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...
Our
Hours We are open Friday noon,
Saturday all day and evening till the Cash register stops ringing
and Sunday the same. Weekdays are by appointment
only. Give us a call. If you don't
have a phone you can't afford to be here anyway. Open most days about 7 or 8,
occasionally as early as 6, but some days as late as 12 or
1. We close about 5:30 or 6,
occasionally about 4 or 5, but sometimes as late as 12 or
1. Some days or afternoons we're
not here at all. Lately we've been here just
about all the time. Except when we're someplace
else- but I should be here then, too. "THE MANAGEMENT." |
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...
Mr.Dune
There will be a wake held for Chuck
Saturday Jan. 15th, 2000
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responses at:
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