My last episode at age 12 of having anything to do with a horse did have one good aspect to it even if it was one of those backdoor things that led to something so much better than any horse. It was a summer Saturday morning and my father made me hop in the ’50 Ford woody wagon for a ride and I was hoping it wasn’t Saturday-morning horse related as usual. There was nothing I liked about them from the smell to how hot they were to ride. But, surprise-surprise, he pulled up to a horse stable I had never been to before where some kind of mini-event was going on. Man, I didn’t even want to get out of the damn car.

 

  The big surprise was that somebody had just bought the biggest Morgan horse anybody had ever seen and they were showing it off. Then somebody got the bright idea that my father should hike me up on that thing for a picture for the local newspaper. Oh sh*t! I’m sitting what felt like two-stories up when the photographer’s flash bulb went off scaring the manure right out of that beast. It reared up high and pulled the reins out of the owner’s hand and took off into a full gallop down a traffic-filled two-lane road with me hanging on to its mane for dear life. Cars pulled off in every direction of the giant horse with a little fat boy on it going full bore down the road. I knew I was going to die.

 

  After about a half-mile of being shaken around so hard I couldn’t believe it, the horse suddenly stopped and looked back at me with each eye to see if I was still there or something. I jumped off that instrument of Satan and swore never to be near one of those again. The only good part was that it strengthened my resolve to ride a motorcycle instead of some brainless nag. I saved up for a bike and bought my first one at 14. I’ve been into motorcycles ever since that unexpected romp and now I’m the brainless nag, not the motorcycle.

 

   I don’t know if Frank Minick, owner of our equine-theme feature bike, had some sort of horse-induced life changing moment, but he’s got the right idea about horses and motorcycles as far as I’m concerned. He made a cowboy and horse themed chopper that has all the good horse bits and none of the bad according to my definition anyway. If you have to ride a nag, make it a motorcycle nag that doesn’t need to check you out with each eye before making a stupid horse decision.

 

   Frank’s bike unsurprisingly was captured at the most recent Daytona Rat’s Hole Show where it was entered in the Most Unusual class. Not a big surprise there. This ground-up build would appear to be based around the old cowboy’s horse of choice, the American Paint horse and it’s a pretty damn good rendition of one. From the brown and white horsehide paint work to the mane on the tank to the braided tail hanging off the fender, it says “American Paint Horse.” Throw in the Red Ryder BB gun (It’ll shoot your eye out!) sitting in its beautiful leather scabbard, sheathed bullets on the downtube, a western-saddle saddle with a bed roll, Conchos everywhere and a U.S. Marshalls badge air cleaner and you’ve got the whole cowboy-on-a-horse theme going quite strongly. About the only thing missing is some fake horse manure.

 

  Underneath all that cowboy and horse paraphernalia sits a Softail frame (not a Harley-Davidson Softail) with a pretty rad rake and long forks that probably emulates a horse’s long neck. Somewhat surprisingly to me, there’s nothing here that’s part of the theme that gets in the way of using this as a motorcycle whenever Frank feels like it. There are brakes front and rear, a RevTech engine and tranny that would love to stretch its legs out on the open road, and mirrors and instruments to keep things on the up and up. Hopefully Frank exercises his steed regularly to the enjoyment of all who see it at rest or blazing a new trail. I know after all these years, this would be the closest thing to a four-legged nag I’d throw a leg over.