Shad Reed's SOS Racer

hen I first spotted Shadd Reed’s 45 at Willie’s ChopperTime d u r i n g w

Biketoberfest, I was blown away by all the details on this little race bike. The stance, the style, the raw metal… it’s an all-around cool bike. Then to see this bike go around the New Smyrna Speedway during Sons of Speed…. all I can say is wow!

Shadd specifically built this bike to race in Billy Lane’s Sons of Speed, and he did so not having any background in racing. He’d never raced anything before the October 2021 event. Shadd started by making the frame first. From there, he then built up the 45 motor. He wouldn’t tell me everything that went into that, but he did say he “flowed it out” and installed better bearings in it.

Most everything on the bike is handmade, including the primary housing. The tanks are polished cast tanks that came raw and without mounting tabs. After the first few rounds on the track, Reed swapped out front ends because he didn’t like the way the original one handled. When I asked him what he thought about his first racing experience, Shadd said that at first, it was scary, then exciting, and so intense. He will

defiantly be back! He is hooked. Watching him on the track was an amazing experience, but talking to him after the race, you could really see his enthusiasm for the sport and his love of the bike.

Shadd’s passion for motorcycles came when he was twenty-two. He used to watch his friend Romeo work on his motorbike. Then, one day Shadd asked Romeo about the bike and how he had gotten into it. Romeo asked him, “Why? Do you like it?” Shadd said yes, so Romeo said… Then why don’t you go get one? This was the first time Shadd even thought about having his own motorcycle. So, long story short, he went and bought one, a 45, believe it or not, and he has been riding ever since.

Through all the years of swap meets and traveling on two wheels, he was fortunate enough to meet Billy Lane in the 90s. Meeting Billy sparked his interest and his drive to build and create.

Shadd currently has around 60 bikes. When asked which is his favorite?, he quickly came back with his 1948 Panhead Chopper that has been around for quite some time. Just about every part has blown up, torn apart, repaired, and welded back together, but he says it’s his absolute favorite. I personally am hoping to be able to lay eyes on it in the near future. It sounds like it’s another great bike.

If you get a chance to make it to any of the 2022 Son’s of Speed races, be sure to look for Shadd on this amazing little raw metal 45. To learn more about Billy Lane’s Son’s of Speed Racing, be sure to follow Billy’s Instagram and Facebook @choppersinc

Owner: Shadd Reed City/State: Tampa Florida Builder: Shadd Reed Year: 1942 Model: Wl Value: $30,000.00 Time: 3 Months And Still Going

Engine Year: 1942 Model: WL Builder: Willie Herschburger Ignition: Magnito Displacement: 45 Cubic Inch Pistons: Stock Heads: Aluminum Carb: Mikuni Cam: Wldr Air Cleaner: K&N Exhaust: Modified Shovel/45 Primary: Aluminum - Shadd Reed

Transmission Year: 1942 Make: Harly WL Shifting: Jockey

Frame Year: 2019 Model: Custom-Shadd Reed Rake: 28 Stretch: -2

Forks Builder: Shadd Reed Type: Rigid Triple Trees: Modified Springer Bars Extension: 0

Wheels Front Wheel: Spool Hub/Bobs Cycle Supply Size: 19” Tire: Avon Front Brake: None Rear Wheel: Spoked Sportster Front Hub Size: 19” Tire: Avon Rear Brake: None

Paint Painter: Shadd Reed Color: Black Type: Rustoleum Industrial Enamel Graphics: Chroming: Accessories Bars: 1964 Panhead Modified Risers: None Hand Controls: Pingle Throttle Foot Controls: Home Made Foot Clutch Gas Tank(S): Cast Aluminum Poland Oil Tank: Front Fender: None Rear Fender: Front Honda Seat: PDQ Upholstery Melbourne Fl Headlight: Tail Light: Speedo: None

omehow, I convinced myself that February was a good time to cross the country on my old bagger, again. Looking back, s it was clearly a decision made by my itchy feet, with almost no regard to my rational mind.

My nomadic girl

Laura, who also spends 9 or 10 months on the road every year, chasing rallies and letting me chase her, knew it wasn’t a great idea, but also knew that her sound logic would be lost on me. After a few years together, she understood, possibly better than anyone, just how restless I get when grounded in one place for too long, so she kept her opinion mostly to herself, which surely wasn’t easy.

The goal was to visit my good friend, Vagabond Biker Troy not far south of Las Vegas, and maybe dip into Mexico, before turning around. True to form, my road brother Mike Mchone was up for some bad decisions and was packing his bike before we got off the phone! As always, he was traveling with his roadtested motorcycle mutt, Tank, and thought nothing of those 700 miles from Maryland to northeast Florida, in early February of this year. Against our better judgement and the unspoken rules of the road, we left in the rain, well after noon. That first leg was chilly and wet, but despite the conditions, we ignored the GPS, and stuck to the

backroads, ultimately landing north of Panama City Beach. That stormy night was spent under a covered picnic area, at a boat launch along the mighty Choctawhatchee River, where an owl on the hunt provided some entertainment.

The following day was cold and wet, and saw us seeking shelter under overpasses, in car wash bays, and outside a very tempting hotel. We made it as far as Winnie, TX before calling it a day. Though not ideal, we made home under the bleachers at a large athletic complex, which kept us dry and out of the cold wind, which was moving in from the north. That frosty night was filled with looking at radar maps and weather predictions, neither of which were very friendly. We were reluctant to believe the weather would stop us, but that’s exactly what happened the following day. I now know that we were diving into the leading edge of a massive cold front, which would bring historically cold and icy weather to almost all of Texas. Try as we did, there was no getting around this wet, 20-degree monster.

Turning around was the best option, but one that never got more than a mention, as if we were on some noble mission from the heavens. Dipping South didn’t work, and the forecast said that it later, with fingers and toes stinging from the cold, I quickly agreed when Mike brought up the idea of getting a U-Haul truck… again. A couple hours later we loaded our 2 over-packed iron horses into a white and orange moving van, blasted the heat, and were on our way. With the strange comfort of seatbelts and a cage, we were making good time. I wasn’t super comfortable with Bomber Mike behind the wheel, as he can barely see to begin with, and the heavy rain made the cracked wiper blades all but useless. I kept my cool until we started sliding on across every bridge, which were icing early, just like all the signs said they would. At 9pm we came to a stop. A little traffic was understandable, especially after passing a half dozen cars that were off the road, and a few flipped semis. An hour grew to two, then midnight came and went without that rental truck moving an inch. At some point we got comfy, cracked into a fresh case of barley pops, and embraced the fact that we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. By sunrise we were rationing gas, as the 30 gallons we started with was almost half gone. We were fortunate to have started with a full tank (and cooler), and really didn’t want to be like all the people that ran dry and were

bundling up with strangers in cars that were still running. Though we had food, neither of is wanted to eat, as there was no bathroom in sight, and going number one in the back of the truck was about as far as we wanted to take it! Around 5pm, 18 hours after we hit gridlock, we finally started rolling, and fought hard to appreciate the comfort of that truck, compared to our 2-wheeled alternatives.

Roughly 900 miles across I-10 later and we were in southwest New Mexico, near the Arizona line. Without much trouble we found a public parking lot and camped inside the back of the truck. In the morning we rolled the Harleys down the ramp, returned the trusty lifeboat of a truck, and were back in the saddles, where we belonged. The rest of that day was invested in crossing Arizona diagonally, taking the quickest route to Troy’s “Camp Vagabond”, up in the northwest corner of The Grand Canyon State.

This was my first visit, and it did not disappoint! Troy’s vision of a no-frills place for weary bikers to rest and recharge was really taking shape! His little village of decommissioned buses and trailers, all encircling the “town common”, looked like it was pulled straight from a movie, and instantly felt like home. Our overall-clad host set me up in style, granting me a comfy bed inside a homemade yet road worthy hi-top treasure of those few days were the people. Aside from Mike and I, a handful of other travel addicts were in town, soaking in the good vibes of this desert oasis. This motley crew of dreamers, drifters, and dropouts ranged in age from barely 20, to almost 80 years old. Despite the decades between us, we all sat around that campfire, cracking bottles and passing things around for hours (and days), like a bunch of old friends. The things we had in common, motorcycles, r i d i n g motorcycles, and escaping the perils of modern society (on motorcycles) were so strong they eclipsed any and all differences. It didn’t matter that Ed Bennett was born during World War II and Mary in this millennium. Nobody cared that Chris was from France and Joey, at half his age, hailed from Michigan. The fact that Ed captained a sleek BMW while Joey ripped wheelies on his badass little Suzuki didn’t matter. We were all brought together by the universe, to learn from each other, and gain some perspective on life, all because of motorcycles. After a dayride to the nearby edge of California, we got back to Troy’s compound before realizing

the rear tire on Mike’s softail was bald. It wasn’t all that old, but most definitely wouldn’t make it back to the east coast, especially with Kass on the back of an already overloaded scooter. We located a tire easily enough but had some doubts about our collective ability to mount it on the wheel with with only a couple tire spoons that wise-for-his years, Joey packed, and a pry bar. Thankfully, with a bunch of soapy water, a ratchet strap, a 9-pound hammer, and the motivation of an audience of our peers, Mike and I got it done in about an hour. That small victory turned out to be practice, as we’d be doing the same job on the front the next day, after a rock lodged against Mike’s fender and chewed up the sidewall something fierce!

Finally, after another day of tooling around with the posse of misfit toys, including some time in Lake Havasu and a trip back in time through donkey-infested Oatman, Mike, Kass, and I peeled off and set our sights on the southern California coast, mostly to find some warmer weather. We camped along the Colorado River that night. We didn’t realize we missed the free “hippie hole” camping area by a couple hundred yards, and begrudgingly coughed up the small fee, when asked, in the morning. Traveling west that day, on CA-78, we took in the great Sand Dunes (from a paved parking lot), took a quick look around storied Julian, CA, and ended the day near Mount Laguna. The high elevation made for a cold night, but when we found a hang-glider launching cliff, right on the Pacific Crest Trail, we knew we couldn’t pass it up. A small fire kept us warm that night, and the amazing views from our cliffside retreat made the frigid morning air much more bearable.

The ensuing day saw us scraping floorboards and cheating death through some incredible mountains and canyons. We passed within a few miles of Tijuana, but never ventured south of the border. Once at the ocean, we followed US-101 up the coast to Huntington Beach, dropping Kass off with some family, about halfway. The two us then splurged on a cheap motel room, before starting east in the morning. More of those famous California canyons, then another night at elevation, camped on the side of a mountain road that had only been snow-plowed for about quarter mile. The cold was getting old, but we wanted to ride the good stuff, and didn’t want the weather to dictate our days, as it had already done.

Once back in Arizona, we made a long-overdue stop in Quartzite, to visit a “rally-rat” friend, Pam (I am). Yes, we were headed back to Florida, and it was out of the way, but Troy’s homestead was calling us back, so we indulged in another night of good times and comradery that can’t be bought. I’d have liked to stay longer, but Daytona Bike Week was getting close, and it was almost time to get back to work. We took three days to cross Texas, camping at a (free) primitive camping area, and a memorable night poaching a spot inside an abandoned building, which we later learned was an old public bathhouse, that had been washed out in a flood.

With Texas barely behind us, we staked out a place to sleep on the beach, near Creole, Louisiana, with relatively warm winds blowing up off the Gulf. After a very amateur photoshoot on the beach in the morning, followed by us reinflating our tires now that we were back on pavement, we blasted east, once again. It was chilly and damp for most of the day. Not wanting to pony-up for another motel, and really not wanting to camp in the cold again, I called my Hoka Hey brother, Pete Milani, to take him up on the offer to crash at his house near Pensacola, anytime. He was actually out of town, but told us how to get in, which I didn’t really expect, but truly appreciated.

The last little leg was the all-tofamiliar run across Florida, on I-10, which brought me within 10 miles of my girl, a warm bed, and all the snuggles I could ask for. A couple days later we officially kicked-off the 2021 Rally Season in Daytona, leaving her modest ranch behind until almost Thanksgiving.

People say the biker brotherhood is dead, and that it’s not the way it used to be. I call BS on that! It’s out there, you just have to believe, saddle-up and find it!

INNOVATIVE TOOLS AND PRODUCTS THAT HELP YOU MAINTAIN AND REPAIR MOTORCYCLES, ATVS AND UTVS CABLES THAT GO THE DISTANCE

Get Smooth and Precise Control Back From Your Cables

NEW

Replacement cables for select Indian Motorcycle® models are now available!

Black Vinyl Replacement caBles

- Meets or exceeds OE quality - Inner nylon sleeve for longer life and smooth operation

@motionpro @motionprofans @motionpro84

OFF-THE-SHELF + LENGTHS READILY AVAILABLE

V-TWIN HOUSING OPTIONS

Armor CoAt ™

Stainless steel weave & chrome fittings BlACkout ™

Black throughout entire cable