How We Got the Knucklehead Chopper

The Panhead Came First, But it Didn't Last Long

Back in the early 80's my husband got his very first Harley Davidson motorcycle. It was a 1949 Panhead, but it only ran for a few weeks before it blew up, so I really consider the Knucklehead to be the beginning of the story.

It was through riding the Panhead that he met Donta, who was an old Knucklehead rider. Donta became his good friend and helped him learn the ropes when it comes to working on and riding vintage Harleys.

It was 1981, and they were in the process of rebuilding the Panhead after it blew up, when he went down to the motorcycle swap meet in Costa Mesa looking for parts. He ended up coming home with a 1947 Knucklehead motor (all in pieces of course) for the bargain price of $546.

The Panhead motor was soon set aside and over a period of months, the frame that was going to hold the Panhead was prepared for the knuckle motor. The first time he built the Knucklehead, it was a chopper in a pan wishbone frame, it had a glide front end, a suicide clutch, jockey shift, and mechanical brakes.

Wrenching on the Sidewalk

When the Knucklehead was first built we were living on 80 acres down in the San Bernardino Mountains, but in 1984 we moved to a small town in Northern California.

We rented a little house right in town. At our first house, there was no shop, not even a yard in front, just a sidewalk. In those days it was not uncommon for us to have Harley parts on the kitchen table for extended periods of time. Then my sweetie would work on the bike out on the sidewalk in front of the house.

There Was No Helmet Law in California Then

When we first moved up north, we took a lot of day rides exploring the surrounding area. It was a good way to get the lay of the land and cheap entertainment for us.

In those days we made do with what we had. Since there was no money for hotels, and we had no sleeping bags, if we would be spending the night on the road we would just grab my homemade quilt off the bed and bungee it onto the front of the bike.

Roadside Repairs

We were on our way to the Redwood Run up in Humboldt County in these photos. I think it was maybe 1984. The Redwood Run was an annual tradition with us for about 15 years.

When you're traveling on these old motorcycles it's almost inevitable that someone will have an issue with their bike.

Some people like to travel with a "chase truck" to carry their gear, and you can load a bike into it if it breaks down. But we never did, we carried whatever we needed on the bike.

This time it was just a flat tire, so the problem was easily solved.

Those were some good times. Now I like to take things a little easier, but it was all part of the adventure back then.

Goin' Down in Downieville on the '47 Knuck

It has often been said that there are two kinds of bikers, those that have been down, and those that haven't yet. I've been pretty lucky in my thirty years as a p-pad passenger, I've only hit the pavement twice. It just so happens that both times were within three miles of each other.

The first time, was in about '87. Me and my old man were coming back home from a long week-end up by Graeagle on the Knucklehead chopper. It was a low-budget trip, we camped in a cow pasture, had canned chili for dinner and whiskey for breakfast. I know, not a good idea, and he gave up drinking altogether twenty years ago, but that's how we did things back then.

We were just a couple of miles this side of Downieville, and were leaning into the first curve on a long switchback, when suddenly I noticed that my right hand was dragging along the pavement. The old man says that we hit some sand, all I know is that we laid it down and were sliding at about sixty mph on the right side of the bike. Lucky for us our path was unimpeded and we had plenty of room to slide.

In a situation like this, time seems to slow down, and he had time to look at me and ask me if I was OK. I just said "we'll see." I had climbed up on top of the bike to get my skin off the road. As the bike slowed down we were nearing the edge of the road and headed straight for a "curvy road" sign. I kicked myself free and landed on my butt in the road. By the time he and the bike hit the sign their speed was low enough that it was a good thing, as it stopped them from going off the cliff.

When it was over, we both got up and after a quick check to see if I was OK he went to pick up the knuck. As it turned out all three of us had relatively minor scrapes. The old man had more road rash than I, as he had been stuck between the bike and the road. His knee and forearm were pretty skinned up, and my right palm was ground down pretty deep. The bike fired right up though, and after nursing our wounds a bit at the next watering hole, we rode home.

 

Read another of my stories:

The Redwood Run in the Old Days