We came to an arrangement and all I needed to do was get him the bike. Only problem was the partially disassembled Aero was somewhere outside of San Francisco. I thought if we had enough duct tape and moxy, I could get the bike running and ride the thing some 800 miles around mountains and through deserts to Shoultz's shop. Seemed like a sensible idea, what could go wrong?
Everything. It would have worked if I could cajole the bike's caretaker to put it together just enough to be ambulatory. He didn't want to be responsible for my bleached bones turning up in the Mohave Desert. Pity, liability issues such as this has torpedoed many a brainy idea. To the rescue: FedEx Custom Critical Auto Transport.
FedEx's Rick Ranier was a life safer, pulling my ass out of the bubbling boil of this cursed project. He dispatched a truck and within a couple of days the bike and a few boxes of parts were neatly delivered intact and without a scratch to Vicious Motorcycles. Shoultz thought Christmas had arrived:
"Along with the motorcycle, there were unopened packages from Honda, Kuryakyn, Cobra, Thunder Manufacturing, Arlen Ness, Pingel, and Dakota Digital. One box contained the painted fuel tank and flat rear fender, the metal work was unique and the paint job outstanding. The last box contained the leather-worked solo seat, side covers and grips. I have never seen leatherwork so beautiful.
"But the bike wasn't a pretty sight. It was obvious that it had been sitting a very long time by the dust, rust and flat tires, and wires hanging out everywhere," said Shoultz, "I could see it began as an old-school bobber, but it was a basket case; I couldn't wait to get started."
Shoultz cut, welded, painted, fabricated and assembled an unwieldy amalgamation of parts. For the odd bracket or bolt that had gone missing, he made or salvaged from his personal collection of pre-owned bits and pieces, or what civilians might otherwise call "junk." As all builders, inventors, shade tree mechanics, and the institutionally eccentric know, everything has a purpose and must be saved, somewhere, for something.
The Sex Panther, as Cooper dubbed the bobber by cleverly embossing the name into the left leather-covered side panel, was a chaotic case of good, bad, and ugly ideas. For example, after mounting the rear fender, Shoultz discovered the fabricator didn't account for travel, leaving a mere half-inch of space between the taillight bracket and the fender.
"Maybe he was going to make it a hardtail, but then why did he scratch the stock shock covers up with sandpaper in an attempt to de-chrome them?" puzzled Shoultz. "Anyway, since I like to still be able to walk after a ride, I opted to utilize the shocks."
After modifying the taillight bracket to accommodate the fender travel, Shoultz fabricated a bracket to relocate the retro cathead taillight, kindly donated by Wilson, up from the fender. He then cleaned up the rust and painted the bare metal parts and shock covers.
The builder then pulled the carburetor, ass-canned the stock air box, cleaned the varnish from the long-sitting carburetor, installed the Cobra jet, and reinstalled the carb using Thunder Manufacturing's air cleaner and breather. Shoultz reported this all went together nicely.
The stock speedo and ignition switch were gone, bobbed off early in the Sex Panther's reincarnation (the ignition was later replaced by a toggle switch and moved to a hidden location). Shoultz used an IV bottle filled with gas since the tank was still off the bike. He hotwired the ignition and the bike instantly roared to life. "I was amazed," said Shoultz, "for any bike to sit that long and start on the first try is impressive. The Cobra Streetrod pipes sounded awesome."