This is one of those dreary, gray days in otherwise sunny Southern California. I'm depressed. It's threatening rain. It's cold and my bank account is empty. I don't know how half the country deals with gray winters, no greenery and trees that look like rotting skeletons. You can ascertain that I'm not feeling on top of the world today. I'd like to drink tequila into mental oblivion, but that never seems to pan out. What I really need is inspiration. You know, "The Joy of Cooking," for so many broads.

I generally find massive amounts of encouragement anytime I hear a bike build story. I wonder why that is? Maybe I know. It's the shear joy of accomplishment, artistic endeavor and desire to create something, sometimes out of junk. That's the case in front of you. Jim Waggaman, the boss of Air Stream Studios, on the edge of the Pacific in Carlsbad, California, lives and works out of a tin, old highway 1 truck stop, built during the war. It's a surfers' paradise across the highway from the beach. It's also an artistic enclave for any bike builder, except for the constant corrosion war.

A mechanic neighbor received this 1980 Yamaha SX 850 as trade for bodywork on a truck. He had no use for it, but knew that Jim was a 20-year member of the notorious Hamsters, custom bike builders' club, so he rolled it over to his shop on shiny summer day. It wasn't running. "You want it," Pablo said. "It runs but you can't ride it right now."

Jim, a hardened classic American and Harley-Davidson fan, shook his head, but turned to his helpers. Chris, his fiberglass and sheet metal man said, "No."

But his assistant and high school buddy, Neil, said, "Yes."

"Okay," Jim said, "roll it into the shop."

The bike was stock, but it was missing one brake caliper and other one was frozen. It came with two sissybars and a set of mini apes. It was coated with left-out-in-the- weather, rust. The electrics were shot but the wheels were salvageable. Chris and Jim cleared a small, bike-crate sized area in the shop, pushed it into place and started to tear components off it. Neil, the helper with limited mechanical abilities stood by and watched.

Neil wasn't at the top of his game, for a young man, in his mid 20s. He worked construction for several years, still lived at home, drove a junk truck, but then he was smacked by the gnarled hand of fate. He was recently arrested for buying stolen tools and sentenced to three months in the county jail. He was going away. On the other-hand, Jim offered Neil part-time work in his hot rod and custom motorcycle haven. Then his best friend and his boss offered him this junk motorcycle. All in his dismal life wasn't bad.

In the next couple of windy coastal days, Neil was shipped off to County, and Jim and Chris decided they had three months to create something truly special for Neil. As he packed his duffle bag for his county time Neil only expected a running motorcycle upon his return.

Every night, Jim and Chris completed shop projects and then moved to alter Neil's SX. "I didn't like the looks of the gas tank," Jim said. "We sliced off the top and recessed it, then installed a flush mount gas cap." They lowered the seat area an inch and hand fabbed a new set of fender struts. Then they chopped and old custom Softail bobtail fender and made it fit. They filled and modified the belt guard and the front fender and media blasted the stock wheels.

They bought a set of green/gray anodized Flanders dirt bars and decide to use the strange hue as part of the color scheme. They re-plumbed all the lines and lowered the front fender to hug the tire. They lowered the rear end by changing the shock angle. Jim stripped and shaved the triple-trees. The bottom fork clamp was steel so he welded the headlight bung to the surface and bolted up a sleek Ness headlight. The rear taillight was an old Lucas job from the '70s, which he contoured the housing to fit the fender and Chris massaged the side covers, shit-canned the air box, added idiot lights to the side panels and hid the ignition switch under the seat. "Ya can't see the key," Chris said.

They stormed through long hours for a downed friend, who needed guidance and inspiration, during a tough time. Jim used the stock handlebar controls. Chris detailed the motor, removed the oil cooler, got rid of the sheet metal tin around the neck, raked the frame, leveled the chassis, and incorporated the stock exhaust after a couple of megaphone modifications. The long/short three months, depending on which side of the barbed wire fence you're on, was up, toast, fineto.

"We had to keep Neil away from the shop for a week," Jim said. "We were waiting for the seat." Chris laid-up the seat pan, designed the seat and the bike paint scheme, black with marbleized candy red, and Rob Gagnon striped it. Chris was the body and fender genius for his long-time partner's creation.

The day arrived the following weekend and Chris and Jim lined up all their bikes and a few buddies' motorcycles outside the shop with the SX in the center. Neil arrived and immediately started looking around for his old scooter.

"I didn't see it," Neil said. "Then I spotted a bike with the same motor. 'Where's my bike,' I asked?"

Chris and Neil grew up together on the streets of Vista, California. "No way," Neil said, "no way!"

He was dazzled. It was the Christmas he never had. The new job with Jim's Air Stream Studios and this motorcycle helped him re-kickstart his life in a positive, educational direction. He can't go wrong on the coast surrounded by glittering metal flake dust, and bikinied babes flying past in crimson convertible sports cars all day.

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