Deadwood Custom Cycles Throwdown Bike

go at the motorcycle thing full time, and he put it all on the line and has never looked back. Well, there was a moment where he did look back that changed it all, in fact. Mook had moved the shop south to Charleston, SC, and it was doing pretty well when he was run off the road on his rigid chopper. If not for the efforts of a passing nurse who saved his life on the side of the road, he may not be here today to tell this story. He woke up in the hospital and started to do a strong personal inventory. Jason had received an opportunity in the form of an offer to start writing for Maverick Publishing while also joining forces with owner Dave Withrow’s Black Hills Choppers. The catch was he had to move to South Dakota. Well, the fact that he made it outta that accident alive gave him a unique perspective on living, so off he went.

While at BHC, he did good business, but it was the chance to move out on his own sometime later that found Jason opening Deadwood Custom Cycles, right across the street from the love of his life Charlie, whose family owns and operates the Number 10 Saloon. It’s a storybook tale but seriously, one that reminds Mook that while so many people walk around wanting to pitch a bitch about their lives, he has everything to be grateful for. While the shop only does about eight percent of their annual business during rally week, the rest of the calendar is quite a hustle. Mook went on to comment on how much he loves the people, his customers, and that part of the country. And hey, let’s face it, not having to wait for the oncea-year event to get a chance at riding Spearfish Canyon isn’t too bad either.

So, there in his dream shop, living his best life, Jason has the chance to be frequently among his heroes and mentors. One of them, Paul Yaffe, was visiting last year and started talking to Jason about the FXR he was building. Mook half-assedly said they should have a little build-off and almost shit his pants when Yaffe agreed.

That planted the seed, but like I said, you can read more about that in the FXR Friends article. Here we want to talk about the bike. Jason subscribes to the cult following of the FXR, and when he got a chance to pick this one up, it was a project a buddy had with no real direction. It was mismatched parts, a ’90 frame, a ’93 drivetrain, and a swingarm from a ’91. There were no wheels, missing more than it had. So, he was on the hunt. Now you know you can just pull open the catalog today and fill in those missing pieces from the aftermarket, but Mook wanted to go the traditional route and modify the stock components. That meant tracking them down first. He did have a bill of sale and a good start with the motor, so it began there. He promptly modified the

80-inch mill with an S&S 96-inch kit. Revolution Performance dressed out the heads with a Fueling cam and pushrods. He knew it would be ready for the hundred-plus miles an hour for a solid day of riding through the canyons to get to Scottsdale.

Of course, to get all that power to the ground, he upgraded the clutch, did a 2.94 first gear set from Andrews, and went with Legends front and rear suspension to ensure it handled as well as it ran. Fab Kevin has always inspired Jason, and he got the chance to work his swingarm upgrade into this project. With that, he felt the bones of the bike were in good shape, and he moved on to the design concept. Now the Evo is a hard motor to make stand out, as it applies to all its parts since it is so smooth a seamless in design. Jason knew this and wanted to individualize each part or groups of them, so he did it with color. Some powder coated, some natural stainless, some gloss, and others flat. All of this had to be done under the idea that it would be ridden hard and not come apart. I mean, this

Owner: Craig O. City/State: Deadwood, South Dakota Builder: Jason Mook, Deadwood Custom Cycles Year: 1990 - ish Model: FXR Value: $35,000 Time: 1 year ENGINE Year: 1993 Model: HD Evolution Builder: Jason Mook Ignition: Daytona Twin Tech Displacement: 96 cubic inches Pistons: S&S Heads: Revolution Performance Carb: S&S Super E Cam: Feuling 594 Air Cleaner: S&S Stealth Exhaust: Bassani Stainless Steel 2-1 Primary: HD / Drag Specialties Primary Chain/BDL Clutch TRANSMISSION Year: 1993 Make: HD Case, Andrews Short Ratio 5 Speed Gearset Shifting: Conventional Foot FRAME Year: 1990 Model: FXR Rake: Stock Stretch: Stock Swingarm: Fab Kevin Axle Adjuster Weld On Upgrade Kit Front Suspension: Legend Suspensions Axeo Rear Suspension: Legend Suspensions 13” Revo Arc Forks: CCE Tubes Builder: Jason Mook Type: Hydraulic 39mm Triple Trees: Speed Merchant Extension: +2 WHEELS Front Wheel: HD 9 spoke Size: 19” Tire: Michelin Commander III Front Brake: Dual Disc Galfer w/Hawg Halters Calipers Rear Wheel: HD 9 spoke Size: 16” Tire: Michelin Commander III Rear Brake: Hawg Halters PAINT Painter: Open Throttle Customs (Eric Malotke) Color: Gray/Gold/Black Type: Unknown Graphics: Chroming: Absolutely not ACCESSORIES Bars: ss 1 ¼” LA Choppers 1 Piece Kage Fighters Risers: Integrated into the bars Hand Controls: 1996 – 2013 Style HD Foot Controls: V-Twin & Thrashin Supply Gas Tank(s): Stock HD modified Oil Tank: Stock HD with Bung King Cap Front fender: Klock Werks (modified) Rear Fender: RWD Seat: LePera Headlight: Lectric Lighting Company Tail light: Bagger Nation Lightning Boltz Speedo: oh hell no. was a group of builders who were all bringing their A game, and there would be nothing worse than getting stuck on the side of the road on the bike you brought to the dance. In the end, the bike not only performed flawlessly but was one of the best dressed at the show. So much so that it sold before he was leaving town with it. Now that’s how to drop the mic at the end of a prize fight!

As for Mook, he’s back in Deadwood, fixing bikes, dreaming of other builds he’s waiting to do. He has everything he has ever wanted and isn’t afraid to be happy in life. Of course, the FXR Friends deal is rolling on to a chopper challenge, but that’s OK with Jason, he’s been down that road before, and we can’t wait to see what he shows up in Winslow next time.

on July 15th, 2018, I rambled up to the Hoka Hey Motorcycle Challenge Starting Line, in Medicine Park, Oklahoma. It was around 5:40

AM, I was on just a few hours of sleep (slept next to a relatively clean dumpster, at a gas station), and somehow, with 20 minutes until the pistol, I was feeling pretty good! It took way more to actually get there than I had expected, but, if it was easy, everybody would do it, I assured myself.

Because I was so late, I had to go trackdown the printed directions for the first leg, before lining up my 100,000 mile+, 5-gallon, 5-speed at the back of the pack. The 3 fragile pieces of printer paper I scavenged contained every turn of the route to Panama City Beach, Florida. It was devilishly formatted on a green and white Excel Spreadsheet, in what looked like 12 point font. With a tip

from repeat offender, “The Attorney that Rides”, Gabe Carrera, I pulled some self-laminating sheets from my pack, hastily slapped each sheet into a clear, sticky pocket, then creased the stack to fit the map pouch on my undersized tank-bag. Though I felt I deserved the tail gunner slot, a forgotten name wanted to be last, so without argument, I took the penultimate spot, double-checked my overloaded Twin-Cam, and braced myself for 2 weeks of touching the ground as little as possible. Almost before I could post the one photo I snapped, we were off! The rules stated that we had to follow the pace-bike for a couple dozen miles, and couldn’t pass or jockey for position until it peeled off. I was fine with that, because this was a marathon, not a sprint, but others didn’t seem as reserved. Once we were free to rip, I couldn’t help but let

enthusiasm control the throttle, and as politely as possible, passed about 100 other Challengers, most of which I never saw again.

That first quarter of the 10,000 mile journey was a fast one. The route ran south through Texas, to Big Bend National Park, then East into the panhandle of Florida. Those straight roads allowed for big miles, and I was very pleased with the pace I was keeping. Like a true, dumb rookie, I disregarded a piece of advice shared by many, and didn’t end up laying down to sleep for over 40 hours. Yes, I was the 6th person to reach the first checkpoint, but the sandman would soon catch up with me, and never go away.

About 50 miles after leaving the sponsoring HarleyDavidson dealership in Panama City Beach I thought my ride was over. While running comfortably in top gear, somewhere around 60MPH, there was a loud bang, followed by a lingering noise, and though the throttle responded there was no power going to my rear wheel. “Damn! I can’t believe it’s over so soon”, I thought to myself while wrangling ole Gloria to the shoulder, with my heart racing and my stomach sinking. Upon inspection, I found confirmation of that fear. Looking at that rear drive

pulley, now detached from the newly mangled wheel, I couldn’t help but feel like it was all over.

After a brief pity-party, I gave myself a pep-talk, sacked-up, and decided that throwing in the towel was not an option! I started piecing together a remedy, reminding myself of a favorite John Lennon quote, something like, “there are no problems, only solutions”. A quick call to the hosting HD dealership and they had a tow truck headed my way. Within two hours we were rolling by crippled companion off the truck and into the service bay. Oddly enough, I was there, in the same shop, just 9 months before with a different broken wheel! That time I found a replacement wheel locally, because everything they had in stock cost about 10 times what I was willing to spend, and actually ended up getting a used wheel with decent bearings for free. Thank you, internet! This time it was more of the same, except parts would have to be ordered, and that would take about a week, and of course, cost more than I was willing to part with. Having solved a similar issue less than a week before, on the way to the Starting Line, I suggested that

we could take parts from a used bike then replace them whenever the new parts came in. That did not fly, which was a blessing, as it would have cost an arm and at least half a leg, both of which I needed.

Time was ticking and I was hell-bent on finding a way to get rolling within my scarce budget of days and dollars. With some help from others, I found a local indy shop that said they could provide the necessary magic, and eagerly asked them to come get me. I surmised that the gruff owner not only wanted to help and make a buck, but was also thrilled to back up to the HD service entrance and roll my battered bike out of their polished doors and up onto the splintered deck of his trashy trailer. s promised, he had a suitable wheel and pulley at his shop, and proceeded with outpatient surgery while I enjoyed a much-needed nap out back. Once slightly refreshed, I learned that he also welded a few broken brackets on my saddlebag rails, one of which is still holding strong today (mostly because he welded right over a nut and bolt, at the very back).

After about 10 hours total, I was finally rolling again, but didn’t get very far. Within a mile I noticed my drive belt was as loose as it could be, and skipping. This was likely due to the overlooked and un-torqued axle bolt. Since he locked and left the shop behind me, I limped her back to HD, borrowed a flat axle wrench, and adjusted the belt to spec, which which negates the need to drop the saddlebags, rails or exhaust, and will never forget the lesson learned that day.

The next leg of the trip was considerably slower. The route, always known to be diverse, beautiful, and challenging, snaked up through the Smoky Mountains, across much of “Moonshiner 28”, and wound tightly through the “Tail of the Dragon”, on the NC/TN border. I knew these roads well, having ping-ponged on them each of the previous two years, but will admit that they did get into my head a bit. When trying to make up time it was very discouraging to lay down barely 300 miles in a long 10 hour morning, but I kept reassuring myself that “all you have to do is ride your bike, and you love doing that!” The next checkpoint was at another dealership somewhere in Iowa, where I once again decided to sign-in and keep rolling, instead of catching some sleep, like many others opted to. I had already lost half a day, and in my mind, felt somewhat handicapped by my 5-gallon gas tank and lack of 6th gear, so every little extra nibble would help. Most gas stops were nothing more than rolling up with debit card in mouth, filling up like I was in the pits at Daytona, and taking off without ever kicking my stand.

Now, it was a relatively fast ride across middle-America, to the last checkpoint, in Spokane, Washington.

About halfway through was the only time I ever truly considered just quitting. The route took me right by Sturgis, SD, where I was slated to start work at the Black Hills Rally, barely a week later. It wasn’t much more than a fleeting thought, but while drying my soaked sleeping bag and pillow on the back of my bike, and having my 4th ever bird strike, the idea of relaxing with friends and enjoying some deserted pre-rally riding sure sounded good! I shook-off that nonsense quickly, however, and decided that riding another ~4,000 miles, crossing the Finish Line, then almost immediately hauling another 1,000 miles right back to Sturgis (just in time for a long, hot, 10 days of rally work) was the better option!

Once I left that last checkpoint in Washington State I felt like the end was in sight! It was not! I still had a long way to go and didn’t realize some of the slowest (and most aweinspiring) sections were still ahead. I damn-near lost my mind when I found myself in hours of mid-Sunday tourist traffic, going through Yellowstone National Park. I finally resigned myself to the fact that I was overdue for some sleep, and felt much better after a 5-hour hammock nap, on the banks of the Yellowstone River.

Shortly after escaping that majestic treasure of the American landmass I hit Utah for the first time ever! In 2017 I made memories in 47 states, and was psyched to finally checkoff that last piece of the continental puzzle. The designated route did that amazing state well, as it took me over Gran Escalante, across highways 12 and 24, which are still some of the most magnificent stretches of pavement I’ve ever seen. If you ever see me in person, ask about my “stomach bug experience” in front of the huge “Welcome to Utah” sign, cuz I’m fairly certain that one’s not fit for print!

Somewhere on the last leg there was a note on the directions saying you’d have to go off-route to find gas, as there was a long stretch without any stations. I took this as a chance to make some time, and decided I was not going an hour off course for fuel, then an hour back. The plan was to just find a house or farm or something, assuming everyone would have a gallon or two to spare. That plan worked magnificently, and I was pretty proud of myself when I rolled out of some DPW yard with a full tank and no lost time or extra miles.

About 140 miles later, all that went away when I realized I lost track of my miles, and my then-functioning gas gauge ignited the low fuel light! D’oh! Thankfully, with fellow-rider Dean Luptak sticking with me, I stretched that last fraction of a gallon for over 50 miles, by riding at about 40MPH in 5th gear!

The rest was kind of a blur. I crossed the Finish Line on the 13th night, at about 10:30PM, meeting my goal of making it in time for the famous Finish Line Party. I’m still not sure, but I think I was the 34th rider to make it back for (a portion of) the party, with a couple rolling in before midnight. All-told, some 70+ riders, of about 140(?) completed the course, and I”m very proud to have conquered the Challenge and to be forever listed as a “Finisher”! Many lessons were learned throughout that almost-14 day odyssey, but none more lasting than that time is fleeting. Once it’s gone it’s gone. There is no rolling back the clock, so don’t waste a second on things that don’t bring you joy or fulfillment!