05/23/2026
Two legends came to see today, one for the last time.
First, some young vets that I am fond of came in to pick up a sweet bike that got a few upgrades, we talked about motorcycles, guns, and so on. Somewhere in the conversation, I needed to tell them a story about a much older veteran, and good, old friend, THE Legendary Jerry Spence.
I said to them, "Wait! He's like Beetlejuice! If I say his name three times, he will come in this week!"
Well I s**t you not, friends. Later that day, BOOM!!!! There he was. He was coming to see me on his way to do something very important. He was taking an old friend's remains to spread down Hwy 81. This was the desire of our friend, Malcolm "Pappy" Foster.
I first heard of Pappy when I was rebuilding the first motor that I ever rebuilt in a real motorcycle shop (Bryan's Harley-Davidson), the right way, under the somewhat watchful eye of Bill Hicks - my first real mentor. I was excited to do the job, and very eager. It's all I wanted to be: a motor builder, like Bill.
I was very excited to see that someone had stamped the coil bind (point where the valve springs are completely collapsed and bad things happen) up in the top of the heads. Why would someone do this? To experiment with different cams and know what they could and couldn't put in.
"Bill, look!" I said excitedly.
"Yeah, that's Malcolm Foster. He thinks he's God's gift to motor building."
Bill and Malcolm were not friendly, it would seem. Hmmm.
On the inside, and front motor mount toes, it was stamped: BUILT BY PAPPY
At the time, he was in a federal hotel, and not free to do whatever he wanted to, if you know what I mean.
Not so long after the Shovelhead, I did a 47 FL motor for Tom Oas. That's the way dealerships were, back then. A few years later, I was working at a Biker's Dream franchise that was later to become Super Bikes. In walked a guy that looked like one of the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. He had a S&S Super B in one hand, and a L series (first S&S carburetor) in the other.
He said - in a Louisiana accent, "Yeah brother, I just got out of the joint, and I'm just out trying to raise some money, trying to sell some motorsickle parts."
"What do you want for that side bowl?" I asked. That's the L series, by the way.
"Man, I'd take $100 bill for that." he answered.
I pulled out my purple Velcro wallet and pulled out $100.
"My name's Pappy, by the way." He said, smiling.
"You're Malcolm Foster!" I said, probably eagerly.
He was taken aback that I knew his real name. I explained that I had rebuilt one of his motors a few years back, and how impressed I was. He relaxed, smiled, and we began talking.
The next time he came, he had more parts, and his good friend, Jerry Spence. Not long after that day, we hired him. Jerry Spence became a regular, and I grew to love them both quickly. I think it was 1995.
Malcom came from a time that performance parts were few, and a guy had to figure out a way to make, massage, and modify parts to go fast. He was really more a biker scientist. He kept meticulous notes of everything he did to every motor. He was brilliant. If he loved you, you were in. If he didn't, man you better not cross him, because you'd be on the ground, bleeding fast. He was the absolute genuine article. He was in California during the chopper birth, in magazines, and a member of a club that I will not mention. He had stories of biker lore and adventures that he, Raymond, and Flash had. I couldn't get enough of them. He punched the boss in the face one day, and that was the end of his employment with us. Sad day.
Years later, we opened this shop. I had become a motor builder. Who was I a next door neighbor with? His son, little Caleb. One day, during that first winter here, Jerry brought him to see me and the shop. We bought a few bags of Braum's burgers, and spent several hours laughing, reminiscing, talking about motorcycles, etc. it was a great day, and became a great memory. He died in 2025. He was born in 1941.
Today, Jerry brought his ashes in, a few pictures, and we reminisced. He put his box on my police seat tool creaper that I made working at Bryan's. He used to sit on it when I wasn't using it when we worked together.
I would love to hear his voice, and see his smile as he told me one more story about Raymond, Flash, and himself, and call me brother.
The picture in the shop is at Willie Looper's Chopper Stockade on May Ave. There he is, porting some heads.
The picture of Jerry was him heading out the door today to send him down Hwy 81 in the wind, where he belongs.
I am the wind. That's sometimes what I say when I am on the road alone. He's in it now. Rest in peace, brother Pappy. You are the wind.
