In high school I was one of three or four kids who rode a motorcycle to school. I never understood why nobody was really interested in them and back then it kinda made you odd-man-out in many ways. A girl-friend’s parent sure treated you differently if you pulled up on a motorcycle to take their daughter out on a date, but if I stole my father’s Bonneville convertible, it was, “Who is this nice young man?” Same clothes, different vehicle sure changed things. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had pulled up on a Harley instead of a 305cc twin cylinder two-stroke. They probably would have been locking doors and dialing zero on their rotary phone for the police.

    Trouble was I wanted a Harley but just couldn’t afford one. At 16, I rode a brand new 1966 Sportster and absolutely loved it, but it was way beyond what I made flipping burgers. I got what I could afford and rode the hell out of it and had a great time. I even let friends ride it in hopes they might get interested in bikes, but as I later found out, only got into the head of one kid, Jimmy Rezendes. When he got back from his first (and only) ride, he didn’t say a word and just did the thousand-yard staring thing. I finally couldn’t take it and asked him what he thought. “That was unbelievable, but that’s not the bike for me,” he said. “I want a Harley.”  

     I almost had to laugh as he never had shown any interest in motorcycles or cars and had never ridden anything else, but that was not the bike for him. At that time I would have ridden anything with two wheels and a motor that I could afford I was so crazy about motorcycles. But not Jimmy, he just turned and walked away never saying anything else. Six months later he told me he bought a Harley and I was dumbfounded. I immediately asked to see it and he hopped on the back of my bike and we drove to his house.

   When he threw open the garage door, I still didn’t see it and asked where it was. “Right there,” he said pointing to some boxes and something with a blanket hung over it next to the clothes washer. Yup, there it was, a basket case if there ever was one. Stuff like this you could find and buy pretty cheap back then, but who was going to spend all that time working on something when you could be out chasing girls and riding your ass off? Not me. I didn’t have the slightest idea what it was other than a Harley as it was in s-o-o-o many pieces I didn’t know where to start. “It’s a Panhead,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to fix it up.”

   Two years later we graduated and it was still not together. Jimmy worked on it constantly, but things went slowly. I ran into him at a bar when I was 21 and the first thing he said to me with an outstretched hand was, “I got it running.” I had forgotten all about his Panhead, but he surely didn’t. Parked outside, it was a sight to behold looking a bit rough, but as stock as could be and it ran like a clock, a really good clock. I asked if I could ride it and Jimmy said, “No.” I didn’t realize it then, but it was his Harley and he planned to keep it forever.

    A few years later and I ran into him again riding a pretty balls-out chopper for the time. It was his Panhead that had morphed into something completely different. He had ridden it across country a few times and had finally bought a car so he wouldn’t have to ride it in the winter. I asked him if he ever wanted to buy a bike (nobody had more than one back then) and he looked at me like I had lost all sense of civility. “Why?” was all he said and we left it at that. To me it was like getting married at 17 versus mucking about just for fun. I appreciated and understood what he was thinking, but I didn’t get it.

    Many years later I ran into him and the first thing I asked was, “You still got it?” After a slight pause he said, “What do you think?” And, that was about the end of that conversation until he added, “It’s stock again, come out and see it.” And yes it was stock again, the long fork tubes gone, the spindly front wheel gone, the crazy pipes gone, the King & Queen seat gone, the coffin tank gone, it was all gone or so it seemed. And, it wasn’t just stock, but beautifully restored. It still ran like a clock and sounded great as he rode away and I never saw him again.

   A few years ago, I heard Jimmy had been killed going off the road at speed while pretty lit. He had moved on to a hardcore life, but he still was a sweet guy inside if you had a connection and we did. It was motorcycles and once you make a motorcycle friendship, it seems to last forever. The first thing that came to mind was where is his Panhead now? I was always afraid to open that door, but I got a feeling that bike is still out there and leading one more life before the next comes along. I hoped it went to a good home and somebody was as loving and caring as Jimmy was.

    Old Harleys have history even if you don’t know it. Where they’ve been, what they’ve done and who they met along the way always intrigues me for some reason. When I sit on an old Harley, I can almost feel the history like it’s bottled up inside the frame. I’m not just nosey, I’d like to think I’m caring even if the only caring I do constantly is about motorcycles and anything motorcycle related. Doesn’t make me a bad man, but I’m as motorcycling superficial as one can be. Jimmy was too. That old Panhead of his probably had more emotions and true feelings than either one of us did. I’d just like to think we (me, Jimmy and the Panhead) were just different peas in a pod and that’s cool with me. Jimmy, wherever the hell you are, I hope you found another Panhead. Doesn’t matter what shape it’s in as you’ve got all the time in the world to get it right. Godspeed my friend.