I remember watching Easy Rider on our black and white TV and having the neighbor weld tubes to our bicycle forks to chop them. Some with bad results. I built my first chopper using an old Triumph as a starter bike. I was 14, no license and hooked. It was the first street bike I rode once I turned 16 and got my license. I remember machining the petcocks in shop class and have them taken from me because the teacher thought they were some sort of pot pipes.
I still like the look of the springer front end and ridged tail.
Anyway, I was digging through some old books I had. The following was scanned from an old book that was given to me as a kid (actually the man I bought the Triumph basket case from) that talks about the history of the chopper. Enjoy.
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In 1947 a small rural town in the foothills of the Diablo mountains in California celebrated Independence Day with, among other events, a motorcycle hill climb. The day before the speed test some 4,000 motorcyclists invaded the place, Hollister. Among them were a few hundred leather-jacketed outlaws, Hell's Angels, for want of a better group name (although not a strictly accurate one), had yet to arrive. These were probably the Booze Fighters or similar, whose membership was drawn from the countless numbers of men fresh from the Second World War, still with an itch for action. Men who were unwilling, even unable to conform. They rode nothing but Harley-Davidsons and the legendary Indians, in vogue then although they were soon to be brought to an end. A few years later, British machinery, mainly Triumphs, made inroads into the all-American market, the forerunners of a revolution that no one at that time could foresee. The gangs spread and grew. They also realized that a big Harley was no match for a British twin, whose lithe performance ensured success even in the hands of the inexpert, both on the road and on the track. Somewhere along the line there came a split - not between the gangs, but among riders of all motorcycles. The ponderous old Harley V-twins earned themselves the derisory and now misused name of 'hog', or, if you like, 'pig', among the supporters of the British bikes. Far from remaining the insult it was intended to be, the term was gladly accepted and used with endearment by the Harley riders. A hog is a Harley, It might be a chopper, but not all choppers are hogs. The first seed of the chopper heritage was sown - the big bad hog was in.
Hog the massive 1,200cc might have been by name, but hog it could not be by performance if the outlaws were to remain the dominant personalities of highway banditry. By the mid-Fifties cars, as well as imported motorcycles, were encroaching on the power territories of the American twins. But Harley it had to be. Like the Colt 45, they were the biggest and most brutal, lethal and all powerful. At the same time a new, uglier breed of two-wheeled drop-out arose in the warmer climates of the West Coast. Exactly who established the freaky traditions of these bikers is unknown, and of little real importance, for California was rife with gangs, any one of which could probably claim some sort of credit.
To gain speed, the Harley owners stripped their machines of all unnecessary impedimenta. Before that a certain amount of styling and customizing had gone into the symbols of freedom, but with gathering speed the West Coast bikers latched on and left not a single bolt, bracket or panel in place that was without purpose. They themselves, as a token of their rejection of everything that Western civilization holds dear, threw off their leathers, reducing clothing, and thus protection, to a minimum. Levi's and denim jackets, sleeveless with the club colors emblazoned across the back, became The Uniform.
Whatever else the outlaws bikes were called upon to represent, they still had to perform. It was in and around San Francisco that the basic concepts of the chopper pageantry were laid down. Wild and outlandish traditions they may be, but a Frisco chopper is the daddy of them all.
Take a look at the Harley-Davidson production roadsters of that time and the apparently undisciplined force of chopping gets a little meaning. Rear suspension had yet to be introduced; front suspension was by leading link springer forks. The rider sat deep down inside the middle of the machine and steered through incredibly sweeping bars. Brakes were equally incredibly small - all the basis of a chopper. The term itself 'chopping', was borrowed from the rodders and was simply the outlaws' word for cutting back weight and unwanted equipment.
A stripped, naked gargantuan of whatever species presents a pathetic appearance to the world, so the outlaws introduced their own distinctive brand of motorcycle design, in a very successful effort to create a unique machine. With the seat, tank, mudguards, handlebars, fat front wheel and a goodly amount of other items gone, something was needed to replace them, and it had to look good. The second chapter in the chopper story began. There was to be only one more, and that has not yet closed - the introduction of the showbikes.