I OWNED THIS BIKE FOR ABOUT SIX YEARS - longer than I've owned any other motorcycle, Harley or not. And over that time, the look of the bike changed almost monthly. You know how it is: a different set of bars this month; a different carb or a different seat a few months later. For me, however,my Harley's transformation started developing in a very specific direction.

The bike rolled off the factory floor in 1981 as an FXWG - Harley's famous 'factory chopper' - sporting a 21-inch front wheel, 16-inch rear, bobbed rear fender and factory flames on the tanks. By the time I acquired it with an insurance payout from the theft of my previous bike, a 1976 FLH, it had already changed quite a bit from stock.

I bought it in 1995 from a fella on the Isle of Wight, and it boasted an FLH front end, complete with Hydra-Glide-style tin shroud, 16-inch wheel and banana brake calliper. It had a few other modifications such as an S&S Super B carb and an old Triumph ockheed brake on the rear. The tanks were painted a two-tone silver/blue and - perhaps due to a drought of 'real' Shovelhead FLHs on the market at the time - I snapped it up.

The owner claimed the engine had been rebuilt, but had no receipts for the work. Yeah, right. However, I rode it home to London with no mishaps and almost immediately started fiddling with the bike by fitting an original FLH tractor seat and some old seat springs that I had sitting in the garage.

I rode the bike to work, to rallies, to Europe. It went well - at least for a while. Then the troublesome oil pump threw in the towel in the fast lane of the M1 on the way to a rally at York Racecourse, seizing the engine. I had my girlfriend on the back, panniers, and a tent bungeed to the bars - it could have been nasty. In fact, I was lucky, and simply pulled in the clutch whilst wending my merry way to the hard shoulder.

The Harley Shop did a good job of completely rebuilding the engine - but they took a year doing it. The 1340cc engine was rebuilt to stock specifications using S&S parts, and with the addition of a lumpier Sifton cam, an SU carburettor and an 11/2 inch Primo primary belt drive. They also powder-coated every possible chrome and alloy surface black.

Why? Well, at this point, I should probably admit to some influences.

I've always been into the 1950s and early '60s, from music to hot rods to bikes. The look I initially wanted for my new acquisition was something like the Panhead Willem Defoe rode in 'The Loveless' - stock-ish, but fat-fendered with a pogo tractor seat - so once I was back on the road, the bike started to change. I painted the tanks and fenders myself using a borrowed compressor, and it came out a bit amateurish - but acceptable if you didn't look too closely!

I bought a pogo spring set-up for my tractor seat from Warr's, but then discovered something very strange. The pogo pole wouldn't fit into the centre post in the frame - and I'd been told all 1981 Shovel big twin frames were identical! Hmm. The work of creating a one-off seat post to fit the hole in the frame was beyond my meagre engineering talents, so I took the bike along to a bloke I'd known for a few years - and who I'd trusted all my previous Harleys to: Snob.

Snob's Ultimate Performance workshop was then in Ealing, and before long the bike emerged onto Snob's cobbled courtyard with its bouncy (and supremely comfy) tractor seat in place - and whitewall tyres fitted (nice slippery cross-plies - the cheapest I could find). Snob also fitted a Harrison six-pot front brake calliper I'd bought to replace the stock Harley item: the difference was, shall we say, marked!

The bike was now fast-ish, reliable, and I was finally Willem Defoe -- complete with evil black paintwork and contrasting white kickstart pedal, grips and footboard rubbers. Notwithstanding a few heartstoppers in the wet (those tyres!), the bike was running as smoothly as a Shovel gets.

Which is when I decided to start lopping bits off it.

It started in small ways, as I imagine these things often do. Under the influence of American chopper magazines and old Roger Corman biker flicks, I started mentally sketching the old Shovel's new profile. And that meant a rigid, '50s-style chopper.

Through the Internet, I made the 'virtual' acquaintance of some American chopping 'faces' - characters largely unknown in the UK with colourful monikers such as Chopper Dave, Indian Larry, Irish Rich and English Don. Frequent visits to the States only increased my fervour for traditionally styled, chopped Harleys.

I was also influenced by the look of a famous photograph I'd had in a frame on the wall for about a decade - 'Crossing the Ohio River' by Danny Lyon.

Taken in the mid-'60s, it features a member of the Outlaws MC on a bobbed Panhead big twin, jamming hard over a steel-span bridge, looking over his shoulder. I hope you know the image I mean - and I'm sure you'll see the influence on the way the bike turned out if you do.

I started collecting photos for inspiration … many of them downloaded from Chopper Dave's website (chopperdaves.com). I had entered a cool new world of Bates seats, cocktail shaker silencers, Flanders handlebars, dogbone risers and jockey shifts.

I was stunned by the quality of the choppers coming from the USA's West Coast and from Scandinavia. But as far as I could tell from the UK magazines on the news stands, these old-school chopper influences hadn't yet reached Blighty.

By this time, I'd made a token effort to get my bike more bobber-like by removing the front fender completely and taking an angle grinder to the rear, cutting the old FLH fender off next to the fender supports and adding an old-style sparto rear light. Heavily influenced, I suppose, by the stripped-down pre-war Harley and Indian racers and hillclimbers.

I remember sending a picture of the Shovel in this guise to one of my new chopping heroes, English Don, who ran a hardcore chopper shop in New York City, and he was scornful. "It looks stupid. Do it right. Put it in a rigid."He'd just confirmed my nagging doubts. So, a full-blown chopper it had to be.

I had already started accumulating parts. I remember Jeff from Riverside Cycles in Putney was particularly helpful in sourcing stuff. I bought the tiny Le Pera solo seat off him (original Bates seats don't turn up here often!), as well as all the white rubber bits and pieces. I looked in vain around the world for those cocktail shaker silencers, then - after months of searching - found a pair in Bournemouth, of all places.

I now knew exactly how I wanted the chopper to look, but I also was honest enough with myself to know that putting a bike like that together was beyond my ability and patience. Who could I trust the task of building a traditional, outlaw-influenced chopper to? Snob, again, was the answer.

If you haven't met Snob, you should know that he's quite a character. He'd always taken the time to offer advice when I'd pitched up at his shop on my latest, usually rather ropey, old ironhead Sportster. He never minded me dripping oil on his forecourt, and I liked his company. His membership of the London Hells Angels just added to his credentials for the job in hand, as far as I was concerned. He'd owned an awesome, bright yellow, rigid Panhead chopper that he'd built himself, so he knew what I was after when we started discussing what was needed to get my chopper project rolling.

I wanted to keep costs down, so was more than happy to use a new "old-stock", stock-rake rigid frame that Snob found at the back of his shop ... in other words, cheap! I won't go into the hassle involved in retaining your number plate when swapping to an aftermarket frame … needless to say I managed it, and sold my old swing-arm frame to well known bike journalist, Clink.

I also needed a new oil tank, new rear fender - modelled on the old Triumph ribbed front mudguards, traditionally swapped over to the rear on choppers in the '50s and '60s - and all the seemingly endless sundry other brackets, wires, nuts and bolts required to transport any motorcycle to chopper-dom.

Whilst the engine was out of the frame, Snob persuaded me to have the heads twin-plugged - a modification I'd thoroughly recommend to any Shovelhead owner. I'd had the age-old problem of patchy electric starting, caused by lack of space for a stock-sized battery in the aftermarket horseshoe oil-tank. Starting subsequently became easier - both by finger and foot.

Eventually, after a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, discussion and a few false starts, Snob delivered the freshly completed chop to my house in his van. I was absolutely stoked, and we sat out and supped a few beers to celebrate its transformation into a pretty righteous-looking ride.

It was just what I had envisaged - like something out of 'The Wild Angels' or 'Hells Angels on Wheels' … although after critically assessing the bike, I decided the seat height was a little high. So once Snob was safely out of the way (he wouldn't have appreciated me hacking into his new creation) I ground the spring hangers down to get the seat sitting right down on the frame.

It rode fantastically well, considering the misgivings I'd had about the lessons my new frame was going to teach my back. The low centre of gravity and mini-apehangers made for a surprisingly comfortable seating position, and the crackle of the pipes right next to my ears was, as they say,music.

It was highly manoeuvrable in heavy traffic, with the handlebar height just right for skimming the tops of cars' wing mirrors. And, surprisingly, I got no hassle from the boys in blue (no front mudguard, loud pipes, undersized and naughtily coloured number plate ...) other than questions about how it handled when I happened to stop next to jam jars at the lights.

Now, if you've noticed that this yarn is all in the past tense, you're right. It had taken me six years to get my Harley-Davidson to match the image I had in my head of the archetypal, traditionally-styled chopper. Then we decided to move to Australia, I needed cash fast, and it went.

I wish I hadn't sold it, but I had no alternative at the time. I was already starting to plan further changes - a springer front end, 21 inch front wheel, jockey shift - so the transformation wasn't nearly over. And probably never would be.

I'm still looking for another bike project here in Oz - perhaps a 1200 flattie - and I truly hope my Shovel's new owner is having as much fun on the bike as he should be.

In the meantime, I keep the ideas for new projects flowing, not least through my website greasykulture.com - so if traditional choppers, bobbers and hot rods float your boat, drop on by.

I think you'll like what you find.