February brings us many things, none of which is generally warmth, sunshiny days, or much if any riding at all. It is depressing really.
Suffering from parked motorcycle syndrome is a totally sucky part of living in this state that we love. We can all band together and get through it though. Make a point of getting out to the swap meets, bike shows, lobby days at the State Capital, and just swinging by your local dealers and shops and let them know that you are still alive. We are all in this thing together, and once again we will get through it! Gather with as many like minded folks as you can, as frequently as you can, and I promise, it will make this stupid season more bearable.
We have been working hard trying to find more events for the Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa FREE event listing. This is on the back cover, or inside back cover of the magazine every month and has been for over a decade and a half. On top of the print version, we share the event listing on our Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa Facebook page every Monday so people can plan for the week and weeks ahead. We also share our list with The Biker Lawyers that they post onto their social media and their website. We share their events, they share our events, and we both try to get whatever we can for biker events onto the listing. We have always held that if people don’t know what is going on, they will not be able to get out and about to these events. Make sure to let us know about your 2025 riding season events to get them on the list. Email the date, name of the event, and starting location town to vernon@ thunderroadsiowa.com please and thanks. We need your help to get as many as we can for the list as we try to keep the most comprehensive list around. Here in a couple of months we will also start looking for the bike nights and dinner rides to add to the riding season issues toward the back of the magazine near the event listing. This is for the regular recurring types of events like these, so email those as well if you have one or know of one that is confirmed for
On the Cover the
This month’s cover features a cheeky cutie named Jane, who some might recognize as one of Natanic’s Pin-ups calendar girls, and she’s sitting on a 1938 Indian 4-cylinder that was found buried in a garage in eastern Iowa. Be sure to read our centerfold page for all the details of this “Garage Find of a Lifetime!”
the 2025 riding season. We sure do appreciate the help.
When getting out and about to different places over the past few months, it sure seems like the world is a completely different place than it was a mere handful of years ago. I hate to use a lame ass expression from the chinavirus days, but this “new normal” is certainly something to get used to. Some of it seems to be quite off from what we were used to, and some is the opposite of the “old normal” but nonetheless, we are still here. We are plugging away, trying to make the best of the world that we live in. We are trying to be good people and keep things going. We certainly enjoy what we do here and have been doing going on 15 years, but it has never been easy or a walk in the park. It is a labor of love to try to keep all of this corralled month after month, but I would not have it any other way. We are truly blessed for the great people that have graced our staff page over the years. We are indebted to the readers and page flippers who pick up this rag we love and check it out on a regular basis. We are pleased with the people that pay for a subscription to get our wares delivered to their mailbox every month. We are even more thankful for the people that have helped us keep the lights on by advertising in Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa. Without all of the aforementioned folks, we could not do what we do and share our corner of the Iowa Biker Life with all of you. Thank you, tons, for following us on this journey. We look forward to many more years of awesome print for you folks and future generations. Thank you!
Last note for this month, I would like to wish my lovely wife and partner Melanie a Happy Birthday on the 22nd of February. I am not even going to be rude and tell you all how old she is, as that is not nice, especially at her age. Hope you enjoy your present! You know what I mean! Lol
Until next month, be safe, dream of riding often.
Vernon
vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Proud Editor/Owner Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa
Owner Thunder Guns and Thunder Guns West
IMDA Board Member
MRF Iowa Assistant State Rep COC Liaison
NCOIR State of Iowa Representative
The inauguration is only days away as of the writing of this article and it is good to see a pervading, though somewhat cautious, optimism - a growing sense of hope instead of impending doom. Unfortunately, the way things are set up, the shredders can run white hot, the unspent money can be siphoned off, the last-minute favors can be paid and of course, “Pardons R Us” can make a mockery of the system. Our country, as good as it is in comparison to others, has definitely taken a sad turn over the last 60 years. Except for a few bright spots on the timeline, the decline has been quite precipitous. We have forgotten or removed, to the detriment of our republic, the very things that made our country work so well. Corruption, oppression, and self have enslaved and isolated us rather than the unity, self-sacrifice, and freedom our founders desired. All the way back to the Mayflower Compact our forefathers desired self-governance. They also were wise enough to realize a covenant between themselves necessitated virtue and morality to build a society. Even then they openly questioned if they possessed enough virtue to govern themselves. I recently saw an article that talked about our founders realizing that virtue is neither hereditary nor inherent but must be taught and regularly practiced. Home, school, and church were the primary places of instruction and that link between morality and faith was of most importance. Those who would try to remove and deny the existence of God from society must then substitute the State (government) for God. The little gods as in the Climate religion, so called Trans rights or abortion rights, on and on are nothing more than people’s foolishness, pride and worship of self. Man will always worship something. It’s in our basic makeup. The reality of the human experience is that we are broken people living in a broken world. Our toil is a mist that dissolves into nothingness. We die, then a few generations down the road we are forgotten. Not so cheery a thought if that is all there is to believe in.
Man by design was meant to glorify God with his life and actions, to do good things and to live the abundant life. We were given gifts but unfortunately, because of the fall we inherited the curse. We mess up his gifts and aren’t capable in ourselves to handle them correctly. Man’s desire now is to glorify self at the expense of everyone and everything else. He still strives for the abundant life but wants it in his own terms, minus accountability to God. We are not God, but sin makes us want to be.
God blesses us because of Jesus but if we don’t use those blessings or if we use them incorrectly, they will turn to curses and rot our souls. Theodore Roosevelt’s father admonished Teddy to do right and honor God. He constantly reminded Teddy that with great privilege comes great responsibilities. He understood the solution to our struggles was to fear God and keep his commandments to the best of our ability. We have that tendency to think that everything we see from our perspective is correct but ultimately only what we do for him will have eternal significance. God has demonstrated time and again that he can use the least to achieve the most; that our ways are not his ways; and that we must trust in him, not in our own understanding.
When life is tumultuous and circumstances stink, it’s time to remember that those who weather the worst storms in life are generally the ones that have the most gratitude and awareness of God’s presence. The joy of the Lord is
our strength and the anchor that holds us steady when external circumstances try to crush us. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 tells us to “give thanks in all circumstances: for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” Gratitude allows us to appreciate life and what we have, to live with the confidence and joy of Christ’s redeeming work.
I was thinking about the recent pardons and clemencies. The current ones directly benefit the Biden family and cohorts to the injury and impairment of the country. But Jesus’ pardon is a completely self-sacrificial pardon that benefits all who would accept him. We are all deserving of judgement and punishment, but his pardon is the ultimate act of love and unfathomable mercy. We can’t out-sin God’s grace and pardon. Even in our compromise and failings we must look to Jesus. His pardon is righteous, incorruptible, and irrefutable.
Blessings, Mark
Mark and Karla Cornick are with the Christian Motorcyclists Association. Find out more about CMA and God’s plan for you at www.cmausa.org
The Biker Friendly Business Directory is a list of establishments throughout Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
Biker Accessories
Crispy’s Biker Apparel Cedar Rapids, Iowa Find Us On Facebook
Dirty Biker Design 61 W Washington Street Winterset, Iowa 50273 www.DirtyBikerDesign.com 515-444-9050
Clark Ahrenholtz, Agent 2114 12th Street Harlan, Iowa 712-755-5724
Clark.ahrenholtz.jb69@statefarm.com
Legal
Hupy and Abraham sc, pc Lawyers for Bikers 800.800.5678 Hupy.com
TheBikerLawyers.com
The Biker Lawyers, P.C. Riding & Defending Your Rights for Over 30 Years 877-209-9452
Photo and Art
Ullrich Photography PO Box 1842 Clinton, Iowa 52733 563-243-8715 www.natanic.com
Shops & Fabricators
Butterfield’s M.C. Parts 8025 Blondo Street Omaha, NE 68134 402-391-3768
Chuck’s Cycle Service and Repair S&S and Drag Specialties Dealer 307 E 5th StreetWashington, Iowa52353 319-461-5278
Cycle Clinic 2209 ML King Pkwy Des Moines, Iowa 50314 cycleclinicdm.com 515-288-6954
F & J Racing 701 N 3rd Ave Marshalltown, Iowa 50158 641-752-8651 www.fandjracing.com
Mean Machine Cycles Elkhart, Iowa 50073
Custom & Full-Service HD Repair Mon-Fri 9-6, Sat by appt only 515-367-7336
The Biker Friendly Business Directory is a list of establishments throughout Iowa that sponsor the magazine. You can pick up your copy here every month. Let them know that you saw them in TRMI. If your business would like to advertise in Thunder Roads Iowa Biker Friendly Business Listing and become a part of the network, please email vernon@thunderroadsiowa.com
The Nuclear Family is defined as a group of people who are united by ties of partnership and parenthood that consists of a pair of adults and their socially recognized children. Typically, but not always, the adults in a nuclear family are married.
I believe that throughout most of human history, the typical nuclear family subscribed to the, once socially acceptable, gender roles of the father working and being the breadwinner while the mother stayed home taking care of the house and children. I’m sure most of us grew up with TV shows like Little House on the Prairie, Leave It to Beaver, etc. Obviously, these two shows were set in different time periods, but they certainly demonstrate the typical dynamic of a nuclear family.
I’m not even going to attempt to understand why it took our society until the middle part of 1920 to pass a bill that allowed women to vote. It seems to me that as a citizen that is affected by the choices our government makes on our behalf, you’d want the input of the other half of the population’s input on the matter. Then again, I also don’t think like they did back then. But then time moved along, society progressed, we evolved, and we grew to recognize that women have rights.
If you know anything about the Rockefeller family, you probably know that the Rockefeller name is not really synonymous with sainthood; nothing they do is truly for the greater good. On the surface, it may seem that way, but the slimy underbelly of the name is all about money and power. Every move they make is strategic to the advancement of their goals. The Rockefeller family owns one of the world’s largest fortunes. They are a huge part of the American industrial, political, and banking systems. They have their fingers wrapped so tightly around the neck of the American Dream, that they’ve almost completely killed it.
After WWII, the lives of women started to change dramatically with advancements in household technology easing the burdens of homemaking, leaving more free time during the day. There was a surge of growth in the service sector opening up thousands of jobs that weren’t dependent upon physical strength. More and more women left the home and took on part-time, and some full-time, positions.
In 1948, the male population participated in the workforce at just over 86 percent, where just under 33 percent of women held jobs. At the height of the Women’s Liberation Movement, their workforce number increased to over 50 percent.
The Rockefeller Foundation was, and still is, a driving force in the Women’s Liberation Movement that ushered in the surge of women in the workforce. They helped push for equal rights and equal pay, all of which is very commendable. But was it?
Year over year a larger percentage of women were enticed to join the workforce. In 1970, just over 43 percent of women held some form of employment; by 1980 that number had increased to over 51 percent. Now women had a strong presence in the workforce and were contributing to the household income, but maybe more importantly, at least to the elites, there was a strong increase in the tax revenue. More tax intake meant more spending. Now we begin to see why the actions of the Rockefeller Foundation might not be so commendable, huh?
It might also be worth noting that with the increase of women participating in the workforce, there was also a sharp increase in divorce. Between 1900 and 1930, the divorce rate was about 11 percent. During the 1930’s it increased to 17 percent. In the 1940’s it climbed to just over 28 percent. In the 50’s and 60’s it dipped to around 24 percent. But during the height of the Women’s Liberation Movement, divorce rates spiked in the 70’s to 40 percent and as high as 50 percent in the 1980’s. The nuclear family took a massive blow.
In 1979, President Jimmy Carter signed a bill that reestablished a federal education department. The Department of Education began operating in May of 1980. President Reagan had shared his plans to dismantle it, but ultimately the plans were abandoned due to lack of congressional support. This has proven to be a huge mistake. Before the federalization of the Department of Education, the United States ranked number one in educational outcomes worldwide in developed countries; today we’re ranked somewhere in the mid-20’s. Not to mention that the graduation rate peaked in the 1970’s, meaning we have fewer people actually graduating high school than we did before the government took over.
Between 2000 and 2019, the Department of Education data shows that the number of school district administrative staff
grew by almost 75 percent. Principals and assistant principals increased by over 30 percent, while the number of teachers… the ones that spend 8 or more hours a day with our children… increased by less than 8 percent. There seems to be an awful lot of chiefs and not nearly enough Indians here.
How is it that we have a massive government agency with an annual budget of almost $240 billion, but we rank 24th in educational outcomes? Why are fewer young people graduating? Of those that do graduate, why are they less educated than their parents? Why can’t our young people make change without the cash register telling them?
So, the nuclear family falls apart. Mom and dad are both working full-time jobs, sometimes on different shifts to save on childcare costs. In other homes there is a single parent working full-time, sometimes working 2 or 3 parttime jobs, while the children are cared for by someone else or left at home alone. Children are now spending less and less time with their parents. Our family values, or what is left of them at this point, aren’t being taught in the home nearly as much as they had been. Our children aren’t seeing a strong partnership anymore. I guess it’s a good thing that we have our educators to step in and fill the void, right? At least someone is teaching our young people some values and morals. But whose values and morals are they?
I have found that there is a growing population that believes the idea of the nuclear family is all propaganda. Nothing more than capitalistic, Christian propaganda of the patriarchy that must be abandoned. These people all seem to be the same ones that are embracing Marxism, Communism, radical feminism, and the new 4B Movement. They believe we should be a communal “family” of chosen members where we all think alike, where marriage isn’t a thing, where children are raised by the group. From all the information I read and videos I watched, I feel like these people are stuck in the Matrix and suffer from the idea of a hive mind. They all claim to have their individuality, yet they all parrot the exact same talking points. And somehow none of them see it.
While I wasn’t around in the 50’s and 60’s, I did grow up in the 70’s and 80’s so I was there “before the fall” and the complete decimation of the traditional family unit. I remember being home with mom or coming home to mom after school. If needed, I could be at my grandparent’s house, or even my aunt and uncle’s place. I remember dad getting off work and coming home to dinner and family time. I know we weren’t rich, but we had what we needed, and no one was going hungry. Our family survived on a single income. Where is that today?
The family unit has almost become a thing of the past. If you’re living in one, a single income is not possible to maintain a living. Both parents are working 40+ hours a week and some still need outside, or government, assistance just to make ends meet.
The way I’m seeing this is that the elitist pricks wanted more money from all their government grifts, so they encouraged the departure from the traditional life. We’re now at almost 58 percent of the female population in the workforce and males dropping from 86 percent down to 68. Income tax revenue in 1963 was about $107 billion and 2023 finished off with $4.44 TRILLION; that is 41.5 times higher than 1963.
Frédéric Bastiat, a French classical liberal theorist and political economist, said, “The state is the great fictitious entity by which everyone seeks to live at the expense of everyone else.” (1848)
Somehow, there is a belief that the government can spend money at no one’s expense. That is absolutely absurd. Our government does not have its own money. Any money they spend is taken from us in the form of taxes. Any chance you have an old pay stub from 1984? Compare the percentages they took then to now. On second thought, don’t; you’re only going to hurt your own feelings. My recent pay stub shows the year-to-date withholdings at almost $10K, which is almost my total earnings from my first real job. I haven’t received a federal tax “refund” in many years and my state is just enough to pay the tax man to do the filing. The government is spending money like a drunken sailor at my expense, at your expense, at your retired parents’ expense, because they are paying annual income taxes on the money, they receive from their social security retirement benefits… their own money!
Today, the rally cry from the leftists pushing socialism and communism is heavier taxes on the rich corporations. I’ve covered this in past pieces, but at the risk of repeating myself I must remind you that corporations do not exist. People exist; people are corporations. Corporations do not pay taxes; people pay taxes. And corporations will pass the expense of their tax burdens on to the people that purchase their goods and/or services. So while the government elitists rally their base to scream for higher taxes on those corporations, what they are really doing is taxing us and increasing the annual tax revenue intake that they will then squander to a multitude of stupid shit and give themselves and their cronies kickbacks that fill their wallets and offshore accounts in the Caymans.
With that, I will leave you with this last quote from Bastiat…
“When plunder becomes a way of life, men create for themselves a legal system that authorizes it and a moral code that glorifies it.”
- David McCoy - david@thunderroadsiowa.com - FaceBook.com/TRMIDave - FaceBook.com/TRMINSUR
Bruce Coutant is a member of the Chief Blackhawk Antique Motorcycle Club, who host the antique swap meet in Davenport every Lab or Day weekend.
A couple years ago Bruce was looking for an old Indian project, but needed to sell his restored ’48 Panhead to fund another pro ject. At the meet he got word from fellow club member Dave Booth that someone had a 1931 Indian in pieces for sale, locally in Davenport. That afternoon Bruce met with the sellers to fi nd it was actually a 1930, but a rolling project, and better yet was a 4-cylinder! Bruce had a potential buyer for his Panhead back at the meet, so had to make the visit brief, but later came to fi nd out they also had a 1938 4-cylinder nearby, which they were also looking to part with, and that ’38 is the bike featured this month! Bruce’s treasures came out of 2 garages in Davenport, just blocks away from the fairgrounds w here the swap meet is held, and he also acquired a number of older Indian parts in the deal. Jane adorns Bruce’s amazing garage fi nd, and by chance she also poses on a 1914 Indian this month in Natanic’s Pin-ups biker babe calendar. And, calendars are Buy 1 get 1 Free online this month at Natan ic.com
The Porch
2327 S 24th Street
Council Bluffs, IA
(712) 828-4408
Hours: 11:00 AM - 2:00 AM 7 Days a Week
Our friends Jeremy and Donna had previously visited The Porch, and they just couldn’t wait to return. Lucky for us, they wanted us to go along for the ride, so we hopped in the truck after closing the gun shop on a sunny Saturday afternoon in December and headed for Council Bluffs. The Porch prides itself on providing top notch service and the highest quality food around. And with experienced chefs staffing the kitchen, the food that arrives at your table is nothing short of exceptional.
We walked in and found ourselves a nice high-top table with plenty of space for the gluttonous amounts of food we intended to order. Our waitress arrived in short order and took our drink orders and told us what specials they were offering during our visit. She left us with menus, which we began to eagerly peruse.
We started our journey to food coma central with 3…. YES, count them, 3 appetizers. The first was steak bites. A generous serving of tender sirloin pieces arrived piping hot and seared with butter, seasoned and served with homemade creamy horsey sauce. The second was deliciously crisp onion chips that came with creamy homemade ranch for dipping. The third and final appetizer was golden cheese curds, with just the right amount of gooey cheese surrounded by crisp breading. The curds also had some of that deliciously creamy homemade ranch for dipping. By the time we were cleaning up the appetizers, our orders started to arrive at the table.
Jeremy ordered a patty melt and tater tots. The patty melt was a perfectly seasoned hamburger patty, topped with caramelized onions and Swiss cheese on perfectly toasted marble rye bread. The tots were the perfect combination of crispy and salty, and made a great pairing for the cheesy melt. Donna ordered a Prime rib French dip. Mounds of tender shaved prime rib and melted cheese on perfectly toasted bread arrived with some au jus for dipping. The sandwich was to die for, and Donna also got a side of those delicious tater tots to round out her meal. I ordered the burger special of the day, which was the peanut butter burger. I have never put peanut butter on a burger before… but I will surely be doing it again. My burger was a juicy, well-seasoned fresh patty, topped with bacon, cheese, and of course, peanut butter. My bun was perfectly toasted, and somehow managed to hold together the whole tasty works. I ordered crinkle fries for my side, and they were amazing. A perfect combination of fluffy potato inside and crisp, salty outside… you can’t go wrong with crinkle fries. Now, for the piece de resistance… Vernon’s order. Jeremy had previously tackled this monstrous burger, so today Vernon decided to give it a shot as well. The All Seven Burger. If you have been to The Porch, you know. If you have not been, well… The All Seven Burger is a thick, fresh, seasoned patty with bacon, pepper jack cheese, Swiss cheese and cheddar cheese, a fried egg on top and also comes with lettuce, tomato, onion and pickle. As if that weren’t meal enough, Vernon couldn’t resist those crispy tots either, or opted for a generous pile of potato heaven on the side.
There was NOTHING about The Porch that we did not love. The atmosphere is welcoming and relaxed, the staff is friendly and attentive, the food is spectacular, and the portions are more than generous, and the prices are fair. Get to the Porch ASAP, you won’t regret it. And when you get there, make sure to tell them Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa sent you!
Melanie Schwarte melanie@thunderroadsiowa.com
If you have a WRTE location for us to visit, please let me know at Melanie@thunderroadsiowa.com.
A blonde wanted to try out ice fishing. She went out and purchased all the gear she would need and headed to a local spot to try to catch some fish. She went out onto the ice with her gear and after getting comfy on the stool, she started to cut a circular hole in the ice as she had seen on the internet. As she was cutting, she heard a voice from the heavens speak out, saying, “THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE.” The blonde was startled. She stood up and looked around but saw no one. Cautiously, she moved a little further out onto the ice and set up in a different spot. She sipped some hot chocolate from her thermos and then started cutting another hole. Again, the voice called out, seemingly from all around her. “THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE” Now feeling quite scared and starting to get a bit frustrated, she moved all the way to the far end of the ice and laid out all her gear, sat upon her stool and started cutting another hole. Right away, the heavenly voice boomed out, this time louder than ever, “THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE!”. She jumped off her stool and looked all around her. She shouted to the heavens, “IS THAT YOU, LORD?” The voice answered, “NO. THIS IS THE MANAGER OF THE ICE SKATING RINK. THERE ARE NO FISH UNDER THE ICE!”
A biker was sitting in a bar when a woman sat down next to him and asked, “Are you a real biker?” He replied, “Well, I’ve spent my whole life on Harleys. My mom was pregnant with me while riding on the back of my dad’s Harley. As a little boy, I rode on the back with my dad until I finally got my own Harley. I’ve been riding ever since, so yes, I guess I’m a real biker.” The woman said, “I’m a lesbian. I spend my entire day thinking about women. From the moment I wake up, I think about women. When I shower, I think about women. When I watch TV, I think about women. Even when I eat, I think about women. It seems everything makes me think about women.” The two sat quietly, sipping their drinks. A little while later, a man sat down on the other side of the biker and asked, “Are you a real biker?” The biker replied, “I always thought I was, but I just found out I’m a lesbian.”
Marvin had always wanted to be a gunfighter. He grew up in the old West. As a child he read everything about gunfighters he could find. His hero was Billy the Kidd. He dreamed of being just like his hero. One day he went to town and bought himself a black hat, some black clothes, a black horse and two pistols. He went home and every day he went out behind his barn, and practiced shooting. After two weeks he was getting to be quite a good shot. He decided it was time to show off. He put on his black clothes and hat, strapped on his guns and rode into town. When he walked into the saloon, standing at the bar he saw Billy the Kidd. He was so excited! He walked up and said, “Mr. Kidd, I am your biggest fan. I have always wanted to be just like you.” “Look at me. Do I look like a gunfighter?” Billy looked him over and said, “Well, you have the right clothes, and you have a nice black hat, and I see you rode up on a black horse. But can you shoot?” Marvin looked around the room and said, “See that piano player over there?” He drew his pistol and fired, shooting the cufflink off the piano player’s shirt. Billy said, “Not bad. Can you shoot with your left hand? A gunfighter’s got to be able to shoot
re your r lard, but the b h
with both hands.” Marvin drew his other pistol and fired, shooting off the piano player’s other cufflink. Billy said, “That’s mighty fine shooting. I just have one piece of advice for you.” Marvin was bubbling with excitement, “What is it? What else should I do?” Billy spoke slowly, “Well, go back into the kitchen there and get a big tub of lard. Take both of your pistols and rub them around in the lard, get them good and slick.” Marvin was puzzled. He asked, “Why is that important? What good will rubbing my pistols in lard do?” Billy replied, “It won’t help your shooting at all, but when Wyatt Earp finishes playing the piano over there, he’s going to shove both of your pistols up your ass.”
There were three guys, Bill, John and Gary. They traveled all the way to the top of a mountain because there was a rumor of an old legend that if you climbed to the top of this one mountain you could jump off and have any wish you would like. So, when they finally reached the top John said to Bill: “Ummm...hey you know you were the one who made this possible so why don’t you go first? heh heh” he said because he didn’t think it would work. “No that’s okay you can go first John” Bill said pushing John off the side of a mountain. “AAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!”John yelled. “Quick make a wish Johnny-Boy!” Gary yelled out. “I-...I WISH I WAS AN EAGLE!” John screamed as he surprisingly turned into an eagle before their eyes. “YEAH!!! I’m an eagle! awsome...ummmmm...okay uh now how do you fly this thing?” he asked himself as he flew into a wall. The other two started to laugh. “Okay my turn!” Gary said. “hmmmmm...” He jumped off and said “I wish I could be a bat he said as he started to look at the sun. “Aaghh I’m blind! I’m blind!” “Stupid...”Bill said laughing. “Okay...” He started to ponder when he slipped and fell off the side of the mountain. “OH CRAP!!!” When he landed, he turned into a pile of crap.
Tom, Dick and Harry, three explorers, were captured by cannibals in the jungles of Borneo. The cannibal chief says to them, “If you pass the tribal test, we will let you live. Go into the jungle and gather 10 items of the same fruit. “So, the three guys scamper into the woods, and Tom comes back first with 10 apples. The Chief explains the trial to him, “You must shove the fruits up your butt without any statement on your face or you will be eaten.” The first apple was okay, but Tom winced in pain on the second apple, and was promptly killed and went to heaven (he was a good explorer). Dick comes back with 10 berries and the chief explains the trial to him as well. Dick doesn’t think it should be too tough and begins. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. But on the ninth berry he burst out in laughter and is killed. Tom and Dick meet in heaven where Tom asks, “Dick, why did you laugh? You almost got away with it!” Dick replied, “I couldn’t help it. I saw Harry coming with an armload of pineapples.”
A guy walks into a bar, sits down and orders a drink. The bartender looks at him and says,” See that woman over
there, she will give you a blow job and sing the National Anthem at the same time.”
“No way,” the guy say’s. “oh yeah, and she only charges $20.” So, he walks over and hands her a 20. She takes him into a back room and shuts off the light. As she starts to give him head, she also starts to sing. He couldn’t believe it; the words came out so clear that it was impossible. When she finished, he quickly flicked on the light and saw her popping in her glass eye.
There was a little boy, his parents, and the little boy’s gramma living in a house together. One morning the gramma calls the little boy downstairs for breakfast. When he gets there, he asks, “where are mommy and daddy?” and the gramma replies, “their still in bed.” The little Boy laughs and goes out to play until he’s called by his gramma for lunch. “Where are mommy and daddy?” he asks at lunch. “They’re still in bed.” she replies. The little boy laughs again and goes out to play until his gramma calls him in for dinner. “Where are mommy and daddy?” the little boy asks. “They’re still in bed.” the gramma replies. The little boy giggles again and the gramma asks, “Why do you keep laughing every time I say that your mommy and daddy are still in bed?”
says the pleased physician. “What does your wife think about it?” “Wife?” asks the man, “I haven’t been home yet.”
There was a terrible bus accident. Unfortunately, no one survived the accident except a monkey which was on board and there were no witnesses. The police try to investigate further but they get no results. At last, they try to interrogate the monkey. The monkey seems to respond to their questions with gestures. Seeing that, they start asking the questions. The police chief asks, “What were the people doing on the bus?” The monkey shakes his head in a condemning manner and starts dancing around; meaning the people were dancing and having fun. The chief asks, “Yeah, but what else were they doing?”. The monkey uses his hand and takes it to his mouth as if holding a bottle. The chief says, “Oh! They were drinking, huh??!” The chief continues, “Okay, were they doing anything else?” The monkey nods his head and moves his mouth back and forth, meaning they were talking. The chief loses his patience, “If they were having such a great time, who was driving the stupid bus then?” The monkey cheerfully swings his arms to the sides as if grabbing a wheel.
The little boy replies, “Because last night daddy asked me to bring him the Vaseline while him and mommy were in bed, and I brought him the Super Glue instead!”
A union man arrives in Vegas, and the first thing he wants to do is check out the “houses” he’s heard about and see if the ladies are getting a proper deal. He goes to the first house, the madame answers the door. “Good day”. he says. “I was wondering, if I gave you a hundred dollars for a girl, how much of that hundred would go to the house, and how much would go to the girl?” The madame answers “80 dollars would go to the house and 20 dollars to the girl”. Being a union man, he decides that it isn’t fair, and declines the madam’s offer to enter the premises. He goes to many such houses, and the answer is pretty well the same to his question. Then at one house he asks, the madame tells him that 80 dollars would go to the girl, and 20 dollars would go to the house. This impresses the union man so much, he enters at her invitation, and immediately notices a beautiful blond with big tits and beautiful body sitting on the couch. He pulls out his wallet, hands the madame a hundred-dollar bill and says, “ I would really like to be with that blond over there.” I’m sure you would”, replies the madame, “ but 65 year old Edna sitting over there has seniority!”
There was this preacher who was an avid golfer. Every chance he could get, he could be found on the golf course swinging away. It was an obsession. One Sunday was a picture-perfect day for golfing. The sun was out, no clouds in the sky, and the temperature was just right. The preacher was in a quandary as to what to do, and shortly, the urge to play golf overcame him. He called an assistant to tell him that he was sick and could not do church, packed the car up, and drove three hours to a golf course where no one would recognize him. Happily, he began to play the course. An angel up above was watching the preacher and was quite perturbed. He went to God and said, “Look at the preacher. He should be punished for what he is doing.” God nodded in agreement. The preacher teed up on the first hole. He swung at the ball, and it sailed effortlessly through the air and landed right in the cup three hundred and fifty yards away (as they say in basketball, nothing but net). A picture-perfect hole-in-one. He was amazed and excited. The angel was a little shocked. He turned to God and said, “Begging Your pardon, but I thought you were going to punish him.” God smiled. “Think about it -- who can he tell?”
A man goes to his doctors and, twitching his fingers and stuttering, finally manages to say, “Doctor, I have a sexual performance problem. Can you help me?” “Oh, that’s not a problem for us men anymore!” announces a proud physician, “They just came out with this new wonder drug, Viagra, that does the trick! You take some pills, and your problems are history.” So the doctor gives the man a prescription and sends him on his merry way. A couple of months later, the doctor runs into his patient on the street. “Doctor, Doctor!” exclaims the man excitedly, “I’ve got to thank you! This drug is a miracle! It’s wonderful!” “Well, I’m glad to hear that,”
A rather attractive woman goes up to the bar in a quiet rural pub. She gestures alluringly to the barman who comes over immediately. When he arrives, she seductively signals that he should bring his face close to hers. When he does so, she begins to gently caress his beard which is full and bushy. “Are you the manager?” she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands. “Actually, no” he replies. “Can you get him for me - I need to speak to him?” she asks, running her hands up beyond his beard and into his hair. “I’m afraid I can’t” breathes the barman - clearly aroused. “Is there anything I can do?” “Yes, there is. I need you to give him a message” she continues huskily, popping a couple of fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently. “Tell him that there is no toilet paper in the ladies room.”
...Enter The Beaver...
I first met The Beaver in September of 1997. He and I had been communicating via U.S. Mail and over the telephone for nearly a year before we actually met and shook hands. The Beaver and his lovely bride, The Belle, were wanting to get signed up for the Omaha Chapter AMCA National Road Run in the Black Hills of South Dakota. I was the Omaha Chapter’s Road Captain for the National event and requests for registration were high. I got them signed up and told them I was looking forward to meeting them in Hill City in September. (After talking with him on the phone a number of times, I just ‘knew’ this guy was a real Dandy, and when September came, I was not disappointed.)
The Beaver and The Belle like Indian Motocycles --- the old Indian Motocycles, the ones made in Springfield, Massachusetts. As I recall, he rode a nicely done ‘46 Chief and she was riding a stunning ‘41 or ‘41 Sport Scout. They were quite the sight throughout the course of the event. Both were proficient and kickstarting and riding their old foot-clutch handshift flathead motersickels. As busy as a Road Captain can be while running a four-day ride through the Black Hills of South Dakota, I was able to make time to get to know this couple better. We became friends and just ‘knew’ we’d be seeing each other again in the years to follow.
Over the next few years, we met The Beaver and The Belle at AMCA meets in Farmington, Minnesota and in Davenport, Iowa. Every time we would get together, we got to know each other a little better. They absolutely loved my Beloved Green-Eyed Bride, and we all became the best of friends. The Boyz loved to smoke fine cigars and talk motersickels while the Ladies drank wine and talked smart about their men. Our time together were the best!
Then it happened.
secured in the center of the trailer, not at all unlike a patient in a ‘special’ hospital. Four-way restraints. Around the sides of the trailer were the balance of the ‘ingredients’, all securely tied to the walls and/or floor. Two wheels, some brake parts, a pair of reproduction fuel/oil tanks, a front fender from an Enfield (British) Indian and TWO complete powerplants. Now Alice was VERY interested!
As we untied and unloaded the well-secured Pile, I made a mental inventory of the major components as they moved past my eyes on their way to their new quarters in our garage. After everything was shook down and spread out around the floor, I made some important discoveries but kept them all to myself for the time being. Then, The Beaver asked The Big Question: “Do you think we can have this thing done and running by Sunday night?” (He was serious when he asked the question.) I had just pulled a nice swig of hot coffee into my mouth as he spoke. Of course, that fine caffeinated beverage
The Beaver called me one bright morning late in March of 2003. He informed me that he had recently procured an Indian Motocycle ‘Project’ and wanted me to help him build the machine. The Seller had assured him that all the necessary ‘ingredients’ were in the ‘kit’ and all he had to do was simply ‘assemble’ it. According to the Seller, the 80 cubic inch motor/trans/primary unit was all freshly rebuilt. The ‘37 Chief frame was freshly powder coated. The ‘51 Chief hydraulic front end was fresh, both mechanically as well as cosmetically. The Beaver had my interest.
He agreed to load up the goods in his enclosed trailer and haul The Pile from their home about 50 miles downstream from St. Paul to our home in extreme Northeast South Dakota. Upon his arrival that fateful Thursday afternoon in early April, I was at first, somewhat impressed with what I saw when he dropped the ramp/door, and we walked/ limped into the trailer. The frame/front end assembly were
went spraying right out my nose and mouth! When I stopped laughing, caught my breath, and wiped the coffee out of my beard, I politely replied, “I don’t think so.” He was thinking three days. I was thinking three months, if everything went well.
Clearly, The Beaver was not yet a Member of the Amateur Builder Society. He had always been able to simply ‘write the check’ for his motersickel pleasures. Things were about to change for The Beaver.
It was time for me to come clean with my Friend. I had to tell him what I had learned in the unloading and shakingout process. One of the ‘complete wheels and brakes’ will work fine with that ‘51 Chief front end. The other wheel and brake will not work on this rigid frame, at all. The handlebars are completely gutless. No throttle nor spark
control spirals, nuts, inner nor outer cables. No horn button nor headlight high beam/low beam switch and wiring. In fact, there wasn’t an inch of wiring in the whole Pile! No tires. No inner tubes. No rear fender. No seat. No front brake control lever, cables, etc. No generator nor generator bracket. The list was long and getting longer by the minute. Fortunately for The Beaver, I had parts, I had knowledge, and I had connections.
Fortunately for The Build, The Beaver had Re$ources. We began setting up the garage and mocking up the bike that evening. It was immediately looking good and already taking on a Personality of its own. We smoked fine cigars and talked smart into the wee hours of the evening, making lists of needed parts and dreamed out loud of how badass this machine was going to be. Morning would be upon us soon enough, so we shut down the garage, turned out the lights and called it a day.
The Beaver and his Bethrowed, The Belle, were Business Partners, Life Partners, and both madly in love with each other. Business was good for them. Their ideas, plans, hard work, dedication to their marriage as well as their business made them fun to be with.
My Green-Eyed Bride and I always enjoyed being around The Beaver and The Belle. They were fun and they were inspiring.
easy decision, so easy in fact, that The Beaver made it with zero input from me. It was unanimous, the fresh EightyIncher would return home with The Beaver and the nastyass Eighty-Four-Inch Stroker powerplant would go into the Project. I had always wanted to be around an 84-inch Chief motor and now I was going to have my chance!
We grunted and groaned as we ‘slipped’ the motor/trans/ primary unit into the old rigid frame. It looked GREAT! Now, we HAD something! The Personality of the Project was becoming more and more clear to us. The names were flying around the garage like crazy! I remember hearing “Frankenstein.” And “The Beast.” Then I came up with this wild-ass idea that this bike would likely spank the naked backside of any comparable H-D of the same era, hence the name “Knuckle Buster” was applied to “The Beast.” We went deep into Fantasy Land, talking smart about what a sleeper this fire-breather would be. (A few years later, on the desert floor of Death Valley, Kalifornicate, the Knuckle Buster got beat by half a front wheel’s distance in a standing start quarter-mile balls-out drag race. Yet another story for another time. It’s not really my story to tell, as I wasn’t there, but an interesting tale nonetheless.)
Friday morning arrived and we went right back to work on the as-yet unnamed Project. We rooted through my Indian Motocycle swap meet inventory and my ‘private’ Indian Motocycle parts stash, looking to find gold nuggets for the Build. We were able to come up with a solid little pile of goodies, but had to rob the rear wheel, rear brake and axle parts from my ‘39 Chief Project (Sig) ((STILL not for sale, Vernon!)) to get The Beaver’s machine up on rubber and make it a ‘roller’. It is much easier to deal with a piece of rolling stock than a pile of milk crates and loose parts. Now, with the rolling chassis, a pair of tanks, motor/trans/primary powerplant unit, handlebars, front end and a headlight all in place, we could begin to see the ‘lines’ of the vehicle take shape. We were ‘on’ it!
The first ‘major’ decision was in regard to which of the two powerplants we would be stuffing into the frame. It was an
So, there it was: Rolling Stock. Clearly Visible. Major Components in place. Some parts missing. Royal Enfield Indian front fender perched atop the front tire. Rear fender completely absent. WWII Military Chief rear chain guard temporarily baling-wired to the frame. We needed an exhaust set-up. The Beaver headed home Sunday afternoon and left me alone and un-supervised. With HIS motersickel... What could possibly go wrong? (He-he-he-he!)
I loaded the roller into my trailer and hauled it to the gas station in town. They had an exhaust pipe bender and were somewhat proficient at knocking out decent work on the average local car or pickup truck, but this job would be different. They had never made-up pipes for an Old Motersickel. Thank God I knew the owner of the place! ‘Greg’ lived about a half-mile from our place, and he was a well-seasoned motorcyclist. Greg was a Good Guy and he knew I had been up to something, as he had seen ‘The Bus’ parked in our front yard. The Beaver and The Belle had a beautiful custom-built Prevost motor home with polished aluminum finish and a custom paint job. The Bus and the 24-foot polished aluminum enclosed trailer with matching paint job were not hard to see from the blacktop road, just a little more than a quarter mile east of our home. Gas House Greg had seen the rig and had many questions. I reminded him that I was there to have a set of pipes twisted up for the Project and that was Priority One.
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In retrospect, I may have done the exhaust system differently than Greg and his guy had done it. It was a bit crude and unrefined, but I liked it. I was pretty sure The Beaver would like it, too, especially knowing ‘the look’ he was after with this Build. After the pipes were in place, we loaded the machine back into the trailer for its ride back to the garage. It was only after the machine was loaded that I let Greg know what was up with The Bus parked in our yard. I told him that I had some old friends from Florida who toured the country in a band. I went on to tell him that one of the members enjoyed my company and that he would ‘drop the anchor’ of his bus at my place and hang out for a few days between shows. The very idea of me knowing anyone with a bus like that, especially a Known Talent, was driving Greg totally batshit. I explained my relationship with my ‘friend’ and his desire to remain anonymous and enjoy his privacy. Then I muttered something about The Allman Brothers Band and Gas House Greg nearly had a calf. I had the hook set and pulled that fish right up to the edge of the boat!
The Beaver and The Belle made the trip across Minnesota to our South Dakota home several times over the next two months. Every trip was made in The Bus. It was only after the Build was complete and they hauled The Knuckle Buster home in their custom color-matched trailer that is when I told the truth to Gas House Greg. He was mildly amused and quite impressed with my ability to spin a yarn and ‘stick to my spin’ for as long as I did. I felt a little bit bad for bullshitting my neighbor for such a long while, but I was over it quickly. Greg understood that The Beaver and
The Belle were visiting our area only to spend time with us and to get that old motersickel built.
The weekend they came to pick up the Knuckle Buster was the same weekend as the local Car and Motorcycle Show. Steve “The Sleeve” came up to visit that weekend, too. He brought his ‘46 Chief and the three of us rode three old Indian Motocycles into the Big Show in town. And we brought home the gold. I’m sure they had never seen three up-and-running Indians in that town.
When The Knuckle Buster left town, I only saw it on rare occasions. Once or twice over the next 18 years. The Beaver and The Belle retired, moved away from Minnesota to Kalifornicate, then again to Kolorado, then ultimately, back to The People’s Republik of Minnesota. We stayed in touch and bumped into each other at the AMCA meets, but mostly by phone calls, emails, etc.
The Beaver and The Belle were still living in North Central Minnesota when they came back to visit my Green-Eyed Bride for the last time. That was in December, 2003...
“The Story of Dirty Gurl” (Part Three) to follow in next month’s issue of “Thunder Roads Magazine of Iowa.”
You aren’t going to want to miss it!
Thanks to Bill W. and the HP.
Love and Respect to All. Until next month, Alice
It’s the Winter Blues...
The chill in the air bites harder as February rolls on, and the oncebustling streets of Iowa’s small towns and highways are left eerily quiet. Snow blankets the roads, slush clogs the shoulders, and for those of us who live to ride motorcycles, this season feels less like winter and more like purgatory. My bike sits in the garage, covered up like a sleeping beast, waiting for the first signs of spring to roar back to life. There’s a part of me that feels like I’m hibernating alongside it, each day closer to April marking one day closer to freedom. Okay, maybe March depending on the roads, but this time of year is brutal, like the barren landscape that is a midwestern winter.
For those who don’t ride, it’s hard to explain the longing. Sure, it’s just a machine, but a motorcycle represents so much more. It’s independence, power, a connection to the road that no car can replicate. The feel of leather hugging your shoulders, the vibration under your seat, the rush of wind against your chest – it’s a primal kind of exhilaration. And then, there’s the culture. The friendships forged at roadside diners over cups of coffee, or at Iowa’s famous pork tenderloin spots where the sandwiches are almost as big as the plates. Riding is about community as much as it is about solitude. It’s about the way the world looks from two wheels instead of four.
temperatures plunge below freezing, and icy winds whip across the plains, making even stepping outside a challenge. Riding? Forget about it. Even if I could bundle up to withstand the cold, the black ice lurking on the roads would make it suicidal. So, the bike stays parked, its chrome dulled by a thin layer of dust that I wipe off obsessively every week…or so I tell myself I will. It’s a sad ritual but a necessary one. I can’t let it feel forgotten.
I’ve tried to fill the void. Winter hobbies, they call them. A bit of ice fishing, cold weather campfires, some tinkering in the shed. I’ve even tried hitting the gym. Ha, okay, that is a lie. I want to (or maybe its I need to) but yeah, that’s not working out. I guess people that don’t ride don’t understand. The lifestyle of riding is part of me, a part of us. just like the bike is. It’s scarred and softened by miles of wind, sun, and the occasional rainstorm. I can’t just hang it up and pretend I’m not a rider for four months out of the year.
But winter comes for us all, and here in Iowa, it’s a cruel mistress. The heartland doesn’t do winter halfway. The
But winter is also a time for dreaming a time for trip planning. When the snow traps me inside, or rather prevents me from riding. I can’t imagine being trapped inside. I find myself scrolling through pictures of last summer. A snapshot of my bike with a cool backdrop. Had some amazing vistas this year from the Loess Hills, Missouri River Valley, South Dakota, Wyoming, the Badlands, the Sandhills and more. And of course, the roadside stops for food. Pork tenderloins bigger than my head, buns barely able to contain them, and a pile of fries, a couple of cold beers and more laughs and stories than I deserve. Iowa might not be coastal or
mountainous, but damn if it doesn’t have some of the best food and most welcoming people in the country.
I think about the leather, too. Not just the jacket, but the boots, the gloves, the chaps. It’s armor, but it’s also more than that. I am more function over fashion (the fashion part I leave to my bride) but there is something about a “biker chick” that is just flipping sexy! There’s something about a bike that draws people in, makes them curious, sometimes bold but there is something about a woman biker gear that, well, gets my motor running. And seeing biker girls in leather…even better! One of my favorite conversations is when someone calls my chaps “ass-less” pants, well not shit Sherlock, or course they are ass-less, otherwise they would be PANTS!!
And speaking of bold, there’s something about the freedom of the road that’s uniquely tied to confidence. Let’s just say that a good ride can make you feel like you’re ten feet tall. I think that’s why I miss it so much. When I’m riding, I’m not just going from point A to point B; I’m embodying a sense of power and freedom that’s hard to replicate anywhere else. Sure, I’m bundled up in a blanket right now, sipping coffee and scrolling through social media, but in my mind, I’m still that person tearing down the highway, the horizon wide open in front of me. Yea, sometimes it is point A to point B, like work related, but that makes work something to look forward to when the bike is involved.
But spring is coming. It always does. Soon enough, the snow will melt, and the roads will dry out. The first ride of the season is always the best – the engine growling back to life, the smell of gasoline and fresh air mingling, and the feel of the road vibrating up through the tires. There’s a stretch of highway just south of Sioux City that I’ve been dreaming about all winter, a perfect ribbon of asphalt cutting through rolling hills and farmland. That’s where I’ll go first. Maybe I’ll stop for a tenderloin sandwich, grease dripping down my fingers as I eat, savoring every bite like it’s a victory lap. Because it will be.
And when I finally gear up again, I’ll slip on that leather jacket like a second skin. It’ll feel a little stiff at first, like it always does after months of hanging in the closet. But by the time I’m a mile down the road, it’ll feel like home again. That’s the thing about riding. You can’t do it all year, at least not in Iowa, but when you come back to it, it’s like you never left. The road remembers, and so do you. So, here’s to spring. Here’s to the smell of fresh-cut grass and the sound of engines revving in the distance. Here’s to leather and laughter and maybe even a little romance. Here’s to pork tenderloins the size of dinner plates and the freedom that comes with two wheels and an open road. Winter may have us in its grip for now, but it won’t last forever. And when it finally lets go, I’ll be ready.
Todd “Crash” Davis
Jan 25-26 Midwest Cycle & Motorsports Show & Swap Meet South Sioux City, NE
Jan 31-Feb2 World of Wheels Kansas City
Feb 5 ABATE of Iowa Lobby Day Des Moines
Feb 8 34th Annual Chili Cook-Off Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Feb 14-16 39th Annual ABATE D2 Lincoln Bike Show Lincoln, NE
Feb 15 Chili Cook Off HD of Carroll
Feb 22 Sleeping Angels Foundation 7th Annual Angel Gala Boone
Feb 22-23 56th Annual O’Reilly Auto Parts Rod and Custom Show Monticello
Feb 22-23 Mama Tried Motorcycle Show Milwaukee, WI
Mar 2 Parts Girl Promotions Swap Meet Cedar Rapids
Mar 7-9 World of Wheels Omaha
Mar 7-9 World of Wheels Chicago
Mar 15 30th Annual Pancake Breakfast Metro HD Cedar Rapids
Mar 16 Wile Wade’s High Performance Swap Meet & Trade Show Des Moines
Mar 21-23 Omaha Chapter AMCA National Swap Meet Fremont NE
Mar 29-30 35th Annual Donnie Smith Show and Swap Saint Paul, MN
Apr 4-5 Heartland Steam Bettendorf
Apr 5-6 Chopper Show at D7 Expo Mason City
Apr 5-6 38th Annual North Iowa Motorcycle EXPO Mason City
Apr 6 Parts Girl Promotions Swap Meet Rock Island, IL
Apr 26 620 Spring SxS Ride Metro HD Cedar Rapids
May 2-3 Vintage Torque Fest Dubuque
May 3-19 Annual Chrome Divas Ride Metro HD Cedar Rapids
May 4 7th Annual 1st Baptist Church Blessing of the Bikes Muscatine
May 4 41st Annual Spring Auto/Cycle Parts Swap Meet Monticello
May 9-10 NCC MX Season Opener Waterloo
May 10 The Rust Run Antique Motorcycle Poker Run Atlanta, NE
May 10 2nd Annual Ride for The St Florian Children’s Miracle Burn Camp Cedar Rapids
May 16-17 Rust Revival Conesville
May 3 14th Annual Sleeping Angels Fun Run Boone
May 20 Bikers Inside the Beltway Washington DC
May 23-25 Bagger Racing League Hastings, NE
May 22-25 Redneck Revival Conesville
Jun 14 Sons of God MC Old School Chopper & Antique Motorcycle Show Iowa Falls
Jun 20-21 NCC MX Waterloo
Jun 21-22 Rumble In the Sand Conesville
Jul 3-5 ABATE of Iowa Freedom Rally Algona
Jul 3-5 Iowa Hog Drags and Nostalgia Reunion Humboldt
