory. Three hundred riders showed up, each wearing an orange ribbon. We raised Chops 28
The Best In The County RIP Scott my friend. We didn’t’ see a lot of you, but we always spoke and had some good conversations about helping others I needed it. I liked what the Bible says, “Blessed are the merciful, as they shall receive mercy (from God), that’s all that counts. Thanks for coming to Biker Church and thank you for never bringing up the hell one person was putting you through. Your silence caused people to believe you and I agree with the majority, as you being a great person and philanderer. May those who wouldn’t stop doing this, to you, receive their just reward. I don’t want anyone to go to hell, but they’re some going through it NOW as guilt & shame is eating them alive. Repent or perish, life is short. Forgive if you want God to forgive you. I will still pray for your nemesis! ~Cochise
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enough money to create a scholarship for a working-class kid who dreams of medical school. Tomorrow, I leave for Johns Hopkins. The Harley is loaded up, my route mapped out. I’ll be wearing Frank’s old leather jacket with a new patch I had made for the back – a simple orange heart with the words “Frank’s Legacy” beneath it. I used to think heroes wore suits and had prestigious jobs. Now I know better. Sometimes heroes wear oil-stained jeans and work double shifts without complaint. Sometimes the greatest act of love is selling everything you value to give someone else a chance at their dreams. I always hated my father because he was a biker mechanic, not a doctor or lawyer like my friends’ parents. But now I understand – he gave up everything so that I could become what he never had the chance to be. And when I walk across that stage to receive my medical degree, I won’t be Dr. Melissa Peters. I’ll be Dr. Melissa Peters-Franklin, daughter of Frank – the bravest, most selfless man I never properly knew until he was gone. And I’ll be riding his Harley all the way there, orange bandana tied proudly around my wrist, finally understanding that love isn’t measured in degrees or job titles – but in sacrifices made silently, without expectation of recognition or return.
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Teddy’s Not Scared To Ride On Our FREEDOM Rides Big Love
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Drop By Anytime And Have A Cold Drink & Listen To Al’s Great Stories “HOME OF”
Ask Al About His Service In The Military & Where He Was
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Kim Girbble “Janis Joplin walked into a San Francisco bar one night in 1967, unassuming, wearing her signature round glasses, wild curls framing her face. She had no grand entrance. No one recognized her yet. Then, she stepped onto the stage, grabbed the microphone, and as soon as her voice sliced the air, the entire room fell silent. A raspy, soulwrenching wail filled the space, cutting through the chatter and clinking glasses. Raw, untamed, and electric. A moment later, people were on their feet, some crying, others frozen. Janis didn’t just sing. She bled into her songs. That night, she left the stage with a new reputation: the woman who could silence a room with her pain. Born in Port Arthur, Texas, she grew up feeling like an outcast. She loved the blues: Bessie Smith, Lead Belly, Ma Rainey, when most girls her age were listening to pop hits. In high school, she was bullied for her looks, called cruel names, and she struggled to fit in. By the time she was a teenager, she had already turned to music for solace, sneaking into record shops to buy blues albums. She once painted “One day, they’ll all see” on her bedroom wall. Her escape was Austin, where she discovered the local folk and blues scene, often playing small gigs with her guitar. But her voice too big, too rough, too filled with anguish, wasn’t easily categorized. When she moved to San Francisco in 1966 to join Big Brother and the Holding Company, she was still a shy, anxious performer, drinking Southern Comfort to calm her nerves before every show. But when she sang, something raw and unchained took over. The first time she performed “Ball and Chain” at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, Mama Cass was caught on camera, stunned, mouthing, “Wow.” Chops 45
Janis had exploded onto the scene. Behind the screams, beads, and flamboyant feather boas, she was a woman who craved acceptance. Her deep voice, and unfiltered, whiskey-soaked laughter made her appear confident, but she carried an ever-present loneliness that cut as deeply as her voice. She fell hard for people, often loving too much and too recklessly. When she was in love, she threw herself in completely whether it was with a musician, a roadie, or a fleeting one-night romance. She once wrote, “Onstage, I make love to 25,000 people, and then I go home alone.” Which shows she keenly felt her connection with the audience. She longed for validation, especially from those who had once mocked her. When she planned attending her high school reunion, she wanted to return as a success story. She arrived in Port Arthur in a psychedelic Porsche, dressed in full rockstar glory, but her old wounds reopened quickly. She wasn’t celebrated. She was still an outsider. That night, she drank until dawn. Her voice became more than sound; it was a raw, emotional purge. Songs like “Piece of My Heart” and “Cry Baby” weren’t performances, they were confessions. She didn’t just sing lyrics; she embodied them. In the studio, she fought for the perfect take, recording “Me and Bobby McGee” over and over, chasing an intangible, aching, perfection. Hard to imagine something so achingly true went through multiple takes! That song, recorded days before her death, would become her biggest hit. In 1970, at just 27, she recorded “Mercedes Benz” in one haunting, a cappella take, laughing at the end, unaware it would be her final recording. Days later, she was found in a hotel room, alone. A heroin overdose. No dramatic farewell note. No staged tragedy. Just silence, an unfinished song list, and a star extinguished too soon. Her voice still cuts through time like a blade, cracking, roaring, pleading, loving. Every note she left behind holds a truth that refuses to die.” Edited and added to by Leila. She looks like an innocent essence-filled angel in these photos, not someone who made whiskey and cigarettes her closest companions. Chops 46
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Mystery Ride April 20, 2025 Meet Here @ 10am KSU 11am $5 Includes Meal & 50/50
Where The Locals & Bikers Hang Out
Open Daily 7am - 2am “Get Rid Of Your Hangover Here”
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Mike Jones & Crew Are Always Here To Serve You, And I Hope You Have Noticed All He Has Done In Backing Up & Supporting It As Well, Like The American Vets Here In Daytona!
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Avin N Tiger Here’s one for our sign group! In 1705, an Irish housewife named Margorie McCall died of a fever. She was hastily buried to prevent the spread of whatever illness she had. She was buried with a valuable ring that couldn’t be removed due to swelling. The evening she was buried, grave robbers showed up to take the ring. When they tried to cut the finger off, Margorie suddenly woke up and screamed. The grave robbers were frightened out of their wits and scattered. Margorie climbed out of the hole and made her way home. When her husband John opened the door, he found his recently deceased wife standing there, still in her burial clothes with blood dripping from her hands. The unfortunate husband dropped died on the spot, and was buried in the grave recently occupied by Margorie. Margorie went on to re-marry and have more children. When she finally died (for real this time), she was returned to Shankill Cemetery in Lurgan, Northern Ireland, where her gravestone bears the inscription “Lived Once, Buried Twice.”
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Trailer Trash Choppers
Transforming Stock Softtails Into Beautiful Ridable Choppers “PLEASE CHECK US OUT ON INSTAGRAM” “One Man’s Trash Is Another Man’s Treasure”
Call (904) 315-1434 Or (386) 481-8898
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Tim “Lucky” Woodward still recouping from a bad crash with a car. He already has come a long way, but the road is still long to full recovery. There will be a Poker Run for him May 3rd in the Tampa are, so come out if you can. Chops 59
My Favorite
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children.
When the Titanic sank, it carried millionaire John Jacob Astor IV. The money in his bank account was enough to build 30 Titanics. However, faced with mortal danger, he chose what he deemed morally right and gave up his spot in a lifeboat to save two frightened
Millionaire Isidor Straus, co-owner of the largest American chain of department stores, “Macy’s,” who was also on the Titanic, said: “I will never enter a lifeboat before other men.” His wife, Ida Straus, also refused to board the lifeboat, giving her spot to her newly appointed maid, Ellen Bird. She decided to spend her last moments of life with her husband. These wealthy individuals preferred to part with their wealth, and even their lives, rather than compromise their moral principles. Their choice in favor of moral values highlighted the brilliance of human civilization and human nature. Chops 61
CHOPPER TIME BABY
Hundreds and hundreds showed up, until it hit a thousand people. People on old iron for the Greatest Show on earth (my opinion), with about 200 bikes put in the show, from Sportsers to Flattys, to.........Twin Cams, many were garaged chopped which had been in the making for a years or more. You name it, it was there, the Grand Daddy of them all. From the Rat bikes to some of the most prestigious paint jobs you’ve ever seen on planet earth, and judged by the pinnacle of all painters, Mr. Dave Perewhitz from down town Detroit, or close. Smitty’s old rat bike is usually there as it was this time. We use to have 3 of them these Andy from Custom Iron INC., out of Deland, & my buddy from NSB, his name slips my mind right now. Also there were many 1% clubs that showed up, without showing out. I saw the Outlaws (always there), a couple of Iron Horse men, Sons of Silence, Warlocks and maybe a couple more. It all went smooth, as they all respect Brother Willie and his show. Also I saw some Military patches flying, mostly combat vets who served overseas. As usual myself and Trailer Trash Choppers was in the back corner, somehow we lost some of our space, but it went ok. I didn’ try to sale anything (shirts), just gave away free magazines and the calendars. After awhile I became claustrophobic, as the people kept pushing farther and farther back until I couldn’t breath, so for a minute or two I played Sangalpus, exited stage right, only old people know what I’m speaking off. LOL In other words I had get out of there for a minute or ten. Chops 62
Tropical Tats 34 Years In The Same Location Ready To Serve YOU!!! Call For An Appointment Or Walk In
Tim Banks Ray Ray Chops 64
Allen Schippert
Martvin Dew Chops 65
Ray Ray
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Ray & Aaron My buddy asked for a pic of me doing a wheelie so heres one of me and Aaron Greene doing big wheelies in the big trees..photo shoot with Michael Licther~ Ray Ray Ray Ray & Aaron
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When I first met him he was pretty old, and set in his ways. His successes and failures didn’t matter much anymore. He made some, lost some, and came out on the better side of life. He had an old GM city bus, in his back yard. It had a fold out awning on the side, an enlarged door leading out under it. The bus had most of its windows blanked out. The motor was gone, tires mostly flat. When I worked with him, at a Toyota dealership, on the line, we got friendly, and shared the same two post lift, and a open workspace for another car. He was pretty well tooled up, and so was I, but occasionly we’d help each other out, to get a job finished before quitting time. He was planning on putting the old bus together, and back in the wind. We talked about a used engine, and what it would take to install it, a 671 Detroit Diesel, with an Allison automatic. He asked if I’d help. I was married and my time was limited, but I agreed anyway. But the city had other plans, and sent notice the old junker had to go, within 45 days, or else a big daily fine would be levied on him. There was a chain link fence that had to come down, to move the bus, and lots of stuff inside that he considered valuable to him. Seems in his younger days, he had bought out old Harley Chops 68
dealership parts, mostly used, for penny’s on the dollar. Just old left over bike parts obsolete and taking up valuable stock space. I helped unload the bus, on a weekend, and yes there was a lot of valued goodies in that old bus. Two complete bikes, a 37 Knucklehead & a 57 straight bar Panhead chopper/ easily converted back to stock, with 2 interchangeable front ends, different tanks, and fenders. Back then, no where as valuable as this parts trove would be today, but surely of value to Harley guys. As we unloaded the bus, these guys came around, some bought stuff, some brought beer, smokes, weed, and even KFC for dinner. They were old club members, he said, and most he’d rode with, and known for years. The rest went in our old trucks to a rental storage place, in his basement, or to the dump. We took down the fence, must have been 10 guys helping us, got the bus tires aired up, and an old rickety White wrecker showed up at dusk. Chains hooked, makeshift lights on back, the bus was towed away into the darkness. Afterward we sat and had a few beers. These guys were old, but the sparks were still there, the stories told, the guffaws, the good natured ribbing and arguing going around.. After all those years, they were still a club, and I guess they always were. ~ Ken Bradway He was middle aged, single, but he was married to that corner Gulf station. It had 2 service bays, 1 fuel island. They did tires,
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brakes, lubes, belts & hoses. He hired some good people, and some not so good. He had friends and enemies.After over 20 years, he lost the corner to “ Urban Development.” Gulf sold him out. He Retired almost pennyless. Bought a used RV, and Inever saw or heard from him again. ~ Ken Bradway
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Cochise & Willie Austin TX Sucked
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RIP Big Eric GBNF
Willie T & Ms Jean In The Wind!!!
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JohnnyGonzalez By Josh Pyro
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Bruce Wishart
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ALFY Tammy Gorman Pic
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KRASH
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Tammy Gorman Pic
Mark Caro By Robbie Rochow Chops 77
How It All Started
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May 25th
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