You should be especially aware at intersections, where other vehicles can cross your path of travel. There are many things to scan for, including traffic devices, road surfaces, and the traffic and pedestrians around you.
In a slow, tight turn, such as turning around in a parking lot, it helps to counterweight by leaning in the opposite direction of the motorcycle and direction of the turn. Put pressure on the outside footrest.
Info: www.msf-usa.org
June is here and let’s not forget Dad. Father’s Day is a day honoring fathers, celebrated on various days in many places around the world. It compliments Mother’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to all the father’s reading this ad and Happy Father’s Day to all the mother’s reading this if you are a sole parent, mom and a dad of the family. Grandfathers, step-dads, uncles, brothers and sisters, you all deserve to be noted for what you do to be a figure in a child’s life. If dads not there someone who steps in as a fatherly figure. As the originator we have only one father but it’s up to life to keep it all together, life, family, growing up in a household that’s strong and loving.
Happy Father’s Day to my dad! A Marine and NYC Police Officer for 28 years. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me in my life. I admire you for who you are and how you always provided for the family. I love the way you loved your grandchildren and I’m proud they loved you back! To anyone reading this, call your dad and tell him Happy Father’s Day. If you’re not speaking, now is the time to start speaking to your father again.
HONORING THEIR COURAGE AND
My Uncle “Gee” was my dad’s father figure in his life for many years because his father worked many hours. He came from Italy and worked with marble but then later became ill and couldn’t do much with my dad. That’s when Uncle “Gee” stepped in and helped my dad in life as a father figure. So in this month of June, as a special Father’s Day tribute, we would like to honor my Uncle “Gee” Fidel Galletti who was a real WWII war hero pilot who flew B-17s. Most of all, he was my dad’s hero. This story is courtesy of The 390th Memorial Museum and my cousin, Marie Galletti Mitchell.
Ron Galletti
As Marie Galletti Mitchell and I corresponded regarding her story in the Sq. J, I found myself reflecting on how I enjoy talking with and writing to our descendants. They are special people … people who realize the importance of what our 390th did during WWII. Allow me to quote from one of Marie’s letters:
“What a group of good-looking, virile young men in Dad’s crew! Dad is first on the left in the front row. Laverne Dillow was killed in action. What a waste of life it was for him to have died so young! When Dillow went missing, his mother wrote to my mother to ask for news of her son. My mother has kept that letter in her wartime scrapbook ever since. Now that I’ve gotten older (age 61), I realize how many years and how many of life’s chapters young men like Dillow have missed.
So true…and today we honor those living and we memorialize those who have passed on to their reward. Heroes all ... and we hope that this story adds yet another chapter to their lives … let it be so!
THE WARSAW AIRDROP OF 1944
On September 1, 1939, Nazi tanks rolled into Poland and started World War II. By September 18, 1944, the Polish resistance, which had bravely fought Hitler’s military might for five long years, was trapped in Warsaw with food, ammunition and other supplies running dangerously low.
The Poles called upon the Allies to provide supplies by airdrop. The Allies agreed, and airmen of the 390th, along with the 95th and 100th, were called upon to replenish the patriots of Warsaw with the supplies they desperately needed.
1944, Stalin relented, giving the Allies permission to land about one hundred B-17s at some makeshift airfields in Russia.
On September 18, 1944, my father, First Lieutenant Fidel Galletti, along with his crew of eight men, climbed into their Flying Fortress to complete their 23rd mission of WWII. These airmen would fly for 10 hours that day to provide the Poles with the supplies they desperately needed.
My father’s log for that day reads, “We were to drop supplies to the Polish partisans holding parts of the city. Load was 10 containers and 2,800 gallons topped off. Bombing altitude was to be 14,000 feet. We ran into weather about 50 miles west of target and did several 360s trying to get over it. Colonel Tuesdale [command pilot of the lead plane] gave up trying to get on top and decided to go under as the base of clouds was at 12,000 feet. We got to the IP [Initial Point] and started on the run when fighters hit us. We were flying 565 #2 in the high of the high and out of position as they hit us. They came out of the clouds, and the tail, waist and ball opened up on them. Nine of them attacked from six o’clock level, and Rogers [tailgunner] had the best shot at them. He got the fourth coming in. Two 20 mm shells hit in the cockpit alongside of Spencer [co-pilot], and the oxygen started burning.”
There was a catch, however. Warsaw is situated west of the Vistula River from Russia, and the Soviets had an unstated plan: Joseph Stalin wanted to weaken Poland in order that Russia could add this formerly sovereign nation to its empire once WWII was over. So while Stalin orally agreed to the Polish Airdrop, he kept delaying it by refusing to allow Allied planes to land on Soviet soil. (At that time, B-17s could not carry enough fuel to fly from England to Poland round trip.) Meanwhile, the Poles were getting weaker, and thousands died fighting Nazi soldiers on the streets of Warsaw. Finally, in September
Behind the pilot and co-pilot were two oxygen tanks. Flak from the German ammunition pierced both tanks, setting the highly volatile gas into a blaze which quickly spread throughout the cabin. The co-pilot, William Spencer, found himself sitting next to a three-foot hole in the side of the plane, with oxygen burning all around him. His only option was to jump from his seat, through the hatch and into the nose. Before he leapt from the cockpit, he used the interphone to order the crew to bail out. At the same time, my father pulled away from the formation so that his plane, if it went out of control, would not bring down any other B-17s. He then set up the autopilot and hit the alarm bell. Both my father and the co-pilot were unaware that the fire had eaten through the communication lines, rendering it impossible for the crew to hear the orders to bail out of the crippled aircraft. Meanwhile, the interior of the airplane continued to burn, and the plane was filling with smoke. The airmen, while still able to breathe through oxygen masks, were unable to see through the dense smoke. The crew would have to act quickly if they were to save their lives and those of the Polish people they had flown so far to help. Top Turret Gunner Eduard H. Daly, reacting quickly to a five-foot hole and a fire in the waist of the plane,
AND SACRIFICE, HAPPY FATHER’S DAY
grabbed a fire extinguisher, put out the fire in the rear of the cockpit, then passed the fire extinguisher to my father. My father worked on putting out the fire up front, all the while knowing that if any flak were to nick the nearby primer fuel line, the plane would explode. The primer, next to the punctured oxygen tanks, was constantly charged with gasoline. Whenever fighter planes and ground antiaircraft artillery hit a plane, shrapnel can boomerang around inside the aircraft and hit anything or anybody in it, including, of course, the primer line. Fortunately, once the fires were extinguished, the worst was over. The primer was never nicked, and no one but the pilot sustained even minor wounds.
However, danger still threatened the aircraft and its crew. The right tail elevator, necessary to stabilize the aircraft, had been almost torn off, and the cables to the tail section were nearly severed. One of the duties of a pilot is to keep his plane stable, but the damaged tail elevator pulled against my father, physically moving him back and forth as he tried to control the aircraft. In effect, the damaged tail was working against him for control of the plane. In addition, my father was concerned that the torn tail cables, which had been shredded into wires, would get caught in the pulleys through which they threaded on their way from the control stick to the tail. Fortunately, this was not the case and finally, almost miraculously, after what must have seemed like hours of German attack, the Flying Fortress set down as scheduled on an improvised landing field in Mirograd, Russia.
In spite of fire and the damage to the plane, bombardier Harry Evje had been able to drop the supplies on target, thus fulfilling mission #23 of my father’s crew: to assist the Polish dissidents in resisting the Nazi army.
In August 2005, a CNN documentary, “Warsaw Rising,” filmed from Warsaw during the airdrop, shows the B-17s approaching the city. They looked so heroic as they flew in to the rescue! In the words of narrator David Ensor,
“Suddenly, in the sky – a miracle!”
In the same documentary, Nina Januszowska Thiessen, a Polish underground courier, recalls of the airdrop:
That was the most wonderful picture, when the American planes came. They were very, very high, so you didn’t see anything; you just heard the mmmm [sounds] of the heavy bombers. Then, all of a sudden, there was –like flowers. The parachutes were multi-colored, you know.
And those multicolored flowers brought hope that Warsaw would live another day.
Over 2,500 years ago, Herodutus, “The Father of Western History,” declared that the purpose of written history was to memorialize glorious deeds. The Polish Airdrop of 1944 is one of modern history’s glorious deeds. America can be proud that the crew of B-17 #565, along with hundreds of other young American airmen, bravely risked their lives to take part in this gallant operation.
Galletti Crew #95
Pilot – Fidel Galletti
Co-pilot – William Spencer
Top Turret – Eduard H. Daly
Radioman – John Dudar
R. Waist Gunner – Franklin Mesmer
L. Waist Gunner – Laverne Dillow
Ball Gunner – Virgil Burton
Tail Gunner – Arthur K. Rogers
Bombardier – Harry Evje
Navigator – John J. Vitou
Happy Father’s Day to all the Fathers who are Born To Ride!
Marie Galletti Mitchell
Pilot-Fidel Galletti
THE WHITE ROOM BIKE DAY
FOR 10 YEARS NOW, FORGOTTEN ANGELS HAS BEEN LITERALLY SAVING THE LIVES OF LOCAL YOUTH, AGING OUT OF FOSTER CARE, AT-RISK, AND HOMELESS.
They provide housing, and help meet every basic need while teaching them life skills, while loving them all like their own children. We are finding kids living in the woods, behind dumpsters and near Walmarts. Everyone who supports Forgotten Angels is literally helping us save the lives of kids that never did anything to deserve the lives they are living, or choosing parents that failed them at every turn. Chris Ciulla is a local restaurateur running to be the honorary mayor of Brandon Florida. As an organization that works to provide housing, resources and support our youth aging out of foster care, at risk or homeless, we need people like Chris leading our community. As such, Forgotten Angels will host a one day music festival to raise money for his campaign. We are also honored to have one of the best motorcycle magazines on board for the ride. “Born to Ride” magazine and its founder and publisher Ron Galletti are in it to win it with us. Our headliners are none other than the Top Country Billboard Artists Soul Circus Cowboys.
Why Tampa’s Motorcycle Scene Is Worth Showing Up For
Florida has always had motorcycles.That part isn’t new.
What is changing though, especially over the last few years, is the type of rider entering the market and the way the motorcycle community is starting to evolve.
You’re seeing younger riders getting into sportbikes and naked bikes. You’re seeing more crossover into ADV and touring. More women riders. More first-time buyers. More people moving into Florida from other states and bringing different riding cultures with them.
At the same time, dealerships are changing too.
A lot of dealers today are carrying multiple brands under one roof. Riders are no longer loyal to just one category or one style of bike the way they used to be. Someone might own a Harley, a Ducati, and a side-by-side all at the same time now.
products, and different experiences. Social media has exposed people to all kinds of riding styles and communities they may never have looked at before.
That creates opportunity.
Not just for dealers and brands — but for Florida as a whole. You’re seeing more bike nights. More organized rides. More dealership events. More collaborations between businesses. More companies realizing that Florida riders are engaged and passionate year-round.
Tampa is one of the markets where this is becoming really noticeable.
The industry is becoming more connected.
And honestly, Florida is becoming one of the most important motorcycle markets in the country because of it.
You can ride year-round here. The riding community is massive. The weather supports events almost all year long. And unlike a lot of places, motorcycle culture in Florida isn’t limited to one type of rider.
That’s important.
For a long time, parts of the motorcycle world stayed in separate lanes.
The V-twin crowd stayed with the V-twin crowd.
Sportbike riders stayed with sportbike riders. Adventure riders did their own thing.
Dealerships focused on their own customer base. Events catered to one specific segment.
But now, things are starting to blend together more.
And that’s actually good for the industry.
Riders today are more open-minded than people realize. They want to explore different bikes, different brands, different
The area has strong dealerships, a growing rider base, and a mix of motorcycle culture that’s actually pretty unique when you step back and look at it.
You’ve got everything from V-twins to Italian sportbikes to adventure bikes to off-road and powersports all sharing the same market.
That’s not something every city has.
And it’s one of the reasons we believe Tampa is such a strong fit for Motorcycle Expo moving forward.
Not because the market needs another parking lot bike night. And not because people need another excuse to buy a T-shirt and walk around for two hours.
But because Florida’s motorcycle scene is growing up a little.
The industry is changing.
The riders are changing.
The expectations are changing.
And honestly, that’s a good thing.
Motorcycle culture is still alive and well in Florida.If anything, it’s evolving into something bigger.
MotorcycleExpo.us
— Jeff Greenburg
A POEM BY ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPERY
GENERATION TO GENERATION
They say apples don’t fall too far from the tree. Alan Bernard of Santiago Chopper has followed in the footsteps of his forefathers; he is a fourth generation bike builder and rider. Thanks to Alan, Born to Ride is proud to present four generations of bike building Bernard’s. 2008 1904 1957 1932
In a house which becomes a home, one hands down and another takes up the heritage of mind and heart, laughter and tears, musings and deeds. Love, like a carefully loaded ship, crosses the gulf between the generations. Therefore, we do not neglect the ceremonies of our passage: when we wed, when we die, and when we are blessed with a child; When we depart and when we return; When we plant and when we harvest. Let us bring up our children. It is not the place of some official to hand to them their heritage. If others impart to our children our knowledge and ideals, they will lose all of us that is wordless and full of wonder. Let us build memories in our children, lest they drag out joyless lives, lest they allow treasures to be lost because they have not been given the keys. We live, not by things, but by the meanings of things. It is needful to transmit the passwords from generation to generation.
JBA Custom Cycles opened its doors in 2008 with a passion for building unique rides. In the early years, our focus was on sport bikes, Hayabusas, 1000cc rockets, and fat tire builds dripping in chrome and show appeal. We made a name for ourselves with bold designs that turned heads wherever they went.
As the motorcycle world evolved, so did we. Our shop shifted into the Harley-Davidson scene, specializing in big wheel baggers with custom paint, performance motor work, and flashy wheels that push the limits of creativity and craftsmanship. Over the years, we’ve taken home countless awards from shows like the Rat’s Hole, Daytona Beach Boardwalk, and many more across the country. In 2018, JBA expanded its vision beyond custom builds and stepped into parts production. Starting with a 3D printer and scanner, we began creating one-off pieces that gave our bikes an unmistakable edge. Today, we’ve grown that foundation into a full CNC machining operation, producing our own billet floorboard line and custom components that meet the same high standards we put into every build.
From our beginnings with sport bikes to our current reputation as builders of world-class Harley baggers and innovative parts, JBA Custom Cycles continues to push forward—driven by passion, creativity, and the belief that every bike should be as unique as the rider behind it.
JBA CUSTOM CYCLES 4020 CLEVELAND AVE., FT MYERS FL, 33901
TAMPA VICLA TAKEOVER 2026
The streets of Tampa are about to drip in chrome, candy paint, and cultura as the Tampa Vicla Takeover 2026 rolls into the city stronger than ever. What started as a movement between riders who shared a passion for style, tradition, and Harley-Davidson craftsmanship has now evolved into one of Florida’s most anticipated Vicla gatherings. This year, riders from every corner of the state are pulling up deep, bringing their own flavor, history, and barrio-inspired creativity to the takeover.
From Southwest Florida, the homies from Traditions Viclas are making the ride south with bikes built on heritage and clean execution. Known for their timeless style and attention to detail, their presence alone guarantees a lineup filled with stretched fishtails, engraved chrome, twisted spokes, and paintwork that looks like it belongs in a museum. Rolling in alongside them are the riders of 239 Viclas, representing Southwest Florida with bikes that blend lowrider influence, Harley-Davidson soul, and that unmistakable Florida swagger. Every throttle crack tells a story, and every bike carries the personality of the rider behind the bars.
Then there’s the wildcard. A creator, an innovator, and one who builds masterpieces from Loco Choppers. Known for pushing the boundaries between traditional Vicla style and custom performance, Repo brings a gritty energy that keeps the culture evolving while still respecting where it came from. His bikes don’t just sit pretty; they demand attention. The craftsmanship, fabrication, and individuality Repo brings embody the spirit of what makes the Vicla scene so addictive.
And of course, you can’t talk about the modern Atlanta movement without mentioning the rise of the Brolo Movement, a generation of riders blending heritage, style, camaraderie, and social media energy into the culture. What could’ve easily become internet hype has instead transformed into a brotherhood fueled by road trips, garage nights, and shared passion. The Brolo Movement represents the next chapter of the culture: riders who understand that Vicla isn’t just about the bike, it’s about community, storytelling, and keeping the scene alive for the next generation.
But the Tampa Vicla Takeover isn’t just another motorcycle event. It’s a collision of cultures. Puerto Rican, Cuban, Chicano, Southern, and old-school Harley-Davidson influences all come together in one city for one unforgettable weekend. It’s the sound of air ride compressors hissing at red lights. It’s chrome reflecting the Florida sunset. It’s oldies playing through fairing speakers while riders post up outside gas stations like rolling works of art. It’s fathers riding
beside sons, OG builders sharing knowledge with younger riders, and complete strangers becoming family over motorcycles.
Throughout the weekend, Tampa transforms into a rolling art exhibit. Candy-painted Road Kings through the city beside slammed Street Glides and stretched Softails, each one carrying its own identity. You’ll see silver leaf details sparkling under the sun, engraved parts polished to perfection, custom stitched seats, molded fenders, and handlebars rising high above the crowd like chrome monuments to individuality. Every bike becomes a conversation piece. Every rider becomes part of the story.
What makes this takeover different is the authenticity behind it. There’s no pretending here. The people building these motorcycles wrench on them in their garages after work, sacrifice sleep and money for parts, and spend countless nights perfecting every detail. These bikes are personal. They represent family, struggle, pride, and passion. That’s why when hundreds of Viclas hit the streets together, it feels bigger than motorcycles, it feels like a cultural movement on two wheels.
Tampa Vicla Takeover 2026 isn’t just a ride. It’s a statement. A celebration of artistry, brotherhood, and the evolution of Vicla culture in Florida. From the beaches to the barrios, from chrome to candy paint, the movement keeps growing louder, cleaner, and prouder than ever before.
WORLDS BEST BOSS GIVES SUPER SURPRISE WORLDS BEST BOSS GIVES SUPER
Hot on the heels of his success at creating oneof-a-kind custom baggers at Dirty Bird Concepts in Phoenix, Arizona, motorcycle mastermind John Shope came up with the next great idea: the Dirtytail. These Softail-based customs not only look incredible, they do the one thing that no stock Softail has ever done, namely, offer decent handling.
“These bikes are something I’m very proud of,” John says. “They are comfortable and handle really well.”
That’s when John Shope formed a plan to give his employee the world’s best Christmas Bonus. While Rob was away on vacation, John and the crew went over to Rob’s apartment and loaded up the stock Heritage right out of the parking lot. The would-be repo men took the scooter to the shop and tore it down. One look at the old Evo made John think of a name for it, “Rob’s Rusty Roach.”
The Dirtytails can convert the entire Softail line, From Evos to M-8’s, into the motorcycle of your dreams. And they can be designed in a variety of looks, from lowriders that are a nod to the Cholo bikes seen in East L.A., to pavement pounding racers, to wide tire moto-mavericks, even to old school chop jobs with panhead covers and spoked wheels. All marry the love of Shovelhead FLH bikes that included rear shocks rather than a Softail swingarm for a low, lean look. And did we mention they ride and handle great?
With over a million Softails on the road today,
The Dirty Bird team had six weeks to turn the sow’s ear into a gold purse. They even toyed with the idea of presenting Rob with a fake bill for fifteen grand as payback for all their hard work. The Softail swingarm was exchanged for a Dirtytail unit with rear shocks and air ride. The neck was cut to accept a Dirtytail 26-inch neck and raked triple trees for better handling. Meanwhile, Dirty Bird’s paint wizard, Manny, created a mindblowing candy apple red paint scheme with badass graphics for the tanks, fenders and
John Shope has the answer for turning your tired stocker into a head-turning temptress. Any Softail can become a Dirtytail.
The bike you are drooling at here was the very first Evo-powered Dirtytail that John built. But there’s more to this story. Y’see, John has an employee who has consistently gone above and beyond to help John and the company to flourish. Rob Martinez has been with John for over eight years, and chances are, if you’ve called Dirty Bird Concepts, Rob is the guy who answered the phone and got you handled. Anyway, Rob bought a 1999 Harley Heritage Softail with just 5,000 miles on the clock with the hopes of turning it into a Dirtytail someday. He even had a photo of a candy apple red paintjob that he was dreaming about.
Rob bragged that he would have the stock Softail converted into a Dirtytail in just two months. Shope said it would take at least a year. “I told him that bike would look exactly the same a year later,” John recalls. “Six months later, Rob hadn’t done shit to it and I called him on it. He said that he would have the bike finished as soon as he got back from vacation.”
Guy’s Upholstery handled the sweet solo seat and the wild wheels came from SMT including that 26-incher up front. John went for an open beltdrive and upswept dual fishtail pipes for killer old school looks and internally wired apehangers to give the Dirtytail even more attitude.
When Rob got back from his vacation, John had him come straight to the shop from the airport. The world’s best boss was standing right next to the Evo Dirtytail and the conversation went like this:
John – “That’s your bike.”
Rob – “No, it’s not.”
John – “Dude, that is your bike!”
Rob – “No, it’s not! No way!”
John – “That’s your Christmas Bonus.”
Rob – “For real?”
For real, Rob. That’s what happens when you have the world’s best boss. To see the entire video of how this Dirtytail came to be, check out youtu. be/L3jxGeBPjuA. For info on John Shope’s parts, products, swag and custom bikes, visit www. dirtybirdconcepts.com or call 623-465-5263. And watch John play the bad guy in the new biker film “Rough Boys”, coming next year.
— Dave Nichols
nacelle.
PHOTOS JOHN COVINGTON
PHOTOS JOHN COVINGTON | MODEL CHELSEA SKINNER
www.bikersdream.app
The Green Swamp Preserve Born To Ride | Finz Rides
For some reason every time I hear the Talking Heads song Road to Nowhere I think of riding a motorcycle, jumping on the scoot with the intention exploring new roads or scenery. Here’s a suggestion for an exploration ride, the Green Swamp Preserve. The Green Swamp Wilderness Preserve is located in the fourcorner area of Lake, Pasco, Polk, and Sumter counties. How you get there is up to you. What does matter is you realize this is an exploration ride, so don’t be afraid to go left when the directions tell you to go right. Don’t take the following directions too literal—think of them as reference points to your road to nowhere.
There’s something about motorcycles that outsiders never quite understand. They see polished chrome, custom paint, loud pipes, vintage leather, and rows of gleaming machines lined up at rallies and roadside diners. They think the lifestyle is built on possessions — the bike, the patches, the gear, the image. But spend enough years in the saddle and you learn a truth most riders already know. The motorcycle was never the destination. The people were. Sure, motorcycles are beautiful machines. Some obsess over them because they speak to us. We spend late nights tuning carburetors, arguing over engines, hunting rare parts, or standing in garages staring at projects that somehow become extensions of ourselves. There’s pride in building something with your own hands and keeping old iron alive. Nothing wrong with that. But steel, rubber, and chrome only carry the story. The real value lives in the memories welded to them. Ask an old rider about his favorite bike and chances are he won’t start with horsepower numbers or resale value. He’ll tell you about the cross-country ride with his best friend who’s no longer here. He’ll remember getting caught in a thunderstorm somewhere miles from home and laughing about it over bad coffee. He’ll talk about roadside repairs, campfire lies, sleeping on the ground at rest areas,charity runs, and strangers who became lifelong brothers and sisters somewhere between fuel stops.
That’s the culture that matters. Motorcycle culture at its best has never been about
ownership — it’s been about belonging. The world pushes hard on people these days to measure success by what they own. Bigger house. Newer truck. More expensive toys. Social media turns life into a competition where people collect possessions like trophies and display them like proof of worth. But motorcycles have a funny way of stripping that illusion down to bare metal. Out on the highway, nobody cares what your bank account looks like. Wind doesn’t care about job titles. Rain treats everyone equally. A roadside breakdown has a way of revealing character faster than a business card ever could. That’s why the motorcycle community still carries something rare — a culture rooted in human connection. You see it when riders pull over for someone stranded on the shoulder without asking who they voted for or what they do for a living. You see it at memorial rides where engines rumble louder than words because grief and loyalty don’t always need speeches. You see it in old clubhouses and small-town bike nights where stories pass between generations like family heirlooms. The machines matter, but not for the reasons people think. Bikes wear out. Paint fades. Chrome pits. Even the most prized motorcycle eventually becomes somebody else’s property,project or memory. But the experiences stay. If you’re fortunate the friendships stay. The feeling of chasing a sunset with people who understand you — that stays. Years from now, nobody will remember how shiny the fender was or whether the bike had the latest upgrades.
What survives are the moments attached to it — the faces, the laughter, the roads traveled together. That may be the greatest lesson motorcycles teach us. Possessions impress people for a moment and in the end it’s just stuff other people sift through when you’re gone. I wore the same leather vest for decades. If I rode it rode on me. Many times my ol lady would tell me how bad that vest smelled, especially after it rained and how dirty it was. Said I should wash it. I told her I couldn’t. She asked why. My answer was simple. I told her it had history and memories for me. How many trips on highways and byways in every kind of weather imaginable. Bad memories and good ones.
The most important thing that vest carried with it could never be replaced or duplicated. On that worn out weathered leather vest carried the essence of it all. It carried the struggles of the long rides, Mother Nature pressing you to stop and you continue on. Most important for me is it carried all the hugs, slaps on the backs and arms over the shoulders of brothers and sisters no longer with us. The first time I hugged my daughter Samantha and grand daughter Gabriella. The feeling of my ol lady on my back for some of those hard runs and good times. Those times can never be replaced. Sealed in time and that leather. That’s the real sh*t right there. If we are lucky, Culture, loyalty, and shared memories stay with us for life. Possessions don’t. Give that some deep thought.
— Nefarious James
Bikers Dream Music is building the first all-in-one digital ecosystem for the motorcycling community. It’s SOOOO DAMMMM COOL we would really like to show you a sneak peek in this ad But we can’t….IT’S TOP SECRET!
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Painted Steel and Timeless Freedom Painted Steel and Timeless Freedom Painted Steel and Timeless Freedom
Maybe it started in the late forties—fresh off the heels of war—when bomber art preceded the freedom we enjoy. When victory, the good life and beauty came back into focus. Soldiers returned home, the roads opened wide, and motorcycles became more than transportation. They became identity, expression and a reason to bond. And somewhere along that road, the image of the pinup girl found her place—tucked into lockers, appearing on calendars and eventually, laid across steel fenders and perched upon gas tanks.
Eighty years later, she still turns heads. Ron knew exactly what he wanted.
“I want Rosie,” he told me, running his hand along the curve of the big fender. “Not just any pinup—Rosie the Riveter. Strong...but still got that look, you know?”
I nodded. I knew.
The original Rosie the Riveter wasn’t just a pretty face. She was a symbol— born out of World War II—representing strength, resilience, and the women who stepped up when the world needed them most. Bandana tied, sleeves rolled up, eyes steady. She wasn’t just posing— she was building something bigger than herself.
That made her the perfect match for Ron’s bike.
Because this wasn’t just a machine—it was a personal statement.
My brush hit metal, making careful strokes, and slowly she came to life. Curves, color, attitude. Just in time for Leesburg Bike Week. Ron’s bike stood finished—Rosie riding strong across that front fender like she belonged there all along.
That’s the thing about artwork on a bike—it tells your story before you ever say a word. Sure, today you’ve got wraps, digital prints, technological choices and even emerging AI options. Clean, fast, stunning, repeatable. But there’s still nothing like paint laid down by hand to link your bike to our colorful heritage. Every stroke carries intention. Each creative decision is carefully driven by years of experience. Every imperfection tells the truth.
Out on the road, that matters.
Because riding has never just been about chrome and horsepower. It’s about brotherhood, history, and the pieces of ourselves we bolt, weld, and paint onto the ride.
And somewhere in all of that—there’s still a girl on the fender, making you look twice.
Be Good, Be Well, and Ride Safe
— Dave Letterfly Knodere
I’M GLAD I CALLED
Shawn Ives and his two sons, 26-year-old Kile and 29-year-old Cody, are keeping two-wheeled history alive with their Ives Brothers Wall of Death. Creating a bond of generations, a father figure is so important in developing a family business and this particular family has a trust and belief in each other that will last them all their lives.
This amazing story began many years ago when Shawn was a stunt rider in the Globe of Death, a spherical cage in which riders loop-the-loop and perform all kinds of mind-blowing stunts. The two boys joined their dad in the globe and then moved on to the Wall of Death about six years ago.
Story by Tom Rose | Photos by Tom Rose and Ives Brothers
The Ives Brothers ride the wall
Wall of Death setup in Eustis
The Ives family travel together eight months out of the year, crossing the country, setting up the Wall, performing, tearing down and moving on to the next show. Dad serves as the announcer for the show and the brothers ride the Wall. Part of their show consists of both brothers on the Wall at the same time. This requires the utmost in precision timing and focus. It is so dangerous that many Wall of Death shows do not even attempt duel riders.
Visiting the Ives Brothers Wall of Death at the Eustis Spring Bike Rally & Music Festival, I felt a bit like Kurt Vonnegut’s
character, Billy Pilgrim in the novel Slaughterhouse-Five. Like Billy, I felt unstuck in time (Billy, uncontrollably, moved back and forth from his past as a soldier in WWII to the present). Yes, I was at the Eustis Spring Festival, April, 2021, but attending the Ives Brothers’ motorcycle thrill show, I could have been at a county fair in 1921. Vintage motorcycles, a huge hand-built wooden barrel, and daredevil riders defying gravity with tricks and stunts on the wall! It’s a great experience, and these death-defying walls of Death have been around for over 100 years.
one of only four remaining. There is little difference in the shows of today and those back in the early years.
There is nothing quite like the Wall of Death Show… you have to experience it. It will scare you, thrill you, excite you and amaze you. As the bikes roar around in the barrel, the structure itself vibrates as if it is about to explode. You’ll expect the riders to lose control and crash over
The Wall of Death has its origin in the board track motorcycle races of the early 1900’s. A type of racing that was so dangerous and deadly for both participants and spectators that it was eventually outlawed. The sport evolved into the Wall of Death thrill shows that were extremely popular at fairs, circuses and festivals. The Wall is a cylinder constructed of wooden slats some 25 feet high and 30 feet in diameter. Spectators view the show, looking down from the top. Once upon a time, more than 100 Walls of Death arenas performed across the county, but now the Ives Brothers are
"This requires the utmost in precision timing & focus..It is so dangerous that many wall of death shows do not attempt duel riders. "
the top into the spectators. I’ve seen a number of Wall of Death shows going back to my first one at the Duval County Fair in Jacksonville, Florida in 1946. The Ives Brothers Show is as good as it gets. The legacy and tradition is alive and in good hands with these father and sons daredevil performers. This is far more than just a carnival act. And the brothers are not just stunt riders, they are skilled
motorcyclists and racers. Like I said, you have to see it to believe it.
Born To Ride is proud to celebrate Father’s Day with this inspiring story of a dad and his boys, keeping an important part of motorcycle history alive and kickin’!
Learn more about the Ives Brothers at their Facebook page: www.facebook.com/ivesbrothers
Inside the Wall of Death
Cody Ives, ready to ride the Wall
BIKER Movie Review
Confusion and chaos pretty much sums up this movie. It is the modern day version of all the biker exploitation “B” movies ever made. Curiously, Larry Bishop (as Pistolero) appeared in a variety of films including The Savage Seven, Mad Dog Time and Kill Bill to name a few. His collaboration with Quentin Tarantino in this most recent effort, would lead one to believe that “Hell Ride” is a major cinematic production destined for the A list. Sadly, it falls short of that mark.
The story revolves around Pistolero and his gang “the Victors.” The main characters are himself, the Gent and Comanche who set out to avenge the death of his ol lady Cherokee Kisum. Cherokee, it seems, was murdered by the 666er’s, a rival gang. But wait, let’s back up! This is exactly what makes the flick so confusing. … We flash back and forth from 35 years back to 35 years forward.
It seems that Bishop as the writer, director, and star is the only one who understands what is going on at any given time. I was lost after viewing it twice, but again I digress.
The film is soaked with girls, drugs, and murder. I like all those facets in a biker exploitation film, but the chaotic pace leaves one wondering where the plot is. It seems the Victors MC have an
underlying code of deceit and distrust. As the movie rolls along, several of the members of gang are killed by the Gent and other Victors—leaving only Pistolero, the Gent, and Comanche in the gang. Ahhh, but there is another member hiding in the desert! Eddie Zero, played by Dennis Hopper appears as a (possibly retired) member of the gang. How they were able to get Hopper to appear in this mess was a mystery in itself, and I was surprised, and entertained for a moment until I saw David Carradine playing rival gang member “The Duce.” Evidently, the Duce and Pistolero had some under-the-table dealings and this conflict led to the ongoing battle between the two clubs.
The 666er’s use arrows and darts to carry out their hits while the Victors use the more conventional revolvers, available at Wal-Mart. The Victors trademark murders–you will see a few of these involve the tying of one to a chair, the cutting of the throat, and the soaking of the subject in gasoline, which is then ignited by the tossing of a Zippo lighter, also available at Wal-Mart. Somewhere in my recall, it seems to me that this ritual was borrowed from the 666er’s when they did in Cherokee Kisum.
In the end, the Victors cut off the Duce’s head, and Eddie Zero delivers it to the 666er’s hangout in a nice wicker basket (see Wal-Mart above). He departs and rides off down the road until his motor quits for some reason. He gets off his vintage ride to repair it, and sees the 666er’s pull up behind him. The leader of the 666er’s, (played by Vinnie Jones) shoots him in the back with a dart fired from an air powered device that looks like a Shark Gun. He collapses on the highway. Much to the 666er’s surprise the Victors pull up behind them and the Gent kills all of them, but only wounds Jones who falls to the pavement. Pistolero in a strange twist of role, shoots Jones with a small crossbow, then reloads and fires a dart into Jones’ gas tank. As the fuel surrounds Jones, who is bleeding cussing and etc, one of the Victors cuts his throat, and Pistolero tosses the classic Zippo into the pool of gas. In the next frame, Hopper gets up off the pavement, and removes his armor-laden jacket – arrow still intact- and hands it to his girl who gives him a similar jacket. They depart the scene, and the three meet in the desert where the 666er’s had previously buried some sort of lockbox containing some sort of (something). … There are three keys that have 666 stamped into them. There is a short argument, and Comanche digs up the lock box and the others give him the three keys. What’s in that thing you ask? You will never know, because the shot shows only Comanche’s face from the inside as he opens the box. I think it was empty, but what do I know? The trio then fire up their motors and ride off in three different directions as the credits roll.
If you are a fan of naked ladies, cool classic motorcycles, and blood and guts, this film is for you! However, if you were expecting a plot, a story line, or a coherent slide show of pleasant desert scenes you aren’t gonna be too happy.
Tarantino once told Bishop “It is your destiny to write, direct, and star in a movie.” Sometimes destiny is not all it’s cracked up to be! I would reluctantly give this film 2 out of 5 stars, because there were two REAL stars exploited in this mess. It is rated R for ridiculous, and runs approximately 86 minutes. In my opinion it should be 86’ed altogether.
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Craven Moorehead It’s Summertime Again
So summer started in May evidently. Daily rain and high temperatures have made their way into the area and Hurricane season started a week early. Can’t complain too much I suppose - at least it isn’t snowing. It seems that lately, all I write about is the weather. It could be said that my life has become mundane and boring. If you observed that and thought the same thing then I guess we were both thinking alike. I remember back in the day when every moment was an adventure. Not so much anymore. Time is passed looking out the window at the rain coming down and listening to the dogs snoring. Yeah, I know you wouldn’t think that dogs snore and perhaps most don’t but for some reason mine do. I suspect that they learned that bad habit from me. They have picked up other bad habits as well but as boring as my life is lately I shouldn’t keep talking about it here and causing you, my dedicated readers to fall asleep while reading this article. I recently was advised that I have to move from where I have
been living. This is a serious problem. I am used to having a variety of non-specific problems and other unpleasant situations, but so far, I have been fortunate enough to have a place to live. Well, not so much now, but somehow, I will find a way to survive. Seems harder this time but I will get over it one way or another.
Stuff is expensive nowadays. It didn’t seem to be this bad a few years back. I do remember when a gallon of gas was more expensive, but I have never seen housing go to this limit. Even the grocery store kicks your butt every time you go in. It must be the economy that allegedly is better than ever or perhaps it is due to the unemployment rate that is lower than ever (according to the regulated media) but from where I sit, I can’t tell. If there is light at the end of the tunnel I can’t see to see it, or it is very dim. Not sure which at this point.
So as we go through life with hopes and dreams of peace and prosperity, we still must accept the ups and downs and try to survive to the best of our ability. All I can advise is that we all keep keeping on and don’t let life drag us down. So no more bad stuff! I keep a positive attitude and continue to pray for better days. How does everyone else do it? I’m no expert but I suspect that most of you do the same thing. Being negative never produces a positive result. I like to get feedback from my readers and good or bad I take all your comments to heart. Born To Ride has been here for years serving the biker community in every way possible. Your opinions and comments are always welcome and appreciated. I sincerely hope that each and every one of you has a fantastic summer season and that the rain stays away from your ride to wherever it is you are going.
MEET KRISTINE
I was born and raised in the Philippines. I live in New Port Richey, FL. I am a mom and have a beautiful daughter named Sofia. I love going to the gym, kayaking, and hiking. My dream is to experience professional runway modeling. I love motorcycles for the feeling of freedom they provide. The wind in my hair and the roar of the engine are thrilling!
Bike: 2007 Harley Davidson Road King Owners: Doug Witt (Sick Kitty Customs) and Brandon (Prince of Hometown Tire and Auto)
Model: Lorlie Song, aka Kristine
PHOTOS BY DANIEL GALLANT
SUMMERTIME RIDING
We’re six months into 2026 my Born To Ride friends. It’s June and that time of year where Mother Nature starts making us run for cover. Whether it’s because of the blaring sun, the pouring rain or the steamy humidity, it’s time to be under or in something when not on the scoot.
Our summertime riding consists of a little more planning from Mike. He’s packing an extra change of clothes, securing a plastic tipped umbrella, checking the radar for our route/destination, making sure we have cold water and many snacks in his murse (man purse).
Mike cuts me off saying, “That’s enough out of you, my yellow bellied babler. Thanks for passing on my tips and tricks fo riding during the dog days of summer but I must clarify one thing. It’s not a murse, it’s a man bag! Or as I like to call it, my sac because it’s made by Sak and I take it with me everywhere, including off the bike.”
I screech, “That thing is huge! It’s larger than most womens’ purses and by airline industry standards it’s considered to be bigger than a carry-on. You can fit three changes of clothes, two umbrellas, a bundle of magazines, breakfast, lunch and dinner in there. I know, I’ve seen you do it. Why don’t you just man up and accept the feminine side of you?”
Mike bellows, “Hold on my tiny typing pterodactyl. Are you calling me a femboy?
I look at myself as being a metrosexual. A heterosexual man who is exceptionally invested in his grooming, fashion, lifestyle and appearance.”
I cackle, “Daddy, you ain’t no metrosexual… you’re the final evolution of biker peacocking. Your beard gets more maintenance than a vintage Shovelhead. Your hair has more product in it than an a motorcycle shop has supplies. You wear clothes that make you LOOK skinny.
Most bikers carry zip ties, wrenches and duct tape… You carry beard balm, body lotion, a tiny brush and something called midnight cedar hydrating mist!”
We don’t just ride into bike night. We arrive like a Sons of Anarchy cologne commercial. Most of the guys turn and laugh. Half the women wanna date you. The other half wants to know where you get your eyebrows done.”
Mike jumps in, “Listen up my cackling canary. I can’t help it if God sculpted me like a biker action figure and wrapped it in premium stretch denim. You think my beard and body just happens naturally?
This masterpiece takes commitment. My level of biker handsomeness doesn’t happen by accident birdbrain. It’s discipline, dedication and an unhealthy relationship with food and mirrors.”
I squawk, “Unhealthy is right! We’re not just riding into bike night, your stress-testing the suspension! You’re showing the telltale signs of getting old and fat.”
Mike asks, “Like when my knees buckle
but my belt won’t? I know I’ve reached that biker age where the suspension on my Harley gets more flex than my damn elbows and my belt’s fighting a full-blown hostage situation around this calorie-powered gut.”
I squabble, “I’ve heard you say that it’s not your fault ‘cause you have gland issues. Well, it’s not the gland that you think. It’s your salivary gland. I see it happening every time we pull up to the food truck at bike night. You start smelling that smoked brisket and your mouth starts idling like a carbureted Shovelhead in cold weather! FYI if your jeans keep creeping up on you like that by the time you hit 65, you’re going to be just a pair of pants and a head. Everyone will say you have the furniture disease; your chest done fell into your drawers. Plus, if you don’t watch yourself, your life will be like a box of chocolates. It ends sooner for the fat people.”
Mike reels back and babbles, “Ouch, my feathered riding motorcycle ornament! Just ‘cause you’re a bird doesn’t give you the right to stoop that low! You’re meaner than an old wet hen pecking below the belt. Who pulled on your tail feathers and pooped down your back? Imprisoned in every fat man is a thin man wildly signaling to get out.
Yeah, people stare when we pull into bike night. But they ain’t looking at you flapping around on the backrest like a feathered felony. They are looking at ME stepping off the Harley in slow motion while Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Freebird magically starts playing from nowhere as I suck it in, trying to keep my matcha man figure in check!”
I tweet, “Macha man my ass! You’re more like a monster energy, meat and bread man devouring the gravy train on biscuit wheels slathered in butter.
It’s time to change up your diet as we head off to bike night at OCC Roadhouse and Bert’s Barracuda H/D. Go get the scoot out of the garage and leave me alone so I can finish the story. You need to get my wings in the wind, your knees under the keys and the Fat Birds’ wheels rolling down the road getting some love bugs between your teeth instead of cheeseburgers and french fries.
— SPYKE
Do you have a riding pet story? Let us know, Spyke wants to feature them! editor@borntoride.com
CHRISTIAN MOTORCYCLISTS ASSOCIATION
“During my time in the Army, safety wasn’t just a priority — it defined our unit. If you stayed within the confines of your platoon and followed instructions, you were protected. Straying or ignoring orders didn’t just invite trouble; it put your life in danger. I believe we all share an inherent desire to be part of a “unit” that offers that same sense of security. In motorcycling communities, people find this in associations, riding clubs, brand specific groups, charity clicks, women exclusive collectives, and social gatherings. These forms of organizations provide more than just a route to follow; they offer a culture of true belonging. As a member of the Christian Motorcyclists Association (CMA), I’ve found my structure where I am safe and protected.
Every group has a president and a road captain. These individuals are the ones who make the hard calls and offer guidance to keep all the pack okay. In many ways, this leader is a shepherd over those who have chosen to follow. We learn their voice and recognize when an outsider tries to lead us astray.
This dynamic is beautifully mirrored in Scripture. Let’s read together. John 10:2-5 “But the one who enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep recognizes his voice and comes to him. He calls his own sheep by
name and leads them out. After he has gathered his own flock, he walks ahead of them, and they follow him because they know his voice. They won’t follow a stranger; they will run from him because they don’t know his voice.”
There is profound safety in riding within the flock and following the right lead. Just as we trust our ride leaders on the highway, we can trust an ultimate Leader with our lives. You couldn’t ask for a better Shepherd than Jesus; He holds our eternal journey in His hands.
Teaches Take Aways:
- We are designed for community and leadership.
- Just as a riding group keeps us safe on the road, Jesus cares for us as the Good Shepherd.
-The invitation to follow Him is open to you today.
We were never meant to navigate the highway of life solo. If you feel like you’ve been riding ‘lone wolf’ or following a voice that doesn’t offer true peace, know that the Good Shepherd is already calling your name. He knows the road ahead, He’s cleared the way, and He’s ready to lead you home. Choose to ride with Jesus today. Ride together, ride safe, and ride on.
— Fellow Soldier in Christ, Wayne (Teach) Masiker Christian Motorcyclists Association wayne.masiker@att.net
