The first time I met Chuck Boardman was Thanksgiving of 1982. Disco was still in, and dinosaur-like Water Pumpers with big blocks ruled the earth, belching flames from uncapped headers, the ground shook when they approached. These were glory days. This was my first trip ever to Glamis. And it was a weekend I'll never forget... I was living in L.A. and the girl I was dating (name long since forgotten) insisted that I go with she and her brother to a place with the odd sounding name, "Glamis". Telling tall tales of enormous, insurmountable sand drifts that reached to heights of over 600ft, and mechanized mayhem. I was more than curious! Since I had just moved down from Oregon and spent my wonder years assaulting the dunes at Florence and Sand Lake with my '72 K5 Blazer, and my Suzuki RM's. I thought I was pretty hot excrement. Sounded like fun. I looked for Glamis on a map... It wasn't there? I got a better map, and there it was, about a six hour drive from the Southland, just east of Bumfuque Egypt. She said it was worth the drive... I did the math... This was gonna burn some gas! At the time I was driving the first truck to carry the CA license plate "MR DUNE", It was a red 1973 Dodge Power Wagon SWB. There wasn't a straight piece of sheet metal on it, and the drivers door never really closed properly. This could be a little annoying as well as decidedly life threatening. On several occasions during high speed squid maneuvers, such as big smoking cookies in parking lots and dastardly lawn jobs, the door would fly open, almost ejecting me from the cab. Mopar quality! I endured this questionable safety feature, owing in part to the fact it was equipped with a 340 W2 Wedge motor with a six pack. 400hp in a shorty Dodge 4x4 will make you piss your pants, there was a reason that truck had a vinyl seat and rubber floors... It also got 2 miles to the gallon... On the freeway, with a tailwind, downhill... Doing the math I quickly determined that it would take $426,863.00 dollars worth of Premium Unocal to drive to Glamis in this pig... She said it was worth it, and would sleep in my tent. I got the limit on my Unocal card raised, and loaded up my RM... Glamis Bound... We know the outcome of this story, I was hooked and Mr. Dune was born... Enter Chuck Boardman... Chuck was one of the awnriest sumbitch's I have ever had the questionable pleasure to meet, one in a million... No one in a billion. Here's how we first met back in '82. Thursday night we were at the hill shooting B.S. with some old dudes that were driving a water pumper running a built 440 Interceptor. We were swilling Jack, and they were talking about this bar out in the middle of the desert called Boardmanville, just a little dump that had gas and cold beer. This sounded like something we needed to check out. Thirst quenching for both bike and rider! They had given us the almost cryptic directions on how to find this place and we headed there after our morning ride... Dump was right! This place was a dump! (Back then there wasn't much to Boardmanville, just a log shack and a gas pump.) Compelled to be a hot head (I was but a young squid of 23 at the time), I did a couple of hot passes up and down, wheelieing in front of the bar. Churning up a mountain of dust. I was soon to discover that malicious and reckless dust churning is a felony in "Boardmanville". Class A. Punishable by banishment forever. As I slid to a halt in front of the bar amidst a cloud of swirling particulate matter, I was greeted by a weathered, crusty old man. I thought how nice! They have a doorman! Chuck came straight at me like a brim hitting a cricket. Almost knocking me off my bike, he started to bitch me out like I was a red headed stepchild caught trying to light the house on fire. He tore me a new one, promising I would NEVER be allowed into his fine establishment to consume cold beverages as a result of my errant behavior. Pleading with him I showed him my Oregon drivers license. I assured him I was ignorant of proper etiquette, and thanked him for taking his valuable time to instruct me in the error of my ways. I promised to never behave in such a discourteous manner again... He grumbled something foul under his breath about my heritage, or lack thereof, and shuffled off back into the bar. Chuck, I think, always shuffled. Even from the day he was born. I suspect he may have even been born an old man... Chuck was timeless... Immovable. Taking his lack of further prosecution as an invitation, I quietly slinked into the bar, looking around I was amazed by the collection of dollar bills with graffiti on them that littered the walls... What a great place... Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust, the counters, the candy by the registers, the other patrons, and particularly, Chuck. I was home, this was to become my favorite watering hole on the planet. I immediately put up my first Boardmanville Buck™ to mark "my turf". It has long since vanished amidst a sea of other bills, but it's up there, somewhere... "Fast Eddie, Thanksgiving '82" Cautiously approaching the bar I settled down on a stool and waited for this grumpy old man to offer to sell me the cold beer I was dying for. Instead he glared at me. Breaking the silence, I asked for a round of Buds. Continuing to grumble, Chuck shuffled over to the cooler and grabbed a handful bottles and set them down in front of me, "Six bucks," he muttered... I gave him ten, saying, "Keep it." He shuffled off silently and I took that as some semblance of limited tolerance for my pitiful existence. We drank there until well after dark, got totally hammered. and we all had to ride back to camp without lights... It was a good day, the first of many at Boardmanville, thanks Chuck! Over the years... Chuck remembered everybody, for sure he remembered me. I quickly became a Glamis "regular". Spending every other weekend there for the next 17 years... A stop at Boardmanville (or two or three) was compulsory for every trip. It took until 1989 for Chuck to say hello to me... and until 1997 before he actually bought me a beer. He remembered the day I roosted place and he doesn't forgive easily. Chuck defined the term "Grumpy Old Man". Gruff on the exterior and with a heart of gold. This sign on the door of Boardmanville defined Chuck...
Time Marches on... Over the next ten years we became pretty close, he forgave me the sins of my youth and welcomed me into the inner sanctum. Drinking after hours behind locked doors or up at his house. BS'ing about the ongoing war between Chuck and the carpetbaggers that own the Glamis Store or the latest stupid move of the BLM, or cruising to the hill in his stretch F350 Limo. We finally became friends. We used to stay up late and I'd help him work on his website. He got pretty good, even taught me some stuff. The student instructs the teacher. Chuck was an intelligent man. He liked to play his hand close to vest and few had the opportunity to see what a genuinely funny and warm man he was. Yea, he looked and acted liked a porcupine, but he had that same soft underbelly. Deep down he was a teddy bear, and one of the hardest working men I have known. He always kept his sense of humor, even until the end. In fact, it's rumored that his last request was to have his ashes placed in a rocket and launched over the Glamis Store, to be exploded with a report that would rattle their windows. He hated them for gouging customers. I envision Chuck's metaphysical being straddling that rocket like Slim Pickens riding the Atom Bomb out of the bomb bay doors in "Dr. Strangelove". Extending that fickled finger of fate in one last grand display of single digit irony and humor... Yeee Ha! That is the Chuck I'll always remember... Glamis will never be the same without you, Chuck. You will always be missed, and you tale will be told around campfires at Glamis for generations to come. Lies will be told and retold about your exploits. You are an icon. And I am proud to have called you my friend. Thanks for all the the good times buddy, my life was better for knowing you. You are, and always will be the undisputed King of Glamis! I speak for all your friends in that crazy little place on the edge of the universe they call "Glamis", when I bid you one last fond farewell and say...
Via con Dios Amigo, God rest the King... We love
you...
There will be a wake held for Chuck
A note from the Editor… This is my forum, not yours! If you don't like my views or opinions, then get a life!...Ed. E-mail Mr Dune at: mrdune@off-road.com for instructions on finding a life. PREVIOUS ARTICLES Follow us on Twitter at www.twitter.com/OffRoadDotCom
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