Looking back, I think one of the main draws of riding a chopper was being noticed — being seen as cool. It doesn't always work out that way, and even now the memory brings the same sheepish smile I try not to let anyone see. This is one of those.
I was on my way to work one afternoon, crossing the I-5 overpass to catch the onramp toward my job. Worth mentioning: one of the "cool" things about some choppers back then was having no front brake. In practice, that's absolutely stupid — but even I was young and stupid once.
Crossing the freeway on the downhill side, all the left-turning cars ahead of me stopped to yield. I had to stop too, so I hit my brake. Nothing happened. There was a grease slick right in the middle of my lane, and when I hit the rear brake, the wheel just locked and I slid helplessly into the car in front of me.
My front wheel hit his license plate and tore it clean off, left it lying in the road.
The inertia kept pushing me into the car, folding my fairly new 4140 chrome-moly front end back toward the engine, into the wishbone frame. The guy got out hot, ready for a confrontation — took one look at my bike and the Nazi helmet, and immediately asked if I was okay instead.
I said yes. He picked up his plate, got back in the car, and drove off. I was left to limp the bike the rest of the way to work.
I figured I'd need a whole new front end, but someone mentioned Anaheim Engineering could straighten it. I called the next day, dropped it off, and two days later it was done — perfect, for ten dollars. I couldn't find so much as a crinkle in the chrome. Still one of those things in life I'd love to know how they pulled off.