W&W Cycles

How Low Can You Go?

It was the damn ugliest nightmare I ever had - not counting my first attempt at starting a kick-start Sporty - but when I woke up drenched in cold sweat I knew it wasn't a dream at all. Through the window seeped the oily-green neon-light of "Señora Caramba's Motel", telling me that I really had ripped off the Duo-Glide and had made a fiery getaway with the Marines in hot pursuit, trading in my police-uniform for yellow Pennzoil overalls on the way. It was about time to come back to the path of the righteous men. First I called my Ma to mail me my spare uniform. Then I had to get rid of the hot sled quick. But how? As you all know my brain works best while I'm eating. So I cruised over to Paco's Chili Hacienda and parked my ass in the window booth, ordering today's special, "El Turbo Gigante". And even before my jalapeno-sharpened brains were coughing to life, the answer to my prayers came scraping into the parking lot: An '83 El Camino lowrider so low that there wasn't room for a Nacho chip between it's floorboards and the blacktop, filled to the brim with moustachioed Chicanos wearing golden sunglasses. The Mexicruiser coasted rumbling to a stop alongside my machine and about seven gentlemen eyed the object

Mucho casually I sauntered over to the group. A short fat one grinned at me: "Nice moto, hombre. Leettle beet high, but can be feexed. Quanto es, Señor Pennzoil?“ I let my thoughts wander over my bank account and gave him a high number. In the form of a fat wad of greenbacks it found its way back into the motel by 7 pm.

This called for a celebration. At the bar I inhaled a couple of mezcals, not forgetting to invite señora Caramba over who, as I was to find out, is an expert in inhaling almost anything.

Complete with a killer headache, dog-breath and an official document I stood in front of Sancho "El Jeffe" Sanchez, chief of the Ojo Caliente City Police 9.00 the next morning. He didn't look exactly exhilarated, but they had a staff shortage and I had experience doing Highway Patrol. That's how Ojo Caliente got a new cop and I a factory-new '93 Softail "Policia Especiale" that looked like an advertising for the leasing business. As you may remember, I like it a tad more personalized and so turned the hog over to my new Chicano friends or rather their buddy "El Tornillero".The next day I was proud owner of the World's first and only Softail XXXLowrider "Policia Especiale". Alas, not for very long. My ass about an inch off the pavement I was sailing back into the parking lot as chief Sanchez appearedout of nowhere pointing sharply in the direction of my sled. His moustache vibrated, his Ray Bans had condensation on the inside but his voice was soft as the love-whispers of a hot-cheeked mexican señorita.

"Murphy, did you ever ask yourself why they call Ojo Caliente Ojo Caliente?“ I threw a quick glance around when he threw a roundhouse punch into my right eye. It burned like hell and I still had double vision when I got off the bus in Satellite Beach, Florida. But what I saw made my pulse rise like the Space Shuttle.

Will Cop Hal ever be enforcing Law and Order again and how much is a pair of swingarm shotguns for a '63 Duo Glide?

What is it that makes Cop Hal's pulse go orbital and how much is a lowering kit for a '93 Softail? Tune in next time when Cop Hal asks himself: "Where the dickens comes that fishy smell from and can I make it to Daytona for Bike Week?"