>EHEM!!
>
>Somehow, with all the noise in here. I managed to hear Snarl mention
>that he had this somewhat neglected '37 Knucklehead stashed away.
>Says he found it in a barn. The picture that I managed to coax out of
>him of that bike is in alt.binaries.pictures.harley under this same
>header.

Uh Jimbo...I didn't say *what* year that bike is. The object of the game is to have the resident old iron pros attempt to _guess_ what year it is by the shitty pic I e-mailed ya. *My* bike is a '37, this may or may not be it, or another '37, let the games begin.

>Stay tuned to when Mr. Snarl explains when, how and where he found
>this rare jewel right here in rmh... In detail.

Fuckin' promises and shit, sheesh.

>Drinks for all that aren't already knocked out.
>
>Jimbo
>AH # 63

Alright, I told ya I'd post this, but it ain't a big deal really. Everyone has a barn story, right? OK, fill 'em up, I have no idea how long this is gonna get.

Back in 1993 I was bullshittin' with an old ridin' partner on the phone about the usual beer, bikes, and broads stuff. I mentioned to him that it was getting close to needing a major rebuild on the '37 time, and I had just sold the Pan, boo hoo, and all of that rot.

He then sez " I know where there's this really crusty, original Knuck sittin' in a barn, man" I sez, "yeah right, and there's an Indian 442 and an 18 yr old hardbelly guarding them too, right?" My partner resonded with somethin' like "Fuck you Snarl, I seen it, it's in a barn down in Chehalis and the guy said he'd sell it!" So I sez "Road trip" and hung up.

About an hour later he shags his ass into the parking lot of our usual greasy spoon. We have a few cold ones over a plate of mystery meat to discuss this in earnest. My partner tells me that he heard about the bike from a guy at the Castle Rock race track and checked it out a few months back. Said it looked like most of it was there, but it's pretty ugly lookin'.

Perfect! We jumped into my meaner (El Camino) and made tracks about 40 miles South to Chehalis. My partner *thinks* he can find the place again. Chehalis is an old farming town, nestled in a nutrient rich valley that has produced many a sore back and blisters for the hard workin' folks who work the land. We saw most of it, trying to find that damn farm house too.

After asking about half of the locals about this farm (go past the white fence, turn south at the old drainage ditch, then go east 'till ya see an old Cedar tree with the top blowed out from the lightning storm back in '32...), we find it.

A stout lookin' woman comes out onto the porch (not the 18 yr old hardbelly I was hopin' for) and asks us what we want. My partner explains the situation and she sez "hold on I'll page him". Fuckin' farmin' has made it to the '90's too, I guess. We popped a cold one, whilest waiting for farmer Jim Bob to blast in on the Ol' John Deer.

The house and outbuildings looked like classic 1930's construction with the usual additions added to additions architecture. They were surrounded by about a hunert acres of pasture, with cattle, pigs, chickens and all that good stuff that we had where I was raised. Nothin' like the smell of fresh fertilizer (cow shit) in the Spring.

Whew, time for another round for anyone left reading this tripe, (heh, heh) please.

Farmer Jim Bob finally pulls into the long driveway about the time we finished our coldbeers. We shoot the shit for a bit about farmin' and fat chicks, as the three of us popped open another cold one. I get to the point where it's either shit or get off the pot and blurt out, "so where's the old Harley anyway?"

Jim Bob, looks me up and down then sez "follow me". Turns out the bike was his Dads who was killed in the Korean Conflict and the bike had sat since he left. The woowoo hairs on the back of my neck were standin' straight up as he opened the door to the barn. Jim Bob led us past the stacked alfalfa, through a maze of farm implements and stalls, back to a set of creaky old double doors that were about ready to fall off of the hinges.

Inside that room was a shillouette of a bike with crap all around it. Complete with straw and chicken shit, sat the jewel ya'll now can see in abpmh. Story goes that Jim Bob's Dad had the top end rebuilt by the now defunct Draggers (one of the oldest H-D shops in Seattle) and was in the process of puttin' the old girl back together when duty called.

She was all original with the exception of .10 over pistons and rings, and a valve job. The tires had pretty much rotted off of the rims, and a layer of surface rust covered the original paint job. The lower end hadn't seen a wrench since it came from the factory. The odometer read a little over 33,000 miles.

After oogling over the old girl I asked Jim Bob how much he wanted for it. He replied that some feller offered him $3,000 just the other day and he turned it down. I pulled out an envelope with 40 one hundred dollar bills in it and slapped it on the old Chili Farter seat and said "take it or leave it, it's the most I'll give ya for her".

I swear the only thing you could hear for a full minute was the sound of chicken shit splattin' on the floor and money being counted. Jim Bob looked me up and down again and said "I'll go get the title". My partner followed Jim Bob out to grab some celabratory coldbeers and mumbled somethin' like I told ya fuckin' asshole (must of been a preminition).

Anyway, we wrassled the bitch out to the meaner (no easy feat by the way) and Jim Bob handed over the original title. That's my old original Knucklehead in the barn story, so neener fuckin' neener.

Snarl...the "no shit, sorta" Asshole(tm)

Snarl AH#67, BS#37
1937 EL
EKIII Rides with me ...Go Eddie!
RMH FAQ: http://home.earthlink.net/~mildness/yo/frames/faqv2frm.html

Editors Note: The phantom knuck can be viewed at Motley's VB&G parking lot at http://209.27.24.92/usr/mel/rmh/snarlknu.jpg