It was around 1968 when I started turning my Harley into a chopper. I was about nineteen, and not particularly afraid of building — or doing — anything, custom motorcycle included. As I mentioned earlier, it took nine months to build the girl, and I had no real plan to go from. That cost me some extra time here and there, but isn't that how we learn?
For instance: after building the custom frame and tank, and rebuilding the engine, I went to put it in — and it wouldn't fit. How could it not fit? I'd taken it out of there myself. Oh, right — the custom part. I lost a week redoing the frame just to make room for the engine again. I made so many custom parts, all in the name of looking cool. Some I just bought ready-made, and whether they were legal or not never crossed my mind.
A month or so after finishing the bike, I was riding home from work, just merged onto the I-5, when the California Highway Patrol pulled me over. I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done wrong, but there were two officers going over my bike and grilling me about everything. My attire at the time was atypical biker — including a custom chrome Nazi helmet — so they were sure they had a real character on their hands.
After a lot of questions and a lot of very polite answers, they finally told me my headlights were illegal. I politely replied that my brother-in-law had told me that as long as they had a number stamped on the lens, they were legal. Now they wanted to know who my brother-in-law was. I told them his name, and that he was CHP too.
Turned out they knew him — gone through the academy together. They said they were sure the lights were legal, but that I should get them checked out anyway. Then:
"We sure never expected to meet someone like you on one of these!"
And they let me go.