Published Articles

Henry Custer, Author

Biker Babe: A Profile

by Henry Custer

The low down truth about a REAL Biker Babe!

I expect that for most people the term "Biker Babe" conjures up visions of young ladies sporting tattoos, clad in black leather bikinis, leaning provocatively on a much chromed Harley, and other such fantasies.

The love of my life for over 50 years doesn't really care for riding but wholeheartedly supports my habit. Those of you who know Jody know she has always been supportive, even enthusiastic about my lifelong love of motorcycling. Through several years of frugal living and rearing two great kids she never, even in the heat of anger or frustration, said a discouraging word about the time and money I have selfishly spent on my obsession with riding. Through many old bikes ranging from a 1929 NSU to my current choice, a 1995 PC, many bought on credit with payments taken from the household budget, Jody has continued to support the sport she never really understood or personally enjoyed.

With the most sincere gratitude I can say unequivocally that then, now, and forever my Lady will be the epitome of a "Biker Babe" at her finest!

Just one of the many reasons I love her dearly.

San Juan Escape

by Henry Custer

It had been raining most of the night; very unusual for July in this part of the Rockies.
Bob Hanner, George Lair and myself were in Silverton, Colorado for the purpose of riding the 700 miles of trails and jeep roads networking the San Juan Range. We had been following this ritual for several years and this was about the fourth day we had ridden. With the advent of this unusual weather we had decided not to do any serious riding today.

Now, after breakfast at the Kendal Mountain Cafe, the rains had subsided, allowing the sun to show up over the mountains. By 10 o'clock it was a beautiful, sunny morning with the temperature already rising to about 62 degrees; perfect for comfortable dirt riding.
After some discussion we all agreed that it was a bit late in the day to begin any of our normal routes. Usually we would take one of several routes to Ouray, Lake City, Telluride or Rico. Each offered a scenic, sometimes challenging ride over a major mountain pass, some crossing the Continental Divide.

   Kendall Peak, rising some 3,000 feet above Silverton's 9,300 feet, has a fairly easy jeep road running about seven mile up the mountain. Winding around the back of the mountain then facing out over the town at over 12,000 feet.
   "We could make a quick run up Kendall," I suggested.
   "I believe the girls are planning a cookout this afternoon," Bob said, reminding us of the previously made plans.
   "No problem," George assured us, "we'll be back at least by noon or so."

Usually this time of the year, there were several Hang Gliders coming off Kendall Peak and landing between our travel trailer and the Animas River. Of course they wouldn't show up until fairly late in the afternoon. The winds and air currents were more agreeable just before sundown.

We were fired up by around 10:30; Bob on his vintage 350cc Bultaco, George on his 175cc Yamaha, and me on a 250cc Yamaha. We left without jackets, in the sure knowledge that it would continue to get warmer and knowing we would be working up a sweat shortly, then return before the evening cooled down again.
Riding in only a sweat shirt it was a little chilly for the first few minutes but by the time we crossed the Animas River and started uphill I was comfortable. It was a wonderfully clear, sunny morning. We made a short stop before rounding the base of the mountain. It would be the last view of Silverton until we rounded the peak. Here we watched the Silverton-Durango narrow gauge steam engine cross the river and pull into downtown where they would disgorge the first of four daily loads of tourists. Further up, we stopped for a few minutes to relieve ourselves and check out the now familiar box car that had been dragged up the mountain some years ago. Now abandoned, we could only speculate as to it's previous use. There being no mines in the near vicinity, we assumed that they were unable to get it any further up the ever increasing incline. By now we were gaining a lot of altitude with each of the continuous switchbacks in the worsening jeep road.

The road officially ended at the 'Ice Cave' which was an old mine tunnel opening right onto the road. The name was derived from the fact that it didn't get much sun and was usually full of snow and ice all summer. From there on up the road was passable but tricky. We went all the way around to the face, sat and watched the town below for a while, then started back.

   At the summit, on the backside from town, there was an opening cut out through the rock face looking down into another valley. It looked like someone had started to build a road through and down the back side. Now, there was only a pile of large rocks descending about a hundred feet to the snow. There was always some snow fields down that way that lasted all summer.
   "Hey, that looks like an old road down there," Bob exclaimed.
   Sure enough, just below the last of three snow fields, you could see the faint tracings of roadway cut across the face of the loose rocky mountainside. It continued as far as we could see, rounding the mountain about a half mile away. For three seasoned trail riders with good bikes, this was nothing less than a challenge!

   "Well, what do you think," George asked of nobody in particular.
   "Let's go!" I exclaimed. (I'm probably not the brightest when it comes to making rash decisions.)
   "I don't know," Bob reasoned. "It could get pretty rough, and I don't see us coming back uphill over that snow pack."
   "Yeah, but we won't be coming back up," I argued. "It stands to reason that road has to go on down to the main road. It had to be built from the bottom up, and I know there is an old mine and mill just east of town. I've been up past it on the unused wagon road for a mile or so. This road has to be the same one."
   "Sure, I remember that road," George grinned, "looks pretty good for the first mile or so coming uphill."
George seemed ready to go, but Bob was showing better judgment. I just didn't like the indecision.
   "So, let's give it a try." And with that I cranked up.
   The others followed.

It was a little rougher than I had expected just getting down the first few yards, but we managed to bulldog the bikes down onto terrain we could actually ride. The snow proved to be solid enough to slide the bikes down; too steep to ride but not steep enough to get out of control. After the first snow field, we rode a short distance and repeated the process. The third one was easy, we were able to actually ride over it.
I was beginning to feel very good about finding this new piece of territory. It was going to be great!

We must have traveled about three hundred yards on the old road as it curved around the side of the mountain. The surface was small rocks, actually graded out through an old slide. We were still a ways above timber line when we rounded the curve. By now we were out of sight of our drop off point at the peak, and well beyond the point of no return due to the snow fields.

   We all realized our worst fear at about the same time. As we rounded the bend the whole mountain side had slid down, wiping the road out completely, leaving nothing but loose small rock as far as we could see around the mountain. We rode to the beginning of the slide area before stopping. We all turned off the key and sat in silence for a minute or two, surveying the slide. It was about two hundred feet down to what appeared to be a level area of larger rocks. The two or three acre rock field ended at timberline. I wasn't saying a word, already feeling guilty about instigating this rash course of action. I knew, as well as they; one should never ride into an area where you can't be sure of the return route.
   "Well Henry, what now?" It sounded to me like I was being accused of something.
   "Yeah, stupidity," I thought to myself.
   Aloud I replied, "We need to think about this." It was all I could think of at the moment.
   We spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the possibilities. The options were none too optimistic.
   We could walk back up and out, leaving the bikes. But how could we retrieve them? We could slide down the shale for about two hundred feet but it looked very steep. How fast would we be sliding by the time we hit the level area? How much damage would it do to us and the bikes, would we be able to ride them out even if we got past the rock field below?

   Like the three musketeers, Bob, George and I had been through some very rough places together in the past few years, but this was the granddaddy of them all. My previous bravado had left me with just the cold chill of fear niggling my backbone. That slide looked altogether to steep to me. I could just see me hitting the rocks below at a high rate of speed. Bob was more analytical. Studying the slope and distance and the consistency of the loose shale, he hadn't yet made a decision.
   While we were still discussing the slide issue, Bob and I heard a rumbling noise behind us. Looking around we watched in amazement as George, always a man of action, drop his Yamaha on it's side, shove it off the side and start sliding down the shale towards the rock field below. Digging one handlebar into the ground for braking power he only slid about twenty feet before stopping completely. He just looked back at us on the edge, laughing as he shoved off again, working the bike downhill. Evidently it was not as steep or loose as expected.
   "OK, let's go," I heard Bob call out as he followed George's lead.
   My fear alleviated somewhat, I followed suite. The slide turned out to be the least of our worries. We arrived on the fairly level rock field without any damage.

   By now the temperature was beginning the daily drop which we knew would reach near freezing before morning. We didn't notice the cold much yet as we worked the bikes over the huge rocks towards the timber below. There was no possibility of riding yet. We literally dragged the bikes over one big rock after another for the next couple of hours. Without water, the exercise and dry climate was taking it's toll. We took many short rest breaks, sometimes helping each other over the more difficult places. By the time we reached the edge of the rock field it was getting dark and cold, and we were getting very dehydrated and exhausted.
   As we rested in the upper growth of stunted pines our thoughts were pretty much in sync.
   I tried to sound encouraging. "That road has to be off to the right, and can't be too far away."
   But as we could all see, the mountain side sloped off to the left, which would make it difficult to maintain the right direction which would be somewhat uphill. This became painfully apparent as we proceeded into the forest below. The deadfall of decades of fallen trees were an unbelievable hindrance. Some were large pines and we had to drag the 285 pound bikes over each tree trunk. So long as we were going downhill this wasn't quite so bad. The problem was, it was working us inexorably toward the canyon on our left, not toward the old roadway we hoped to find to our right. We had to keep to the right at every obstacle if we were to find the road, and it was always slightly uphill. Even in darkness, we knew we were nearing the canyon as we could hear the water below.

Now, in total darkness, the cold, hunger and especially thirst made the swarm of mosquitoes even more exasperating. Even when we occasionally came to an open area where the timber had been wiped out by snow slides, it was covered with weeds and underbrush as high as our heads. At one point, just before dark thank goodness, I came upon an old mine shaft, only partly covered with tin and rotting lumber. The rest of the ordeal was overshadowed with the fear of stumbling into one of these bottomless pits in the darkness.

   I had lights on my bike, the others had none. Of course I couldn't afford to use up the small battery, so I never used the lights except when I could run the motor.
   It felt like it must be midnight or later when we got the good news. We had stayed as close together as possible throughout the night.
   "I think this is it!" Bob shouted.
George and I made our way to the sound of his voice. I cranked up my engine and lit up the most beautiful sight of the year. The faint signs of an 80 year old trail, grown over and rugged. I led with the lights and the others followed, in less than an hour or so we were on a better road, able to make better time down the mountain. When we saw the town lights I stopped and we all took a much needed break.
   There wasn't enough energy for much conversation. After a few minutes, I cranked up and led the way down to the blacktop, then another mile into town. I think we were all surprised to find the Cafe still open. They normally closed around ten o'clock, and I knew it must be well after midnight.

We parked and went in, teeth chattering, clothing torn and dirty and more than a few scratches and bruises. I looked at the clock and was shocked to find that it was not quite 10 o'clock yet! We stood before the open fireplace as Betty cooked up some hamburgers. We drank water like it was going out of style as she told us a story of her own.

It seems that just a month ago, a local man had come down the same side of the mountain. He was on horseback. He straggled in on foot. The horse was left with a broken neck somewhere on the slide.

It was a great adventure, re-told many times in the past twenty years. I'm glad we did it. It helped create a bond that can only be gained through experience with already good friends.

"But we ain't gonna' do it again!" (I Hope)

The Short Rows

by Henry Custer

"Getting down to the short rows" is an old farm term meaning you are approaching the end of a project. This can be good or bad, depending mostly on attitude. Life is much the same way.

Although I try not to dwell on it, I do notice the rows beginning to get shorter. There are a few bits of information not perceived at earlier ages. There are of course the negative aspects; more frequent and persistent aches and pains and the associated time and costs of keeping doctor appointments, the sometimes distressing inability to do some of the physical things we have always taken for granted. But these pale in comparison to the positive rewards, again, not perceived at earlier ages.

Earlier, we looked forward to being retired, free to do a myriad of things heretofore unattainable. This is good, but only a small part of the story. The idea is rather abstract and difficult to convey to the younger working person, because the real satisfaction of reaching the 'short rows' comes from the very things that may have seemed to be almost insignificant at an earlier age. Perhaps this is the cause and effect of the 'generation gap' we hear so much about. Life's greatest satisfaction now begins to come from family and friends and shared adventures, rather than just places and material things. Try to judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.

To quote a good friend, who I won't name (his initials are Eldon), "Remember who you are". Without the pressure to perform in the workplace or be impressive at the club, we can relax, be who we really are, and enjoy it. This is a lot easier and more fun in the short rows. Younger people nearly always want to help and we do appreciate help when it is needed. What we do not want is unsolicited help with things we can still manage. We desperately want to do it ourselves as long as possible.

As someone once said 'We live out our lives in quiet desperation' but I for one will not 'go quietly into this good night'. Although, as advice for others approaching the short rows, you might keep in mind that we do ride with diminishing senses, such as hearing, sight, reflexes, and need to adjust riding habits accordingly. Also, it is acceptable to step up on the bike from the footpeg while still on the side or centerstand, somewhat like mounting a horse, rather than trying to look cool while getting that leg over from the ground.

And above all, remember the old saying "There are old riders and there are bold riders, but NO old, bold riders!

RIDE FRIENDLY!

Scootin' to STAR

by Henry Custer

My extended Scooter Ride, June 2001

Ever wonder what it would be like to ride a scooter for ten days? Or why anyone would want to? Like nothing you imagined, and because I'm certifiably Nuts.

Actually this trip to STAR was as comfortable as any of the past eight STAR rides. The Honda Reflex 250 performed admirably, was reasonably comfortable and really surprised me in the twisties. On a smooth surface, with no whoop-t-doos it cornered as well as the PC800. Of course, the suspension and light weight wouldn't permit hard cornering on a rough surface.

I rode with Bill and Eve on his ST1100 and Scott Wingerter with his VFR800. Taking three days each way made the average less than 400 miles per day; piece of cake for any rider. Running around 60-65mph, I don't think I held up the parade too much.

Surprisingly, I didn't get any ribbing about my ride at STAR or during the entire trip; nice bunch of people! Actually I did get a lot of attention with the Silver Reflex, not a large percentage of sport bikers ride a machine like this, wonder why?

After 2600 miles my 1.2 qt oil level was still right up there. Average fuel mileage was about 65mpg.

Bottom line, I thoroughly enjoyed the ride and plan on keeping 'Pogo' as my primary ride, (Although, I have no plans for long distance touring with it.)

Ride Friendly!

What I Believe

by Henry Custer

I have found that any discussion of beliefs or religion inevitably comes down to me trying in vain to explain 'what I believe'. Actually I suppose it is very simple. I believe that I DO NOT KNOW!

I don't KNOW how our world began, I don't KNOW if there is a God, I don't KNOW where I will go after life ends, or indeed, even why we are here. I can only speculate on the possibilities, all of which are probably wrong.

My problem arises when I attempt to explain that I don't believe anyone else KNOWS either. That they only blindly follow what has been written ages ago by unknown persons, then collected into a composite work. Among Christians this is the Holy Bible. And after a lifetime of brainwashing by our society and their peer pressure, most people, even the intelligent and educated ones, eventually succumb to the pressure to accept this book as absolute facts which they must now live by.

As in most other religious societies, if you don't 'believe' then you are ostracized. Perhaps not openly but covertly in subtle ways. Probably much the same way as being black in a white society. So, there is tremendous social pressure to put on the act of compliance. To be a part of this society it is almost mandatory that you follow the herd in actions and beliefs.

The great sadness in my life has been the loss of friends to this insidious business of becoming a good Christian. It is sad to lose friends and relatives in the normal course of living and dying. But I find it much more devastating to lose a friend to Christendom, that is, to the act of becoming 'Saved'. And they are soon lost as a friend, because when a person accepts the Biblical teaching of the church, he is compelled to try to convert all those within his hearing. This in turn eventually makes it unbearable to be in their company and another friendship is lost.

Now, with this increasingly fierce world battle between God fearing Christians and the Godless Muslims there is even more pressure to publicly make your beliefs known. (Or is it the fierce battle between the God fearing Muslims and the Christian infidels?) Depends on where you were born or who your parents were I suppose. At any rate, I don't find the beliefs of either side to be valid.

I do willingly admit though, that in a way, I do envy those people who have found inner peace in their belief. If they can honestly be so absolutely sure of a joyous afterlife that they find all the pain and sorrow of this life to be trivial, then how can I not envy them? I have known the same feeling for a 93 year old grandmother who spent all her waking moments laughing and visiting with imaginary friends and relatives. Although she could not see or get out of bed by herself, she was totally happy and carefree. Does this sound good to me? Perhaps, in a perverted sort of way. But being of sound mind and body, I prefer to make my own choices. And I choose to put my faith in my own good judgement and abilities. If this belief angers some God at some future time I stand ready and willing to accept the consequences of my actions and beliefs.

Yes, I will wager my eternity on my belief that no one KNOWS. So if you KNOW the answers, then I certainly do envy you, but I cannot follow your path, for I DO NOT KNOW.

Safe Driving - It's not for Everyone

Satire by Henry Custer

The insidious manufacturers of automobiles have finally hit the pinnacle with safety devices. If the overpriced chariots of today are designed for idiots they have evidently identified their market. In the interest of safety we now have, even on the most mundane vehicles, automatically canceling turn signals, automatic headlights, automatic stop lights, automated braking systems and a myriad of other devices designed to compensate for our lack of driving ability or education.

Who needs those flashing lights on a stick? If you want to change lanes you only need to pay attention. There will probably be an opening you can dart into without involving the other drivers. After all, they need all their wits about them to drive and dial the phone, apply makeup, shave or comb their hair, and still get to work on time. Or, if you're the more cautious type, just move over very slowly, giving other drivers plenty of time to make room for you in their lane. Of course if someone does this to you, just honk the horn politely, strictly in the spirit of education.

Another often-misused feature is the stoplights. Taping your brake pedal more than once can draw the attention of the drivers behind you, which again, can be a distraction. Remember, distractions are dangerous. And speaking of brakes; if you have those new ABS things, there is no need to start slowing down so soon. This slows traffic, creating a dangerous situation. With ABS you can stop very quickly with no skidding or loss of control. Anyway, if someone hits you from behind it is generally considered to be his or her fault.

We all know about the three-second rule; that is, keeping that interval between you and the car ahead of you. By driving just three feet behind that car you can greatly enhance your fuel mileage.

Why should you be the one breaking wind?

Henry Custer participating in the Worlds Largest Book signing in history at Frederick, MD.

   In Frederick, Maryland February 29, 2004, Henry Custer and approximately 200 other Publish America Authors participated in a book signing in the FrederickTowne Mall.

   This Book Signing set a new world record for the GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS, 2004 edition, as the largest book signing in history!

                                    Copyright © 2004 by Henry Custer

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