Issue 2 - Vol. 2 - Everything The Light Touches Fea. Victoria Dickerson

SLOW 002 A KI DS & COBRAS MAGA Z I N E

RI DE FAST DRI N K SLOW COFFEE & GOODS FOR BACKROAD PEOPLE

KIDSandCOBRAS.com @kidsandcobras

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VOLU M E 0 02

IS S U E 0 02

Collecting Stories about People who love motorcycles & Coffee.

Slow Mag is our unique way of inviting you to slow down and enjoy that brew. With a heavy emphasis on photography, each issue captures the sexuality, danger, rebellion, freedom, and adventure that motorcycles bring to our lives.

So pause.

Sip some coffee.

Photographers: Kendra Farber Sam Wake Genevieve Davis Matt Nigel Victoria Dickerson

COntributors: @gofastdontdie @motorcycleriderjustice @louskid_ @samwake_ @brockjunak @lookinforafeelin @wildrestlessmedia @samuelatullis @justin_silvis @kindred_studios

BILTWELL 100

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EVERYTHING THE LIGHT TOUCHES

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CLASSIFIEDS

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DEVILSTONE RUN

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FROM THE FOUNDER Here is what I love about Slow...

There is no better tool to tempt people to chase down a life they can indeed be proud of.

We think it’s important to live what you preach. So, the stories you find in this magazine were NOT concocted by people in some fancy office enjoying the comforts of their hip 3rd wave coffee, listening to a posh tune. Just opposite, actually. These stories were lived and are being lived by folks who have turned the backroad into their home.

We appreciate you and don’t take it lightly that you chose to spend your hard-earned dollars on this read. Since you are taking the time to invest in Slow, it is now our job to invite you into a few stories that we hope will help you dust off your imagination and track down that life you are dreaming of living.

You were not meant to live a mundane, mediocre life. You were built for adventure and epic tales of love, battles, defeat, and victory. So saddle up because this tale is just getting started, and we have a few dragons to slay.

From our hearts to yours!

Pause.

Sip Some Coffee. & Enjoy!

Full of Heart, Sam Wake & The Kids & Cobras Family

I RODE TH E WRONG BI KE TO T H E BI LTWE L L 1 0 0

SAM WAKE

PICTURES: Sam Wake @samwake_ Words: Sam wake @samwake_

In 2021 I watched from a distance through the screen of my phone the fun that was the Biltwell 100. And as you would expect, I came down with a bad case of FOMO. So I promised myself that I would not miss out again on another 365 rotations of the earth and lap around the sun!

There are always 100 excuses not to do something and this year’s greatest excuse was gas prices. With Russia’s war on Ukraine, gas in California can cost around $7.00 a gallon. I didn’t have the cash to dump into my truck’s tank, But I could get there on a tight motorcycle budget. So, I began making plans.

The Goal: Get to the Biltwell 100 before the race starts on Saturday morning at 9am.

Departure: 6am Friday

List of Cargo - A Backpack Containing: - Camera: Fuji XT-4 (for those who care to know) - 5 pairs of underwear (Never skimp in this department) - 5 pairs of socks - Two t-shirts - A couple sweaters - Some granola bars and coffee to be brewed on the road (Obviously the Slow Blend) - A Sleeping Bag & the clothes on my body I also invited my brother to join. Upon asking, his response was simple “Hell yeah! I am in! When do we leave?”

Vehicle of Transport:

Our reason for Going:

I own a 2019 Triumph Thruxton.

It’s sexy and downright uncomfortable. Emphasis on the uncomfortable part. But hey, I was determined to see my friends in the Mojave. So the Thruxton (aka… The Traveler) was my chariot to the desert.

Sounds like an adventure you ought to say yes to. Every man dies, but few men ever live. We aren’t chasing comforts in this life.

We are chasing adventure. We have but one goal… Make Memories and die with our boots on.

Also, my friends would be there.

What more reason do you need?

The Obstacles: 900 miles of cold mountainous riding.

Riding fatigue.

Little time to rest.

Limited Supplies.

Extreme temperature shifts from below freezing to the harsh heat of the desert, ready to zap your energy.

A good amount of wind gusts and a bit of snow.

Poor phone service.

Sleeping on gravel and the desert dust.

At 6am on April 1st, the obnoxious noise of Matt’s Harley Sportster filled every space of our cozy sleeping street. After a few quick goodbyes, we took off south for one of the most challenging rides I would ever embark on.

Only an hour in, I was so cold my body was shaking, and my chest felt like ice. So we pulled into a rest stop to warm up. We still had at least 15 hours ahead of us if we were in a car, and our first stop to get warm lasted 30 or so minutes. While Matt worked to fix his helmet with duct tape due to a visor screw rattling loose, I huddled beneath a bathroom blow dryer to get warm. All in all, it would take us about 26 hours of travel time to get there.

Back on the road, the sun began to lift the fog, and our hearts were filled with the encouragement of its soon-to-come warmth. They say the coldest time of day is right before the sun rises. We ripped down the I-5 with haste, and before long, the sun broke out across the horizon. Matt rode up beside me and shook his fist with delight. It’s the little things on a journey like this that fill your heart with gratitude. I often

miss most sunrises in the comfort of my home. So to be in the elements and feel the sun’s power is hard to put into words.

From there, the next 10 hours of our ride were pretty amazing.

We hauled tail on backroads to Reno, stopping for gas every 120 miles. We did have a quick lunch break at this random gas station where this couple was selling barbeque out of the back of their truck. That was a meal I will never forget.

As we approached Reno, we could see the sun setting, so we tore through the city at high speeds to try and get as far south as possible before the frigid mountain air tried to freeze our bones again. Matt was speeding down the interstate, and I struggled to keep up with him. I got as close to his tail as I could to draft him as he charged us south. It was beneficial because I was once again getting really cold. The sun disappeared behind the mountains as soon as we were south of Reno, and instantly the cold crept back into our minds and bodies. With 6 ½ hours left, we grit our teeth for a cold, winding ride of darkness.

With 3 ½ hours left, we pulled off for gas in this tiny one-street town near Mammoth Lakes. My adrenaline was pumping despite my exhaustion, but for Matt a different story. Pulling off our helmets, he looked completely gassed. Exhausted, he said, “I am tapping out.” I need sleep. I can’t make it tonight. Honestly, this was wisdom seeping off his tongue. Little did I know that my rear tire was shredding apart in the darkness. I wouldn’t figure this out till the following day.

(And ultimately, this resulted in us having to Uhaul the bikes back to Portland) We were then on the hunt for a place to camp. We found this truck turnaround lofted above a gas station with no clues as to where we were. It was a gravel road, and it took us away from the small town street lights. We scoped a private little spot next to this cliff, and we shut down the bikes for the first time in 14 hours. We laid down sleeping bags and crawled into them with all of our gear on.

The most demanding leg of the trip would come at 4 am Saturday morning, but we had a tiny chance of reprieve for now. We slept next to our bikes in the gravel and stared into the sky above. I have never seen so many stars in my life. It was gorgeous. But because of the cold, I had to cocoon my head into the bag as well. The sleeping bag was impressively cozy.

At 3:30am, I woke up. Despite everything my body wanted, I poked my head out of the covers. The temperature had dropped far below freezing, and I quickly pulled the covers back over my head. After contemplating how to get out and get warm, I finally crawled out of the sleeping bag into the darkness of night and stood there trembling. It is hard to describe how cold it was. With no fire to warm me or coffee to sip, I started to do lunges to try and get my blood pumping.

Cold.

So cold.

I woke Matt up, and we started our motorcycles. The clocks were covered in frost, and my seat had a thin layer of ice on it. We decided to wrap our sleeping bags around our bodies and put our riding gear over them to try and give us an extra layer of warmth. Though this was a great idea, we struggled alone and cold down the highway.

Every 15 minutes, we had to pull over for a break. We would huddle next to our motorcycle engines, trying to keep our sanity. I ended up duct taping work gloves over the brake and clutch levers on my handlebars to try and help break the wind for my poor, nearly frost-bitten hands. Slowly, we made our descent out of the mountains into the valley below, where the sun would rise, and the temperatures would be warmer.

We moved at a snail’s pace because my rear tire tread had shredded down to the metal wiring. The last 3 ½ hours took us 6 hours, but we finally made it to the Mojave desert. We rolled into the Biltwell at 9:30am, completely exhausted, and the race was just about to start.

We found our friends, parked our bikes, hung a tarp between them for shelter from the hot sun, grabbed our cameras, and took off for the start-line. After only being on-site for 30 minutes, the racers ripped across the desert to a hopeful victory.

I was dehydrated and malnourished and came down with one of the worst migraines of my life. Luckily for me, our friends nursed me back to health. My pal Brady allowed me to rest in his van. He gave me medicine, water, a Redbull, a gingerroot pill (I think), a fan, and a massage with one of those massage guns. I slept for a few hours and woke up revived. Thank you, Brady!

eve ryth i ng t h e lig ht touch es

VICTORIA DICKERSON

PICTURES: KENDRA farber @wildrestlessmedia WORDS: VICTORIA DICKERSON @lookinforafeelin

Victoria D PICTURES:

Kendra Farber Genevieve Davis Matt Nigel Victoria Dickerson

In a garage filled with motorcycles, we set up three long folding tables down the middle of the room. None of the tables matched, and the chairs and people in attendance followed suit.

Some people were sitting in old office chairs, others in camping chairs and bar stools. The atmosphere was warm with the smell of turkey, smoked ham, green bean casserole, and a hint of motor oil (if you know what I mean).

A mismatched group of people slowly trickled in with a unique dish of food to share with everyone else. As the air grew denser, the laughter increased as people ate and told stories. It was a special night to share Thanksgiving dinner with this ragtag group of people. Family nights with your moto family at the local watering hole are the best. On this special evening, I happened to be sitting

Dickerson

next to my dear friend Victoria when I turned to talk to her and noticed that her eyes were watery. I, of course, had to ask, “Are you ok?” and she responded with laughter saying, “I am just so happy.” Have you ever been in that state before? The state where tears mean gratitude.

Where you find yourself sitting in the middle of an experience feeling a deep sense of thankfulness for the people in your life. That’s what Victoria went on to verbalize for me, and I felt it too. My kiddos were running around a motorcycle garage/bar. At the same time, my wife and I enjoyed the rich conversation that came from taking an evening off to be thankful for this far from perfect group of misfits turned family.

In that vulnerable moment with Vi, I knew we had to get her into the Slow Mag schedule. So without further ado, welcome to another Slow interview with Victoria Dickerson. Aka… The world’s best gal! At least that’s the name I saved on my phone for her.

Love ya’ll!

-Sam Let’s start with a few introductions!

Where are you from?

Victoria Dickerson Currently I live in Portland, OR. I’m originally from Huntington Beach, CA. Fun flip from constant sunshine to having it be limited. Being in Portland makes you more grateful for the sunshine when you’re deprived of it half of the year.

Tell us about you! Who are you?

I am 24 years old, and I like motorcycles. I am the service writer/chaos coordinator at Legion Motorcycles Company. I am the founder of PDX Moto Swap - a small motorcycle swap meet based in Portland. I have a degree in Psychology & Social Behaviors. I’m a sucker for vintage. And I’m sure as hell happy to be here.

How have motorcycles impacted your life?

Do you remember that scene from the Lion King where Mufasa is standing with Simba and says, “everything the light touches is your kingdom.” Well, it feels like my life is the land. And I’m Mufasa with a Harley on a cliff saying, “everything the light touches, you will make so much better.”

Motorcycles have shaped me into who I was always meant to be.

Riding has made me confident in myself and brought me a community of people that I can call family. Riding has taken me to parts of the country I likely wouldn’t see in such an intimate way as you do when you ride through some of the most beautiful parts of the country. This person has always been inside, but a Harley just so happened to be the catalyst.

When did you start riding motorcycles? Why did you start?

I started riding motorcycles in 2018. I was in college, felt so small in this world, and I just wanted to gain some control of something in my life. So I decided to take a class to learn to ride, just to say I could do it. My brother started riding when I was in high school. My dad has had a motorcycle for as long as I can remember, and I hated going on the back. It scared the shit out of little me. I was convinced I would just fly off. I was never interested in it until I signed up for a class. Never did I think it would turn into what it did for me.

What was your first motorcycle?

My first bike was a ‘05 Honda Rebel. A little red 250cc bike that I probably rode a total of 4 times. For some reason, every time I rode it, I was terrified. Anxiety would take over me, and I would chicken out. I only rode with my brother and my dad around and was too scared to pull it out of the garage. After having that bike for a while, for some unknown reason, I bought a Harley.

My brother’s roommate was selling an ‘01 Sportster and sold it to me for dirt cheap. It wasn’t running great when I got it, but my dad is the best and got it fixed up for me. I remember the first time I rode it; I stalled it out probably 4 times. But once I figured it out, I fell in love. I suddenly wasn’t scared anymore. I would go out and ride by myself and just start it in the garage when I was alone just to listen to it. About a month after I got the Sportster and with very little riding experience, I took it to Babes Ride Out in central California.

Not sure what I was thinking there, but that trip was the starting point for all the joys that owning a Harley would bring.

Break downs and meet strangers with a lot of heart to help.

That ‘01 Sportster is the same bike that I ride today, the same bike that took me to Sturgis, and the same bike I’ll have until the day I die.

But a couple bike complications killed that plan. We were running out of daylight so, we decided to ride to a waterfall in Washington (about an hour outside Portland). I was leading three friends behind me, and we were cruising on the 14, headed east going around 60mph, until what I can only describe as an act of god happened. I looked down to my left, saw a black shadow, and felt Fun fact. My bike’s name is a heavy impact on my left leg. I ‘Twinkie.’ I was at a gas station kept the bike upright (yelling in Tuba City, AZ, on my way to profanities in my helmet) hoping Southern California from Stur- a shoulder was just up the hill. I gis, SD, when two guys rolled up had just hit my kill switch, and on their bikes. We got to talking, my left leg was floating above and he noticed my California where my peg should be. I pulled plates and told him about our over, rested all of my bike’s hell of a trip with all the break- weight on my right leg, and held downs and long roads. And he onto the guard rail. Too scared said, “huh, you came a long way to look down. Two of my three on a Twinkie!” friends pulled up behind me and threw my kickstand down with a What’s the most mem- look of pure shock on their facorable ride you have es. They asked me if I was okay, been on? and the only thing I could muster out over my short breaths If you’ve known me or been around and tears was “what the fuck?!”

Legion at all in the tail half of followed by “Where’s Chris?!”

2021, you’ve probably heard this story. But back in September of Turns out that the black shadow 2021, a group of my friends and I hit was a black bear. Chris had I decided to have a last hoo-rah stayed behind with the bear while ride, per se. The nice weather was my two other friends, James and fleeting, so we tried to make the Robert, had followed me to the most of it. The original plan was shoulder. Chris said the bear was to ride out to Maupin for the day, struggling and limping off to the sit by the John Day River, and sip other side of the road. We were all beers until the sun went down. in shock at what just happened.

I pulled out a beer that I was supposed to have by a waterfall and tried to ice my aching foot. After a while, I was able to walk on it, and x-rays later showed that nothing was broken. Unfortunately, a state trooper came and had to take the bear out of its misery. He asked for my information, and my first response was, “Why? Is the bear’s family going to press charges?”

The only damage to my bike was stripped spark plug wires, broken peg, and shifter arm. Luckily I had a vice grip in my tool roll (thanks, dad) that we clipped onto the broken peg, and I rode it to get a beer and some wings.

All I’m left with today is an ankle that cracks a little funny and a story that is just a little too hard to believe.

A couple take aways: 1) Always ride with good people.

2) Always carry cold beer on you.

3) Always carry a vice grip and zip-ties.

4) Don’t hit bears.

When you look back on chapters of your life, what was a defining moment for your career as a creative?

One of the defining moments that has driven me to where I am today is my family trip to Sturgis. It was a 10-day trip full of breakdowns, intense heat, long lonely roads, and many lessons. I realized that all I wanted to do with my life was ride motorcycles and searched for that feeling of freedom. And I continued to do just that. A couple weeks after our trip to Sturgis, I decided to move up to Portland with my big brother and his girlfriend (and one of my best friends of 10 years). I moved about a month after the trip and have never looked back. I have learned that the life I want is not cookie cutter, and I will have to create it myself. Searching for that freedom comes with taking risks, understanding your vulnerability, and embracing fear.

If it doesn’t give you that ‘holy shit’ feeling, it’s probably not worth it.

Can you share a quote or an idea that has helped guide you in your journey?

If they can do it, why can’t I?

I have always been a huge overthinker. It has taken a lot of work to get over that. Spoiler, riding motorcycles became the catalyst for this. When it comes to anything outside of my comfort zone, I would always tell myself that I can’t do it - whether it’s because I don’t have the resources, strength, emotional capacity, or blah blah blah.

They’re all excuses.

Every experience I’ve had where I’ve learned something has been terrifying to me at one point. It took me pushing through everything that scared me to realize that motorcycles weren’t so scary. And it just took taking that leap, trusting my gut, and telling myself, if everyone around me can do this, why can’t I?

What is it about Portland that makes it home for you?

Portland became home to me because of the moto community. I moved up here without knowing anyone, never had come to this city before, and had no idea how to make friends where mutual connections weren’t a thing. The week I moved here, my soon-to-be friend Levi replied to my story from his Sporty Mob page of my Uhaul trailer in Portland, saying, “I didn’t know you lived in Portland?!” I replied, “I just got here!” And he told me about 503 Bike Night and told me I should go. I’m a yes man, so I went out with my brother. This is where I first met some of my favorite people for the first time, including Sam! This turned into Levi inviting me to some other get-togethers, which turned into having a family at Legion a year and a half later. I have no doubt that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. The moto community welcoming me with open arms and loving hearts has been a gift from the universe. I’m forever grateful for the people I get to call my friends.

Another way I’ve been able to make Portland home is by hosting a swap meet. I come from Southern California, where the SoCal Swap Meet is *the* place to go to get some old parts for your scoot. When I moved up to Portland, there wasn’t a consistent swap meet. So instead of waiting around for one, I put one on! PDX Moto Swap happens every other month and is a way for people to sell the junk that some other goons treasure. It’s been a joy to see all the treats(?) everyone finds and to be able to host something that I found so quintessential to my upbringing in motorcycles.

Is there a trip, ride, or event you are dreaming of taking the Buscadero Motorcycles too?

I dream of doing El Diablo Run put on by Biltwell. Riding down to Mexico and getting to party on the beach surrounded by choppers sounds like a dream to me.

What does the future Tell us about your hold for Victoria? experience of being a women holding down My love language is acts of ser- the fort in a male vice. So my greatest act of ser- dominated industry. vice I could do for the community that has been so warm to me I’m the service writer at Legion is to coordinate and host rad and Moto Co. - a primarily Harley shop. creative events. So if you stick A good chunk of the bikes we seraround long enough, you’ll hope- vice is from old heads that are fully see some campouts and stuck in their ways. When they motorcycle shows in the future ;) hear me over the phone or see

me at the front desk, I am immediately written off and am always asked if they can speak to someone else. I am lucky to be at a shop where I am supported, heard, and loved by the guys here. However, I can’t lie to you; in the beginning, it was exhausting to hear over and over again. I, and every other woman working in this industry, have to fight for the respect that is just handed to our male counterparts. Having to ride the line of being kind and wanting to cuss a prick out for thinking of me as less than is not an easy ride. But there was one moment that changed my perspective and made this whole thing seem a lot more worth it. I answered the phone one day and was immediately greeted with, “oh, they got a lady working there now… ha.” This was frustrating, as much as every other interaction of the sort is, but most of the time, it’s just funny. I had posted about it on Instagram to see if anyone else got a kick out of it. To my surprise, a lot of women who ride had reached out and thanked me. They thanked me for being a part of the change in this industry and for making the shop a safe space for other women. After a handful of heartfelt conversations, I teared up. The work I am doing here is more im-

portant than I could have ever realized. Every time another woman comes to the shop, I do my best to make them feel welcome, heard, and like no question is a stupid question. I know exactly what it is like to start from no nothing and have worked really hard and broken a lot of things on my bike to get to where I am.

I’m definitely no mechanic, and I know when to ask for help when I need it. I am so happy to be a part of the change is not just this industry but to be a drop in the bucket for women in male-dominated industries everywhere. To every woman that is tired and fighting tooth and nail for your place, I see you, I hear you, and you’re doing great.

Parting words for me. In the grand scheme of things, if you are not satisfied with your life, you are the only one that can change it. It’s not up to anyone else. I’m not some badass biker that is super confident and cool.

I’m an anxiety-ridden girl that learned to embrace the things I fear because I was tired of feeling stuck and small. I hope whoever is reading this can use this as motivation to take a deep breath and take steps to turn their life into a dream, too.

Everything The Light Touches

CLASS 2019 Triumph Thruxton $10,000 obo CONTACT: SAM@KIDSANDCOBRAS.COM

1986 honda shadow 1100 $1,000 obo CONTACT: SAM@KIDSANDCOBRAS.COM

She is a sweetie. Loves to go on longer rides than she should and will always be by your side. An old soul that is looking for a new companion. Be her new owner today.

She’s an old bird with life left in her. She likes to cruise and has put her racing days behind her. Contact us and we can tell you more.

S I FI E DS 1981 YAMAHA VIRAGO $6,000 obo CONTACT: Jesse@meyerbuiltmn.com

Found alone, huddled up in the corner of a barn - this pretty little kitty has been fully restored and built into one of the most bad-ass cafe racers on the streets.

This ‘79 Steed is looking to find a new jockey to take her on. She runs, could use $2,900 obo some TLC but who couldn’t, right? Will contact: hello@gofastdontdie.com deliver to PDX if you buy her before One 1979 husqvarna wr390 2-stroke

a wild quest through the wild west

e

M Sca n

KIDSandCOBRAS.com @kidsandcobras