Gomer the Ratster.1

Gomer the Ratster.1
I got Gomer in June of 1979, with a dollar's worth of weed in my head and fifteen hundred dollars burning a hole in my pocket. I had made up my mind that I was gonna buy a Harley that month, or shut the heck up about getting my first bike. I knew that I wanted a pre-AMF bike, and that custom was better than stock. That just goes to show how much I knew back then.
I had passed on a trike and another Sportster already by the time I saw Gomer. I didn't name her until a few years later. Hosea the prophet had a harlot for a wife that his Employer directed him to marry. I thought at the time that she gave him grief, but he still hung onto her. I found out later, not so much, but had already named my bike and did not care to rename her.
Gomer had a 1968 XLH motor breathing through a Mikuni carburetor, in a Paucho chopper frame with an extended Honda front end with a non-functional brake, a sixteen rear tire with a very functional brake, a small sportster tank covered with the graphics from Meatloaf's Bat out of Hell album, a solo seat and pillion pad, and chest-high apes. She was ratty, and she was mine.
So there I was, my first bike, and I did not really know how to ride. Paul showed me that she would start on the first kick for him. We exchanged paper, Paul showed me what I had to do to start her up, and then he left for work, with Gomer and me in the alley behind his house, at about noon on a hot Saturday.
I spent three hours learning how to start that beast. I ran out of water, but not out of patience. Finally, I could start her. Next, I had to figure out the point at which to release the clutch to get underway. After starting and stalling a few times, I was able to putt out of the alley onto a boulevard westbound.
I would putt a ways, stop at a light, stall out, push the beast across the street, start after a few kicks, lurch on my way, repeat, for a few blocks. Then I turned right, lurched north and finally could not proceed. I had run out of battery.
I was looking at pushing this bike home along afternoon traffic. Oddly, though, a guy in a lift-gate equipted pick-up saw me trying to make my way up the street. So we put the bike into the back of the truck and he ran me to the House. We unloaded Gomer and parked her in the back yard. The guy was gone before I brought out a doob for him.
That was the first day.
On Tuesday, Jim, a fellow employee, and I set about replacing the battery. We drained out the oil into a bucket, removed the oil tank, and the battery slipped out of my hands into the bucket, spashing oil all over my t-shirt. Well, the battery was junk, the oil was old, and the t-shirt was black, so no harm, no foul. I thought I was a biker.
We got a new battery, replaced the oil, and then I found out that Gomer would start ever-so much easier. And then, we replaced the solenoid. Now I could push a button and start the beast. Not so much fun, that.
So I would go to the House and take Gomer out for practice. After a couple of days I could actually shift into third from second, and second from first, and first from stop. By Saturday, I could ride well enough to putt from the House to work. I would park Gomer at work. Nobody bothered her there.
At the time, I lived in a rooming house within walking distance of work. Gomer was safe at work. Not a chance of safe parking at the rooming house.
I had some of the guys at work ride Gomer and tell me what they thought. They were nice to me. They all hated the front end.
So I would come to work several hours before my shift started and would practice riding. Over time, I got to where I could actually shift up and down without stalling. I got to where I could make a turn without stalling. I could stop without falling over. I could start Gomer in about two to six kicks, or push a button.
Right after I moved Gomer, I changed the fiber plates in her clutch basket. This made her shift better.
I think I had Gomer about two weeks when I took her in for a front end transplant. The guys at the shop sold me a Sportster six over front end with a disc brake that worked very well. I think I still had the apes.
I would ride that bike any old time and to every old place when I was not at work. One time I found out why so many riders wore vests over their jackets when the drive chain ground a hole into my oil tank while I was riding out to some far away place. Oil was all over the back of the bike and all over the back of my jacket. I had oil in my hair, too.
More later...