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  • Chief 9:44 pm on March 26, 2009 Permalink |
    Tags: Poll,   

    With or Without??? 

    I’m not the poll type, but we do have a reason for asking.

    Do you ride WITH others more than alone?

    • sasquatch 8:07 pm on March 29, 2009 Permalink | Log in to Reply

      I ride alone more than with others.

    • Chief 12:55 pm on April 15, 2009 Permalink | Log in to Reply

      I ride with others about once a year. When you ride with others a trip takes on a whole different “feeling”.

      First, I don’t get along with others well enough to spend a whole bunch of time with them. But also, everything becomes an exercise in democracy, should we stop, where should we eat, where should we stay, how many miles should we ride, etc. EVERYTHING takes longer, and I end up waiting… waiting… waiting… I hate waiting!

      Personally, I like to go where I want, stay where I want, stop when I want. Of course, my trips are usually with my wife as a passenger… but she is the reason I enjoy these trips so much. In fact, she’s why most of the longer trips happen.

      People seemed genuinely amazed that we did a 5000 mile trip out west last year “alone”.

      I do prefer alone or with my wife as a passenger.


  • Chief 1:35 pm on November 25, 2008 Permalink |


    Frank McKee

    Frank McKee’s 2001 1500 is the featured Drifter for December 2008.

    You can download this calendar page at: (until 08/31/08)



    Buy a printed version of the whole year at:


    Congratulations to Frank.


    ’02 Vulcan Drifter 1500
    ’02 Honda Gold Wing GL1800 ABS

    Drifter Info at: VulcanDrifterRiders.com

    • Chief 2:53 pm on August 17, 2008 Permalink |  

      Tutu takes a ride- Indian Style 

      My story is simply what happened to me tonight. My life is rewarded in mysterious ways some times. This story is true.

      I was unfaithful tonight.

      I never knew who she was even afterward. It was a moving experience; I will probably take this feeling with me when I get to the after life. I hope they let us ride our Indian Motorcycles in heaven. I think she hopes so too.

      It’s Saturday night in Honolulu. Weather stunning as always, getting dark. When it get’s dark in Hawaii, it get blue-dark blue-dark. You always say things twice in Hawaiian when it really is something special. It cools a bit in the evenings the air next to the ocean get’s thicker and you can feel the Indians engine start to inhale, exhale, start to hum, come to life.

      She likes the cold night air. She always runs best alone in the cool Hawaiian night. My bike is a woman. Not my choice I thought an Indian Chief was the epitome of male. She is a beautiful woman with old world feminine and womanly traits. She is 60 years old. Born in 1946, the very first baby boomer. The pride of a nation. At times she’s cranky, and hard to get out the door, doesn’t like the smell of the new fuel you give her, she can be hard to get started and hard to keep focused until she get’s warmed up and hits her stride. Then her head perks up and she shakes her self good and stamps her feet by rattling her chain when I go too slow, wanting to go faster, smoother. She was born to run, it is a crime against nature not to give her the lead and let her stretch out.

      When she runs she’s hot. Hot to the touch, crackling hot, she hates waiting, dawdling, poking slow. She was made to sing the highway song. Not lope, chug, clutch or brake, but to run, run hard, run without mercy. She likes to win.

      Was this the woman I was unfaithful with? No, you’ll meet her in a bit. I have to tell you why I met her and it starts with Sioux. If a woman could be reincarnated as a motorcycle, it would be Sioux. She can’t get jealous, but she still has to be handled with firm kindness, or she’ll do it her own way. Sometimes she’ll surprise you with just how good she is at her own way. You always have to listen and feel for her feedback.

      Every motorcycle has their sounds, their exhaust notes, idles and chain noises. Some grind, some potato, some rip through the air. The Harley, the only bike similar to an Indian, not much more than a copy of the great lineage, has its unique sound. They never could get that engine to run quite right with that V angle. It makes a potato-potato-potato sound. After a while people got used to the off tune and it became an icon of American individuality.

      The Indian has a heart beat when she idles. Thumpa thump thump thump, thumpa thump thump thump, a perfect slow rhythm, the same one for making love some say. But when she get’s her head, she makes “THAT NOISE”, that special throaty gulping, more air!, faster, and that brilliant Merlin Rolls-Royce V-12 Mustang Airplane roar, turning fuel into noise to build speed, a sound no other motorcycle or car or airplane can make. It is an Indian coming to its peak of her life-force.

      Other motorcycles rip down the highway, whine down the highway, tractor down the highways with ever increasing potatopotatopoto, but the Indian howls like a banshee, a buzz saw of perfect harmonics and motion. Everyone stops to look. Other motorcyclists, police, old ladies and babies, even the jaded punkers. Everyone stops to listen, Everyone can’t help but feel that awesome sound they are experiencing whipping past them in elegance and pure raw power and speed.

      Nonetheless. Isn’t that an interesting word. None the less. I was taking Sioux for a leisurely stroll to the beach. She likes the beach and all the admirers; the thick salty air is her favorite. I had parked her and a thin elegant woman with long perfect white hair was sitting nearby on the curb by herself. No possible way to judge her age – 70-80? Women of Hawaii are beautiful and ageless. Composed, head turned just so. Looking at me and my steel pony with its fringe all around. Waiting for her children and grand children to finish parking and come gather her up.

      She smiled. I smiled back. Sometimes they will tell you their Dad or Uncle used to have a motorcycle and how it would scare them. But she didn’t. She stood up and walked over to the bike and gently caressed the headlight. Noticing the little Indian headlamp on the fender, “does he light up like they use to?” “Yes”, I said. Light fingers trailing the seat and rail, walking around the bike never losing her touch on it, like a masseuse and her patient.

      She began to tell me about her life. A young nurse in World War II. Injured in battle and sent home. Worked as a riveter for an airplane factory in California and met a soldier on leave. Indian was allowed to make motorcycles during the war, when no other vehicles were. The Indian was solid, dependable, fairly cheap and didn’t use a lot of gas. Uncle Sam knew people had to get around. Her man had an Indian very much like this one.

      His time with her was precious, they went everywhere on the Indian. Every place, every when, every big band dance, every movie, every picnic. He even taught her to drive it. The seat on the Chief is just an oversized single. It’s called a chummy, and you will be intimate with your partner while there, no matter who sits where, the bike can be driven and someone can be held dearly from front or back. They bonded, loved and he left. He didn’t come home. She found another life, had her children and outlived another wonderful man.

      But she still missed “him”. She missed him on his motorcycle. She missed the panic, and thrill, excitement, the love of it all. Her children stood there semi-patient. Come tutu it’s getting dark.

      She asked if she could sit on the seat. After that? Hell yes you can sit on the seat. Something made me say something stupid, “do you want to ride?” “Yes”, she said in her quiet voice. Daughters and son in laws in a panic. I said “it’s getting dark maybe tomorrow when it’s nice.” “No” she said, “in the evening when it’s cool and you can smell the night jasmines and feel the wind on your face.”

      “Do you remember how?” “I know how to lean, I know how to hang on, I know where to sit.” She said “I know how “cozy” it is – with a gleam!” If I wasn’t already in love with a wonderful lady, I may have fallen in love with this elegant woman. I still didn’t know her name.

      I said “you get on first, you remember where your feet go?” She said “all of me sits behind you like a spoon” “how could I forget that?” She got on, her son’s helping her and glaring at me. Where are you taking her? Where would you like to go? Its Kailua beach, maybe we could take a slow circle around Lanikai, a few miles and I’ll bring you back to here. I am sure we can smell the flowers. Perfect. The family runs for the car. They are not going to let us out of their sight. Tutu still has her power. No one is arguing with her. “I will hold on to you like this” as she put her arms loosely around my waist.

      She said “I forgot, you have to kick start the motor cycle. I used to help. I was so thin in those days I could stand on the pedal with both feet and jump up and down on it to start the motorcycle. His leg was injured in the war and it hurt, and I loved doing it. But I don’t think I can now.” I was in awe.

      I have a secret tutu. I have an electric starter for it. She said, it was about time someone thought of that. Sioux chupped to life and settled down to her heartbeat, I got a squeeze and very, very gently off we went. Funny how you can forget how to drive when you have a lovely woman holding you. I nearly stalled it twice, she never said a word.

      We made it over the first hill you could still see the ocean, I turned on Sioux’s headlight and her Indian Lamp on the fender lit up. Her little white nose out there putting out about as much light as that old headlight I am sure. I found a gear that wasn’t too fast or slow, smooth sailing. The squeeze got tighter. No more I hope or I won’t be able to breathe.

      We stopped a couple of times to let a train of cars by and to look at the flowers and the houses. She didn’t say much. As we made the turn at the end of the 2 mile loop, trailing a van of family members that finally put their dims on, she put her head on the back of my shoulder. I could feel her sobbing. I stopped the bike, ” are you ok”, “yes, I am happy”. Another squeeze and I took my cue, come on Sioux let’s smell the roses down this part of the road.

      “Stop.” she said. We stopped – Sioux’s heart beating a little bit faster for some reason.

      “can we DO “that sound”? I thought for a minute. This woman knows “that sound” doesn’t she? She was not a wall flower, but a wounded veteran and in love. “Yes, we can do that sound, but you know what it takes don’t you?” “Yes, I’ll hang on very tight, when you lean forward I will lean with you.” “Tutu, don’t fall off or we’ll never hear the end of this.” I think this is going to shock all of them anyway. She said firmly “please”.

      I twisted the timing down into the gutter. The bike would barely idle, that thumpathumpthumpthump became disrhythmic. This is how the engine knows we are going to explode into motion. My heart was pounding I could feel her excitement. I said HANG ON and DON’T LET GO. She laid her head on my back, held me tight and squeezed, her signal. I wrapped the throttle up, timing struggling, thumping, cracking, Sioux shaking to be let loose.

      It was a perfect launch. That doesn’t always happen with a hand shifter and foot clutch motorcycle.

      Wrenched the throttle open, stomped the clutch, twisted the timing, let off brakes. It is poetry – it is a deadly dance if you do it wrong. When you do it right, it doesn’t lurch, no spinning wheels now wild weaving, the Indian lives for this moment. Pure raw acceleration produced by a pure raw perfect sound that only GOD and INDIAN can make. It makes the hair on your neck stand up, it sends chills up and down your body, it makes you ALIVE. It is terrifying and it is FAST. Speed most people can’t imagine – for a split second time stands completely still.

      I am whooping, she is screaming with delight and we move like lightning. The revs peak on the Indians first gear quickly, grab second gear and DO IT AGAIN. More delightful screams. The road is ending we have to haul it down, but why go gently into the night, grab the brakes, hold the front brake like death itself, let the back break loose and skid around. Show off, showing what an Indian can do.

      So much laughter. So much panic in the van. Let’s get going before they get out and run over here.

      Back over the hill and down to the beach park, I feel a gentle loosening of her hold, a sigh and a small relaxed distance from the full body contact we had held all this time. Someone wiping her tears and straightening her hair, getting her face arranged.

      We parked, disembarked, she nearly carried away bodily by family. It all came to a stop. She walked back and held me and gave me the Hawaiian heart felt hug and we touched cheeks. Then she tip toed up and kissed me lightly. A touch, a gesture.

      And that was that. Grandkids screaming questions with delight, daughters and sons scolding, a smile from the window, and I was alone as I arrived.

      I have been faithful and unfaithful in my life. Maybe this time it won’t count against me.

      Steve McLaughlin
      Hawaiian 346

      • Chief 10:30 pm on August 4, 2008 Permalink |
        Tags: featured kawasaki vulcan drifter august chuck ott   

        August Featured Drifter 

        featured drifter for August

        Chuck Ott – VDR# 179

        Chuck “Chuckster” Ott’s 1999 1500 is the featured Drifter for August.

        You can download this calendar page at: (until 08/31/08)



        Buy a printed version of the whole year at:


        Congratulations to Chuck.


        ’02 Vulcan Drifter 1500
        ’02 Honda Gold Wing GL1800 ABS

        Drifter Info at: VulcanDrifterRiders.com

        • Chief 9:49 am on July 31, 2008 Permalink |
          Tags: vulcan drifter riders found in barn   

          What were we (they) thinking!!! 

          This is another in the Drifter Life category. This entry is for all those vintage-in-the-barn stories, sold a $50,000 bike for an RC and moonpie, etc.!!

          If we knew then what we know now…  <LOL>

          • Chief 9:52 am on July 31, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

            My fellow Drifter riders. Ron Ottow (Dancing Bear here)

            I would like to share a story with you that is not only true, but made me sick to my stomach.

            Last weekend I was out riding and stopped at a place for a bite to eat. I had been by this place quite often and decided to give it a try.

            Candy and I went in and suddenly struck a conversation with the owners, there wasn’t many people in there. They mentioned thy would like to get more of the biker crowd in and asked us what we thought should be done. We gave some suggestions what to do to get them in, but the food was so fantastic it would bing them back.

            The lady likes to collect old things and She took us to Her warehouses to look at some of the items, totally unbelievable!

            She then said She had sold 2 motorcycles She had. She had gotten them from some relation and they had been kept covered in a building out of the weather. She said they had an Indian head on the front fenders. I described the front fenders and founf out they were 2 original late 40’s Indian Chiefs both Indian red and in great condition. They both ran and the people who bought them actually rode them.

            She thought She just had 2 old motorcycles and sold the pair for $1500.00 (750.00 each).

            I immediately started to get sick to my stomach.

            When I informed Her of what She had and how much they would actually be worth then She was also sick to Her stomach.

            The moral of this true story is if you don’t know what you have, a little reseach can go a long way to helping avoid a blunder such as this one.

            We saw Her tonight, She is still sick about this.

            Ron Ottow (Dancing Bear) VDOG #1621

          • Chief 9:53 am on July 31, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

            happens more than you would think… got out of the Navy in 1982.. came back to Kansas to visit the folks for a vacation.. Dad tells me there is a Sunday auction, with a 69 Chevy listed, from an estate sale, my Dad wants to go look at the car for my neice.. we are thinking some “Impala” or Caprice” nice BIG car she can learn to drive…. get there late… bidding is closed… it’s a 69 CORVETTE!! WITH 39,000 ACTUAL MILES!! went for 3,700 dollars!! her son had bought it before he went to Vietnam, she had kept it for”keepsakes”… and “IT was taking up to much room” … we talked to her after it was all over.. she said and I quote…………… “that’s what the used car dealer, told me a 69 Chevy was worth” ……….. frzb

          • Chief 9:53 am on July 31, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

            Had a mechanical breakdown one time in Oregon, had to hitchhike back to Ca.
            Stayed one night at a place where they had a big black motorcycle in the barn.
            The guy said he’d do the top end, then take it to San Francisco & get $1,200 for it.

            Vincent black shadow, 1953, all original.
            $1,200 seemed a like a lot of money for an old bike in ’72.
            I’d never heard of Vincents.

            It’d be worth maybe $45,000 in Ca today.

          • Chief 9:53 am on July 31, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

            When I was 19 I was married and had our first child on the way…. ya 19…. ! You’ve all heard of the “Harley in the barn” thing, well it does happen and it did happen to me. Heard about an old fella that my dad knew that supposedly had an old harley in his barn…… after persuing several of these wild goose chases i was skeptical but since the old fella did have a model T Ford that he’d bring to town on sunny days I thought ” well just maybe ” so I went to see him. ” Yup I do ” he said…. ” actually I got two of em in there…. my brother and I both went to Toronto many years ago and bought em “………… my heart rate went up several notches. Turns out they were Harley “Hummers”…….. not real Harleys I guess but the price was right … $150.00 for the pair. Took em home and the one actually ran…. the other needed some tlc but I was in no hurry and enjoyed riding the running unit around the house. The timing was off I guess on the one that ran and sometimes the motor would start and run “backwards”….. what a riot…. get my buddies over and have a few cold ones and see who could make the most laps around the house “backwards”.

            After several months a fellow that worked at the same factory as did heard about them. He was …. and still is…. a vintage British bike collector. Anyhow things being what they were with my situation ( being an expectant dad and all ) I decided to surrender to his offer to buy both of the Hummers. I thought I was making a super profit…. he came and looked them over and gave me $500.00 for the pair.

            Being the meticulous fellow he is he spent several months refurbishing both of em and taking them to several bike shows and coming home with lots of trophies and prizes. It wasn’t till years later I discovered that one of the most unique things about these bikes was that they had ” consecutive serial numbers “.

            Man my butts still sore from kicking my own &$$….. but $ 500.00 paid for a whole lotta diapers and formula back in 76.


          • Chief 9:40 pm on July 31, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

            Keith Ramsay (KARamsay)

            It has happened everywhere. I used to ride occasionally with a fella that had an cherry old 53 HD. His story was basically as follows:

            I saw and ad for an old Motorcycle in the paper. Curiosity got me and I went by to take a look. Old lady led him out to the barn and said it has been her husbands. She wanted $500 for it and he needed to take it today. He knew what it was, told her that it was worth more than $500 and told her to call her son or a neighbor and they’d work out a price for it. She then told him that another gentleman was coming to look at the bike in a short while and if he had $500, it would be that guys motorcycle.

            My story:

            At the age of 13, I dug a 1938 National Duolian out of my grandmothers neighbors basement. she sold it to me for $25. I later went back and found all the original parts except for one (The tail bridge). In high school, I later traded that guitar for the top of the line Ovation Guitar. Probably about a $1200 value. Biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

        • Chief 8:26 pm on July 27, 2008 Permalink |
          Tags: Drifter Denny Berg   

          July 27 Chat with Denny Berg 

          Check out the page with a transcript of our conversation with Denny Berg on July 27. We will be doing this again in 2-3 months.



          • Chief 9:35 pm on July 26, 2008 Permalink |
            Tags: Drifter, Kawasaki Vulcan Drifter, life, stories, Vulcan   

            Nice Bike Dude! What is it? 

            Ok, we all have our stories… some guy pulls up at a redlight and drools over your shiny big fendered Drifter. “Nice Indian, Duuudee!”, he yells over the death rattle of his ragged 72 Ford pickup.

            “Not an Indian…”, you shout back. He just grins back at you… “Vulcan Drifter… Kawasaki…”

            He looks at you blankly, never losing the cigarette stained grin.

            “Really nice Indian,” he shouts after you as you pull away when the light changes. 


            Cruising down the rural road… tunes playing… rumble of the pipes… sunshine… then a SCREAM, TWO SCREAMS… you almost jump outta your skin and jerk your head to see what is causing the hellacious racket. There on a small deck next to a pool are two not too young, not too old, not too bad-looking, half naked young ladies jumping up and down screaming… “Give me a ride on your Harley!”… Oh, well – I can pretend its a Harley for a few minutes… <LOL>

            So, What’s your story.


            • Chief 10:44 pm on July 26, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              A guy stopped by our house to pick up canvas for his boat from my wife. He was a total Harley guy. Harley truck, Harley jacket, the whole thing. When I walked into the garage he nodded toward my Drifter and said, “I’d love to own an Indian. What a great lookin’ bike.” I said, “Yeah, me too. Maybe some day.” His puzzled look prompted my wife to say, “That’s not an Indian, it’s a Kawasaki.” It was absolutely precious! He didn’t know how to get around the fact that he just complimented a Kaw, so after a brief pause he said, “The only Indian I know about around here is that yellow and burgundy one down the road on the left. That’s a real beauty!” To which my wife replied, “Oh, you mean Mike’s bike. That’s a Drifter too.” Without saying another word he simply shook his head, turned around, got in his truck and drove away! It was a wonderful Drifter moment!


            • Chief 10:45 pm on July 26, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              I have told this before.. but about 2 weeks ago, I am at the local gas and gulp, BIG harley guy with his riding buddies are there, I’m gassing up and over he walks…. ” man that’s a Nice Indian, what year is it? I’m thinking oh man here we go, I tell him “It’s not an Indian, It’s a Kawasaki Drifter” He looks at me like I didn’t hear him right… I say it’s a kawasaki drifter, “they don’t make them anymore”… He walks around it, looks it up and down, and says “Kawasaki MADE THAT!!? and walks away with this stunned look on his face. I finish fueling and as I ride by, 2 of his buddies give me the “thumbs up” I wonder what he told them after I left!!? LOL
              frzb 🙂

            • Chief 10:46 pm on July 26, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              2 stories from Canada……………..

              Summer 2002 my two brothers come over to my place riding their HDs, one is a BRAND NEW 100th anniversary Road King ($32,000 back then) and the other is a year old Ultra Classic (again over $32,000). Both of my brothers have harley disease real bad, shirts, hats, rings, likely underwear, and the attitude to go with it. They tolerate me and my “goofy” bike and rib me a little bit but we get along. So I lead them on a nice Sunday afternoon ride to a local tourist spot and we park along the street, they profile their bikes together and I park Drifter about 6 feet away, and we go for a walk down the street.

              We come back 20 minutes later and can’t see our bikes for the crowd of people standing on the street and sidewalk. As we get closer my brothers’ chests are inflating and they assume the harley tough-guy walk, and you guessed it………………the crowd is looking at the Drifter! There is circle around the Drifter and they had their backs to the Harleys! One brother says “damn it, they are all looking at the f*ckin Kawasaki!” I had just bought the Drifter for $6900 and it drew more attention than $64,000 of HDs. I smiled at them, but I laughed real loud inside my full-face helmet all the way home.

              And today, I went for a little ride and parked along a street to get a drink. I’m standing about 10 feet from Drifter when 2 HD dudes and their dudettes walk by, one lady says “Now that’s a REAL bike, why don’t we get one of those?”


            • Chief 10:47 pm on July 26, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              And another story………

              A few years ago my buddy Gary and I are on a bike trip in Colorado, he’s on a Nomad and me on Drifter. Gary is a Drifter enthusiast but does not own one and is always on the lookout for one. We are walking down a street after dinner and he spots a guy beside a parked bike and goes over and says “Hey, nice Drifter!” It was a nice shiny new Gilroy Indian………..

              Those guys must really hate Drifters.


            • Chief 1:14 pm on July 27, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              Two summers ago my wife and I rode our V-Star, & Drifter, respectively, down to a newly opened “Mike’s Famous HD” located in Smyrna Delaware. We rode up to the place and parked in a Motorcycle Only lot that sits right up next to the front of the building.

              The new building is very big and very impressive. The whole front is made with large sliding glass panels. This particular day the panels were open so the the show room was open to the outside. The place wasn’t that busy, there were just a few people milling around (maybe 10).

              Karen and I had just entered the show room and were weaving our way around the new bikes to get to the accessories section so I could get a new doo-rag, when someone said, “Oh look, a new Indian”, so before we got to the doo rags the whole place had emptied out into the parking lot to admire the new “Indian!”

              As we shopped in a building that contained at least a million dollars worth of HD, we kept an eye on the lookers that stayed around our bikes. The small gang inspected both of our bikes, even to the point of touching things, which made me little uncomfortable. I found a a new doo rag and I was waiting in line to pay for it when someone yelled to a salesman still inside the building, “It’s a Kawasaki!”

              At that point the “Biker-Honey sales clerk” finished waiting on the Proud American Harley owner in front of me and then turned around and took her overly tight pants and overly exposed cleavage and just walked away from me. I was so pissed I just dropped the doo rag on the counter and walked away.

              We got back on our Godless-communist-made- Jap bikes and had a nice ride home. Later that night it got to eating at me because Mikes’s is “Famous” for great customer service. I came down to my computer and sent Mikey an email telling him this story.

              The next day I get a call from a lady who ID’ed herself as the store manger. She apologized all over herself and promised me that if I came back down to her store she would. “tighten me up”. I don’t know what that means and I guess I was just too shy to ask her. I guess we all can let our imaginations be the guides on that…

              That’s just one of my Drifter stories.


            • Chief 5:29 pm on July 27, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              My drifter story happened in Late May early June this year. It was a great day out to ride to work. As I passed Smith College I saw a Red Indian up ahead. Full fenders etc. I got up alongside at the red light and told the guy how much I like his 40 (something)Indian, dont know all the nomenclature of the Old Indians. I did realize how much “Olive” looked like a real Indian at this time. He then said he like the Kawasaki and wondered why Gilroy Indian couldn’t have done something like that, water cooled/shaft drive etc.

              Of course it fun when someone shares your opinion. Not so fun when they oppose you. As Wilmac will attest.


            • Chief 8:30 pm on July 27, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              I was out riding in Delaware one sunny day on Rt. 9 which runs along the Delaware River. Getting hungry I headed back west to Rt. 13 in Smyrna for a bite to eat. Realized how close I was to Mike’s Famous Harley, I thought I’ll stop in & eat, get to see his new place for the first time. (Same place that Wilmac got a bad time at when he stopped in to buy a new Do-rag.) Had my lunch & chatted with a nice lady who was having service done to her beautiful Harley & sidecar rig. After lunch I walked outside to see a young man looking over my bike like he wanted it. Walked over and started getting ready to ride and he says, “Hey nice Indian”. To which I politely replied well it’s actually a Kawasaki Drifter. He replies No Way Man. I said yes it is, just styled like some of the older Indians. Turns out he was a Salesman for Mike’s, just coming on duty. At this point he says man that must be the best looking bike Kawasaki ever built. At this point I feel relieved that he likes the bike. Then the shock sets in, he says do you mine waiting here for a couple of minutes. I said no problem & he heads off to his car. Comes back holding a camera & asks if he can take a few pictures. I thought this can’t be happening at a Harley shop by a Harley Salesman. He finishes taking about five shots & then hands me his Mike’s Famous card & says if you ever want to trade this in on a Harley, please look me up. I said well I doubt it but thanks anyway. He grabs me by the arm & says, no you don’t understand, I want first shot at getting your bike before someone else buys it. I did him a favor, & just thanked him. If he had bought my bike, he probably would have been looking for a new job.

              2ND Story. I’m in Delaware again, on Rt. 40 West in Bear, DE. Stopped for a light in an area 4 lanes wide. A gentleman pulls up in his SUV, 2 lanes away, rolls down his window and shouts “Really Nice Indian”. I tell him is not an Indian, but an “02” Kawasaki Drifter. He wrinkles up his face and says “What?”. I reply it’s an “02” Kawasaki Drifter. He shouts back, “Like I said, Nice Indian”. I thanked him for his comments to which he replies, I don’t care who built, it is a really nice looking bike.

              Later, Rick

            • Chief 8:30 pm on July 27, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              I pulled into the Applecover on Wednesday afternoon, soaked right down to the undies. Most had already arrived at Drift-in 08. I check in with the owner Derek. He comes out side and hands me a room key saying go get dried off first and check in later. He looks over at Nikkie ( 99/1500/07 prize winner) and sez Hey Wow!!! You got a “Real Indian”

              On the Saturday ride we all stopped for some time at a Gas-n-Go. We are all parked in front of the main door. ( Pics of this are posted on the site. A guy comes out and starts talking to Nick. He is complimenting all the Vulcan Drifters. He knew what they were. Finally he spots Nikkie and turns to Nick and sez ” Hey look you have a real Indian in the Group”.


            • Chief 1:46 pm on July 28, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              Here’s a quick one for ya. Some here know I commute daily on a Drifter, be it 800 or 1500, rain or shine. A couple months back on my way home North on U.S. 1 in Rockledge FL I see the familiar front end 3 headlight array of a Harley dresser in my left rear view mirror comin’ up fast. He had to have been doing 80 mph+ easily and passed me a little too close for comfort when there was absolutely no traffic on the road. From my 55mph casual cruise I drop a gear on the 1500 and roll on the throttle blowing by him, leaving an equal wind in his wake like the one he left me a mile or so back. He pulls up to the light I’m sitting at and say’s ( this is classic ) “Man, I didn’t know them old frickin’ Indians had such balls!”. I replied, “They don’t”. With my response fresh in his ears he runs the red light, never to be seen again.

              They just don’t get it do they?

              Ride safe, big fenders saves lives!

              Space Coast Drifter

            • Chief 1:08 am on July 29, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              Leonardo (Lionardos) Jul-28 5:56 pm

              I have a story to tell… I finally have one! Waiting in line to pay for gas I was approached by a guy who looked like a biker. He said that he & his girlfriend were passing by, noticed my bike & made a u-turn. He wanted to take a picture of her on my bike. I told him to go right ahead. He was a good looking fella so I figured that his chick had to be a looker. I yelled after him to email me that picture & gave him my email address.
              When I finally walked outside I was dumbfounded. His girlfriend… all 350 plus pounds of her was still straddling my bike while he was trying to figure out how to work the camera. My big beautiful fenders were almost touching the ground! Other bikers were passing by… few yelled-out rude comments & wolf whistles but mostly they just stared (mouth wide open) at the sight. Unphased, he finally snapped a shot & helped her to dismount my bike (which rose at least 6 inches). He gave me thumbs up, helped her into his pick-up & left. I stood there for a minute, checked the welds for fractures, determined that the bike has survived the ordeal & went home.
              If he does email the picture I will post it… you almost have to see it to fully appreciate just how small 1500’s look when paired up with certain body types.

            • Chief 9:30 pm on July 29, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              Here I am again, I am work and I got a little time so here is another “Drifter Story”

              Back when Kamac first got her motorcycle licence, we were taking ever increasing short trips away from the house and back. As you all remember she had some problems at first.

              We needed to get gas and we were hungry so we decided to go to a Pilot truck stop near us, get gas and enjoy a Subway sub. The place is easy in and out with the Subway in the same building so it was ideal. When we got there the pumps were all being used so we just pulled up to the store and went in and ate.

              While we were eating I noticed a guy walking around the Drifter checking it out. We finished eating and exited the store and the guy was still there. I said “hi” but got no response. I guess I expected a,”nice bike” or “nice Indian. Oh silly me! I jumped on Karen’s bike and rode it to a pump so she could start pumping gas.

              As I returned to my drifter the guy says to me,”ain’t if a F__king shame that Indian let the japs build that thing”. I looked up in disbelief and he said it again. I was just about to say something when I noticed that sitting in a small import car parked next to me was a pretty little Asian lady and two of the prettiest little Asian/American children you have ever seen. I could tell by the look on their faces that this nut was their husband/daddy and they were afraid of what he was getting himself into. Can you believe the irony!

              He continued on about japs, outright shames, import junk and so on as I climbed on the Drifter and started it up. As I was backing out of my parking space he climbed into his import and was still mouthing off as he drove away.

              Kamac could hear most of it and she was amazed that I handled it so well. The guy was a lot smaller than me so I guess I could have tried to teach him some manners. But I tell you, the look of relief on the faces of the women and kids as they drove away was worth the self control on my part.

              That poor woman and those two pretty little kids has to live with that punk everyday. I am glad I didn’t add to their miserable lives.


            • Chief 11:51 am on July 30, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

              Last summer I had a fellow approach me while I was sitting at a picnic table enjoying a burger and some fries from a roadside Fry Truck. My Drifter was parked about 20 feet from me and I had noticed him looking it over. He said ” Nice Indian” and I replied ” Well thanks …. but it’s not an Indian… it’s a tribute bike made by Kawasaki ”

              ” Oh ” came the reply and he turned and started to walk away so I called after him and said ” Well I’m truly sorry to disappoint you but it is what it is and I bought it knowing it was a Kawasaki and I’m happy with that so I guess if you’re disappointed at least it didn’t personally cost you a dime “……. he just kept walking.

              A friend of mine that used to ride a Yamaha Virago bought a new Harley FLH Standard in 04. Since then he’s become a hard core Harley worshipper….. which is fine as that’s his choice. What really got me though is that when I bought a Harley Police Special last spring he showed up at my workplace all excited and said ” Man… ya finally bought a Harley eh”…… it’s great to see you on a real bike…. you’ll enjoy it so much more than that jap scrap… blah… blah … blah….. bash… bash … bash… till I finally said ” Look…. I haven’t FINALLY bought a Harley…. I’ve had 3 of em since I started to ride way before you met me….. this is my 4th one….. I still have my Drifter as does my wife and we love them…. I like the Harley as well but it isn’t my first love….. I bought it cause I’ve never had a Police Special and always wanted one… not because I was embarrased to ride a Jap bike…. and by the way, that Kia Sportage SUV of your wifes that you pulled up in just isn’t cuttin’ it in my opinion…. whats up with this Korean junk….why don’t you buy her a Ford or a G.M. or Chrysler product…. then you’d have a REAL vehicle”

              The only time I see him now is if we meet each other going the opposite direction…. and he has a hard time lifting his hand to wave.

              So be it . As my dear ole dad used to say ” If ya don’t like my yard …. don’t swing on my gate”


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