World Photo by Alex Powers Owner Milo Anderson discusses the creation of his rat bike outside Oregon Tool & Supply on Saturday. “I looked around one day, and everybody had clean and shiny bikes,” Anderson said. “And I (didn’t) want to fit in.” Anderson began decorating the rat bike in 1980, covering it in hides, beads, photos and other trinkets given to him from admirers in states as far away as Maine and Florida.

COOS BAY — A death chariot. A junk heap on wheels. A stinking ray of happiness?

For Milo Anderson and all those who have seen him ride his motorcycle through the years, it’s all that and more.

Nearly every inch of Anderson’s “rat bike” is covered with something either dead or inanimate. Flags, stickers, pins, a taxidermied pheasant, dried lizards and mounted alligator heads. There’s an amputated tail of a cocker spaniel, grimy teddy bears and strands of beads that have long since lost their plastic glamour.

Nearly 200 pounds of stuff and souvenirs envelop the 1970 Harley-Davidson Shovelhead, not including Anderson himself.

“There are stories galore about every single piece of this,” he said.

Like the time a fan in Cave Junction left him a lizard — with a sign in its mouth that read “waiting for Milo.” Or the time a woman gave him a zebra hide.

“People save stuff until they see me come by again and give it to me,” Anderson said.

 Relishing the ugly magnificence of his companion of 33 years, Anderson explained that throughout his travels on the rat bike — 48 states and five Canadian provinces — admirers have given him objects to add to the mess. It didn’t start out that way. In 1975, Anderson, then 20, purchased the motorcycle at a California Highway Patrol auction, after it served five years under the tail bones of CHP troopers. A few years and a car wash mishap later, Anderson decided to never clean the Harley again and a rat bike was born. According to Anderson’s Web site, Ratbikemilo.com, a rat bike is a motorcycle typically covered with dead animals or other artifacts gathered during its travels.

“It just happened. It evolved that way,” Anderson said, his brown eyes shining in his tanned face. “It’s definitely an artful motorcycle.”

Now 53, the owner and founder of Oregon Tool & Supply in Coos Bay and Roseburg said the rat bike — regardless of its macabre exterior — represents a part of his persona.

“My whole goal is to see how many smiles I can put on people’s faces. It’s a joy to be able to do that,” Anderson said. “I figure it’s my job to let people exercise the ability to smile.”

He’s done this on the National Veterans Awareness Ride, in which he and other bikers have visited veterans’ hospitals across the country, and by simply driving down the road. On occasion this backfires when a driving rubberneck looks too closely at the bike and hits another vehicle.

Anderson takes his desire to please people to extremes at times. On two occasions, strangers have given the motorcyclist ashes of loved ones to be spread around the country. He happily obliges.

“I feel honored to be able to spread two ladies’ ashes around in my travels,” Anderson said. “I’ve taken (one) to a lot of states.”

Anderson’s wife of 20 years, Joni Anderson, said her man isn’t paying lip service.

“Here’s a guy who loves to ride and he also like to make people happy. You put those together and that’s why he does it,” Joni said. “People just want to be a part of it.”

Her first impression of the bike wasn’t exactly complimentary, but that didn’t keep her from falling for her biker hubby. Joni has since become a motorcyclist, as has the oldest of their two teenage daughters. The family lives in Roseburg.

“I thought ‘Oh my god. This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.’ It’s still ugly, but it was really ugly then, too,” Joni said. “It didn’t bother me at all. He took me for a ride on that bike and I fell in love.” 

While the rat bike draws a lot of heads, as well as media, it’s gotten some negative attention, too. Anderson said occasionally a member of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, will complain about the taxidermy creatures and zebra hide hanging from the Harley.

“I don’t hunt. I don’t fish. I just take these animals for a ride in their afterlife.”

He tries to explain that no animals were harmed in the making of his rat bike. But, it doesn’t usually help.

And the animals and other objects do eventually go back to their maker when they fly off the bike.

Friend Gino Benidetti, who owns Umpqua Custom Cycle in Winston, said he’d never own a rat bike, but Anderson’s definitely fits his personality.

“I customize them and I try to make them look as nice as possible. In Milo’s case, he went the opposite way. It’s his thing and it’s good for him,” Benidetti said. “Why do people do that? I don’t know. But it works for him and it works for people. In a way, it’s good PR for motorcycles.”

Although it looks more like a jalopy than anything at a Harley-Davidson dealership, a lot of maintenance goes into the rat bike, which stays in Anderson’s barn when he’s not riding it daily. During his travels over more than 565,000 miles of road, Anderson has had to replace the rat bike’s engine 17 or 18 times, and has gone through hundreds of tires.

“I wear them out,” he said. “I get 8,000 to 10,000 miles out of a back tire, so I’ve gone through a lot of them.”

The expense and time is worth it considering the reactions and joy he gets out of riding.

“A day riding in the rain beats a day when you don’t ride at all.”