Eastbound and Down with Bill Bryant and the Biltwell Softail
12 UP NEXT
The All-New Biltwell Gringo SV Helmet
22 IT TAKES TIME TO BECOME TIMELESS
Thorogood Celebrates 130 Years of Boot Manufacturing in the USA
24 THE LONG HAUL
Biltwell’s Epic Adventure to the Arctic Circle
40 WORK IN PROGRESS
Behind the Scenes with 395—Biltwell’s First Off-Road Helmet
44 LOCALS ONLY
Riding The Iceland Highways with Legendary Moto Photographer Simon Cudby
48 GEAR GUIDE
This is the Equipment that Did Its Job During Operation Numbnuts
54 SIX TIPS FOR RIDING IN A PACK
Timeless Advice for Two-Wheeled Survival
56 FOOLS GOLD
Tim Staat Rides his Custom Sportster into the Off-Road Abyss
60
TECH TALK:
Building and Packing a Tool Kit for the Open Road
64 STURGIS, BROTHERRRR
Speed-King Steve Pops his Cherry at the Grandaddy of of Them All
66 TECH TALK:
How to Load Gear on Your Motorcycle
68 EXFIL SISSY BARS
Biltwell’s New Sissy Bar is Built Tough to Haul Everything
CHOPPER CAMPIN’
tips for better living from cary brobeck, editor-in-chief, choppers magazine
There is nothing better than filling up the ol’ sissy bar bag and heading out on a moto camp adventure with a few close friends. Camping from your chopper hits differently than camping from a newer bike with bags and suspension. You see, on a chopper, you have a sissy bar and maybe the handlebars to strap everything you might need for your journey.
No side bags, H-D luggage, or tour pack to properly store your goods from falling off your bike or jamming into your rear fender; just a 5/8” rolled sissy bar and an old military surplus duffle bag and worn-out bungee cords. Here are a few tips and tricks from a guy who has definitely learned from trial and error.
First, ensure your bike is in good working order. Scratch that… should be in excellent working order. Take it from a guy who has spent many hours on the side of a highway, either fixin’ my own bike or others that were not adequately prepared. Go over your entire bike. I find that wiping the bike down allows you to put your greasy fingers on just about every nut and bolt. Tighten everything, use Loc-tite, and change the fluids if needed, or at least check the oil. The last thing I usually overlook until we are at the third or fourth gas stop is the air pressure; it’s more important than you think.
Next on the ol’ Brobeck checklist is packing the right tools and extra parts. A good rule of thumb is to keep all the tools you used for final bike prep in a separate pile, then pack those
tool in your tool roll. If the tool pile gets too big, distribute them with the other chopper dudes you’re about to hit the road with. There is no need for all of you to be carrying the same exact tools. As for the parts, I will pack a spare tube for each tire along with tire spoons on longer trips. Extra throttle cable (someone’s cable always seems to break), points and condenser for the magneto, a spare primary belt, and a mixed bag of nuts and bolts. You might need different parts for whatever bike you are on, but you get the picture. The last thing to remember is extra fuel. If you ride a chopper, you most likely have a small tank and will need at least a gallon to get you to the next gas stop.
The last thing to think about before hittin’ the road is what’s in your bag and how well you strapped it down.
Now, the intelligent guy orders the Biltwell EXFIL-80 bag. Using this bag eliminates a separate tool bag and the worry about how you will strap your bag down, and it gives you lots of hooks to strap a tent and sleeping bag. Some dum-dums like me are still using a large duffle bag. It’s true… hard to teach an old dog new tricks.
If you are using a duffle, triple-check your bungee job after it’s all strapped down. Add a few extra bungees around the bag for your jacket or other shit you forget to pack before the duffle is all locked down. Sit on the bike and lean back to make sure there is nothing in the bag that will be jabbing into your back while leaning on it. Yes, that is the best part of having a big ol’ pack on the sissy bar. It turns your uncomfortable rigid chopper into a lazy boy. Get this part right, and you can ride longer than you think.
If you and all your buds get this right, there is no need for a chase truck. But let’s be real, if you can find someone to chase… do it. Makes room for an ice chest full of cold beverages, some firewood, and some added security in case the shit hits the fan.
The moral of this story is to be prepared. Be prepared for the elements, be prepared for breakdowns, and be prepared to have a great time! See yall on the road.
r(E)volve
“What the hell is that sound,” I thought to myself as I packed my gear. Scanning my bike, I realized the exhaust pipe was hanging by a single stud. I looked to my right at the Tail of the Dragon, to my left at the vast unknown, and directly at my phone. No bars. Fuck.
life lessons with kalen thorian
That grim day happened less than a year after I bought the motorcycle that would change my life forever: a ’93 Harley-Davidson FXR. After making that purchase, I stared at the bike in my garage for a month before I took her on my first ride. Fast forward to the following summer, when my FXR and I went on our first cross-country trip. In my mind there was nothing challenging about that plan, but that was before I learned “predictable” and “motorcycles” are rarely synonymous.
My plan for that road trip called for doing 2,000 miles in three days—a lofty goal that was quickly shot down in Oklahoma City due to record rainfall. Luckily, I broke down less than a mile from Harley-Davidson World, who graciously hauled my FXR on a flatbed, threw her on the shop lift, and drained her out.
“Okay—just a slight delay, no big deal.” I knew I had some miles to make up that morning, but it seemed doable. Seven hundred miles later with 30 to go, my dash started flickering. Next the headlight dimmed, then the rest of the bike shut down. I rolled to the side of the Interstate, absolutely exhausted and completely defeated. “I really don’t want to die in Alabama,” I thought to myself.
Then, like some holy beacon of brotherhood, I saw an orange glow on the horizon—another fucking Harley dealership. I called a tow truck and camped in their parking lot till the following morning. This time the stator was the culprit, but the shop had me patched up and back on the road by lunchtime. Delayed again, but not by much. Time to head to the Appalachian Mountains.
I’d heard of the road they call “The Tail of The Dragon,” but its dangerous reputation made me a little hesitant. I decided to ride to Deal’s Gap, chat with locals, and ease into it. Remember—I only had about seven months of real riding under my belt. I got to the crossroad and went inside. While sipping on a beer I asked the lady at the desk what the Dragon was really like.
“Where did you come from,” she asked. “Maryville,” I replied.
Maryville,” she responded curiously, “as in you passed Deal’s Gap Harley?”
“Yeah—I stopped there to buy a t-shirt,” I laughed uncomfortably.
“Honey—you just RODE over the Tail of The Dragon!”
Yep—that happened. I unknowingly travelled across one of the most dangerous highways in the United States, and while I was doing it the only thing that crossed my mind at the time time was, “Huh—this is kind of fun.”
With my newfound sense of confidence, I woke up the next morning motivated to tackle every technical road I could find. I was going to scrape my pegs in every turn. Pass every dummy on a bagger. Become the greatest female biker that’s ever liv…
“…what the hell is that sound?”
Returning to the present, I stared at the detached exhaust pipe. Even I knew this couldn’t be good. No phone service, and in the middle of nowhere. As the last glimmer of hope disappeared on the horizon, a sweet old man strolling by told me there was a small motorcycle repair shop 20 minutes down the road. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was something. “At least it’s downhill,”
he chuckled as he walked by. When I coasted into the little shop in the woods, I could tell the mechanics were holding back their laughter, but they happily welded up some broken bits, replaced the header studs, and got me back on the road… again.
I saw plenty of other mishaps on the rest of my journey. In North Carolina I learned how to replace a throttle cable when mine broke. In Orlando I learned about primaries when my tensioner shattered and the chain seized. And in West Texas I learned never to ride in West Texas.
Five weeks later I arrived home. As I cracked a beer that cold November evening, I smiled at my FXR. Her little 80-inch Evo clocked 25,000 miles with an owner who had no fucking idea what she was doing. As a professional athlete it had always been my job to push things—myself, my gear, my environment—to the extreme. My FXR quickly taught me to treat her less like an athlete, and more like an artist. To slow down. To let go. To enjoy the mechanical intimacy that comes with every repair. But most of all, to enjoy the confidence you gain with every mile. For me the definition of success was no longer the destination—it is the journey, and the personal evolution that occurs with every stroke of the pistons.
-Kalen
3X 3
CROSS COUNTRY IN A HURRY
Story By Bill Bryant
The Gypsy Run was started in 2007 by a couple guys with good intentions but a lack of capacity. Walt from Kickstart Cycle in New Jersey was one of the handful of us waiting for it to “start” at the west exit of the Holland Tunnel some 12 years ago. Being the motivated individual he was/is, he quickly took the reigns and has been running it ever since.
Fast forward to 2019 and the “Gypsy” has become a staple of Northeast, grassroots motorcycling campouts. I was on that first one on a cantankerous old Triumph chopper, and later on my trusty FXR, a freshly-built shovelhead and several other machines. The last Gypsy for me was 2016 and I felt like I needed to get back to Upstate New York for a little cycle therapy and some time with my buddies from the right coast. I’ve seen most of America from two wheels and driven across it plenty of times but never actually crossed our great nation on a motorcycle in a single trip. Since Biltwell supports Ride 1k in a Day, the idea of doing it in a hurry was appealing. We happened to have a perfectly fine 2018 Harley-Davidson Street Bob that we bought last year as a development mule for hard parts. With only 1500-ish miles on it, this machine was the splendid candidate for a cross-country adventure.
The Trip
I’ll spare you the day-by-day journal of every Flying J truck stop and condense it down to the bare minimum. Day 1, So Cal to Denver took 16 hours and 53 minutes. Day 2 was the longest at 18:36. I detoured up to Sturgis and came back down through Souix Falls and ended in Council Bluffs, Iowa. I took the next day off to tour the Brownells facility (mindblowing) and hang out with friends Yeti and Yolo. I hit the road early on Friday and was through Chicago before the sun came up. I lucked out on weather during the whole trip and the two hours of rain through Ohio was really way less than I had expected. That final day I hit the 1000 mile mark about 40 minutes from the Gypsy Run at 17 hours, 56 minutes. Ride 1K in a Day was definitely the inspiration and motivation for doing the trip on a crazy schedule like this. Keeping up with Curtis via email required me to shoot a pic of my gas receipt (to prove time and location) next to
my odometer (not trip meter) first thing in the morning, a midway update and then another final one at the end of the 1000 miles. It sounds a little complicated but was really easy to keep track of in the same email thread and Curtis was always a cheerleader who would do the math, take the time changes into account, etc. If you’ve ever wondered if you can do it, you can. It takes no special skills, just a little planning and the tenacity to keep going when your body and mind both think it would make more sense to call it a day. I’m already looking forward to doing the next one. I’m gonna work on a new seat for my rigid shovelhead chopper and take one of my favorite routes up the 395 til I hit the 500 mile mark, have an ice cream and a Red Bull and head home. Maybe next spring…
The Bike
If I had a secret weapon on this trip it was this 2018 Street Bob. Sure, a touring bike
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Definitely not a chopper, but no heated grips, hard bags or fancy winsheilds, either. Harley’s M-8-powered, stripped down Street Bob ate up the miles like I ate Advil.
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would’ve been better, but I already felt like a cheater doing it on a modern bike. Even a cheap windshield would’ve been a good idea, but I didn’t have one and really just wanted to ride a regular ol’ Harley. The only mods were a bunch of our parts: Murdock 10” risers, Tracker High handlebars, Utility Mirrors, Punisher XL and regular Punisher pegs, Alumicore Grips, our Softail Dash Panel and of course our gear. The bags used were our Exfil-11 tank bag, Exfil-48 backpack and Exfil-7 bar bag with our Exfil-0 tool roll inside. I used our new Borrego gloves and a Lane Splitter with a prototype Transitions shield (cheater!). See the photos for the entire gear set-up for each bag. Ergonomically, the bike is fine from the factory for a 5’9” fat guy like me. I prefer mid controls and these feel awfully close to the same geometry as my shovel chop. This won’t be everyone’s optimal set-up, especially for long-legged tall guys. A set of highway pegs would have absolutely helped with fatigue. I moved back and forth between the regular pegs and the passenger pegs to let my nether regions get some blood flow. I pivoted our Punishers so they were in a rear-set orientation which was really comfortable and still allowed me to stand on them and have a decent center of gravity. The mids are way too far forward to stand on at high speeds. One thing I learned was that the shape of the tank and position of my feet on the mids at speeds over about 85mph pulled my knees apart so much that my hips actually ached. On a normal day this wouldn’t be a big deal but I rode for hours between 90 and 100mph and after day one had to consciously sit pigeon-toed to keep my knees tucked. Luckily the last couple hundred miles each day were in the dark where I slowed down to about 80mph which offered some relief when I was the most fatigued. The bike never missed a beat. It gets about 150 miles to a tank, so I’d generally look for gas around 120 miles or when the gas light came on. To a chopper rider, it was a little unsettling not to have a manual petcock reserve or an extra gas can on board. Somehow I never ran out of gas
but I pushed my luck a few times and where it looked like gas might be a little hard to find, I topped off early and enjoyed the opportunity to hydrate and stretch anyway. The single-disc front brake on this bike is the best I’ve ever used on a stock Harley. The rear, even after adjusting the pedal was one of the worst. I just
“The biggest contributor to staying on pace is this: you gotta go it alone.”
got used to the extra effort required and will probably adjust the pedal up a little more. Not a single bolt came loose. It used about a cup of oil (I checked it several times a day anyway out of habit) and never required any kind of maintenance. Weird, huh? The most modern bike in my quiver is my trusty ’92 FXR and even it requires at least a little wrench spinning on a big trip. To say I was satisfied with the bike’s performance would be an understatement, and I’m not getting paid to say that!
The Gear
I personally design our line of Exfil luggage at Biltwell and trips like this are great to expose weaknesses and flaws. Given the mission at hand, these bags might be considered going lightweight when compared to contemporary baggers and touring bikes. If I hadn’t needed camping gear for two nights on the Gypsy Run, I could’ve scaled down even more. I rotated through layers as the weather and altitude changed, but always kept the bed roll behind my lower back at the biggest size the front straps on the Exfil-48 backpack would accommodate. This meant that sometimes I had to take stuff out of the bag to make the roll big enough, but that was easy. When I was done with the trip, I put essentials in the backpack and flew home with it as a carry-on. The Big Agnes Fly Creek HL bike packing tent has its own straps that made attaching it to the top of the MOLLE on the Exfil-7 look like they were made for each other. Their Air Core Ultra inflatable pad and Anvil Horn 30 sleeping bag
fit inside the backpack and once I made it to the Gypsy Run in Narrowsburg, NY, provided the two best night’s sleep during the entire trip. I usually fit in a large pair of our new Borrego gloves, but chose XL just in case. One night it was a little cold and wet, and I slipped a pair of or our Moto Gloves on as insulated liners. It was a good compromise since most of the weather ranged from warm to downright blazing hot. In the few scattered showers I just rode in the same gear and dried out an hour or two after riding through it. When it looked like Ohio rain wasn’t going to be just a quick shower, I put on some cheap rain pants over my gear and light rain shell under my swap meet jacket and trusty old Biltwell denim vest. I attached an old wash cloth to the tank bag and would wipe the really big chunks off my visor while riding until it got so clogged with bugs and sunscreen that I had to abandon that idea. What didn’t work was my bright idea to drill a hole into the center of the top cap on my Murdock risers and mount a Rok-Form apparatus for my iPhone. Actually, the mount worked out great and looked less lame than a U-bolt holding it to the bars. However, my phone did not enjoy being hard mounted to the Harley paint shaker. At the first gas stop on day one the sensor in my camera gave up and would not stop vibrating when in camera mode. Not that big of a deal except I had to use the selfie camera to document the gas receipts and odometer three times a day. This had to look super dorky if anyone saw my gyrations to make that happen, but I never stuck around long enough to notice. So, lesson learned, don’t hard mount your sensitive super phone. I had back-up paper maps and the route was fairly simple despite the high miles, but having the phone and the factory USB port up on the neck of the ‘Bob made navigating simple and easy. I used Apple AirPods about 75% of the time. Some podcasts were hard to hear at 95mph, so I mostly played music all day and listened to podcasts at night when I was going slower. I figured out pretty early that the AirPods don’t stay powered all day so I’d keep the case charged and then throw
them in that to soak up some energy while I gassed up, hit the head and got a snack. Once I figured that out, it was smooth sailing with my own personal soundtrack.
Road Hacks
Many riders have logged way more miles than me, so I’m not claiming to be an expert here. But, I’ll share what worked for me as far as pace and stopping go. The biggest contributor to staying on pace is this: You gotta go it alone. Even the best riding buddy will want to stop at times where you don’t need to yet. By traveling solo, it allowed me to skip all meals until the end of the night. I carried RX bars and ate a few of those throughout the day, along with a gas station snack or two. I tried to mow down as many miles as possible early in the day so I had less riding to do at night when fatigue was at its peak. I didn’t break for any longer than needed until the 500-mile mark. At that point I’d take a 15-minute rest, maybe eat an ice cream, have a coffee or a Red Bull and lay in the shade if there was grass around. A few yoga stretches and catch up on returning a few texts and I’d be back on the road. Again at the 750-mile mark, I’d allow another quick break, confirm navigation was correct, maybe add a layer and then hammer down for the home stretch. That last 250 was 10x harder than the first 500 and that’s the nature of long days in the saddle. I didn’t overdo it on caffeine, though a had my share of coffees and Red Bulls, but I tried to mostly drink water and Gatorade. I kept a hydro flask on the bike and topped it off with ice and water first thing in the AM so no matter where I was I’d have some nice, cold water. It fit right in my tank bag so taking a pull whenever was easy. Also, because I know bikes are hard to see in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, I added some reflector tape to the sissy bar. It won’t win any bike shows, but it pops from a mile away. I also always bring a cable lock for added security outside crappy hotels in unfamiliar areas.
Up front, the Exfil-7 held my Big Agnes sleeping pad and their bikepacking tent clipped right to the MOLLE on top of our bag. This stuff never moved and added a little protection from wind and bugs.
The Exfil-48 backpack held everything I needed on the trip and the flight home. Running those front/lower straps through the passenger grab strap on the Softail made it super-secure and rolling up layers held with the same straps made it a perfect back rest.
Exfil-11 Tank bag is the ultimate glove box.
What Next?
Now that I’ve done this once, I kinda want to do it again, but faster. I got extremely lucky with weather, deer and cops, so maybe this is as fast as I am capable of doing it safely. Faster is going to have to wait—the next one for me will be 1k in a day on my rigid shovel and I’m absolutely not going for speed records on that. Throw in the needs of a kickstartonly 40+ year old custom and I’ll be lucky to make 1000 miles using the entire 24 hours given.
-Bill
closure mechanisms operate on the fly with gloves
molded polycarbonate shield
EPS safety liner channels airflow over rider’s head
Integrated vents on brow, chin bar, and rear of helmet shell
Removable/replaceable padded comfort liner and cheek pads
Introducing the All-new Gringo SV
In 2014 we injected ‘70s motorsport DNA with advanced protective engineering to create Gringo, our first full-face helmet for motorcycles. Bikeriders rejoiced, and the retro/modern helmet revival was born. Several years later we added a polycarbonate shield to create Gringo S, then upgraded both models to meet ECE R22.05 standards. Today Gringo and Gringo S are two of the most recognized motorcycles helmets in the world.
Never willing to rest on our laurels, in 2023 we’ll drop Gringo SV. Built to the same high standard as its predecessors, Gringo SV is spec’ed to contend with helmets in a whole new class. Integrated vents on the helmet shell—not merely glued-on plastic appendages—are a Biltwell first, and give Gringo SV a racy, high-performance silhouette. Internal airflow passes over the rider’s head through channels in the EPS safety foam to dissipate heat and moisture buildup. Sliding mechanisms behind
both brow vents let you block airflow in cold conditions. Gringo SV’s shield features our Gen-2 hinge hardware with robust detents, and a new locking mechanism similar to the brass pin on our Lane Splitter helmet. Of course, Gringo SV’s three-piece comfort liner is removable for cleaning and replacement.
A WHOLE NEW STANDARD, NOW STANDARD
In another first, when it drops later this
year our all-new Gringo SV will be the first Biltwell helmet to receive Europe’s new ECE R22.06 safety certification. These new test protocols address a much wider range of probable loads and impact angles, as well as a whole new, higher set of standards for shield testing—everything from light transmission to permeability during impact. Of course, Gringo SV remains compliant with all US DOT standards for peace of mind on US highways.
Forehead vents feature internal closure mechanisms to control wind flow
metallic sea foam
Gen 2 hinge hardware with aluminum washers and stainless-steel screws
metallic sierra Green
Integrated chin bar vents direct internal airflow to dissipate moisture
Metallic GRape
gloss white
Select models feature chrome-accented eye port and shell trim
CE-certified, scratch- and fog-resistant polycarbonate shield
GLOSS STORM GREY
Removable comfort liner and cheek pads with moisture-wicking fleece Lycra
METALLIC CANDY RED
it takes time to become timeless
130 years of american-made awesomeness.
We’ve been riding and working in Thorogood boots for years. Recently on our Numbnuts trip we rode in the rain for weeks at a time and were amazed at how remarkably waterproof the lined moc toe Thorogoods were. 2022 marked the 130th year in business for the manufacturer and we reached out to get some background on this iconic brand.
This is the remarkable story about the evolution of a brand and the company that bears his name. From a small cobblery in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, in 1892 to becoming a catalyst for getting work done. These unique moments in history have helped create a brand that provides the foundation so America can.
In 1892, Albert Weinbrenner started a partnership with Joseph Peffer, after working in his father’s shop for 14 years. Their focus was making boots tailored to the jobs people were doing. Finding success… in only eight years they invested in their manufacturing and had production reaching 60 pairs per day at the turn of the century.
Throughout the first two decades of the 1900s production grew, and by 1916 the company grew to 1,200 employees and was producing 20,000 pairs of boots a day, placing the Weinbrenner Shoe Company among the top footwear manufacturers in the country.
In 1917, the Thorogood brand we know today was started, with a new focus on work boots that were “Job-Fitted.” Iconic boots like the Bruiser, Pole Hiker, Trophy, and Chore Boy were created.
In 1960, the moc toe boot was born, serving as the official boot for the boy Scouts of America, and quickly became our most popular style. A statement that still rings true today.
Throughout the 20th century, Thorogood was there to produce military boots for our troops in World War II, donated fire boots to the workers after the 9/11 attacks, and continued to innovate and expand our line of work boots for people who work for living.
Today, Thorogood continues to manufacture the iconic styles you know and love in our three central Wisconsin facilities. We look forward to developing timeless, quality, comfortable footwear for the next 130 years by continuing to build upon the foundation of our great founder, Albert H. Weinbrenner.
Josh Gilbow considering the wisdom of front fenders
the long haul
biltwell’s Excursion to the Arctic Circle
Words: Bill Bryant / Photos: Geoff Kowalchuk
Somehow I got out in front of the old bike pack, probably since I had a stock front fender on my 1957 FLH and it kept the muck from completely blinding me. We had started the day at Chena Hot Springs, just northwest of Fairbanks, Alaska. After being on a ferry for almost a week and riding the “normal” highways from Whittier to Talkeetna to Fairbanks, it was a relief to finally be in the shit. This was what we came for.
Two-hundred seventy-five miles in a day doesn’t sound like much but when your motorcycle is old enough to collect social security and the weather is not your friend, it’s a pull. The fog reduced visibility to a few bike lengths, diffusing the view of the booming late August fall color. “The Dalton has had rain for three straight weeks,” a local told us. “Good luck” she said with the authority of someone who has seen failure before. The rain never really stopped, it only changed direction or intensity as we pushed north toward the Arctic Circle.
Unto the Breach
I enjoyed being separated from our group for the first time since getting off the boat. There was no way to get lost— not even in the fog—so I didn’t have to worry about anyone’s navigation skills. It’s just a single, lonely ribbon of highway and the pipeline all the way up to the end of America’s navigable land
and virtually impossible to get lost. Rico had a fender on his cone shovel so he wasn’t far behind, and I caught glimpses of him in my mirror and we’d ride together here and there enjoying the freedom. Riding real choppers, Josh and Aaron had nothing up front except the typical bandana on the forks or an improvised mountain bike fender that didn’t do much to stop the face-pelting destruction as the mighty Dalton evolved from asphalt to gravel, to snotty brown mud and back. Alone I could go at my own pace but I realized the gap between us might be getting bigger. Sure, our overbuilt chase truck The Pig was bringing up the rear with enough parts and tools to fix nearly everything, but nobody wanted to wait on that or be left alone.
At the Yukon River there’s a fuel station and cafe with workcamp trailers where you can rent rooms. Kalen and the guys on Pan Ams were up ahead and left a
bike on the edge of the highway to signal where they had stopped for lunch. In small packs, our riders all crossed the slick bridge over the massive river and filtered into the cafe for hot coffee, a bowl of chili, maybe a slice of fresh pie and some friendly banter with Trish, who recently moved to the area from Georgia and runs an Instagram page called @tallmenofalaska. She didn’t ask me for a photo. Tanks and bellies full, we only had about 120 miles to go to reach the night’s destination with the comforting name: Coldfoot.
Hauling Ass on the Haul Road
One of the good things about riding this far north is how late sunset is. When the sun doesn’t go down until after 10:00PM we got in later/warmer starts than usual and could push further into the evening without the added stress of finding camp in the dark and all the problems that would bring in this terrain.
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The Dalton is called the “Haul Road” by locals and the drivers who earn a living on it. Made famous by the Ice Road Truckers, World’s Most Dangerous Roads, and America’s Toughest Jobs TV series, it is the lifeline for ferrying supplies to the oil fields in Deadhorse, 500 grueling miles through the real wilderness above Fairbanks. Originally closed to the public and used only as a pipeline supply route, The Dalton opened in 1994 as a Scenic Byway and has been attacked by adventurous types ever since. Contrary to what people from warmer climes might think, truck traffic increases in the winter when the road is frozen because it’s slightly more predictable than summertime rains, which often close the highway completely. A typical summer day on the Haul Road sees about 150 heavily laden trucks hauling ass through this vast wilderness dragging doubles packed with drilling supplies, fuel, and everything else required to run the operation in Deadhorse. Navigating these rigs up the grades in slick mud and pouring rain is not for the inexperienced or weak, and unaware tourists who pull to a stop in the middle of the road to watch caribou are among the biggest hazards to the men and women who earn a precarious living on this route. We were well aware of this before starting the trip and we took the rigs and drivers into consideration at every stop. Not only out of empathy for them, but for our own survival. Who else is going to be on that road and offer assistance in a life threatening situation? Only those same truckers.
About 60 miles from the Yukon River and half way to that night’s stop was the official Arctic Circle. There’s a small turnout so tourists can exit the highway safely, shoot a photo at the sign, or use the pit toilet and trash. On a normal
day it would be fairly unremarkable other than its location. On this day, after enduring the rain and mud it felt like we had accomplished something just to be there. Rico and I pulled off and decided to wait for Aaron and Josh. Geoff and Flynn, our video and photo team, were riding with them too, but on more capable Pan Americas, so we worried slightly less for them. We cooked up some coffee on a Jet Boil and discovered the Camp Robber birds who like to land on you and beg for snacks. Kalen pulled in no worse for wear, and I waited back at the highway to make sure the boys made it. Eventually I heard the heavy metal hammers of a straightpipe panhead chopper climbing its way slowly up the sloppy grade to our rest stop. When Josh came into sight he looked like he had been spray painted with lumpy chocolate from head to toe and was chugging along in second gear trying to see through mud-soaked eyes. Even though he was getting close, I could tell he couldn’t see me. Hell, he couldn’t see, period. I jumped out in the highway to get his attention and he started slowing down but still couldn’t stop without passing me by. His only words as he trudged past me was “I’m… Cold…” He says it was “My… Clutch…” because he could no longer shift, but either way the grime and fatigue were real.
Eventually, Josh rolled off the highway and idled up to the rest area. Aaron arrived a few minutes later in a similarly sticky coating, but only after draining the water out of his carburetor and improvising an air filter with a beanie donated by Flynn. The fog was replaced by a light drizzle as we continued north towards Coldfoot, with views that were vast, empty and gorgeous. We made so much racket that wildlife was sparse on this route. In a quiet, warm 4x4
there is probably a lot more to see. We stuck together for the rest of the route and slowly inched our way towards fuel and rest.
Northernmost Tavern in the USA
At Coldfoot we met back up with “The Fast Team” of Otto and Davin on Pan Ams. This camp provides shelter for truckers and travelers before the last stretch of the Haul Road to the top, just before Atigun Pass, the tallest grade on the route. We rented simple rooms in the trailers for the night; no sense pitching wet tents in the rain on the eve of the hardest leg on the trip when hard shelter was available.
While we were offloading gear from the bikes, The Pig came chugging into camp in all its bright orange and checkered glory. Driving this beast was its own adventure for Yeti and Yolo, who’d flown in from their 4x4 outpost in Iowa for the chore. Yeti is the type who enjoys the hardship of a true adventure and I can’t imagine a more capable pilot for this rig. Outfitted with everything required to keep our 13-soul expedition moving, the demilitarized US Army LMTV had been transformed from basic troop carrier into a mobile workshop, bike hauler and life support vehicle. While we all carried what we really needed for a couple days of riding on our bikes, The Pig hauled the really valuable stuff that’s hard to find in the true middle of nowhere. Extra clutch plates? Check. Fuel Pump for Pan Am? Got two of ‘em. Primary belts? Many. Spare tires? A whole rack. Add in a 12v fridge, stove, generator, welder, more tools, dry food, way too many spare parts and an awning to work under and you’ve got the ultimate survival machine. When it survives.
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Bill & Rico on the rollercoaster
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By Coldfoot, a crack had materialized on the CAT 3116’s timing cover—a known design flaw that haunted us at least three times since we built this rig. Of course we didn’t bother to bring a spare since it’s not the kind of repair anyone can do on the side of the road. The cam has to come out, plus the radiator and all the components on the front of the engine. The fix on a trip like this is to add oil regularly and to keep an eye on the pressure gauge. We brought 15 gallons of extra engine oil and picked up more along the way to keep The Pig in service.
The Coldfoot Camp is an experience unto itself. Photos of the Polar Bear who once wandered into camp and other fond memories hang on the rustic walls and a simple but welcoming buffet awaits weary travelers. The bar on site is the northernmost tavern in America, and sells souvenirs with one of the best logos ever proudly emblazoned on them. We ate, drank, and purchased a few minutes of wi-fi to check the weather again for the last leg to Deadhorse the following morning. The problem wasn’t so much riding in the rain or the gravel—we were all used to that. The real issue was the unseasonable soaking the road had been through during the summer. Had a couple dry days been scheduled, we could have laid over and waited for a better weather window but with no such luxury we decided on an 0900 start and hit the hay.
Pig topped off with oil, bikes prepped and bellies full we headed north once again. We kept a bigger interval between bikes to keep from showering each other with mud and gravel and so everyone could move at their own pace. Pulling over in a safe spot when we saw trucks in the distance allowed
them to pass without the stress of us being in the way. We passed Wiseman (not named after us) and though we couldn’t see much through the fog, we knew that Atigun was just ahead. Once through that, the weather looked like it cleared up substantially so we just had to make the pass. This is an area where truckers call each other on CB radios for frequent updates on road conditions and to alert each other about their locations to avoid ending up in tricky spots at the same time. The Pig was on this channel and doing the same. At the true beginning of the grade I pulled up to find my son Flynn, our videographer, standing alone on the side of the muddy highway with his Pan Am buried up to the axles in tundra 50 feet away. He was shook but OK. Seems he slid off the mud trying to give a truck most of the road and got spit into the ditch and up into the hillside. We helped him drag the bike back onto the highway as more riders and Yeti caught up. Luckily there was a turnout we could go back to within eyesight and we got off the highway to reassess the situation.
Davin and Otto, who were well ahead of where Flynn flew off the highway, turned around to advise our assembled team that weather was substantially worse as the grade climbed north. It was an easy decision and no argument was made. Davin and Otto, our two most experienced riders, would continue on. They had enough fuel, their Harley adventure bikes were totally capable, and they thought they could do it safely with only two riders and bikes to worry about. The rest of us turned south for the first time in two weeks. After topping off in Coldfoot, we agreed to make camp at the Yukon River where we had stopped for lunch a day earlier. We stopped again at the Arctic Circle and this time Yeti pulled in
with The Pig and set up a hasty kitchen in the drizzle while we played with the Camp Robbers and talked about the day’s adventure. We lined up at Yeti’s hot water station and made dehydrated backpacking meals and coffee. With only 60 more miles to go and weather improving slightly, the mood lightened. Fog was in and out and the views when it opened up were invigorating after the previous struggle. We laughed and joked and fist pumped our way through the hills and valleys until we pulled into the welcoming gravel lot of the Yukon River Camp. More chili, more coffee, a couple beers and a roadside camp complete with wolf tracks and bear scat finished off a long day while we all wondered about the other two. With no service or wi-fi, there was no way to know if Davin and Otto made it or not, but we figured they did.
The next day seemed easy and we enjoyed the twisty roads, even with the wheel-swallowing pot holes and gravel patches. The same hazards from before existed now, but our mindset was different after our experience on the Dalton and we navigated it at a slower pace and with less anxiety. As our weary, muddy band of idiots pulled up to the first traffic light in Fairbanks, a girl riding in the opposite direction stopped at the same light. She was wearing a Lane Splitter helmet and we all erupted into a silly fist-pumping mob of mud-soaked hoots and waves.
I’m sure she had no idea what all that commotion was about but we were just stoked to be back in civilization and to see one of our own products in use right at that threshold was the icing on top.
Kalen, the fearless navigator and professional bar hunter, found us a cozy local pub to hole up in so we
could shed some layers, eat yet another meal and find out what happened to Otto and Davin. A quick peek at their Instagram and text messages answered the question on everyone’s mind— they made it to Deadhorse and were on their way back down. We decided a nice bed in a riverside hotel was in order and after taking the bikes to a local car wash, we set up gear to dry in the sunshine and moved in for the rest of the day. It wasn’t long before the dynamic duo pulled in and declared victory. While it was a slight bummer that only two of our crew made it all
the way to the top, we were energized by their accomplishment and felt like we had all been challenged by our own attempt. Reveling in the sunny weather, it was a fine day even if I did have to share a small bed with a large man at the end of the night.
The Logistics
At this point we were about 1200 miles into the trip since offloading from the ferry in Whittier seven days before. We started the ferry portion of the journey in Bellingham, WA, and that was the only reservation we had to make for
the entire trip. The boat was not going to wait and we knew we had to be there early and ready to go so anxiety was running a little high. The Pig had been trailered to Seattle and was dropped at Thom’s house. Otto and JD drove a van and trailer full of bikes from SoCal to Bellingham, dropped them off at a campground, then swapped the van/ trailer combo for The Pig. Just shy of making it to the camp it blew a water pump gasket and showered everything with antifreeze. Off to a good start already! The rest of us were flying in and we linked up with a couple rental
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The Pig looking good with some early fall color around Wiseman, Alaska
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cars and got to the camp. Aaron rode his chopper up from SoCal and made the trip with zero problems. Kalen had started on her Pan Am in Key West, FL, with a stop in Sturgis to give lessons on how to party. Resourceful as always, Otto found a heavy equipment shop in Sedro-Woolley, Washington and linked up with the owner, Red. He proved to be invaluable and helped with the water pump, and again later in the trip when we crossed back into the USA. There’s a magic to life on the road and needing assistance. Somehow, if your karma is just right, the universe delivers a guy like Red and we were lucky to find him. We test drove the truck, blew the gasket for a second time and with Red’s advice just used 3M “Right Stuff” as a sealant without a gasket and it is still holding today.
Come Sail Away
After getting everyone together in one place for that first time, we were all buzzing. Going through gear for the millionth time, running to town for more shopping and wondering aloud what the boat and then the trip would have in store for us. We loaded four bikes inside The Pig and when we got to the ferry terminal a few hours early the next day we put another two on the loading deck on the back. This was our little hack to avoid paying for those six motorcycles and it actually worked. Yeti and his girl Yolo successfully got the LMTV inside the well deck of the Kennicott Ferry while some of us walked on and others rode into the ship and secured their bikes. We made it. The single deadline of the excursion had been made. Two pans, three shovel heads and a half dozen Harley adventure bikes all tucked inside, ready to sail.
The Kennicott is not a cruise ship. Its goal is to efficiently ferry passengers and equipment through the inside passage, stopping at ports along the way to pick up and drop off humans and vehicles, many times at ports inaccessible by roads. The route winds through the islands, hugging the coast much closer than the more touristy vessels, and when there was no fog the views were sublime. We spotted otters, seals, dolphins, bald eagles, grey whales, and orcas, plus many isolated lighthouses and fishing and hunting cabins which could only be reached by sea planes or boats. Food on the boat was more than adequate and we spent four days watching the scenery go by, reading, eating and playing cards in the small bar that opened after dinner. We made friends with many of our fellow travelers and they all wanted to know our story since The Pig, the bikes, and our general scruffiness were atypical sights on this journey. Several other boat passengers were embarking on similar journeys, and we enjoyed sharing stories with them every time our paths crossed on the AlCan, at a hot spring, or some similarly desolate location.
Being eager to camp, we set up on the starboard deck where we would have the best view. This spot would also prove to have the most weather. We didn’t mind the rain and fog but once the wind kicked up, one by one we moved into the solarium or middeck that was open on its sides, but had a roof. Stories from the crew about unattended tents being blown overboard once we left Alaska’s inside passage for open water had us all in the shelter of the solarium on the last night. We had quick excursions at ports like Ketchikan and Juneau but couldn’t offload a bike or do much real exploring.
Hit the Beach
Our final port, and the true starting point for most of us, was Whittier, Alaska. It was pitch black and pissing rain at 0430 when we docked and quickly scrambled off on foot and on bikes. The Pig rumbled off and we began ransacking it to unpack the bikes, get geared up and finally get on with it! The ferry ride was fun but also a battle with boredom and every one of us were itching to move under our own power.
Whittier is on the windward side of a steep mountain and only accessible on land via a one-way tunnel. It runs one direction at the top of the hour and the other direction 30 minutes later. Occasionally a train goes through it, so there are tracks right down the center of the single lane. It is 2,5 miles long and has jet engines inside to suck out the exhaust. On a motorcycle, the train tracks—soaked with water brought in by previous vehicles and dripping from the rocky ceiling—were a particular concern. All we had to do was keep it ‘tween the rails and everything would be fine. Of course, it wasn’t as difficult as we expected and we all made it through without issue. The Pig was a bit squirrelly on the tracks and barely made the height requirements (we definitely checked beforehand) and Yeti squeezed it through unscathed. Onward!
First thing we did was find breakfast at a swanky resort and then head to Anchorage Harley-Davidson where we loaded up on free coffee and topped off our never-ending supply of gear. The rustic little town of Talkeetna was our first night on Alaskan soil, where a friend of Kalen’s knew a guy who owned a pot dispensary in town and lived in a cabin on the grass runway
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The Harley Pan Americas were champions on this trip. Not only did two of them make it all the way to the top (Deadhorse) they hauled ass and gear for thousands of miles in all weather and conditions with total confidence. It’s hard to believe Harley’s first bike in this category is so good.
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used by bush planes. He also happened to be a pilot with his own bushprepped 1947 Cessna 140. His airplane was as glorious as a well-weathered knucklehead in its simple, rugged style, and Joe generously let us camp in his yard and even threw a party with live music that night. WTF kind of score was this? Being a freshly minted private pilot myself, it was like winning the lottery on day one. We went for a flight and Joe even did a touch-andgo on one of the many gravel bars in the area and he let me fly for a bit. I could have stayed here for the rest of the trip and been satisfied at this point but bigger challenges lay ahead and we had to move on after spending a whole day enjoying the town and doing a little maintenance on the bikes.
Eager to burn some miles we headed from Talkeetna to Chena Hot Springs, about 350 mostly rainy miles. Although mostly obscured by fog, the views around Denali were spectacular. We camped at Chena and enjoyed soaking our bones in the springs and went through our nightly maintenance rituals. The Pig, old bikes and Pan Americas were all prepped for the big pull north and we all felt ready. Up until that point we had been on very typical highways with plenty of rain but nothing overly challenging. We knew of course, that wouldn’t last.
Southbound and Down
After the adventure of the Haul Road and linking up with Davin, Otto, Yeti and Yolo in Fairbanks, we headed for a campsite on a small lake about 100
miles southeast. We were at about 1100 miles in since offloading from the ferry. While the truly challenging stuff was behind us, we still had another 2500 miles to get back to the US border. With no particular plans or reservations, we’d consult the weather and decide the next day’s ride collectively so everyone knew the night before what the proposed mileage and destinations were. Some days it was a light and relaxing 150, some days we made 300+.
The next camp was in Tok where highway 1 meets the AlCan. That night we all double checked our bordercrossing paperwork: COVID docs, passports, shotgun permits and arrest records. The border wasn’t as bad as we feared, and only took a couple hours due to some shenanigans one of our guys was involved in 20 years ago.
Cleared to go, we hauled to Destruction Bay. It was much more beautiful than its name implied. The campground was inside a small fenced area to protect its inhabitants from bears, which was weird but slightly comforting. Living up to its name however, Destruction Bay attacked. Yolo fell out of the back of The Pig, nearly into the camp stove with boiling water and landed on her head. Thankfully she was fine and didn’t ruin dinner. Next a battery we had on a charger decided to explode so that was exciting, but it didn’t kill anyone or start a forest fire. The next morning when I started my crusty, trusty old panhead, the generator was howling. It was pretty cold out so we decided to see if it got better as the bike warmed up. About 100 miles out from Whitehorse it quit and the battery was toast. After installing a spare and firing it up, my voltmeter said the generator
wasn’t charging. No surprise, really, but the input shaft on it had to get hacksawed off to eliminate the howl. We pulled the headlight bulb to reduce the draw and kept moving. Once in Whitehorse we settled in at a local pub and the chase team pulled up with two full-sized car batteries. Out came some stuff from the milk crate I had bolted to the rear fender, and in went the car battery. I ran longer wires to connect it the ignition and pulled the tail light bulbs. The Pig had a 12v charger so my plan was to just charge the battery at the end of the day or swap out for the second one if need be. After the successful pit stop in front of a dive bar, off we went. It lasted the entire trip this way.
Aroura Boreawesome
We stopped at the sign in Delta Junction to goof off for photos, then continued
on to Teslin which isn’t really a town but has a workcamp hotel similar to Coldfoot. This stretch from Whitehorse to Teslin was classic Yukon and we enjoyed the ride and the wildlife and other distractions. Rico almost got killed by a herd of bison, I saw a grizzly bear and Josh’s transmission came completely unbolted from the frame. The Pig was puking so much oil, Yeti was stopping about every hour and topping off a gallon or so. This turned into a long day. Since my bike had no lights of any kind, I rode next to Flynn’s Taking the ferry through the Inside Passage made for
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Joe’s 1947 Cessna 140 vs. JD’s 1983 Harley FLH in Talkeetna, Alsaka. This area of the world might just have the coolest airplanes and bravest pilots
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Pan Am with its awesome Baja Designs lights and we rode into the night for the first time on our journey. We were rewarded by the sight of a huge grey wolf crossing the highway in front of us not far from where we found Kalen’s bike at the highway indicating she’d found a place to stop for the night.
About 1800 miles in, this is where the CAN part of the AlCan highway dips back and forth from the Yukon to the border with British Columbia, Canada. By this time Josh’s panhead had the same generator issue so the second car battery went into his EXFIL-80 bag. That night we all had work to do on our bikes. The Pig wasn’t the most reliable vehicle, but boy when we needed a mobile mechanic’s set-up, nothing could beat it. Lights and tools came out and we set to work about 10:00 p.m. in front of the crusty little hotel. Luckily there were no other guests to bother because we were definitely not quiet. The kicker shaft on my bike sheared at the pinch bolt groove so I did my best to weld the arm on. It wasn’t pretty, but this fix lasted the rest of the trip. About an hour into the work session someone noticed the sky. Looking up over the hills that parallel the highway, the Northern Lights were putting on a show. Flynn ran in and got the other guys who had already retired and like true southerners, we lost our minds. Nature’s rave continued for a couple hours while we finished repairs, had some beers and Geoff studiously took portraits with the dancing green glow in the background. One of the longest days rewarded us with one of the best of nights. Such is life on the road.
RIP, PIG
The next day was relatively short but eventful. Liard Hot Springs was the sight of a gruesome black bear attack
in the late 90’s but is also a beautiful hot springs and has a nice campground where I camped a few years ago. I had played up the tranquil beauty and very real bear danger enough that everyone was pretty excited to see it. About half our team arrived first and we negotiated camp sites for our large group. In talking to one of the rangers, I got the backstory on the famous and deadly bear attack. His take on it was that the rogue bear had been allowed to rummage in the town dump. Eating processed foods had rotted the bear’s teeth and gums so it could no longer hunt as it was designed to. This led it to become a problem bear with a tragic end for it and the people that encountered it about 25 years ago. Today there is an electrified fence that goes around the camping area, though it does not cover the lower hot springs and the boardwalk that leads over the boreal swamp to it. The upper hot springs are permanently closed because of the number of bears still in the area. The same ranger told me the fence was about two years old. Before the fence, he said, the park rangers would put down about ten bears a year who would wander into the camp looking for careless trash or camp management and quickly became habituated to the easy food. Since the install of the fence, zero bears have been put down in the area.
Across the highway was a log cabin hotel with a few rooms and a campground. We were not allowed to stay in tents there (bears) but we ate all their pie, drank gallons of coffee, bought some wi-fi and became friends with the generous ladies who ran the joint. It also became the last place where The Pig moved under its own power.
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Get ‘er, Bud
Yeti and Yolo had limped the wounded orange beast into camp but we moved it over to the cabin area for a better place to work on it. The timing cover leak was hemorrhaging 10-40 like a sucking chest wound and the airactivated fan clutch decided to eat itself. This was complicated by the fact that the air brakes work off the same circuit. Calls the next day determined it would be two weeks before parts could arrive to fix it and we were right at the end of summer and and about 1000 miles north of the US border. Ugh. I will summarize because this part could easily be its own book. Our four-wheeled, 10-ton chopper was dead in the water. Yeti and I tried in vain to find a tow truck for the LMTV and a rental van to haul essential gear and supplies. Yolo used her magic powers of persuasion to find a tow truck with a courageous driver willing to tackle the task. He even flat-bedded a rental pickup and agreed to haul it back to Fort Nelson once he delivered The Pig to within spitting distance to the border. Yeti pulled the front drive shaft and the rear was hoisted on a “stinger” and hauled south. This was neither easy nor cheap. We knew it was a risk when we started, and The Pig will get rebuilt and return to service. Paul the tow truck dude was a gas and we learned “Get ‘er bud” from him and it’s become part of our daily vocabulary since.
If we had to be holed up somewhere for a couple days, Liard was as good a spot as we could have hoped for. Had we been stuck in Coldfoot, smart decisions would have been much tougher. Yeti had already volunteered to live in Alaska long enough to fix it and drive it back but nobody wanted that, except perhaps the wild man himself. We loaded up and hit the road
to Fort Nelson for a night in a Sleezy 6 hotel and a proper hot meal or two. The ride along Muncho Lake was one to remember. Josh’s primary chain had given up the ghost and the one we brought as a spare was the wrong size. His pan chop had gone south in the back of The Pig and he got cozy quick on the spare Pan America we brought along for just this kind of situation. He was a little sad, but the heated grips and awesome power and handling of the modern machine quickly dried his tears.
Fort Nelson had a population of about 7000 two years ago according to our bartender. In 2022 that was down to about 2000 because of an oil field closing and you could feel it in the town. But kids are kids and when Flynn ran into a couple of local teens at a liquor store, they were impressed by his Pan Am.
“Nice bike, eh. Reckon you can do a onie?”
“Uh, what? Oh, a wheelie? Not really. At least not on purpose…”
“Reckon you could if you wasn’t such a wussy, eh?”
“Uh…”
“Shut up Jimmy. Every friggin’ time! Pardon him, he’s fucked in the head.”
Maybe it’s not that funny to read, but Flynn’s rendition of the exchange kept us in stitches the rest of the trip.
We exited the AlCan at Fort. St. John. After lunch in town we met a local dude who’s working on an XS650 chopper and planning to make the El Diablo Run next year. Get ‘er bud, see ya soon!
Easy Money
Our next-to-last night in BC we camped remotely on a gorgeous river between two piles of bear scat that wasn’t a day old. Apparently we hadn’t learned much but we kept the snacks and trash to a minimum and had a great time enjoying the scenery and hanging out without worrying about other campers.
Another day of easy riding through bucolic pastures and mountain passes put us in around Boston Bar, along the Fraser River. We wondered about The Pig and by this time Yeti and Yolo had split to cross the border with it and return the rental. By the end of the night they had accomplished the mission and Red had sent a rescue truck to retrieve it from the border and store it at his compound. The people you meet on the road, right?
Infamous
We idled up the the US border crossing and the guard knew in advance exactly who we were. We must’ve looked pretty worn out by that time and after eyeing my passport the US Border Patrol agent said to me, “Ah—you’re the guy who owns that orange monstrosity.” I happened to be standing next to my bike in front of his booth on a pile of kitty litter that was soaking up a rather large puddle of what looked like 10-40 oil. “Uh, yessir, that’d be me. Sorry about all that”. He looked at me and the rag tag riders queued up behind me and said “How on earth do you know all these guys”. “That sir, is a long story and I’d rather just push my bike into the USA and get out of your way if it’s all the same”. A disapproving head shake and I had my passport back and was now only 1500 miles from home but it was a perfectly sunny day in northern Washington and we had about 50 sublime twisty, back-road miles to go before we got to Red’s.
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Northern lights in Teslin, Yukon, Canada after a long day. Bill’s 1957 made it the whole trip with only a chain replacement and a generator delete. He ran a total loss system with a car battery the rest of the trip, charging at night when available.
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When we started this trip we agreed to something that has become a bit of a mantra on larger adventures like this: We’ll start friends and end friends and whatever happens in the middle we will just work through. When people are exhausted and cold, you really get to know them. Twentysomething days with 13 people, it was incredible to me how well we all got along the entire way. Not only did we manage to survive the stuff in the middle, but at the end of the day I think we are all better friends for it.
Epilogue
Getting home was as complicated as getting to Bellingham had been at the start of our adventure, but most riders took the opportunity to cruise back at their own pace and enjoy the unseasonably warm and dry weather in the PNW. Aaron rode his shovel back for a total of 6200 mostly troublefree miles—his battery died about 10 miles from home. Kalen, who had ridden from Key West, met up with her boyfriend somewhere around Wyoming and trucked her personal Pan Am back with about 9,000 new miles on the digital odometer. Flynn and Geoff flew back and started compiling photos and video clips immediately. Yeti and Yolo flew back to Iowa to prep for their next excursion while Josh, Rico, and I drove the Biltwell team rig home to SoCal with most of the junk and our bikes. The Pig showed up a few days later on a lowboy and is currently cleaned up and in dry dock while we decide its next move.
Frustrated by our slow pace on the old bikes, Davin finally got to let the Pan Am eat on some B.C. single track.
Before he was product manager at Biltwell, Erik Westergaard raced hipped-up ATCs in Washington. His custom painted lid in those days featured the Nagel girl off Duran Duran’s “Rio” album. Google it. Amazing.
{Work in Progress}
Words: Harold “MCGoo” MCGRuther
The Backstory on 395 Biltwell’s First Off-Road Helmet
Put motorcycle-obsessed nerds in one space long enough and the conversation will jump the shark to something two-wheeled every time. At Biltwell, daily bullshit sessions touch on everything from panheads and minibikes to old-school motocross heroes and the bat-sized butterflies that land in everyone’s belly at the Biltwell 100, our fledgling off-road motorcycle race in Southern California’s Mojave Desert.
Given our heavy commitment to custom street bikes and riding gear, however, some folks are shocked to learn about the off-road gene in Biltwell’s DNA. As a company, we come by our lust for dust and glory honestly; co-founder Bill Bryant built and drove desert cars in Baja for decades before he got the dirt bike bug in the early ‘90s. Biltwell CAD guru Erik Westergaard ran at the sharp end of the pack at muddy ATC races in Washington state for several
seasons in the 1980s. My own shot in Biltwell’s dirty cocktail includes 50 years of motocross obsession that started with minibikes and BMX in the early ‘70s, then morphed into wrenching and riding on Jeremy McGrath’s old practice bike and MTBs at the turn of last century. Hell, even Mike Deutsch—the guy with an “FXRNCHL” plate on his hopped-up
Harley—spends most of his saddle time on a Honda Africa Twin these days. Clearly, everyone at Biltwell loves dirt bikes. It’s the amped-out, space-age, neon-pink feature creep on contemporary dirt bike gear— especially helmets—that leaves us cold.
DARE TO DREAM
So, ten years after we flipped the script on street bike helmets with our classic Gringo S and ‘80s motorsport-inspired
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Davin Wirtanen joined our team last April, then rode to Alaska on his Harley Pan Am with co-workers and friends in August. Being Biltwell’s VP of Sales and Purchasing has its perks, not least of which include wearing a pre-production sample of our first dirt bike helmet in the Arctic Circle.
{Work in Progress}
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Lane Splitter, the time seemed right to give dual-sport and off-road riders a Biltwell helmet that satisfies modern demands for fit and safety, but with styling that reflects our popular less-ismore aesthetic. The name we chose for such a helmet is 395, and was inspired by a meandering strip of tarmac that connects the high deserts of Southern California with the snowy mountain peaks of Mammoth in NorCal on its way to Reno, Nevada. CA Highway 395 is well traveled by a broad cohort of West Coast fun seekers—everyone from desert rats and ski bums to longhaul truckers and ghost town habitues. All the insight and inspiration for the dirt bike helmet of our dreams was in the palm of our hands. All we had to do was design it.
EASY AS C-A-D
Nailing a style for 395 that was both unique in the market and uniquely “Biltwell” without painting ourselves into kitschy “retro primitive” or crowded “future tech” corners was a tall order, and one that demanded a deft hand to avoid suboptimal results. Enter Michael DiTullo, the industrial designer who has penned everything from Jordan brand footwear to automotive interiors, medical appliances, and ARC 1, the world’s first electric-powered speedboat. When Michael showed us his portfolio ten years ago, we knew it was only a matter of time before the right Biltwell project would provide the opportunity to work with this amazing designer.
After providing Michael DiTullo a “design directive” for the 395 helmet that addressed everything from visor length and eye port styling to functional imperatives, our coconspirator generated quarter-scale drawings in two dimensions on an
iPad. After fine-tuning proportion and aesthetics, Erik and I delivered Mike’s final “ortho” drawings to engineers at our helmet factory, who used them to create 3D CAD files for the shell, visor, eye port rubber, and other components. The design phase of this project took approximately six months from first concept to last CAD revision. After signing off on the CAD drawings, we commissioned a 3D printer to generate a 1:1 full-scale sample. Physical prototypes like these are the only accurate way to evaluate styling, measure sight lines mandated by ECE and US DOT standards, and to consider other variables that rarely present themselves on the computer screen. After additional fine-tuning and two more rapid prototypes, in late spring of 2019 we delivered the 395 asset pack to engineers who spent the next six months carving injection molds bigger than a V8 crate motor from blocks of aluminum and steel. Then finally, in December of 2019, we held the first injection-molded shell and visor in our shaky hands. Turn four was in our dust and we were accelerating toward the finish line. Two months later COVID grabbed the checkered flag and shoved it up my ass.
THE SPEED BUMP FROM HELL
Not going to lie—COVID drove our 395 project into a brick wall for 18 months in early 2020. During that time, building painted samples for field testing was virtually impossible. After enduring that massive time suck, I was finally able to return to our factory last summer to oversee assembly of the pre-production samples members of Team Biltwell planned to ride test during their two-wheeled assault on the Arctic Circle. While not specifically designed for ADV riders, 395’s comfort, ventilation, and style
were game changers. Now all we had to do is manufacture the damn things. Fortunately, our helmet factory spent down time during COVID increasing floor space, buying new heavy machinery, and installing advanced testing equipment.
TESTING, TESTING
The dirt bike helmet market is hyper competitive, and products from leading brands are robust. To stay on pace in this protective arms race, Biltwell 395 is equally feature-rich, and will boast impressive safety technology and global certification when we introduce it later this year. First and foremost on the tech front is MIPS integration. MIPS stands for Multi-Directional Impact Protection System, and is a technology designed to reduce rotational impact forces to the head during a crash. The yellow “slip layer” inside 395 is easy to see, and will be your assurance that our first dirt bike helmet is engineered to provide maximum protection. For added confidence, 395 was tested extensively at every phase of development, and the finished product will feature both US DOT and the European Union’s new ECE R22.06 safety certification. Leading global motorcycle helmet OEMs—Original Equipment Manufacturers in supply chain parlance—consider R22.06 test protocols the gold standard, so you can wear the 395 with absolute confidence. If you don’t own a dirt bike, it’s time get on Craigslist and scrape up some cash.
LOCALS ONLY
Riding the Iceland Highlands / Words and PHOTOS: Simon Cudby
“That’s
on my bucket list!” was the common reply from my riding buddies when I told them I was going on an adventure to Iceland on dirt bikes. I had ridden on the volcanic island several times before, but this time we had a bigger group of friends to take with us on the tour with the RideWithLocals.is team.
After a relatively easy flight to Keflavik airport we got picked up by our guide Skúli Már Gunnarsson, owner of this successful little tour company. We loaded up our gear bags into Skúli’s van for the drive out to the southern town of Selfoss, home of the RideWithLocals HQ. We were greeted by a lineup of well maintained, and a couple of literally brand new Husqvarna and KTM bikes that we would be riding for the week-long adventure.
We spent our arrival day strapping our Giant Loop bags onto the bikes, and adding some necessary stickers. We were all in a bit of a haze as we had taken the overnight flight to Iceland, so by mid afternoon it was time for a quick nap, then dinner and bed. Sleep for the week proved a little challenging as there was 21 hours of daylight, and it never really got dark.
On our first official riding day we took a quick 50km blast up the highway to the dirt trailhead. It’s good that we were layered up
nicely as it was a little chilly, and some of the guys even had heated layers switched to the high setting. We hit the fast flowing two-track with a mix of sand and volcanic pumice rock. These Iceland rides feature a lot of challenging water crossings, and our first one was a doozie. Our buddy TC buried the rear end of his 450 about halfway across, and several of us waded out to get him unstuck. This was also the first real test of our Amazon $22 waterproof socks that we had all purchased for the trip, after our past wet trips.
It’s nice to have Alpinestars Drystar Tech 7 boots on, but once the water gets over the top, your feet are wet no matter what. As it turns out, one of our biggest assets on the trip was our waterproof riding socks!
As the day progressed we navigated more crossings as the rain started to fall. This was a big reminder to make sure you are prepared for weather in Iceland, as it’s just a matter of time before the sky opens. We seemed to do well on this trip, but for less experienced
riders Skúli asked that they walk their bikes across these rivers, as a tip over in the middle of nowhere has big consequences if a bike gets flooded (ask me how I know) haha.
We passed through remote fishing towns next to big lakes, so we were respectful of the local fisherman by keeping it mellow on the throttle… until we were out of the area, then it was moto time again on the hero dirt wet sand. We rolled up to our mountain hut for the night next to Jökulheiman, which translates to “Glacier World”. We hadn’t seen any other people all day on the trails, and didn’t expect to see anyone way out here either. Waiting for us at the hut was Skúli’s team in the most awesome chase truck ever: A German fire engine rolling on huge tires, converted to carry gear bags and a spare bike.
Day two was more perfect dirt, and incredible views over every ride. As it was early in the summer we had to cross more than a few frozen snow banks which caused quite a lot of laughs in our SENA headsets
Continued on page 46
LOCALS ONLY
We followed Skúli, who was in turn following the white marker posts thRough what can only be described as the lunar landscape.
Continued from page 44
as we slipped across the terrain trying to stay upright.
Iceland is serious about keeping their remote areas in good condition, so we stayed on trails the whole trip, and didn’t go bushwhacking across any areas. We followed Skúli, who was in turn following the white marker posts through what can only be described as the lunar landscape. The weather was tough again, trying to keep on the gas and wiping our goggles every minute to keep some vision intact.
After a half day of riding in the monochromatic landscape, we came upon some lakes that had almost fake bright blue colors, which we found out was filtered glacier runoff water. As the sun was coming out we came to an amazing waterfall close to our cabin for the night. The trails were lined by purple Lupin flowers, and almost flourescent green grass. This was like saturated color film verses a morning in black and white.
Part of any great trip is the company you go with, and we had a good crew on this one.
Lots of good laughs over dinner as we relived the past few day’s riding fun. We still had two more days to go on our adventure, and day three did not disappoint as we took in more amazing scenery whilst carving through the perfect wet dirt on the trails. More volcanic
crater lakes, water and snow bank crossings, and a visit to a natural hot springs where we all took a dip. This area was the only tourist area we went to on the whole trip, and it was cool to look at all the “Super Jeep” vehicles crossing the deep river that led into the parking zone.
As we were stopping often to shoot photos, Skúli took off ahead of us in the rain to the next intersection. That left the four of us to play catch-up, and I think for me just riding close to the limit in this rainy, cold area was a highlight of the trip. All four of us riding fast and flowing on the dirt roads. Epic.
Our last day was something special, as we went into an area to ride that was much more technical and challenging. One of the guys said this was the real Ride with Locals, and as a bonus we saw the sun today. Although there were tracks everywhere, we just followed our guide through the foothills at the base of Mount Hekla, the most active volcano on Iceland. Fortunately we got out of the area without any eruptions for the day, and took the road back to Selfoss to the RWL HQ.
A big thanks to Skúli and his team for another great trip. If this is on your bucket list, check out www.ridewithlocals.is for details on how you can take this amazing trip.
GEAR GUIDE
What worked, and a few things that didn’t
Grandpa’s old adage “Take care of your gear and your gear will take care of you” might be ancient but it still rings true today. Operation Numbnuts was a perfect excuse for all of us to upgrade gear, try new set-ups and the length of the trip and conditions encountered exposed some favorites as well as a couple duds.
There is a point where you can simply have too much stuff. Knowing where to draw the line between what’s realistic and what’s not isn’t always easy. Especially when you’ve got a big trip planned and a variety of conditions to ride through and camp in.
I always like to lay all my gear out on the ground a few nights before any significant trip. Once laid out, it’s easier to see if I’ve duplicated anything, what’s missing and then pull out the items that seem redundant or not essential.
Certain things are always in my kit, like a tarp, which can be used for shelter, shade, stretcher or myriad other uses. Tools and spare parts are of course an absolute neccessity. Coordinating a little with your riding buddies means you don’t all have to bring multiple versions of the same tool. A quickaccess multitool and the ability to
charge a phone from your bike make life easier.
It’s amazing how stripped down a kit gets after a few days on the road. All the bullshit you imagined needing becomes more obivous, as does the stuff you forgot! The trick is remembering that next time you pack. I keep a list on my phone just for reference.
Field stripping is an old military and backpacking technique that makes life simpler and your kit lighter. Delete anything you don’t need. Put hygiene stuff into smaller containers or at least buy the small travel size portions. There is zero reason to show up on a motorcycle with an 18 ounce bottle of sunscreen when a 3 ounce tube will suffice. Whiskey and weed travels better than beer and doesn’t require ice.
Camp chairs have gotten lighter and more compact and upgrade the comfort level by keeping you off the ground. A cheap, rechargeable inflation pump is a sweet upgrade when you’ve got an air mattress to blow up every night.
Clothes are a matter of preference. I like to start the trip with a couple worn out t-shirts and after a couple days in one, wipe down the bike and toss it. Cheap new ones picked up during the trip make great mementos. Socks and underwear are really the only things to keep multiples of and don’t be afraid of doing a little soapless laundry in a stream or hotel sink.
Whatever you do, put a little thought into it and try to recall what worked and what didn’t on the last trip. The last thing you wanna do is be “that guy” who’s always gotta borrow something because you didn’t think ahead.
1. BILTWELL CAMP MUG
Such a simple device with many uses. Great for holding easy-tolose hardware while working on the bike, mixing up a whiskey drink or breakfast oatmeal – our easy to clean, enamel camp cup always comes through.
2. BIG AGNES WYOMING TRAIL 2
Neither cheap, light or fast to set up, this clever tent made for a luxurious “garage” to work on the bike while it was dumping rain, or just a chill spot to make a pot of coffee out of the weather.
3. JET BOIL STOVE
Otto won’t leave home without it. Whether used for oatmeal, coffee or a dehydrated camp meal, the Jet Boil system can’t be beat for size, durability or speed.
4. FOLDING SLEEPING PAD
This thing sucked for sleeping but made a good back rest to lean back on and provided a dry spot to sit in camp or while working on the bike. Otherwise, not recommended.
-Bill
GEAR GUIDE
What worked, and a few things that didn’t
1. GEN 2 EXFIL-0 TOOL ROLL
This is super secret but I was able to test out the redesigned EXFIL-0 tool roll and it was awesome. It was unfortunate how many times I needed to use my tool kit but the fact I had room for all my tools and hardware kept me moving down the road.
2. THOROGOOD BOOTS
These waterproof 8-inch work boots worked flawlessly keeping my feet dry and warm the entire trip.
3. CHATTERBOX X2slimP
This was a great addition that allowed me to listen to music as well as communicate with other members of our team.
-Josh
WATER
RESISTANT ISN’T WATER PROOF
My first set of rain pants and gloves failed immediately (I don’t wanna name names and they were old AF anyways). If it’s gonna rain, always go with Gortex
GEAR GUIDE
What worked and a few things that didn’t
1. FENIX E12 FLASHLIGHT
Fenix E12 double-A flashlight always on my person coupled with that Whiteknuckler knife meant no charcuterie was safe from me, whether by day or night.
2. ELEMENT FIRE
EXTINGUISHER
Element fire extinguisher stick is my go-to now after seeing so many bikes catch fire. They travel quite well. Air hawk seat pad is great on all bikes, so I ran one.
3. DARN GOOD
DarnGood socks have been great to me for years. Kalen turned me onto SmartWool undergarments and it’s all I run now.
4. ROCK STRAPS
RockStraps are possibly the best all-weather tie downs, so these are a must have.
-Otto
6 tips for riding in a pack
without being a dangerous goon story by bill bryant
I wrote this ten years ago back when we started Chop Cult. Like Roth’s version from ’67, not a whole lot has changed. One inevitable thing about contemporary grassroots events is that it’s easy to find yourself riding in a large pack of bikes, most of them piloted by people you don’t even know yet. Of course this can be fun or a complete ball-up depending on where you are in the pack and who you end up next to, behind, etc.
1. Decide before you ride. Are you a good enough rider to hang with the guys in this group? Be honest and ask yourself if you and your machine can keep up. If you have to think about it very long, have the decency to ride near the back. Know the route so if it gets hairy you can split off at the first opportunity and go at your own pace. This is just as important of a decision if you are a faster rider. Generally groups go a little slower. If this is going to make you antsy or keep you hunting gears, you may want to go off the front and get lost on your own. If you are determined to stay with the pack, simmer down, take you place in the group and hold your line.
2. You are not an outlaw, so quit pretending. Maybe you are, but in a group of unknowns, you have no idea who you are next to or who’s coming up behind you. Just because clubs ride two-up and haul ass for hundreds of miles with only a few feet doesn’t mean you can. Those riders have a lot of practice and know their wingman and the rest of the club so the situation is much more predictable. Lots of people (me included) prefer to split off from the main pack and form a smaller group going in the same direction, but much tighter and faster. Doing this with your friends that you are used to riding with makes a lot more sense than trying to pull it off with strangers who can be squirrley at best and downright dangerous at worst.
3. Hold your line. Get in your slot, get an acceptable interval between you and the next rider and keep the pace. Nothing balls up momentum and throws everyone off like some jackass in the middle who keeps running up on the next guy and backing off. Adjust this interval to suit the riding environment. On the freeway I always tighten it up so that nerd in the Prius doesn’t cut into the pack. On mountain twisties, give yourself enough room to recover if the guy in front of you runs out of talent. The last thing you want to do is wad up the whole pack because you were following too close for no good reason. When splitting lanes in a group, go to single file and stay behind the bike in front of you. If you split up and pass cars on both sides there is a good chance that a startled cager will notice a bike on one side and not the other and crowd the bike on the opposite side. Clubs have protocols for this, you should just try to avoid causing more confusion for the cars and riders around you. The line that flows is faster, so just follow the rider in front of you and hope they do the same.
4. What to do if the bike quits? Well, there are a few choices here depending on the situation. The first priority should be safety, yours and the other riders of course. Signal that you are pulling off so the guys behind you know what’s up. If you are riding with some buddies in the pack, hopefully they’ll pull over. Wave everyone else by to keep the pack moving and then signal some of the slower riders in the back to swing over and lend a hand if need be. Hopefully you can fix whatever it is yourself, but if you need gas or someone else’s expertise, be as selective as you can and don’t hold up 100 riders just because you forgot how to switch your petcock to reserve. Bottom line, keep your shit tight so you aren’t “that guy” in the group.
5. Be kind, be courteous, open that door for your mom. Sorry, couldn’t help but throw in that old Circle Jerks lyric. Anyway, think about the others in the group before yourself. Pass on signals and don’t hesitate to motion that you are slowing down. Choppers have notoriously small and ineffective brake lights, so a little arm flapping might help the person behind you stay that way. Getting a little chilly or jonesing for a smoke? Just wait ‘til the next stop and avoid pulling over in the middle of the run and causing a break in continuity. Realize that even though you have big ol’ brakes on your evo Sporty, the dude on the 70-year-old bike behind you can’t stop nearly as fast, so don’t jam on your binders; give him some notice and he will be a lot happier.
6.
Not everyone needs to shoot photos during the entire ride. I’m totally guilty of hauling ass in the wrong lane shooting with one or sometimes even two hands. I am a trained professional. Well, not really, but I try to make my intentions obvious and mostly go slow and let people pass me while I snap some pics. This is disruptive at best, but with a little care it can be done without pissing everyone off. When 50% of the people on the ride are doing it, stow your camera and just ride your motorcycle IRL. One last observation I have to make is that the the popularity of stunt-riding on performance Harleys, the gap between slow and fast, and old and new has definitely grown, so maybe it’s time for unfamiliar riders to break it up a little, and stick with groups that are a little more homogenized. Old guys like me with one shitty brake on a chopper don’t need to be anywhere near dudes popping wheelies on Dynas. Especially if they are sketchy ass up-and-comers. Me? I’m going to avoid just about any large group unless I’m out front, and will generally have a better time splitting off with a handful of riders that I’m used to ripping with and can trust. Good luck and stay safe(ish)!
WORDS: Tim Statt
PICS: Tree Surgeon
fool’s gold
In November 2021 I had just finished a chopper project that was delayed since March 2020 due to Covid cancellations. I was tired and relieved that the bike was complete, and I was on my way to Cleveland, OH, for Lowbrow’s annual Fuel Bike Show in the Buckeye State. On the long drive from my home in upstate New York I thought about Biltwell’s assault on the NORRA 1000 aboard an XL883, the company’s sponsorship of the Mint 400, and their grassroots desert-racing event, the Biltwell 100. Given all that Big Twin Baja activity and my experience with it, several people have approached me to build front ends for Hooligan race machines. Inevitably, thoughts of building my own offroad Harley had crossed my mind.
One off-road subset I find particularly interesting are the Back Country Discovery Routes—BDR for short. Unfortunately, most of these trails are located in the western United States. Not long ago, however, a new BDR route opened up much closer to my Eastcoast home. The MidAtlantic BDR (MABDR) is 950 miles long and starts on the Virginia/ Tennessee border, then winds through West Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania before crossing the New York state line. That’s the one that calls my name.
With that dumb idea in my head, I set about assembling a few other gluttons for punishment to join me on such a ride. To my surprise, the response to my wild hair was overwhelmingly positive.
MABDR, H-D STYLE
I started a group chat to keep interested participants up to speed. The trip would be just for fun: no matching t-shirts, chase trucks, or strict itineraries. Our jump-off point would be at the Clarion Hotel in Damascus, VA, on Memorial Day. Nothing else was carved in stone.
Continued on page 58
One Man’s Plunge into the Off-Road Abyss
With that loose plan penciled on the calendar, I focused on building a bike for my adventure. My buddy Dr. Matt found a ‘97 XL1200 online just 20 minutes from my home. Its previous owner was getting out of motorcycles, so he gave me spare parts, riding gear and a Harbor Freight table lift as part of the deal. I gifted Dr. Matt the bike lift for his trouble and checked the calendar. It was December 30. I had just five months to turn another man’s misguided chopper project into an off-road warrior.
IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME
My donor bike’s motor was strong, but everything else was junk. My basic conversion plan was to alter the riding position, add some off-road tires, and upgrade the suspension. I used one of my LeRoy Tracker inverted front end kits with some mods and additions. For the rear I installed a set of 12.5-inch-long RWD piggyback shocks to give the bike more ground clearance. The only one-off part on the bike was a custom seat Counterbalance Cycles built to my specs, and it turned out great. Everything else on the bike were simple bolt-ons: stock peg mounts, a 3.3-gallon fuel tank, and some 9-spoke mags with Shinko 805 Adventure tires.
We finished converting my Sportster with a week to spare—plenty of time to ride from Buffalo, NY, to Damascus, VA. Dr. Matt was my travel partner, and rode a similarly spec’ed XL with some personal touches of his own. The ride to southern Virginia was mostly trouble-free, but our 110-mile range forced us to stop every two hours for gas. It rained a couple hours day one, but the weather gave us a break for the rest of our ride to the jumpoff point.
D-DAY
When we arrived at the hotel in Damascus, ten guys were waiting for us and four were MIA. We had a short rider’s meeting to discuss trail protocol, then agreed to follow a lead rider who used GPS info off the MABDR website. None of us had ever ridden this area before, and certainly not aboard a 550-pound Harley dirt bike.
Along the route we picked up a guy named Brandon aboard a heavily modified off-road XL. Everything was going well until about 100 miles in. That’s when our group leader got crossed up in a mudhole and low sided. While we were getting his bike straightened out, we noticed that half the group was missing, so a couple guys turned around to assess damages. As it turned out, one of our guys went down and twisted his ankle. He rode through to the end of that off-road section then took pavement to the hotel. This wasn’t going to be easy.
At four p.m. we stopped for gas before the last 75-mile off-road section of the day. Some of us had had enough, and hopped on the highway to make a beeline for the hotel. I led that group. That might sound like a copout, but it was still 2.5 hours of twisty two-lane at the end of a long day. In this part of West Virginia there are no bad motorcycle roads.
MORE DUDES, MORE PROBLEMS
On the second day of our adventure, Amy’s 4-speed Sporty was giving her a hard time, so she switched to her Dyna S and gave the trails another shot on an even less sensible machine. Since Heinrich crashed out, one guy left our party and two more joined in. At 175 miles, day two was the longest by far, with our destination that evening being Smoke Hole, WV.
Things were going pretty well until our first gas stop. GPS was glitching, so we pulled out our trusty paper maps and tried to find petrol. That’s when things went off the rails. Half the pack went ahead to the gas station. One bike wouldn’t start, so the group splintered. We waited a half-hour for everyone to get straightened out and ready to proceed. Can you say, “shit show.” Between wrong turns, personal challenges, broken machinery and short attention spans, everything that could go wrong, did. Misery reached its zenith when Brandon over-cooked a turn and his bike landed in the bottom of a 100-foot ravine. He wasn’t hurt, but it took four guys a couple hours to get the bike back on the trail.
Mercifully, the remainder of the day was uneventful. We all met up at the hotel that evening. Once the group reassembled, I took a vote to see how we should proceed; all but two said they were okay with taking pavement to our destination on day three.
THE CASUALTIES OF WAR
On day three we lost Heinrich to an injured ankle, Adam to a busted clutch, and Josh due to headaches back home. With rain in the forecast, Dr. Matt and Jon decided to head home early. During breakfast Brandon and Chicken Rick also informed us they were heading back to Tennessee. From an original cast of 13 our team was now down to seven, me included. We decided to head towards State College, PA, on two-lane roads for the last leg as a group. We had a few humorous interactions with locals along the way. All in all, it was a nice day.
We rolled into State College PA, around dinnertime and went downtown for food and beer. After talking shit and filling our bellies, we found a hotel that had indoor parking so we didn’t have to leave our bikes and gear in the rain. It would be the the last time I saw the rest of the group on the trip. On Thursday morning Jordan met his wife and headed back to Ohio. Cool Beans Chris and Jay slept in and headed back to Jersey that afternoon. Rob and Amy made left late morning to visit the Catskills. I headed home solo. My five-hour ride home gave me plenty of time to reflect. Would I do something like this again? Hell yes! Would I adjust the number of off-road miles on any given day? Of course. Even after the hardship, glitchy GPS, and myriad surprises and headaches, it was the adventure of a lifetime.
THESE ARE THE PEOPLE WHO PARTICIPATED IN THE FIRST XLMABDR:
A. Jay Adamski @speedonejsy
B. Adam Sandoval @adamsandovalofficial
C. Heinrich Thomas @hthomas3223
D. Tim Statt @gigastatt
E. Dr. Matt Coburn @makakam44
F. Jonathan Rivers @pbxorcist
G. Brandon Long @badfishcustoms
H. Chicken Rick @chicken_fried_choppers
I. Chris Marino @coolbeanschris
C.
F.
D.
G.
Oct. 6-8, 2023
Proud supporter of Biltwell events
Sturgis, Brotherrrr
The road was calling our names and we needed to respond. I hit up Dylan—@woefoto on Instagram— and said, “Hey—let’s ride to Sturgis.” At that point we had roughly two weeks to pack and make plans.
Those loose plans included being at The Buffalo Chip within three days of our scheduled departure—just in time for the world famous FXR Show hosted by Joe Milke. Dylan was on his 1990 FXR and I was riding my recently finished 2018 Road Glide. This trip would find every nut and bolt I forgot to use LocTite on and break in the fresh 131-inch S&S motor we built for it.
Of course, we changed plans the evening before our scheduled departure and hit the road right after work. We met up at a gas station in Riverside, CA, at 8:30 p.m. and ripped towards St. George, UT, the fastest way we knew how: full throttle. Early the next morning we pulled into a random hotel around 3:30 a.m. in St. George, UT. After grabbing three hours of sleep, we woke up around 8:30 a.m. and packed our bikes, grabbed some granola bars at the continental breakfast, and headed northeast for another 100 miles of freedom.
After turning and burning through a couple gas stops we rode through Provo, UT, and onto Highway 189 to dunk our junk in the Provo River. After
the swim we made our way to Lyman, WY, where we’d rented a cabin for an evening at the local KOA. Refreshed and relaxed, we cruised into town to check out Lyman nightlife—not hard to do in a town of 2,500. After a couple drinks the bartender at the local watering hole told us about a Mexican restaurant outside of town—never a safe bet anywhere but California. We jumped on the bikes and cruised past a few buffalo ranches and pulled up to Fiesta Guadalajara in Urie, WY. This place did not disappoint. We’ll stop here every time we cross the Wyoming/ Utah border. After finishing our dinner and a six-pack, we collapsed in our KOA cabin for a good night’s rest.
WRENCH FIRST, RIDE LATER
After a little preventative bike maintenance the following morning, we headed off to our final destination: Lead, SD. Lead is a little ski resort town south of Deadwood and is a wonderful place to stay during the rally. After our second gas stop the sky darkened to signal impending rain. As we rode in the dry, protective eye of the storm, everything around us looked
pitch black and soaking wet. Just as I’d convinced myself we’d dodged a bullet, GPS pointed us toward a black wall that looked like a scene straight out of “Stranger Things.” For the next hour we soldiered on in a torrential downpour. After finally having had enough, we pulled over to suit up for Mother Nature. Just as we fastened the last button on our rain gear, the skies parted and the rain stopped. Hey—I never said we were smart. After arriving in Lead that evening we Googled DIY carwashes and soaked up some hot coffee to take the chill off the day we’d just endured.
THE RALLY
This being our maiden voyage to the grandaddy of all motorcycle rallies, we got up early and headed downtown for our first taste of Sturgis. If you’ve ever wondered what a midlife crisis looks like, go to Sturgis. The trailer to motorcycle ratio is 8:1, so I’m not sure why so many bikers equip their steel horses with highway pegs—do they intend to clock miles, or are they auditioning for a spread eagle scene on the the Brazzers casting couch? Once
Speed-King Steve Makes the Mandatory Road Trip to Motorcycle Mecca
we figured how to navigate the crowds and learned that the whole town is a speed trap, we met some cool people and had a great time.
THE RIDE HOME
After three nights at the rally, it was time to get back on the road. We had six days ‘til we needed to be home, so we decided to head west and figure it out from there. Neither of us had ever been to Yellowstone, so we decided to ride to to Cody, WY, with a stop at Devil’s Tower along the way. That day was full of 80mph highways, gravel farm roads,
and beautiful scenery the whole way. We hit Cody in the evening and walked into town for a drink at the local saloon. The following morning we geared up and rode through Yellowstone. I’m a big advocate for wearing helmets, but on this occasion I felt it would be okay to do the National Park without one, so I threw on my hat on and rode the next four hours without sunscreen… bad idea! After cruising through the park we threw on our helmets and jammed down to Twin Falls, ID, where the bar food was terrible and the rooms even worse! Sometimes that’s life on the road.
The next few days found us in Elko, NV, jamming down Highway 395 from Carson City, then finally back into So Cal. I was ready to be home, but at the same time there was a bit of sadness. The non-stop wind in your ear, the laughter, the roadside repairs, and the general chaos of a road trip are addictive. This whole motorcycle thing comes with a lot of stigmas and egos, but at the end of the day my friends at Biltwell probably say it best: Ride Motorcycles, Have Fun. I cannot wait for my next two-wheeled adventure.
TECH TALK: LOADING
GEAR ON YOUR MOTORCYCLE
Safety is paramount. Always keep gear out of the spinny bits like your rear wheal and chain. Even something as small as a loose t-shirt that gets caught in your chain or wrapped up in your hub can bring you to a catastrophic halt. We’ve seen it all and most of the incidents were completely avoidable if the rider packed properly in the first place and checked their gear at every stop. Keeping an eye on your buddy’s gear while you are riding is a great idea – they most likely can’t see that bag mounted all sloppy on their sissy bar, but you can! The best way to avoid a dangerous situation is to pack a resonable amount of gear in the first place. You are just going to Baja for the weekend, not moving there.
PRIORITIZE EASY ACCESS If the stuff you need to get at all the time is buried under the gear you don’t need until you get to camp, you’ve got it backwards. Make things like glasses, tools, sunscreen, multi-tools and extra layers easy to reach so you aren’t a yard sale at every gas stop trying to find that chapstick.
KEEP THE WEIGHT DOWN LOW Bill’s 1957 Harley junkwagon might not look like a good example of bike packing, but if you look close, the heavy bits are packed in saddle bags and lighter weight, easily accessible stuff is up higher in the milk crate on the fender rack. Keeping the center of gravity low on your motorcycle makes for safer and more predictable handling.
EXFIL Sissy Bars are Built Tough to Haul Everything
Sissy bars were born from a reaction to emerging safety laws by early chopper builders in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s. In those days, many state vehicle codes required motorcycles to include a safety bar behind the rider and passenger to reduce the chance of falling off under heavy acceleration. Disgruntled bikeriders installed clownishly tall “safety bars” on their machines to raise a metaphorical middle finger to what many deemed nanny state legislation. Anyone who needed a safety bar was a “sissy” as far as these guys were concerned. Of course, when girlfriends told them how safe and comfortable those chrome middle fingers made them feel rolling down the highway, enlightened builders decided the sissy bar could stay.
Today, sissy bars are common as loud exhaust on custom motorcycles, and make the job of hauling people and gear a whole lot easier. Of course, our EXFIL Sissy Bar looks nothing like the average spindly bolt-on back rest. Ruggedly constructed with 5/8-inch O.D. (15mm) steel rod and 0.20-inch (5mm) thick plate stock, we offer EXFIL Sissy Bars to fit a wide range of stock Harley-Davidson motorcycles. Our unique design features hand holds for passengers that do double duty as strapping points for EXFIL moto luggage, backpacks, lunch boxes, and everything else in your everyday carry. Installing an EXFIL Sissy Bar is easy, and requires only the four stainless-steel Allen bolts included with each unit.
• 5/8-inch (15mm) O.D. cold-rolled steel bar stock for maximum strength and durability
• Two finishes available: Gloss black powdercoat and chrome plate
• Hand TIG welded construction throughout
• CNC lathe-turned mounting bungs for a clean finished look
DYna
2004-2020 SPORTSTER
• 0.20-inch (5mm) thick CNC laser-cut side plates
• Stainless-steel Allen cap mounting hardware included
1996-2003 SPORTSTER
• Horizontal hand bars provide safety for passengers and fastening points for bungees and straps
• Built tough to survive thousands of hard-core highway miles
