I've got to tell you something. I'm having a problem typing. I burned the tip of my right index finger welding yesterday, and it smarts to hit an N, J, or Y. Actually, Y ain't bad, but M kills me. But we have a mission. I need to get this story across. If you live in Denver, or you've stumbled drunk down Main Street in Daytona or along dusty Main in Sturgis, you may have seen this bike backed against the curb in front of 2Wheelers shop. It’s a classic, and a 2Wheelers Shop member Dave John owns it. Don't ask me about the name; I'm lost, plus my finger smarts. I think I cut the blister and drove some oil, metal shavings and grime into it.

It's not that this story has a special twist, although a woman was involved. Some 19 years ago, Dave worked on this Triumph for a hot-looking dishwater blond. She sold it to Dave recently to buy a new 883 Sportster.

"She's a riding fool," Dave said. At the time, it was adorned with stock sheet metal, pipes and still in a stock frame. Dave, at 58 years of age, stripped it.

"I had a plan," Dave said.

He built show bikes years ago and has a pile of tarnished trophies to show for them, but he headed in a different direction with the Triumph. Like so many builders, quirky rideable bikes are hip and he wanted to reflect the crazy look of today's bobbers.

"I tried all sorts of parts," Dave said. "If it worked, great; if not, then I tossed it back in the parts bin." Of course, he had unlimited access to wild, classic inventory at 2Wheelers, a 75- year-old Denver shop. Arlin Fatland started building bikes so long ago, they used wooden spokes.

I'm exaggerating, maybe because of the electric shock shooting up my arm every time I type with my right hand. Dave helped Arlin build bikes for 20 years while running his own trucking biz.

"With these gas prices," Dave said, "I'm glad I’m not in that biz now." He's worked full-time for Arlin for seven years. "I'm happy to go to work now."

So he dug through Arlin's dusty bins of parts for cool shit like his air cleaners, the dished Sportster tank that he added a wild gas fill to, and the bottle opener. He made the 16-inch apes, because no one makes 7/8-inch highbars over a foot tall.

Wanda, the dishwater blond who bartended at the Holiday Bar in Morrison, Colorado, a biker joint, had the engine rebuilt recently, so Dave stuck to his modifications, tagging the rigid section onto the stock frame.

"Folks laugh at me when I ride past," Dave said. But he stands at 6 feet and 230 pounds.

There you have it. Dave knows machines because he took auto mechanics at Southern Colorado State. His dad taught him how to weld and let him pinstripe hot rod parts in the family living room. Even his mom was cool about it. Plus he was damn fortunate to work with one of the Zen masters in the custom motorcycle industry, Arlin Fatland, who funds an entire Denver charity program with his empty beer cans.

I wish there was a twist to this saga, like Dave being chased by the bartender blonde, but my finger still stings when I hit b, so I'll leave it alone. If you think Dave's photos suck, you're right. The good stuff will show up in Easyriders magazine in the near future.

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