Why a 1948 Panhead? Well, why a blonde, brunette or a redhead? Because when something catches your eye and you just can’t live without it, you don’t give up until it’s yours. We’ve all, “been there and done that.” It’s 1971, I’m sitting in a Winchell’s donut shop eating a dozen peanut-covered donut holes like they are popcorn, drinking my coffee and reading the motorcycle ads in the newspaper (there was no Cycle Trader then), when I spotted a 1956 Panhead basket case, complete with “clean” title, $350.

It’s 5:00pm and my partner and I make the call to the owner who agrees not to sell it until I get there, after I get off work. Forty-five minutes later, I am the proud owner of a half-dozen milk crates, a rigid frame, glide front end, two wheels and a lot of nuts and bolts.

Within nine months, it comes to life as a chopper. With a 10-inch over glide, ½-inc rake, 21-inch front wheel, pull-backs, king and queen high-back seat, tall sissy bar, suicide shift and covered in “1959 Cadillac Fire Mist” metallic blue paint.

What caught my eye in the old, “Sleazy Riders” and “Colors” magazines from the early ‘70s, was now parked in my garage, and it was mine. Over the next seven years, that old Panhead went through many changes, finally becoming a 20-inch over glide, 1 ½-inch rake, solo seat and pad, fish-tail upsweeps, short sissy bar, coffin tank, ebony black with flames, suicide-shiftin’ bad-ass scooter.

That ’56 Pan stayed by my side through seven years of Hell raisin’ outlaw club abuse…... from late night runs over Ortega Highway to doing burn-outs in a special little bar in Oildale, CA…. That bike made me who I am. But then, like all good things, it had to end.

On a cool morning in 1978, the police kick my front door in and find too many things that I had no explanation for. To avoid time in lock-up, the Pan was sold for $2,200; big money in 1978 for a chopper. But, I had nothing else worth anything. With the money the Pan brought, along with borrowing from some brothers, I hired the guy with the silver bullets and walked free. That taught me a lot about our justice system, but that’s a story for another day.

Well, fast forward to 1985, I'd been a good boy for several years, retired from the club, same job for several years but something was missing. I had an itch that needed scratched. Poof!! A 1982 Shovelhead, tobacco brown and black was in my life. I did everything to that bike that wasn’t immoral. But after eight years that love affair, like my first marriage, was starting to fade.

I got married again, and Poof!! A 1993 stone stock Evo Softail walks into my life. I did everything to that scooter that was morally acceptable also; 70,000 plus thousand hard miles, the Sturgis run in ’96, all the California runs and one bad wreck that crushed my left foot in ‘94. All that and she never left me stranded. But, like my second wife, the ’93 was lacking something. And I knew that there was something that would suit me better. I just had to make a decision.

Well, Poof!! A 2006 black and chrome (my two favorite colors) Street Glide came into my life. Mind you, I’m 56 years old, been ridin’ 37 years now and I can honestly say, that this is the sweetest ride I have ever owned. Of course, to the owner of any other brand of motorcycle, other than a Harley, it is not the surgeon’s scalpel. But, to those of us who know, it is the best damned sledge hammer ever invented.

So what does all this have to do with the 1948 Panhead you see in these pictures? Well, it just proves my point, that the bikes I have owned through the last 37 years, none really captured my heart, or my senses, like that ol’ Panhead. There was still and empty spot in my life.

The bagger was incredible…but, poof!!, it’s early 2006 I was reading Cycle Trader and there it was; a 1948 Panhead, original rigid frame, original springer front end, matching numbers and a clear H-D title. Just like I did back in 1971, I called and made an agreement with the owner. If he would hold it until 6:00pm and if it’s what he says it is, I’d be up to buy it. And if I wasn’t there by 6:01 p.m. then sell it to one of the other 50 guys who would call.

He said, “Okay.” (Telling him the story about my old ’56 rigid basket case didn’t hurt any either.)

Well, the rest is history. After two years, many late nights, and a lot of dreaming, what had caught my eye 37 years ago, and forever stole my heart, had come back into my life and was now a reality.

If I die tomorrow, I’d die happy and content. My search is over for my one true love. Not just in motorcycles, but also in women. Yes, I am on wife number three. But this one, for the past 8 years, rides her own scooter, that I built to her specifications. And she can tell you the differences between a ’37 Knuckle and a ’48 Pan. Why hell, she even knows what a Linkert is. I am truly a lucky guy. And by the way, she’s a blonde!

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