Bob-Jobs

Bob-Jobs

Where cruisers came from

IT’S 1946 AND YOU’VE JUST RESCUED THE WORLD FROM the Nazis and the Imperial Japanese. Back in civilization, things are just a little too, well...civil. What to do? For many of World War IFs returning servicemen, the answer was motorcycles. But not the full-fendered barges of pre-war days, those were for gouty old geezers. ExG.I.s, accustomed to being around P-51 Mustangs and Sherman battle tanks and PT boats, wanted performance. Speed equipment was in short supply, so hop-ups were largely limited to a set of hell-raisingly loud open pipes, or for the really ambitious maybe a racing magneto and a bigger carb. For most, though, the path to improved acceleration was littered with jettisoned parts and chopped, or bobbed, fenders. Hence the name.

Have a look at the photograph. Here’s a man obviously well-pleased, celebratory beer in hand, sitting astride his bobbed Indian Chief. Details about the photo have been scattered with time, but the location is probably El Mirage, one of SoCal’s ancient dry lake beds, holy ground to bikers and hot-rodders. Our man has probably just scorched its smooth, sun-baked surface to the tune of 100 mph plus. Not bad for a mildly modded flathead, but no challenge to the 135-mph mark set in ’48 by the wiry Max Bubeck, gunning a stripped-down, savagely souped “Chout” (Chief motor, Scout frame) across Rosamond Dry Lake.

But, back to the bobber. No front fender, no instruments. The rear fender has been treated to the requisite bob job, and you’ll note that no attempt has been made to fill in the various holes left by castaway lights, saddlebags, racks, etc. These might be patched later, or maybe never, the whole concours concept not being invented yet. Ya gotta love the method of license-plate mounting, even if the cops back then probably didn’t, and check out the extended rear-fender loop. This was to give your heavily panting helpers a place to push during bump-starts; 20 years later, these appendages would morph into cloudscratching sissybars of chopper renown.

Fifty years on, the basic silhouette of the post-WWII bob-job is still with us, evidenced by many of the cruisers on these pages. Not bad for a bunch of beer-drinking grunts out for a good time, eh? -David Edwards