V014

El Solitario

Motorized Creativity

Words by David Borras | Photos courtesy El solitario


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El Solitario is not a company; It's a way of life.

From the depths of the Galician forests, El Solitario has been challenging the status quo since its birth in 2010. We are best known for our wild and unadulterated storytelling, the emotional power and raw energy of our motorcycles, and the romantic but determinedly contemporary nature of our collections. El Solitario breathes Galicia, but we are not Spanish. We are a global entity. Our roots are in Spain, but we are English, French, Japanese, Korean, Mexican, American, German—you name it! Our lack of nationality has been crucial in our growth and allows us a greater deal of freedom of thought and speed in our decision processes. 

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Fundamental to our culture is the juxtaposition of contrasting elements: fragility and strength, tradition and modernity. We are neither a fashion brand nor a motorcycle company. El Solitario is just the helmet under which we develop our creative ethos. The only constant is change. We step outside our front door to find nothing but mountains, medieval towns and farmhouses, and the overall sensation is one of timelessness. This is exactly who we are.

Almost 10 years have passed since we quit our planned lives and jumped into the unknown in pursuit of our dreams. Within that 10 years, we have experienced all kinds of feelings—highs and lows. However, as someone I admire once told me, 

“Feelings are overrated and they just tend to get in the way of what's really important in the end.”

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People will tell you that you should never work with friends, and we couldn’t disagree more. Friends are exactly with whom you should surround yourself, especially in the most important aspects of your life. I am chaos, Val is common sense, and Pico is order. We have been friends for over 20 years, and we have succeeded at creating a system to solve matters that we care about. Our doors are always open, and our kitchen is a gathering point where we find inspiration and synergy. We’ve always been convinced that by surrounding ourselves with creative and talented people, and having the faith to follow our own path, we could come up with a more dynamic and imaginative line of products. Above all, we wanted El Solitario to be a leader—a company that takes chances—and we focus our energy into producing goods that accurately reflect who we are. 

Riding motorcycles is the epitome of speed, a genuine modern revelation. Innumerable great men and women have succumbed to the allure, and felt the fire in their bellies, propelling through adversity on nothing more than a skinny-motored artifact. Shredding any semblance of mundanity from their lives, El Solitario connects riders with the sense of awareness and strength that develops with the inherent risk, fragility and outsider spirit that defines our way of life. 

And with that, we’d like to showcase a few of the bikes that have defined our journey.


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The Winning Loser

It was 2010, and the Winning Loser marked the beginning of El Solitario. We had the need to communicate to the world our vision for a bike and its culture, as well as all the paraphernalia, clothes and accessories that make it a way of life more than a hobby. It took us three wonderful months to complete, and we did it under the influence of Megadeth. Working directly on the metal without sketches or templates, it was child’s play. These were times of innocence and illusion. Little or nothing existed outside of the transformation of the American bikes, and we moved with the impetus and courage of those adventurers who tread unknown ground. The bike itself, a crossbreed between a mini dragster and a tetanus shot, marked its teeth, and without our even noticing it, set the ideological and stylistic path of the brand.

When remembering these years, I still reminisce on the clarity of thought that guided us in the beginning. We were a holy tribe under a divine mission. There were no doubts, just forward motion. We learned that as you mature an idea, the original fundamentalism vanishes, and you inevitably walk into a sea of uncertainty. The Orwellian idea around the residence of fortress in ignorance would become stronger every day.


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Baula

With practice and time, we began to understand that every revolution takes its toll. The hater phenomenon took off. In the meantime, in our studio, imagination was empowered, and along came Baula. Almost 20 months of hitting blind spots paid off. By that time, we had discovered that coincidence does not exist and is nothing more than the result of preparation meeting opportunity. For the first time, these neophytes from the far Spanish West had managed to give life to an inert piece of iron in their garage. It was our Prometheus!

In Baula, there is no definitive line. The chaos is total, although the cohesion of its ensemble gives off a celestial harmony. The great turtle is as extreme as it is useful, and it excites tenderness and delicacy in the attentive observer. Of course, this endearing two-wheeled creature awoke the wrath and fury of the guardians of motorcycling chastity, or whatever the fuck we might want to call the hordes of uneducated and intransigent people that populate the bike world. For the first time, we had broken a taboo, or secret rule, with our longing for real communication, and tested the fire of the angry public. Stupefied, we took some time to recover, but we knew there was no turning back.


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Petardo

The next irreversible step toward our revolution was in 2012 with the construction of Petardo. ESMC’s 10th bike, it reflected our vision at this stage: Destroy the prevailing trend that dictated a minimalist approach to electronics and other components in a custom motorcycle. We believed that hiding all of the necessary equipment that makes a motorcycle fast is a cowardish, hideous, pointless job—all organs such as the gas tank, switches, pumps, coils, regulator, cables and hoses are on the outside and linked in Dadaist disharmony. We wanted to embrace and empower the veins and arteries that move the body! We approached the instrumentation and lightning equipment in the same way. Lambda sensors that calculate the air/fuel ratio on each cylinder, fuel pressure, oil pressure and temperature, voltmeter, exhaust gas temperature … Petardo is wild, overpowered, over-informed, over-blacked, oversized. In sum, it is EXCESSIVE.


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Imposter

Under the name Impostor and anticipating the reaction of the public for such collaboration with corporate giant BMW, the next El Solitario creature was destined to reign even if this was in the realms of evil. References covered the studio walls, including stories about old pirates, photos of the wind tunnel and numerous complex metal structures threatening to become true. It is wonderful to work when the idea is clear. Impostor was a path in solitude during which we lost any link to reality. A metal Beast was brewing in our dark garage, oblivious to the controversy it was going to unleash.

We had created an icon for good or bad, and the hangover was immediate.


Big Bad Wolf

Almost two years had passed since the Impostor phenomenon, and the desire to get involved in a new exercise with the face of a beast had returned. Under the acronym BBW (Big Bad Wolf), we started the transformation of an XJR1300. Its immense four cylinders made our jaws creak and didn’t give us a clue. It was not easy, and after months of frustration, the monster bike asked us the right question: What do we fear most? This would be the key to the development of BBW. Power and technology were the answer. Embracing the Achilles heel of this company turned out to be more rewarding than we thought. Hiring Mauro Abbadini of Classic Co. as technical director of the project turned out to be providential. We wanted a motorcycle that would win races. Mauro’s experience ensured the viability of the project and fulfilled our wildest dreams. BBW was presented at the famous Glemseck races in Leonberg, Germany, and returned with the trophy and a big grin.


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Desert Wolves

At El Sol, we have an authority problem, and we can’t deny it—the intensification of controls and idiot laws concerning the use and modification of motorcycles have made us desire to be turned on by football or table tennis. Unfortunately, we breathe and love motorcycles, and so turning toward off-road felt good. Freedom and self-reliance instead of traffic lights and parking laws. Deal!

Our friend Paul D’Orleans, after encountering the Desert Wolves, defined it as Gesamtkunstwerk, and after we became familiar with the term, we think he nailed it. Gesamtkunstwerk, translated as “a total work of art,” was a term used by some architectural writers to signify circumstances where an architect was responsible for the design and/or overseeing of a building’s totality: shell, accessories, furnishings and landscape. In a world like this, the quality of your final output will be that of the worst of your components. 

Tom DeLonge

The Suburban Kid Who Traveled to the Stars

Words by Maggie Gulasey | Photos by Jeff Stockwell


Tom DeLonge is best known as the guitarist and vocalist in the legendary band Blink-182. For nearly 20 years, he wrote popular Blink songs while amusing the fans and disturbing parents with his often X-rated stage antics.  Never one to settle and always seeking the next creative challenge, he formed more experimental bands like Boxcar Racer and eventually his present-day art project, Angels & Airwaves.

It is obvious DeLonge is a talented musician, but less visible is his long history as a successful entrepreneur. He has founded several companies, including his current and most extraordinary undertaking, To The Stars Academy of Arts & Science, an aerospace company with a multi-faceted entertainment division. 

Building his company and playing in a band have offered no shortage of stress. To combat the daily pressures, DeLonge has found riding his motorcycle provides the perfect therapeutic escape. His enthusiasm for the two wheels has translated into a hobby that is both functional and enjoyable, and grants a temporary escape from his busy life. 

At this point in DeLonge’s life, it is hard to keep track of everything he has going on. It would seem as though everything he has done up to now has been preparing him for his most recent ventures. To anyone else, his ambitions may seem crazy and far-fetched. But to DeLonge, he is just a kid from the suburbs who dreamed of going to the stars.

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“When I started Angels & Airwaves, I was thinking about creating an art project, not just a band.”

“The idea of coming out of Blink-182 was insurmountable. There was no way in my mind that I was going to be able to create another rock band that could ever compete or be anything close to what Blink was. Blink was such a cultural phenomenon, and I didn’t want to try and repeat that.”

As the formation of Angels & Airwaves was in its early stages, DeLonge started noticing where the art and music industries were going. As a result, he created Modlife, a business that would benefit the artists and fans alike. At a time when file-sharing companies like Napster were popular, Modlife created new revenue streams for artists such as Pearl Jam, The White Stripes, Nine Inch Nails, and Kanye West. 

It was through this experience that DeLonge gained a comprehensive understanding of how to monetize music and applied those lessons to his new band—and eventually his aerospace company.

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“With Angels & Airwaves, I thought it was great because, if you look where music is going and understand the economics, it was not just about music; it was more about transmedia. Unlike multimedia, transmedia is more one theme across different types of media, but they all work together; they’re all saying the same thing. 

“For Angels & Airwaves, it was, how do we take a theme about the human race and communicate those in a motion picture and on an album and in a book? It became an art project. The band was simply one branch of the tree.”

While utilizing music, film and literature for his creative endeavors, it was—and still is—important to DeLonge that they all effectively communicate his ultimate objective: to have a positive impact on the world.

“It is super-important to stay true to the message and the ethos of what Angels & Airwaves was doing. I remember when I left Blink, we were always like, ‘Fuck you, fuck you, rebellious this, we’re kids that don’t care about anything.’ 

“And then I did Angels & Airwaves, and it was like all of a sudden we are naming records ‘Love’ and writing songs about changing the way you see yourself and changing the way you see the world. 

“Some people thought it was pretentious, and I am sure it was misunderstood, but I knew I was not the first artist to sing about love. I knew that’s where society needed to go. I know that’s who I really am. It was really interesting to me, especially because we got into a lot of stuff with consciousness when we created Angels & Airwaves.”

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Fueled by his passion for music, writing, film and Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAP)—combined with his diverse background from prior business efforts—it was only a natural evolution for DeLonge to start his most arduous company to date.

 “It seems like I created Angels & Airwaves as a way to set up building an aerospace company. That would be absurd probably for any other musician, because why would anyone ever want to do something with the amount of work, the amount of resources, and the amount of stress involved? But leave it to me to want to do something that wild. 

“I think we have to stick true to doing all the things we are doing at my aerospace company—to be an extension of what I want to do with the band, which includes how we interact with our environment, with the people around us, our intentions, and how we can come from a place of compassion and love versus ego, and just normal human desire to conquer and become famous or rich or want control. 

“We really wanted to be a band that stood for something more than just hating where we came from, hating politics, and wanting to rebel. This was more like, okay, let’s actually change the world. That’s the goal.”

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In 2017, DeLonge captivated the world when he revealed his latest and most demanding project to date, To The Stars Academy of Arts & Science (TTSAAS).

With science, aerospace and entertainment (To The Stars, Inc.) divisions, TTSAAS was created to explore the outer edges of science and generate meaningful discoveries through its research. 

As president and CEO, DeLonge has teamed up with an impressive roster of accomplished individuals who have worked in or with the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Department of Defense (DoD), and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), just to name a few. 

No longer working under a veil of secrecy, the team at TTSAAS works with and for the public to promote education, transparency, sustainability and community. Unconstrained by government motivations, this privately owned company believes in responsible public disclosure when it comes to UAP. 

In collaboration with their entertainment division, TTSAAS takes the science and aerospace division’s discoveries and employs them across an array of media to make the controversial topics engaging and easier to digest.   

“The name ‘To The Stars Academy of Arts & Science’ is great because of what it represents. ‘To The Stars’ was chosen because it is aspirational. When you’re looking up and wonder, how far can you go? To the stars! Which star, the nearest star? Or the ones we can’t see? It’s kind of infinite. ‘Arts & Science’ is another way of saying science fiction, and turning science fiction into reality.  

“Having an entertainment division and an aerospace and science division works wonderfully well because, for example, we have a set of stories called Sekret Machines. We take real facts about the UAP, and we are making movies and write books like Sekret Machines based on that. 

“We also take the observed technology from the classified videos and U.S. government documents with the DoD or the CIA, and my co-founder Dr. [Hal] Puthoff then works his way back into the physics of how the UAPs are operating. 

“Now we can start dabbling in and building that stuff and make science fiction become a reality. It is bringing about a technology that can transform mankind, and then continuing to study the phenomena that has been interacting with mankind for millennia.”

Depending on the person receiving the information, the topic of UAPs can be met with a gigantic eye-roll, absolute fear, or an enthusiastic hunger to learn more. In any case, to the believers and skeptics alike, the subject matter is notoriously saturated with disinformation and falsified videos. Standing out as an authentic source can be a difficult task.

To combat this, TTSAAS strives to work with information that has been verified under the scrutiny of science. Ideally, only substantiated data is disclosed to the public.  

“My partner Jim Semivan, from the CIA and one of the co-founders of the company, says we are only going to stick to real, certified, verifiable science. Just real stuff.

“That’s why the declassified videos that TTSAAS brought out were so important. We know who the pilots are, the systems that captured it, and the type of plane that they were flying. It is completely verifiable, which goes a lot further when you stick to things that there is no argument about. I didn’t think there was going to be a lot of that stuff out there, but there really is. 

“We have already provided evidence that the UAP is real. That’s part of what we did when we released the declassified videos and when one of our partners, Lou Elizondo, came out about the Pentagon’s Advanced Aerospace Threat Identification Program [AATIP] last year.”

Elizondo’s secret program was first made public in December of 2017. With over $22 million dollars in government funding, the AATIP studied UAP from 2007 until 2012, when the program was officially dissolved. It was Elizondo who was responsible for releasing the compelling video footage of a United States fighter jet capturing a UAP performing incomprehensible maneuvers. 

Though the footage captures a UAP, the unidentified aspect of it means that it has not been verified as extraterrestrial. It could very well be something manufactured by humans, as its origin is still unknown. 

“We have already brought the evidence forth, and there is more that’s coming. There’s some big stuff that we have planned that’s really going to take this conversation straight into everybody’s living room. How will people react to it, and how will they absorb it, and how are they going to deal with it?” 

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So, how does a person go from playing punk music in front of thousands of people for decades to speaking in top-secret facilities with high-ranking government officials? two seem to be on different ends of the spectrum, DeLonge explains that he has been groomed for this his entire career. 

“When I started To The Stars Academy of Arts & Science, I was literally just a musician.”

“A lot of people ask me how I go from performing on stage to speaking with people from the CIA, the DoD, or the world’s biggest aerospace companies. It is crazy. But the thing that really prepared me was I already felt like anything was possible. 

“When Blink exploded, to being a part of that ride, you’re already thinking that anything can happen—because I was living in my parents’ garage. So, when you go from living in the garage to something like that, you kind of already open the door to believing anything is possible. With that experience, I realized that there aren’t barriers on really ambitious, big ideas. 

“The next thing that prepared me was already being an entrepreneur.  I have already been in thousands of meetings with people that knew a lot more than me, that were a lot more professional, and a lot smarter.  I have already embarrassed myself thousands of times when pitching my company and not knowing any of my shit—I had a lot of failures, but through those experiences, I learned how to hold myself. 

“The third thing I learned that helped prepare me was that you absolutely must execute what you say you are going to do. If you say you are going to do something, don’t let months pass, and don’t forget about it. You follow up when you say you’re going to follow up, and you show them progress, listen and take their advice when necessary. 

“Those types of things are what helped me earn the trust of people and then eventually create a giant mechanism to do something that has never been done. To this day I remain very much out of my league. 

“More than anything, though, my team, they’re the guys that really do that stuff. They’re the ones that their whole lives and careers have been in those kinds of environments, so I really lean on them to do most of the heavy lifting.”

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Taking a hard look at DeLonge’s resume, it would be tough to challenge his credibility as an entrepreneur. As the founder of several successful bands and businesses throughout his life, it’s obvious he does not lack motivation or the desire to challenge himself. 

But as a public figure, it can be easy to pigeonhole him. Absorbing only superficial snapshots of his life, it would be no stretch (and not completely inaccurate) to stereotype him as merely a punk musician who tells raunchy jokes and chases aliens like a crazy person.

Digging beneath the surface, however, it becomes apparent that DeLonge and his team are anything but crazy. Doing their best to utilize substantial evidence and apply a scientific approach to their work, it seems as though TTSAAS could generate significant research. But that does not mean it won’t be an uphill battle for people to take DeLonge seriously. 

“I do get all these headlines that I am ‘chasing aliens’ or left my band to chase Unidentified Flying Objects or has a tinfoil hat on my head and I’m crazy. I look at those comments and think, if you only knew what I knew, if you’d only been in the meetings I have been in, if you’d only had the discussions that I’ve had, if you’d only seen the shit that I have seen. Not only would those comments stop, but their hair would turn white, and they would lose sleep the way I have lost sleep. 

“That’s not something you can just tell everybody. Most people go, ‘We want to hear those songs where you ran around naked and told dick jokes.’ That’s still a big part of me; it really is. My humor, friends, and the music that I like hasn’t changed—I still listen to punk rock almost daily. 

“But as far as what I need to do for the planet and what I feel like I have been chosen to do, I have to see it through.”

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Starting an aerospace company, recording music with Angels & Airwaves, writing novels, producing and directing films, and so much more, is a large undertaking for just one company.

To say a lot rides on DeLonge’s shoulders is an understatement.

“There is a lot of pressure. We are kind of like five entertainment companies in one—the way Disney is, but we are tiny. Then on top of that, we are building technology that is extremely revolutionary and difficult and takes years to bring to fruition. So, yeah, there is pressure.  It is super-ambitious, ridiculously difficult, but so insanely rewarding.”

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In order to combat the considerable amount of pressure, DeLonge has found something functional and fun to ease the daily stressors. Reminiscent of an obsession that began in his childhood, his newfound passion takes him away (literally and metaphorically) from the daily burdens. 

“You know, I had a really difficult year. A lot of things came into my life this past year, like starting a company, and it has been really stressful. When I got into riding bikes in a big way this past year and half or so—I toyed with it in my 20s—with everything going on, it reminded me of when I was a kid in a broken family; my parents hated each other, and I hated my parents. 

“I had just started Blink as a punk rock band, and skateboarding was my life. Every time I got on the skateboard, I felt the vibration of the street through the board, and I felt the wind, and I felt the motion. The faster I went, the farther away from home I got, with everything disappearing behind me. 

“The motorcycle is the first thing that reminds me of learning how to skateboard. It is the first thing that reminds me of that freedom, of feeling that motion, of feeling like you’re flying.”


“It has been an absolutely wonderful way for me to get on and go up the coast and get away from some of the things that I am dealing with. 

“I’ve always wanted to get into it in a big way, but I never thought I would like it this much. It’s like anything else that people get into; once you get into it and understand it, then you realize what people have been talking about.” 

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DeLonge has three motorcycles: a Ducati Monster, a BMW R nineT, and a BMW R 1200 GS Adventure. Because the Monster has been at the shop for almost a year, the R nineT and GS Adventure have become his main bikes. 

“While the Ducati was away, I was pissed because I really wanted a bike. So, I went and I bought the BMW R nineT. I got a limited-edition one; it’s got the big 21 number on there, representing when BMW first started making motorcycles in 1921. 

“It has all these intricately carved aluminum and titanium pieces. We changed the seat, exhaust, headers, and the wheels. I mean the whole thing looks steampunk. It’s funny; I wanted to make it much more industrial looking, and now it’s so shiny and showy. I was like, whoa, I didn’t really plan that part out. I thought it was going to look a little rougher around the edges. 

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“The R nineT is the most incredible thing, and I ride it every day around town. That’s what I ride to work and what I ride up and down the coast highway and along the ocean. It’s just my everyday bike. 

“But I noticed that the traffic has been getting so bad to get to Los Angeles. We are only a couple of hours from there, but it can take five hours sometimes! It can be ridiculous, so I needed a bike that was safer, bigger and more comfortable for the trip.

“So, I bought the huge R1200 GS Adventure. I remember at the time I had a Ford Raptor, this big, off-road truck, and this was the same thing as the Raptor, but as a bike. 

“It can go anywhere and do anything. You can pack it up for long trips; you can ride it up to Alaska if you want. It doesn’t matter if you have to go over a mountain and through a river or all along dirt roads, this bike can do anything. 

“It’s just as comfortable on the freeway with cruise control and heated grips as it is riding off-road. I got the GS for those trips, and it now keeps my commute to LA around 90 minutes both ways, just cutting through traffic and splitting lanes. 

“Until I get my Ducati back, my two bikes are the R nineT and GS Adventure. I really want to buy a bunch of R nineTs right now. That’s really what I want. I do like all of the Triumphs and Nortons and all that—they’re so stylish—but something about these BMWs and the way they do the boxer engine just looks cool. I am kind of into German engineering. They’re mad scientists over there.”

Motorcycles are a well-deserved reprieve from the slew of never-ending projects he takes on. Though it can be overwhelming at times, DeLonge would not have it any other way. 

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“Outside of having my family, the only two giant things I have cared about were music and the Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. Music was the dream, and the Unidentified Aerial Phenomena was this unattainable, fascinating hobby of mine. But the fact that I am playing such a big part in both is like, oh my god, how did that happen? 

“I can say at this point in my life, TTSAAS is tremendously more satisfying than being in a band. But that’s only because I have been in a band for so long. Being in a band is the best job in the world, but you are still playing the same 15 songs every night, and you’re still exhausted waking up in a parking lot, and you’re still waiting around for 24 hours of the day to have one hour of a lot of adrenaline.

“Things become very monotonous for me. But this kind of a company at this stage in my life is a blend of all the things I love: producing films, directing films, writing novels, working in aerospace, working in science, working with the government, and still playing music. 

“Angels & Airwaves is recording right now. We have big plans for that band next year. So, I still get to do all the things I love, but I have broken into other areas that really keep me satisfied at this point in my life.

“If you look at what I’ve done and who I am, I honestly feel like I have been molded to do this. That doesn’t mean it’s not the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. It feels harder than breaking a giant rock band. I just know that I am supposed to be here.

“I just know it with every ounce of my being that I am doing exactly what I was meant to do.” 

Cycle Zombies

Bringing Old Bikes Back From the Dead

Words & photos by Todd Blubaugh


Scotty Stopnik

“Cycle Zombies is a family that was born and raised in Orange County, CA.  It was never founded, it just happened.  Surfing, skateboarding, building and riding old motorcycles, is a life we live and breath everyday, it’s not a club or a gang, but a brotherhood of family and friends who ride together and care for each other...

Digging up old bikes and bringing them back to life with a new look.  We’re not trying to re-invent the wheel, but only make them turn again...”

Scotty Stopnik

You’ve probably seen or heard of the Cycle Zombies by now. Their exposition is consistently present at events and between the pages of most magazines like this one. But even though I’ve been familiar with their reputation for over a decade, when asked, I could not confidently define them beyond their imagery of sunny surf and rusty bikes. So, I introduced myself to Cycle Zombies’ own Scotty Stopnik, and we arranged to meet at their shop for an afternoon ride the following week.  

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I arrived in Huntington Beach, California, just before 11 a.m. on December 11. The address took me to an industrial maze of shipping containers somewhere on the west side of town.  Scott Senior, otherwise known as Big Scott, greeted me at the garage door and helped to remove the honeybee stinger that had been stuck in my face for the last 10 miles. Although I had seen Big Scott at many different events, this was the first time we had ever met. 

He was welcoming and kind. I noticed immediately that his step and posture were light, and he spoke with a youthful syntax. I found it hard to believe when he told me he is 60 years old. The garage was well organized, and Scott showed me the lineup of each bike on the floor—explaining where it came from and the work he had yet to do. The garage door adjacent to the Zombies was open, and from it, in walked a man wearing a CZ T-shirt named John Moss. Scott introduced us and explained that John was a skilled fabricator and artist who had been in this spot longer then they had. John was quiet and accommodating, and it was obvious that he was a close friend of the Zombies’. He rode an aggressive, full–rigid cone-nosed shovel and accompanied us the rest of the day. 

Taylor Stopnik, Scott’s youngest, arrived moments later on a 1965 pan with 1980s shovelheads—the displacement was 96 inches. Like his dad, he explained to me many of the subtle details and the history of the bike, including the dual thunder-jetted Super E that carbureted it.  Taylor spoke with deliberate calm, but I could tell he did not like to explain himself. He had an anxious undercurrent that he governed well with graceful conversation. Last to arrive was Scotty, who showed up with a dripping wetsuit and apologized for his tardy entrance: He had been enjoying the waves this morning. 

I walked around and photographed the shop while listening to Scotty talk about his morning. Scotty felt strangely familiar to me, and I realized then that it was his voice; he and his cousin Chase Stopnik sound almost indistinguishable. I had just met Scotty, but I’ve have known Chase for years—he now lives in Los Angeles just blocks away from me, but this was where he grew up—and I could hear the years of influence in Scotty’s voice as he explained the surf to his brother and his dad. 

Taylor Stopnik

Though I have come to recognize them through their motorcycles, I am well aware that they have another dynamic about them: Surfing and skating is as much, if not more, a part of their DNA as the bikes. And when they were together, they did not speak like bikers; they sounded more like surfers, which I found refreshing. It seems that all too often there is a very machismo energy to these shop proceedings. But here with the Cycle Zombies, there was a physical energy to their discussion—devoid of ego and full of excitement as they spoke of surfing—which I should mention I know nothing about.  

Everyone was hungry, including John from next door, so we devised a plan to ride the coast down to a sandwich shop on Seal Beach.  Everyone grabbed a bike, someone locked down the shop, and we headed out for lunch. 

I’m unfamiliar with Huntington, so I rode in the middle, shooting and framing where I could. Traffic was not busy and frantic like in L.A., and we had, by comparison, plenty of road to ourselves. We had a moment of typical mechanical mutiny when John’s clutch linkage snapped, but we fixed it with a short length of bailing wire and my Leatherman. Once we were along the waterfront, it was interesting to see the Zombies change their proverbial ”gears.” They did not speed as they did through city blocks, but maintained a consistent pace at which they could divert all their attention to the surf. They watched it as prey—and like pack animals, would occasionally herd together in one lane and discuss their observations.  

We parked our bikes in a line outside of a classic little deli on the Pacific Coast Highway called John’s Philly Grille. On the east-facing porch, I listened to Big Scott talk about growing up in Huntington. It occurred to me that this was the true origin story of the Zombies, when Big Scott was befriended by the Hessians MC 1% club in 1959; he was 12 years old and grew up next to their clubhouse/garage, where he learned how to customize bikes. He applied their taste and stylings to his bicycles, and the Hessians helped him in exchange for sweeping the shop and polishing chrome. They even took him around to custom motorcycle shows.

He started building motobikes as soon as he got his license. Then his priorities shifted to his family and career for a term (I should mention that Scott has seven kids—three boys and four daughters), but as soon as his sons were old enough, they took an interest in bikes, too. Huntington was the perfect place to incubate their lifestyle, and the Cycle Zombies’ legacy began to take its shape. The name evolved a little later as their reputation grew and it became necessary to define themselves. “Zombie” is a descriptive reference to the once-dead aspect of the “Cycles” they now ride.  

There was no tone of authority as I listened to Scott Senior and Scotty describe Huntington; there was very little evidence of father and son.  Instead, their communication was much more like close friends. Hearing their stories, it seemed as though I was sitting with two long-invested collaborates.  Taylor, however, spoke less but listened contently. He seemed to be quieter by comparison, or at least a bit more guarded in his conversation. So, by the same limited comparison, Taylor seemed more in the manner of his other brother Turk Stopnik, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for a couple of years. Turk is the middle Stopnik and now works as a firefighter in the forests of California—Big Scott spoke of him proudly. I could not help but wish he were here for this conversation, but regardless of the distance, it was obvious they remained a close tribe. 

There was no tone of authority as I listened to Scott Senior and Scotty describe Huntington; there was very little evidence of father and son.  Instead, their communication was much more like close friends. Hearing their stories, it seemed as though I was sitting with two long-invested collaborates.  Taylor, however, spoke less but listened contently. He seemed to be quieter by comparison, or at least a bit more guarded in his conversation. So, by the same limited comparison, Taylor seemed more in the manner of his other brother Turk Stopnik, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing for a couple of years. Turk is the middle Stopnik and now works as a firefighter in the forests of California—Big Scott spoke of him proudly. I could not help but wish he were here for this conversation, but regardless of the distance, it was obvious they remained a close tribe. 

After lunch, we rode back along the waterfront toward the container yard. At a red light, I saw Scotty watching the ocean with intimate focus.  I could recognize the power it had over him (as can any man recognize the pull of passion when it is near), but I could not identify with this dimension of the Cycle Zombies. It was a different language to me, but they understood it thoroughly—and it clearly shouted at them over the sounds of their own bikes. When we got back to the shop Scotty admitted that he would have much rather been surfing than riding today. 

We kicked tires in the sidelong light of later afternoon. Scotty did burnouts and pushed around on his skateboard until he had to go pick up his youngest boy, Sid. When they returned, I saw three generations of Stopniks in motion; one-and-a-half-year-old Sid played about the garage with definitive pleasure, just like his father and grandfather.

It is a long road that eventually reaches the place in life where we no longer need to define ourselves—a place where our purpose is simply understood. Only after countless dead ends and detours (if time favors) do we arrive at such a point. Further along even still is when that definition is passed on and secured beyond our mortal time. Many do not make it this far. But, after one ride with the Stopniks, it is clear to me that they have indeed arrived—and they call it the Cycle Zombies.

The Future(s) of Supercross

Supercross: Past, Present & Future

Words by Brett Smith |

Archive photos by Dave Dewhurst | Supercross Futures photos by Eric Shirk


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It started as a one-race invitational in 1972. Then it became a springtime warmup series, a three- to four-race dash through the month of March. The first race was called the Super Bowl of Motocross. The first championship received the name Yamaha Super Series of Motocross. Magazines later referred to it as a completely new discipline of dirt bike racing: stadium-cross, then Super-cross and, finally, supercross.  

At first, riders wore the numbers they earned from the previous year’s motocross standings. The Super Series title didn’t seem to hold much weight. The early races at the Astrodome hosted the Texas High School Motocross Championships on the same track that Jimmy Ellis and Jimmy Weinert had blasted around the night before. Was supercross the future of dirt bike racing in America, or a watered-down version of motocross? Opinions depended on the persons asked. Whether they liked it or not, the riders continued to show up, and so did the spectators. Nobody knew where any of it was going, but they knew they didn’t want to miss it. 

In 1972 at the Los Angeles Coliseum, Pete Szilagyi of Dirt Bike magazine watched a group of spectators walk up to the ticket gate with beers and coolers full of, probably, more beers. “What do you mean we can’t come in with these?” the dumbfounded revelers asked the agent at the turnstile. “This is a motocross race!” But was it? 

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“It’s motocross but it’s not,” wrote Michael A. Brown in the July 1975 issue of Cycle World. In the early 1970s, American dirt bike enthusiasts were still absorbing the thrills that this European imported activity gave them. At some point, the series stopped being thought of as a warm-up, the champion wore his own No. 1 plate, and the whole thing stopped being thought of as motocross in a stadium. Supercross is supercross. Motocross is motocross. Yet, since 1974, the Monster Energy Supercross and Lucas Oil Pro Motocross Championships have co-existed, exchanged calendars and shared talent. They’re the same but very different. The sports are like parents who love both of their children equally but differently. 

The supercross championship turned 45 in 2019, and while the tracks have changed, the bikes certainly have evolved and the racing format has been tweaked, the spectacle, the vibe, the “show” stayed consistent. In 1978, Dave Hawkins titled a Cycle article, “Circus Time at the Stadium” and used his 4,000 words to interview riders and teams about the evolution of this new series that, by that point, had hit 11 rounds in eight cities. It’s fitting that in 2009, Feld Entertainment, operators of the Ringling Bros. Circus, took over as the promoters and producers of supercross. 

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Dave Prater started out in 2000, and one of his many tasks included getting the teams parked outside the stadiums. Now the senior director of two-wheel operations for Feld Entertainment, he has worked about 320 races, watched the sport change, and even implemented some of that change. He chuckles when people take umbrage at new rules or altered formatting and cry,”‘But that isn’t supercross!”

“Well, what is supercross?” he asks back.

To not accept change in supercross is to not accept supercross at all.

“I think our format was something that was ahead of its time,” Prater said of an evening filled with short races, all between approximately 8-20 laps. “It’s still relevant today. I used to say kids don’t have the attention span that they used to, but the reality is none of us have the attention span we used to.” 

Supercross is a uniquely American invention, a Hollywood-ized version of motocross. It exists solely because people who loved motocross wanted to share it with, and make it accessible to, more people. And, of course, make money. But a lot of money is shelled out before any is made. At the first Super Bowl of Motocross, promoter Mike Goodwin detailed his costs to several reporters: $28,000 to truck 4,000 cubic feet of dirt in from 15 miles away, $35,000 on promotion, $40,855 to complete the course. Curiously, the rental fee for the LA Coliseum was not a part of any of the conversations.  

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For 45 years, promoters have spent time and money trying to entertain beyond the racing. Supercross sideshows have included a daredevil with a hang glider attached to a motorcycle, wheelie experts, dog races, blindfolded foot races, the sphere of death and a woman who climbed into a Styrofoam box and blew herself up; she called herself Dynamite Lady, of course.

The longest running exhibition/sideshow, however, is easily the KTM Jr. Supercross Challenge, a 50cc race featuring 15 kids aged seven or eight on identical KTM 50 SX mini bikes.

This proves something significant. Spectators might appreciate a guy who can ride a wheelie around the entire track or a woman who blows herself out of a box, but what they really want to see is good racing. The exhibition with the kids is endearing, but it doesn’t provide a path to winning 450 main events 15 years into the future. To be fair to KTM and Feld, that isn’t the intent of KJSC. In 1987, with Jeff Ward and Ricky Johnson looking on, I rode my Kawasaki KX60 in a two-lap intermission race at the Pontiac Silverdome. The wall-like jump faces and the tire-eating whoops scared the hell out of me, if anything. 

Photo courtesy KTM Jr. Supercross Challenge

Photo courtesy KTM Jr. Supercross Challenge

In 2011, Feld Entertainment introduced the Monster Energy Cup, a one-off race on a hybrid supercross/motocross track (in and around Sam Boyd Stadium). The format tested out a three-main-event structure, each 10 laps in length. Lowest score after the three races is declared the overall winner. In between those main events, amateur kids in two different classes (Super Mini and All-Stars) competed, as well. The All-Stars division featured promising young riders on full-size 250 four-stroke motorcycles. This class exposed a developmental hole in the sport that most people already knew about but didn’t act on.

Racers are eligible to turn professional in dirt bike racing at 16 years old, but very few have the necessary experience and maturity at that age. The 2011 Monster Cup was a light-bulb moment for Prater and his co-workers. “Seeing them actually out there made it blatantly obvious that we should try to do more and try to get them more experience prior to stepping into the pro class,” Prater says. “There weren’t very many opportunities, and there still aren’t very many opportunities for younger riders to race a supercross track. So, I don’t think we were paying as much attention to it until we introduced the Monster Energy Cup.”

In 2018, Feld introduced “Supercross Futures,” a series of Sunday amateur races on a tamed-down course in the same stadium where Ken Roczen and Adam Cianciarulo raced the night before. In 2019, the top three riders from each of the 26 classes will be eligible to compete in the Supercross Futures AMA National Championship on Monster Cup weekend in October. 

Feld shut down the Amsoil Arenacross championship last May. A series that’s often called a minor league feeder system, it really wasn’t. Going back to 1986, the inaugural season of the championship, not a single rider “graduated” from arenacross to become a supercross champion in either the 250 or 450 divisions. Not a single Arenacross champion scored even a 450 main event win. Arenacross provided an intense racing experience but had a very out of sight, out of mind feel. 

Seeing the young riders at such an early age allows Feld to better asses the talent that will come to them as young adults when they turn professional. “It’s 100 percent a future play, no pun intended,” Prater said. “We may not see any benefits for five or six years, but I think we’re going to start seeing kids come into the sport and are way better prepared than they are right now, in every way. That’s the goal.”

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Supercross Futures is the first true feeder system for supercross, a series that has chewed up good talent—especially riders raised exclusively on motocross tracks—with early career injuries and an inability to quickly adapt and learn the craft of racing in a stadium.

At $105 a class to register for SX Futures, $30 for a mechanics pass and $25 a ticket if the rest of your family wants to spectate from the bleachers, it looks like an easy money grab. But the math doesn’t support it. 

Glendale, the opening round of 2019, had 712 entries and 425 unique riders. The second round in Anaheim had 784 entries and 484 unique riders. Many factors play into renting major sports stadiums. One executive in the Bay Area said, “A general rule of thumb is $150,000 every four hours.” Another said $250,000 for a full day. Add up the entry fees from Glendale and, assuming every rider bought one mechanic’s pass and estimating that 1,000 spectators paid $25 to sit in the stands, the revenue comes out to $112,510. Do the math for round two: $121,840.

Representatives from Feld would not say if they are losing or making money on Supercross Futures, but they are building, literally, toward a better future. “It’s definitely not a financial play,” Prater said. “It’s a play for the long-term health of the sport.” Feld is the largest live event producer in the world and has the longest running partnership with the Walt Disney Company of any other company (Disney on Ice, anyone?). 

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An internal anecdotal tale goes like this: Once, Disney’s then-CEO Michael Eisner watched a live event with Kenneth Feld, founder of Feld Entertainment. Eisner liked what he saw but had a lot of recommendations. Not demands, just recommendations. They watched another show together a year later, and Eisner was stunned that every single one of his ideas had been implemented. He gave Feld a 10-year deal to continue licensing the Disney name and properties. 

Feld is already looking 10 years into the future of dirt bike racing. They will continue to focus on branding and industry cooperation, but the Futures series is the first major push into developing talent and giving amateur riders more than just the experience of racing on a supercross track; they will now have a clearer path to racing professionally.

In return, Feld gets the opportunity to keep their eye on, get to know and mold their future stars.

Baseball didn’t get Little League until 1939, 70 years after the earliest professional team—the Cincinnati Red Stockings—first played. The Junior Football Conference, later rebranded as Pop Warner, started with just four teams in 1929, more than 45 years after the sport went through myriad regulation changes to evolve from a form of rugby into what we now know as American football. 

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Supercross is wholly American, and it’s only 45 years old. To be getting a youth-based developmental system now is on par with other major sports. The sport probably won’t look the same 45 years from now. Rules will change, formats will change, machinery will evolve, and better-prepared talent will make for better racing. Not every change will be met with acceptance. People will say, “But that isn’t supercross!”

Well, what is supercross?

Black & White (& Yellow)

The Story of WLF Enduro

Words by Keith Culver | Photos by Drew Ruiz


It’s interesting when you boil things down to their simplest form. 

Take relationships for example. The BLACK & WHITE simple facts of relationships and how they are formed, besides family, could probably go something like this: People have a common shared interest. People become friends. People do said common interests together to gain experience, enjoyment and fulfillment. This is soundly and perfectly applicable to motorcycles and the people who ride them. 

WLF is no exception to this basic forming of the relationships that have created and shaped this global community W.E. know today.

This is WLF in BLACK & WHITE (& YELLOW). 

Ultimately, the entire idea of WLF was started long ago when our past generations taught us that being a “grown up” shouldn’t be taken so seriously. Constant journeys to the ocean, lakes, mountains and desert fueled this fun. This generation also taught us that setting out on explorations with family and friends is more fulfilling than doing it alone. In the 1950s, the Smith family homesteaded land in Johnson Valley, California. The originals eventually got bikes and trail rode all over JV and the high deserts and mountains of South California. Skirting around the goat trails and up sand washes at what felt like lightning speeds, they formed a bond that has stood the test of time. They were the original WLF founders, even though they didn’t know it at the time. Fast-forward 40 years later, their sons with their friends and families are doing the same thing in the same places and getting the same joy from it, and sharing it with their grandchildren. 

Funny story: WLF started like most pure things do — by chance. 

A little over a decade ago, late in the eve around a campfire with a crew of lifelong friends, an idea was sparked. It was simple. We were a pack. 

It all got started with a sense of urgency for freedom and a bit of the unknown. “See that point on the map, W.E. can get to there from here like this …,” throwing our leg over the kind of bikes that could take us from point A to B, and everything that happened in-between is was what made the memories. Our shared love for the group we have, coupled with the passion for two-wheels, led us to taking on longer rides, more challenges, more snacks and trail amusement. No matter what it was, thick and thin, W.E. always were in it together. The fact is, we rely so heavily on each other that our actual mantra is “FURTHER TOGETHER,” and it’s more than just words on paper. It’s the whole pack’s mentality. 

WLF’s founding six is one — of brothers, by blood, by marriage and by a shared love of different activities and experiences together over the course of the last 25 years. W.E. have known each other in one form or another for almost all our lives. Growing up in the ’80s, ’90s and ’00s with a love for anything on boards or bikes, everyone tried each other’s favorite pasttime and was forced to flounder and prevail in the ocean, desert, mountain or lake at one time or another. Everyone’s lived through it and gotten a chance to learn, grow together and enjoy every adventure along the way. 

Brothers Jake and Mike Smith grew up riding dirt from birth and connected with me all the way back in grade school. Chaz Reta came into middle school and onto high school. Chaz Reta came into middle school and on to high school, making sure everyone was in the water at all times. Spending all our free time in the water, building mini-ramps, tearing down mini-ramps, going night boarding on black ice, riding 50cc around the river banks of Blythe chasing down wild horses to film the on Hi-8 because it looked amazing. Luke Takahashi rolled in the crew right out of high school, always surfing and hanging together. After his first ride, Luke was bit by the bug so hard he couldn’t sleep, the singletrack bug, images of endless trails and his friends ripping through them kept him up at night — and still to this day keeps us all motivated to ride. Greg Schlentz lived down the road from everyone, all growing up doing all the same activities and never knowing anyone existed until a happenstance meeting and marrying into the family. 

This rounded out the original six. Too many stories to remember, so many laughs we can’t count — still to this day, every time we ride any object on land or sea, you’ll see endless smiles. If friendship were traded on the stock market, we’d all be the richest men on Earth. 

W.E. are a ragtag, blue-collar crew made up of everything from teachers and salespeople to welders, creatives and construction workers that has become a global community of riders connected from around the world. There are so many people that make up this amazing movement, whether you ride with us every week, month or year — or we’ve never even met you — we thank you, you are WLF! 

W.E. ride trails, mountains, rivers, deserts, rocks, fire roads and anything else you can think of with our friends. Riding in groups doesn’t come without its costs, constantly putting each other in and dragging each other out of tight spots, fixing flats, or getting lost to get found, time and time again. We bring all our own tools to fix our own issues, and others who ride with us can attest that we’d fix theirs in a heartbeat to keep everyone happy and rolling. There’s never a dull moment with the pack. W.E. take our own images of each other, and others that come along with us, and try to spread the love of riding in the best way we know how, through the bliss of motor speed and shutter speed. 

WLF constantly works to foster community. Creating events, attending and helping friends’ events, supporting charities and participants that are in the two-wheel and off-road community. Creating an annual military appreciation ride event called MISSION,  with the premise that every vet should be simply thanked for their service, with a small token of gratitude. This year will be three years running with the support of the team @HusqvarnaMotorcyclesUSA; they bring vets from all over the U.S., from every branch of military, to come out and ride bikes and enjoy a weekend away on WLF and industry brand partners. Proceeds from this event go back to various charities that tie back to the riding community, such as @VeteransBack40. 

Always striving to give back, W.E. are now seven years in on @RideForKids trail ride, raising funds for Children’s Pediatric Brain Tumor research and foundation. Collectively raising over $15K from our community alone to help fight this disease that plagues thousands of children each year. We love supporting the females in our pack, as well, the #sheWLFs, as we coined them. You can find us out at the @BabesInTheDirt running “dad camp” and trail support for all the amazing ladies that are getting out and pushing themselves and their community. Anya and Ashmore have been a huge influence in empowering the ladies, and we love being able to attend and help contribute. Best thing about our community now is that it’s the WLFamily, no matter what year, make or model you’re on; Dual Sport / ADV / street bikes to technical Off-Road Enduro riding.

Our mission is simple: Unifying riders around the globe with a common passion of two wheels and a throttle to go FURTHER TOGETHER. W.E. all start and work together to finish in the same spot and love it every step of the way. 

Our goals for the future are to provide a platform for the families and the community that make up WLF, keep our focus on the worldwide community moving forward and helping us help people have more enjoyment in life. We want a place where people feel safe to learn and connect and grow as humans and riders. The connectivity of amazing people with each other, working with incredible brands, and helping grow and invest back is something that has given us all such a sense of purpose. Raise our families, be with friends, travel and RIDE MORE.

The industry that we love has supported us and continued to show us just what it means to be part of the two-wheel family. W.E. can’t thank them enough for all the support and letting us grow in our own way with our own vision. These brands and the people behind them are all one of a kind and deserve a standing ovation for their commitments to the dreams that all of us have to ride a bike. @FMF73 @DeusCustoms @AnswerOffRoad @SeatConcepts @IMS @BajaDesigns @AHMfactoryServices @GiantLoop @Stance. 

It’s interesting how simple it is: 

It’s black & white, it’s two-wheels, it’s a throttle, it’s some friends, it’s family, it’s riding. 

It’s passed on from generation to generation, and everyone gets to enjoy the stoke in their own way. Activities are funny that way — in one way or another, trends and fads come and go, but the root of the thing you do stays the same. Strip it all away, and you still have the people, the relationships and the passion for what brought them together. 

W.E. started around a fire. It’s evolved into WLF, a global community of riders with a shared passion. Ride with your friends because you love it — simple as BLACK & WHITE (& YELLOW).

DIY

Make It Your Own

Words by Ben Giese | Photos by Dean Bradshaw


With almost 8 billion people in a world that is more interconnected than ever, individuality is at a premium.  With our increasingly busy lives and the constant stream of media and information being fed to us, it’s easy to feel lost in the rat race, which is why creativity and self-expression are so important. It’s why the recent revival of “makers” and DIY creators is so refreshing.  It feels good not only to make something, but to make it your own. And I think when you get down to the core of it, beyond Instagram and the trendy motorcycle builder culture, the sense of fulfillment gained from creating something with your own two hands is what makes customizing bikes so special. 

That natural desire for self-expression (and my obsession with motorcycles) is what drove me to spend three cold winter months in my father’s garage turning wrenches and grinding metal. I knew this would be both an enjoyable and therapeutic project that would get me away from the computer screen, but what I didn’t anticipate was the genuine satisfaction I would feel from the entire process.  It was not only an exercise in design, but putting my hands on every nut and bolt of the machine enabled me to become acquainted with all the hidden corners of my motorcycle from the inside out. Through this process I formed a stronger bond with my bike. It became a part of me more than ever before.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  Either way, it became more than just something I owned; it became a reflection of myself. 

I wanted to transform my air-cooled Triumph Scrambler into a true “scrambler” that could take me well beyond the paved city streets of Denver and deep into the mountains and deserts of the Southwest. So, once the overhaul was finally completed, I headed out to the California desert to put it to the test on the rugged back roads and sand washes of Joshua Tree. The only thing I was looking forward to more than the process of building this bike was actually taking it out and getting it dirty. And it rode like a dream, just like I had imagined.  


I am not a professional bike builder by any means.  I’m simply a graphic designer with a vision for what I want and the tenacity to figure it out.  Which means you can do it, too. And I guess that’s the message I’m trying to get across. Don’t be afraid to get your hands dirty.  Make mistakes. And don’t hold back on your creative ideas, because the world could use more self-expression and individuality.


Learn more about the build at BikeEXIF