Issue 035

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035 CONTENTS

008 | FOREWORD

Threshold.

028 | COME BACK, BLUE

Resurrecting a beloved Harley with help from S&S.

012 | LIL’ SUCKER

Land speed racing on a turbocharged Honda S65 city bike.

034 | A BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARE

18 months of riding and mountaineering along the Pan-American Highway.

020 | FOUR FISTS IN THE WIND

Discussing motorcycles with hip-hop duo Four Fists.

050 | ARTIFACT

The story behind Langlitz Leathers in Portland, Oregon.

052 | S UICIDE MACHINE CO.

A family business run by “deathproof” brothers.

080 | Q UEEN OF THE STRIP

How Shirley Muldowney became the first woman to win a professional motorsports title.

102 | ROYAL ENFIELD

The India-based manufacturer is primed for a new period of growth.

062 | ENCHANTMENT ETERNAL

A lustworthy Shovelhead from northern France.

092 | O NE DRAWING AT A TIME

Artist Amanda Zito’s hopes for motorcycling and its community.

110 | POSTSCRIPT

Understanding and realizing potential.

072 | INVENTORY

Gear, goods, and more.

Cover: Commissioned artwork by Amanda Zito. Read more about the artist on page 092.

Above: The 12,972-foot summit of Mount Robson, British Columbia, photographed by James Barkman. His stories from the Pan-America Highway start on page 034.

FOLLOW YOUR OWN ROAD The Waxed Canvas Denim Jacket, like all pieces in the Garage Collection, is understated and straightforward. Inspired by the past, but ready for your next adventure.

Visit H-D.COM/GARAGE or Your Local Dealer.

©2019 HARLEY-DAVIDSON, HARLEY, H-D, and the Bar and Shield Logo are among the trademarks of H-D U.S.A., LLC.

STAFF TRAVIS YORK Chief Executive Officer

ADAM FITZGERALD Editor-in-Chief

GREGORY GEORGE MOORE Director of Marketing

CHRIS NELSON Executive Editor

MICHAEL HILTON Associate Editor

JON GAFFNEY Director of Sales & Partnerships

STEVE HOWELL Sales & Special Projects

LISA MURPHY Financial Operations Manager

CHRISTIAN GLAZAR Copy Editor

IAN J.D. LOGAN Staff Writer

ISSUE 035 WRITERS Chris Nelson, Christian Glazar, Elana Scherr, Gale Straub, James Barkman, Julia LaPalme, Kalen Thorien, Keith Baskett, Michael Hilton

PHOTOGRAPHERS Graham Tolbert, Gregory George Moore, James Barkman, Heather Young, Kalen Thorien, Lauren Wuornos, Patrick Evans, Scott G. Toepfer, Tanner Yaeger, Tim Bruening, Vince Perraud, Wily Vlanka

ARTWORK Amanda Zito, Nick Pyle

DESIGN & LAYOUT Adam Fitzgerald, Gregory George Moore, Matt Tierney REACH US

Iron & Air 175 Canal Street, Manchester, NH 03101 ironandair.com

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STORY & PHOTO SUBMISSIONS chrisnelson@ironandair.com

PRODUCT SUBMISSIONS editor@ironandair.com

The motorcycle and the places it takes us.

I S SU E 0 3 5 | P U B L I SH E D SP R I N G 2 0 1 9 P R OU D LY P R I N T E D B Y F L A SH R E P R O DU C T IO N S Copyright 2019 © Iron & Air Media, LLC All Rights Reserved

T HA N K YO U T O T H E PA RT N E R S T HAT SU P P O RT T H E C R E AT IO N O F I R ON & A I R M AG A Z I N E .

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Photo by James Barkman Story on page 034.

FOREWORD

THRESHOLD CHRISTIAN GLAZAR

Copy Editor

“The adventure is always and everywhere a passage beyond the veil of the known into the unknown; the powers that watch at the boundary are dangerous; to deal with them is risky; yet for anyone with competence and courage the danger fades.”

– Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces The Hero’s Journey: it’s the narrative structure at the heart of every adventure story ever told, from Homer’s Odyssey to Marvel’s Black Panther. Joseph Campbell first outlined the 17 steps of the journey in his 1949 book, The Hero with a Thousand Faces; other literary experts have since collapsed the process into as few as eight steps.

All agree that one of those steps is an inflection point — that moment when the hero crosses the threshold from the familiar to the unfamiliar, from the known to the unknown. From that moment on, everything is different.

At Iron & Air, we crossed that threshold when we launched a print publication in a digital age, and we’ve always admired and embraced those who courageously leap into the unknown. Their stories have filled our pages since day one, and Issue 035 is no different.

James Barkman and his buddies had an odyssey of their own and rode the Pan-American Highway from Alaska to Patagonia, climbing epic mountains along the way. Mechanical failures, dangerous weather, and an avalanche couldn’t crack their resolve.

You’ll meet Shirley Muldowney, who would show up at drag strips in the early ’60s not knowing if she’d be allowed to race, the door slammed in her face due to sexism. But she kicked it open, becoming the first woman to earn an NHRA racing license — and championship glory.

Seemingly deathproof brothers Aaron and Shaun Guardado defied their father’s wishes when they bought their first motorcycles — stepping across a threshold their own father had crossed with his father decades before — and today they have his full support in the family business, Suicide Machine Co. Another family business, Langlitz Leathers, started when Ross Langlitz recognized a need for moto-specific apparel; his name today is synonymous with top-quality motorcycle jackets. Industrial designer Sam Aguiar finds his muse at Shiny Hammer, where his fearless design sense is captured in a 1972 Harley-Davidson FLH, while Tim Klostermann chose to pursue a land speed record with his first-ever build.

We interview artist Amanda Zito, who broke her dominant wrist in a motorcycle accident. She could have put her career on hold, but instead she learned to draw with the other hand. Hip-hop duo Four Fists refuse to conform to expectations, whether it’s in the music they produce or the bikes they thrash.

Adventure is always just across the threshold, there for those who are bold enough to step through that door.

They know there’s no turning back, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s all ahead in Issue 035.

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Get the M30 Bandit, and you won’t just look tough.

SimpsonMotorcycleHelmets.com

Professional riders on a closed course. Š 2019 Simpson Performance Products. All rights reserved.

SIXTY YEARS OF BREAKING FROM THE PACK.

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F E AT U R E D B I K E

LIL’ SUCKER A small land speed racer with a big personality.

WORDS

Michael Hilton

IMAGES

Scott G. Toepfer

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n his first visit to the Bonneville Salt Flats in 2013, Tim Klostermann couldn’t believe the variety of motorcycles he saw, from vintage streamliners to garage-built Hayabusas. The Flats inspired him, and after a few days of roaming around the pits and seeing all types of bikes and the whole gamut of skill levels, Tim decided to build a race bike of his own, despite never having raced or built a bike before.

Tim saw a woman racing a restored Honda C110 and it led him to consider the bike’s successor, the Honda S65 that debuted in the mid-1960s. “I didn’t feel the need to go 200 mph, and an S65 looked pretty simple,” he says. “I felt it was perfect for my first build.” Back home in Northern California, he sourced two donor bikes and put together a build plan. Tim knew how to weld, but when it came to fabricating other parts for his bike, he would have to learn how to use his newly purchased lathe and mill drill; YouTube tutorials proved invaluable.

The S65 would race in the altered-frame class, which requires at least two modified features.

Being a straight-line bike, the Honda wouldn’t need a full-size fuel tank, so Tim made a smaller tank out of a chunk of exhaust pipe and tacked it to the top-left corner of the frame. For his second modification, he replaced the stock 63cc Honda engine with a 150cc Daytona Anima engine. “It has four valves, where the standard Honda engine has two, and its clutch assembly runs independently from the crankshaft,” he explains. “The timing and rev limiter are easily adjusted through the CDI module, and most importantly, the Daytona has a claimed 21 horsepower compared to the Honda’s 6.2 horsepower.”

The build became more complicated after Tim thumbed through the AMA rule book and realized no one had claimed a land speed record in the “altered-frame, blown gas engine” class.

“The fact that there was no record established for that class . . . I considered it a challenge to fabricate and install a turbocharger on the bike and go out with a record before moving on to other projects,” he says.

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Tim happened to have a turbo for a diesel tractor kicking around, and over the next few months, he figured out how to install the small-displacement turbo, replace its cartridges, fabricate a functional exhaust, fabricate carb adapters, fix oil flow problems, re-jet, re-time, disassemble, and reassemble — again and again. Through much patience and determination, Tim finally had Lil’ Sucker ready for the salt.

To claim a Bonneville record, all Tim had to do was ride Lil’ Sucker down the flats and come back. He did just that, posting an average speed of 62 mph. A new speed record was set, and Tim’s first-ever build was a clear success. “I was a bit on the fence about going for an open record at first,” he admits. “Maybe in some respect, it felt a bit like

cheating. But going through the complicated process of figuring out how to make the turbo work, I felt that I earned it in the end. And besides, now there is an established record for someone else to go out there and beat.”

Lil’ Sucker is an inspiration and demonstration for aspiring builders — proof that you don’t need a huge budget or years of experience to make a statement and break records.

“The bike is kind of a paradox,” Tim reflects. “It’s really just a diminutive bike initially made for someone to ride to high school back in the ’60s that’s masquerading as a turbocharged land speed bike. It’s like a chihuahua: a tiny dog with a bad attitude.” n

Year/Make/Model: 1967 Honda S65 Fabrication: Tim Klostermann Assembly: Tim Klostermann Build Time: One year Engine: 150cc Daytona Anima Exhaust: One-off Air Filter: velocity stack Transmission: Four-speed, unit construction Frame: Stock Forks: Honda S90 triple trees w/Honda XR75 fork tubes Shocks: Stock Front/Rear Tires: Michelin Gazelle (2.75” x 17”) Fuel Tanks: Fabricated from exhaust pipe Handlebars: Clip-ons Hand controls: Cheap Handgrips: Lowbrow Customs Headlight: none Taillight: none Seat: One-off Electrical: minimal Graphics: Lil’ Sucker lettering by DP Line Art

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El Diablo Run. MAY 3-6, 2019. YOU SHOULD GO.

MORE INFO: WWW.ELDIABLORUN.COM BILTWELLINC.COM @BILTWELL

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Q&A

FOUR FISTS IN THE WIND Why hip-hop artists Astronautalis and P.O.S. love motorcycles.

WORDS

Keith Baskett

IMAGES

Tim Bruening, Wily Vlanka, Lauren Wuornos, Graham Tolbert

Andy and Stef drop their stage names as we talk, sitting in lawn chairs in the parking lot of a Salt Lake City music venue. Andy is best known as Astronautalis, Stef as P.O.S., and together they are Four Fists, a brash hip-hop duo with a punk rock ethos.

We talk about their latest album, 6666, with Andy describing the workflow with Dutch producer Subp Yao in candid and unpretentious detail. The record touches on individual growth, responsibility, and the craving for freedom — universal issues we can all sympathize with, which is probably why Four Fists attracts a diverse, colorful fan base of sneakerheads, fashionistas, stoners, oily motorcyclists, and kids with regrettable face tattoos.

We listen as Andy and Stef chat about the record and the roller coaster of long-distance collaboration, and soon the conversation steers toward one of the most unique aspects of Four Fists: its intimate connection to custom motorcycle culture.

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“We want the dents, we want the fun.”

ANDY: It reminds me of skateboard culture. I grew up skateboarding, and what was really cool to me was that skateboarding was this culturally, stylistically blank canvas; it was cool to be diverse and listen to Three 6 Mafia and Modest Mouse. The thing that’s been really interesting in the motorcycle communities I’ve found — the people who are just into all of it. That feels like the skateboard culture that I grew up with. Both [Stef] and I grew up in that culture and honestly that’s what made my music and my cultural interests so diverse. It wasn’t cool to just be punk or to just be hip-hop; it was cool to be a skateboarder and be into all of it.

STEF: Yeah, especially in our era of skateboarding. The only time you’d ever hear hip-hop music aside from rap videos was in skate videos. You’d hear Dinosaur Jr. and Built to Spill, and then a bunch of rap music. It was just like that.

A: I feel like all of those kids — all of us are in our 30s — and we can’t skateboard anymore because that’s a fucking terrible idea, and now we have a little bit more money. We all stopped riding our fixed-gears, and then we all got motorcycles. And that’s the thing that’s welled all of that up in me that I had forgotten, that high school excitement about a thing, a culture ...

S: It’s true, man! My closest stuff to pure motorcycle freedom is having my dirt bike and dipping into parks.

It’s night, nobody’s gonna care . . . and if they do care, nobody’s gonna catch me.

A: What’s really funny is after having ridden really long distances and having camped off my Harley [Street Bob], now I want to get dirt bikes and rip along railroad tracks and do the things that [Stef] has been doing. Donuts in a park in the middle of the night is exactly what I want to be doing right now.

S: That’s been my thing the whole time: little rippers.

IRON & AIR: What are your thoughts on freedom and motorcycles?

hot-colored leather and be fully decked-out in Icon gear, because where are the other representations of black people in this at all? That’s never been me. I find all of my freedom in doing exactly what it is that I want to do at the very limits of my responsibility. I feel like there’s far too many rules. I want to do everything I can possibly do without hurting anybody else. I feel like freedom has to be relative to the person next to you.

You’ve got to be respectful of everybody’s right to exist.

A: I think freedom stretches and shrinks. You have moments when freedom is this big, wide-open thing surrounding you, which is why people on motorcycles talk about their bikes rapturously, almost religiously — like it’s this church that I ride around on that gives me this sense of freedom and euphoria, because freedom really stretches when you’re moving so fast that all these idiots can’t touch you. And then that freedom shrinks when it’s April 10 and you have to do your taxes, and you haven’t done any of your paperwork, and you can’t ride your motorcycle for a while. There was a time in my life when I thought I wanted to be famous, and there was a time in my life when I thought I wanted to be rich, and once I let go of both of those things it became about just wanting to be happy. I want to be able to continue to make and do all the shit I want and continue to be happy with all the people around me, and ultimately that’s the freedom: to be able to sit and say, “We have a year to make this record, and make whatever kind of record we want,” and then drive around the country and yell that record at people.

And then when that drive is done, I’m going to go into my bike shop and work on my motorcycles for a month.

Then we go to Europe and yell this record at people. It’s really hard to get better than that. We’re in the 1% of free living at this point.

I&A: On 6666, you hear this recurring idea that you get to make your life your own, and that nobody else is going to do this for you. Can you speak to that?

A: I’m gonna take the long way around here. I have this Harley, and it’s beautiful: big and shiny and glowing.

In the first month, I hit a gravel patch and dropped S: I’ve been a black guy on the outskirts of motorcy- it and put a big dent in the tank. Riding around with cle culture my entire life. I’m supposed to have a dumb, other Harley dudes, most of them were like, “Oh, see stretched-out sport bike, with one big wheel and some you dropped the bike there. You gonna get that fixed?”

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Below: Astronautalis/Andy riding an ’04 Yamaha YZ450F built by Jeremy Pedersen at Relic Kustoms.

Then I met Josh Kurpius, the photographer, and I was like, “Man, I don’t know . . . I think I have to get that fixed,” and he said, “Never get that fixed. Don’t ever get that dent fixed. That’s your bike now.” I really liked that idea; I really latched on to it. We want the dents, we want the fun. I don’t ever want to own a thing that’s going to stress me out so bad when I get a dent in it. A Porsche is not in the cards for me, man. The Harley is the nicest thing I own and it is fucking torn up. I can’t wait to make it into some kind of rat bike.

S: Honestly, that’s how it should be.

I&A: Are there any parts of motorcycle culture you’d advocate for?

A: What’s cool to me is that there’s a bunch of people that are like us, who are into all of it. Dudes like Jeff Wright from Church of Choppers. He’s such an inspiration. The way he looks at street bikes, dirt bikes, Sportsters — he thinks about converging them all. It’s such a punk approach to bike building, to bike riding.

He just wants to make the coolest shit he can with the coolest people.

S: That’s the dream for all of us. In music, in being an artist, in being in a band — at some point you’re not really concerned with being a giant superstar. You just want to make the coolest shit with the coolest people, play the coolest places . . . the vibe changes without you being consciously aware of it. This is what I signed up for. This is better than I ever expected, and it has been for longer than I ever expected. n

@ f ou r f i st s 6666 |

doomt r e e .net

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OBSESSION Making helmets is not our job.

It’s our obsession.

And it’s that way for all the artisans who handcraft each and every Arai helmet.

Arai: Handcrafted with an obsessive dedication to rider protection.

ARAIAMERICAS.COM @ARAIAMERICAS No helmet can protect the wearer against all foreseeable impacts. Nothing is a substitute for safe riding practices. ©2019 Arai Helmet

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S&S CYCLE / IRON & AIR MEDIA PRESENT

COME BACK, BLUE Professional alpine skier Kalen Thorien explains why she had to replace the engine in her beloved Harley.

WORDS & IMAGES

Kalen Thorien

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had Blue not two years before she died. I bought the ’93 Harley-Davidson FXR Super Glide from its original owner, John; tears glistened in his eyes as we loaded the bike on to my trailer, and I didn’t have the heart to tell the guy I’d never ridden a Harley before.

Even I thought it was absurd to buy an FXR without knowing how to ride it. I got to know Blue in empty parking lots, learning to shift, turn, stop, and occasionally pick her up off the ground. The next summer we rode 25,000 miles together, dodging thunderstorms in Texas, floods in Oklahoma, and a hurricane in Georgia. Blue broke down once in Alabama, then again in Florida, but nothing a little shop time couldn’t fix.

short-stroke V-twin — but couldn’t justify buying a new motor with her running strong. When she died, I called S&S and explained the situation, and they graciously donated a complete engine.

I didn’t sleep the night before I picked up Blue. Not only did my baby get a new heart, she got the heart of a goddamn lion — bigger, better, fiercer. Seeing her for the first time brought me to tears; the blacked-out 1,819cc motor barely fit in the frame. When I fired her up, she roared to life, proudly proclaiming, “I’m back, bitch.”

In one month Blue and I rode almost 8,000 miles, Thoroughly breaking in the S&S V111. We followed the California coast to Seattle, rode across the north to Milwaukee, then back west through Midwest lightning and thunderstorms. We explored golden aspen groves in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, scraping pegs on as much pavement as possible. There’s a spirit in this motor I can’t get enough of, and because of it, my connection to Blue is stronger than ever.

Last summer I planned to take Blue overseas to Norway — epic, I know — but a few weeks before my trip, I squeezed in a last-minute ride to L.A. to attend the Born Free show, much to my mechanic’s dismay; he’d been harping that we needed to swap out Blue’s camshaft. When it happened — a total loss in power, followed by a tinny death rattle — my heart fell into my Blue and I have seen so much together, sharing sunstomach. I left Blue at Bennett’s Performance in Long rises and sunsets. She has witnessed me at my best Beach and spent the next few days pacing around ner- — and worst — and helped build me into a stronger, vously, feeling like a terrible parent. Finally the call more confident woman, just like I’ve built her into a came: the Evo engine was toast. Bennett’s offered to faster, better bike. People ask why I saved Blue when I rebuild Blue’s motor but said it would kill her reliabil- could’ve simply bought a new bike, and my response ity, and recommended buying a new motor. I knew is simple: She saved me, so I will do everything I can they were right. to save her. n Before Blue died, I would daydream about swapping in an S&S V111 engine — a powerful, dependable,

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@ k a l e n t ho r i e n |

s s c yc l e . c o m

There’s a spirit in this motor I can’t get enough of, and because of it, my connection to Blue is stronger than ever.

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THE ELLIS STAINLESS + BLACK

@THEJAMESBRAND THEJAMESBRAND.COM

F E AT U R E

A BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARE Three friends ride dual-sports from Alaska to Patagonia and climb mountains along the way.

WORDS & IMAGES

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James Barkman

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Mountaineering and motorcycle expeditions have more in common than you may think, because neither climbing nor riding is a one-dimensional experience. Challenging both body and mind teaches you the art of suffering. I know this because I rode 38,000 miles from Alaska to Patagonia with my two childhood buddies, Allen and Jeremy.

The Pan-American Highway is the longest, arguably the most epic, system of roads on Earth. It begins in the Arctic Circle near Deadhorse, Alaska, and terminates at the very bottom of South America in Ushuaia, Argentina. Allen, Jeremy, and I bought late ’90s Suzuki DR650s for no more than $1,500 each, and started planning a trip that would require a year and a half to complete. Our route would pass through the most iconic mountain ranges in the Western Hemisphere — from the breathtaking Alaska range to the Andes mountains — and we were determined to climb anything and everything we could along the way, beginning with Denali in Alaska.

As the trip grew closer, I started having doubts. Could our motorcycles even carry all the equipment we needed for both high-alpine climbing and over a year on the road? But it was too late to turn back, and the day Allen graduated from college we hit the road. Bidding farewell to our friends and family in Pennsylvania, we started a 4,300-mile ride to Alaska, the beginning of the Pan-American Highway.

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PENΝSYLVANIA TO ALΑSKA MAY 9-19 | MILES: 4,300 Nine days of sunrise-to-sundown riding. We lost time to minor breakdowns and frustrating carburetor issues, and driving rain and high winds tested our resolve. A sudden snowstorm forced us to take shelter for a couple days — the Alaskan Highway was not for the faint of heart. Already behind schedule, Allen’s bike lost spark in the middle of nowhere and we worried we’d miss our flight to Denali’s base camp. A sympathetic passerby loaded Allen’s bike into his pickup and gave him a 400-mile lift to Talkeetna, just in time to catch our plane. It was the toughest riding any of us had ever done, and we hadn’t even started down the Pan-American.

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DENALI MAY 19-JUNE 3 | MILES: 34 Our Beaver ski plane punched through the clouds and gave us our first glimpse of Denali, the tallest mountain in North America. Due to its proximity to the Arctic Circle, its weather is considered to be some of the harshest in the world. Denali requires a carefully prepared arsenal of high-altitude, coldweather climbing gear. When we landed on Denali’s glacier, we met a French climber with a badly frostbitten nose that would need to be amputated. We spent the next 16 days in a terrible, breathtaking landscape, ascending with heavy packs and sleds as waves of nausea and exhaustion hit without warning. After a seven-day snowstorm and an almost disastrous fall at 20,000 feet, we somehow managed to plant ourselves on the 20,310-foot summit.

DEADHORSE LATE AUGUST | MILES: 1,000 The James Dalton Highway is a 414-mile supply road that runs from outside Fairbanks, Alaska, to the oil fields of Prudhoe Bay, deep within the Arctic Circle. Our hands and feet were constantly numb for those few miserable days of riding, as passing semi-trucks coated us in mud that clung to us like cement in below-freezing temperatures. We arrived in Deadhorse — home to the northernmost road in the Western Hemisphere — and vowed never to return. On our way back to Fairbanks, Jeremy’s bike broke down, forcing him to hitch a ride back with some caribou hunters. Allen and I kept riding, forced to walk our bikes several miles through snow over the infamous and icy Atigun Pass. Allen lost his chain and sprocket, leaving him stranded in the lonely arctic town of Coldfoot, where he spent the next five days alone, waiting for parts.

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MOUNT ROBSON SEPTEMBER TO DECEMBER | MILES: 4,500

From Fairbanks, we traveled 4,500 hard miles to Mount Robson, known to climbers as “The Great White Fright.”

It’s the highest point in the Canadian Rockies, and only 10 percent of expeditions reach its 12,972-foot summit.

Technical and exposed, there is an ever-present threat of avalanches, falling ice, deep hidden crevasses, and unpredictable storms. Climbing with backbreaking 70-pound packs, our trek to the summit was a hardearned victory; I lost 20 pounds in five days and struggled to keep my pants on during the hike out.

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MEXICO AND CENTRAL AMERICA JANUARY TO MARCH | MILES: 4,000 I watched the sunrise from the summit of Mount Hood in Oregon, raced jackrabbits through Nevada desert, climbed Mount Whitney in the Eastern Sierras, and spent a month climbing in Joshua Tree National Park before heading south to the border. Allen, Jeremy, and I slowly wandered down the Baja peninsula, passing enormous saguaro cactuses, eating raw clams for breakfast, yellowtail for lunch, and fish tacos for dinner, and camping out on empty beaches. At the bottom of the peninsula, we ferried to the mainland to climb Pico de Orizaba, an 18,491-foot volcano. After returning from the third-highest peak in North America, we high-tailed through the jungles of Central America to arrive in the Andes at the start of climbing season. In Panama, we squeezed our bikes into a shipping container and planned to meet them in Colombia in two days.

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SOUTH AMERICA / PERU APRIL TO JULY | MILES: 4,000 Two days became two weeks. Our first night back on the road, we were robbed. We were robbed again the next night, too. We rode through Colombian jungles and passed through the rainy highlands of Ecuador en route to the Peruvian Andes. Upon arriving in Peru, Allen flew back to the States to receive proper medical attention for a gnarly knee infection that turned out to be Lyme disease. For several months, Allen’s recovery remained uncertain, but Jeremy and I decided to make the most of it and climb what we could in the meantime. One such climb ended with an avalanche and me reviving Jeremy with mouth-to-mouth CPR. Then Allen called to say he could come back, and soon we’d make for Bolivia.

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BOLIVIA AUGUST | MILES: 5,000 The flooded salt flats of the Salar de Uyuni looked otherworldly, as earth and sky blended together as one. For several days we three rode side-by-side at full throttle in ankle-deep water, praying our electronics wouldn’t fry. Bolivian landscapes are jaw-droppingly beautiful: in a matter of only hours we would ride over 15,000-foot passes, then descend to sweltering jungle just above sea level. Riding over a high-elevation pass, I miraculously escaped injury after a high-side crash at 60 mph.

PATAGONIA SEPTEMBER | MILES: 2,500 Arriving in Patagonia, it felt as if we’d ridden around the world and arrived right back where we started. The landscape and climate seemed identical to Alaska’s, except for the guanacos that roamed in herds and rheas that galloped across frozen plains. Allen rebuilt his top end on the side of the road, and then his bike developed a rod knock. Dangerously high winds forced us to stop often, and Allen used one such opportunity to completely rebuild his thumper. South America was beautiful, but life on a motorcycle was no vacation, and the hardships of the road had us dreaming of the comforts of home. We managed to ride into Ushuaia on a wing and a prayer, and the trip was over, just like that.

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Riding and climbing along the Pan-American Highway was the most demanding experience of my life — some of the best memories I have, and some of the hardest. It was a beautiful nightmare, and I’ll be forever grateful for those 17 months spent under an open sky.

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FOUR COLLECTIONS. UNLIMITED POSSIBILITY.

ARTI FAC T

LANGLITZ LEATHERS WORDS

Michael Hilton

IMAGE COURTESY

Langlitz Leathers

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t age 17, Ross Langlitz lost his right leg after a drunk driver hit him on his motorcycle. Despite doctor’s orders, Langlitz taught himself to ride again.

His love for motorcycling — speedway racing, specifically — led him to seek a jacket that would better protect him in the event of another crash. In the early 1940s, his best option was a leather flight jacket from Sears that didn’t fit well in a riding position.

Using the cutting and sewing experience he gained while working in a glove factory, he decided to reverse-engineer the Sears jacket with thicker leather, diagonal pocket zippers, extra-long sleeves, and zippered cuffs.

Friends started hounding Ross to make jackets for them, so he set up shop in his basement.

It didn’t take long before he was struggling to keep up with demand, so, in 1947, he hired two seamstresses from the glove factory, rented a larger space, and opened The Leather Garment Shop. His first clothing tags read Speedway Togs, but that was quickly changed to Langlitz Leathers, a name that would become synonymous with high-quality motorcycling apparel.

Langlitz Leathers has made its home in Portland, Oregon’s Southeast Division Street neighborhood since 1972. A staff of 15 produces made-to-order motorcycle clothing using made-in-America materials. Each piece is cut by a single cutter, is sewn by a single seamstress, and is a unique, handmade work of art; a set of custom leathers takes roughly eight weeks to complete. While customers can order online or through snail mail, many prefer to travel to Portland to be measured for a perfect fit.

The environmentally conscious business uses 100-percent renewable energy to offset carbon emissions and sells scrap leather to other businesses instead of sending hides to the landfill, and its customer base includes an impressive list of celebrities like Bob Dylan, Ralph Lauren, Bruce Springsteen, and Clark Gable.

Ross Langlitz passed away in 1989, but his legacy lives on. Today, Langlitz Leathers is run

by Ross’s granddaughter, Judy, and together with a small group of passionate employees, she maintains a tradition of making impeccably designed and crafted clothing for motorcyclists who understand the importance of both form and function. n

Right Page: March 1948, out front of Western Cycle Sales, Ross Langlitz wears his handmade jacket and sits on his ’47 Velocettte KSS, which now hangs from the ceiling of Langlitz Leathers.

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F E AT U R E

FAST, LOUD, DEATHPROOF Suicide Machine Co.: On blood and brotherhood.

WORDS

Chris Nelson

IMAGES

Tanner Yeager, Patrick Evans, Heather Young

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Suicide Machine Co. in Long Beach is known for creating beautiful performance motorcycles out of Milwaukee slag, and its hometown owners, Aaron and Shaun Guardado, are infamous for smashing up demolition derby cars and trading elbows in the Harley Hooligan and Super Hooligan flat-track series. The shop propagates a death-defying spirit that delights with brooding charm; the Guardado brothers have walked away from so many gut-wrenching crashes that people actually wonder if they can cheat Death.

But when one brother crashes, the other sees a flash of a world without his best friend and stops to help his brother up — even if it means losing the race. The name “Suicide Machine Co.” is poetic posturing, like a “Beware of the Dog” sign on the fence of a cat owner’s house, and “Fast, Loud, Deathproof ” is clever marketing by two brothers bound by unflinching loyalty, who share a beautiful, kind relationship behind the black veil of SMCo.

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y yourself, you’re not complete, as much as you think you are,” says Shaun. “Having Aaron here really complements my shortcomings.” The 30-year-old Aaron and 33-year-old Shaun are exemplary brothers, both in blood and in business. They speak without a word, split duties to play to their strengths, and together run a well-respected, passion-driven business. While Suicide Machine Co. is often seen as a raucous circus with deathproof ringleaders, few see it for what it really is: a family business three decades in the making.

Aaron and Shaun always looked up to their father, Suicide Machine Co.’s “third partner.” Mr. Guardado prides himself on a tireless work ethic passed down from his father, who earned American citizenship through the Bracero Program and hand-built the Guardado’s first house in nearby Los Alamitos. Aaron and Shaun have worked for their native-born father since grade school, when they begrudgingly spent summers cleaning the yard at System Maintenance, Mr. Guardado’s industrial truck repair business. “You can look back and see how actions have matured you and grown in you, somehow, to make you who you are now,” Shaun says. Mr. Guardado taught his boys

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how to work for themselves, and now Suicide Machine Co. lives in an unmarked building behind System Maintenance. When Shaun isn’t building bikes, he’s repairing rigs or fabricating truck parts, and Aaron has a desk up front where he handles the finance side of System Maintenance.

Mr. Guardado also taught his boys how to wrench. He was a garage tinkerer, and Shaun fondly remembers the Power Wheels Bigfoot that Dad modified to go faster; baby Aaron once ejected from the passenger side as his big brother savaged the neighbor’s flower bed. When Aaron and Shaun were teenagers, Mr. Guardado bought a ’91 Nissan Sentra SE-R so that he and his boys could transform it into a club racer. Aaron says, “We were taught to do things right, and taught that performance is better than looks, and from a young age that pushed us to do things the way we do now.” As often as possible, the Guardado family would caravan 120 miles north to Willow Springs Raceway. While Aaron and Shaun loved automotive racing, they soon became infatuated with the track-prepped motorcycles in the paddock.

Motorcycles weren’t allowed in the Guardado house.

Mr. and Mrs. Guardado enjoyed dirt biking in their

The elder brother, Shaun, (opposite) in the SMCo. shop.

Aaron (this page) and his Husqvarna at El Mirage..

younger years, but both stopped riding after becoming parents. Aaron and Shaun recall only two artifacts from their parents’ riding days: a photo of their dad in the ’70s, sitting on a Yamaha RD350, and a yellow Bell Moto-X helmet abandoned on a shelf in the garage.

The more Aaron and Shaun raced their Sentra, the more they saw motorcycles race, and they both wanted to give it a try. Neither would get permission to buy a bike, so when Mr. and Mrs. Guardado left town for a business conference, Shaun bought his first motorcycle: a Buell XB12S Lightning. When Mr. Guardado came home, he was livid, regurgitating all the things his own father said to him when he bought his Suzuki RM125 without permission. “I wanted to protect my sons from hurting themselves,” Mr. Guardado says.

“But looking back, it was inevitable.” Not long after Shaun bought the Buell, Aaron bought a Ducati 999; Shaun then traded his Buell for a 999 so he could keep up with his brother around Big Willow.

When track days and Ducati repairs became too costly, Aaron and Shaun found new ways to play with motorcycles. Shaun wanted a street bike tailored to his petite frame, so in 2007, he bought a ’69 BSA Lightning

650 and, in his parents’ garage, chopped the frame, swapped on a springer front end, and finished his first, overly powder-coated custom. He enjoyed the process and people liked the build, so Shaun rented shop space a few towns over and started customizing friends’ bikes under the name Shorty Machine. He stepped it up with his second build: a street-legal, rigid Sportster land-speed racer with clip-ons, a seductive silhouette, and a turbocharged V-twin. Aaron graciously did the outreach and promotion he knew his brother wouldn’t, and soon, Shorty Machine moved into a larger shop.

Around the same time, Aaron and Shaun became fascinated by demolition derby. The Guardado family regularly attended monster truck jams and demolition derbies at the Orange County Fairgrounds, and one weekend Shaun asked for the promoter’s number. “It took me two years to get on the driver’s list,” Shaun says, and on the night of their first derby, it took less than two minutes to be eliminated. Aaron and Shaun made friends with seasoned drivers who helped them build better, smarter crashers. They can now build two derby cars in a week, have racked up sponsors like Rockstar Energy Drink and Wienerschnitzel, and finished in second- and third-place last year.

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Aaron says, “I don’t think I’ve been hurt enough to say, ‘I don’t want to do that anymore.’ I don’t give a shit if I’m getting hurt.”

He only gives a shit if Shaun is hurt — and vice versa.

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The speedway circuit at the demolition derby fairgrounds is where the brothers first tried flat track.

Before the Super Hooligan series existed, the OC Fairgrounds hosted a monthly Harley Night, where anyone could race any model Harley-Davidson. “Things were a bit wilder then,” Shaun says. “Looser rules.” The brothers both raced Sportsters, and Shaun became known for his incredible saves and brutal crashes. He’d slide his rigid through entire straightaways, dragging the primary in the dirt, and if he crashed and nothing broke, he’d dive straight back into the racing pack.

Lore grew around the “deathproof” brothers who rode with abandon and bloody smiles. Aaron says, “I don’t think I’ve been hurt enough to say, ‘I don’t want to do that anymore.’ I don’t give a shit if I’m getting hurt.”

He only gives a shit if Shaun is hurt — and vice versa. They’re perfect mates, which is why in 2010 they packed up Shaun’s shop, moved into the building behind Dad’s business, and started working together as Suicide Machine Co. Aaron spreads the gospel, maintains business relationships, and makes SMCo.-branded apparel, which is wildly successful and carried at Harley-Davidson deal-

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erships across America. Shaun loses himself in whatever’s on his workbench: a wrecked flat track bike, Aaron’s Husqvarna 701 supermoto, or the Buell Blast with a geometric fuel tank and fast-spooling turbocharger.

The demolition derby cars sit outside in the truck yard, and a dust-covered Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution V waits forgotten on an alignment rack in the back of the shop. Mr. Guardado stops by often to enjoy what his sons have built for themselves, and Mrs. Guardado is Suicide Machine Co.’s biggest fan.

SMCo. is a family business, just the latest in a long line of brotherly exploits. The shop’s persona celebrates the unruliest characteristics of the Guardado brothers, but it overlooks the incredibly rich relationship of the entire Guardado family, and the effortless symbiosis between two brothers who succumb to the same perilous muses.

Aaron says, “We’re more than happy to do whatever it is, together.” Aaron and Shaun Guardado have worked side-by-side since childhood, looking out for one another above all else, and they will continue to tease Death for as long as they can. n

su ic i de m ac h i n e c o m pa n y . c o m

| @ s mc o

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F E AT U R E D B U I L D

ENCHANTMENT ETERNAL Shiny Hammer’s ’72 Harley-Davidson FLH WORDS

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Chris Nelson

I M AG E S

Vince Perraud

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hasing timelessness is a fool’s errand, because “It’s a place where I can throw around some of my thoughts times and tastes change. Beauty is forever fleet- that have been generated by passion and frustration,” he ing; all anyone can do is create a fearless design says. “The two words — Shiny and Hammer — are like that functions as intended and elicits a positive emotional a bittersweet feeling: Hammer being the rough cut, and response that outlives its designer. Builder and industrial Shiny being the subtleties.” His furnishings are all handdesigner Samuel Aguiar will someday be forgotten, but his made, each distinct and unconventional, with a tasteful immaculate 1972 Harley-Davidson FLH won’t soon fade steampunk flair. Shiny Hammer’s Plee chair, for example, from memory. bends aluminum in such a way that creases and wrinkles form, making the metal look like bunched-up fabric where The 33-year-old Frenchman has loved motorcycles since seat meets backrest. his sixth birthday, when his parents gifted him a 50cc Yamaha PW. He starting modifying as a teenager, uncork- Sam started building bikes again, too. His first build, Hope, ing his MBK Rocket and other scooters under the name is an all-electric bike that required four years of work. It “Heavymotor.” At age 24, Sam received a degree in automo- uses the bones of a Polish-made Vectrix scooter, is powtive design from Institut Supérieur de Design in Valenci- ered by 102 lithium-ion battery cells, and is moved by a ennes. But after only five years in automotive design, Sam planetary gearbox. It looks like a streamliner, with a highly felt stifled; dispassion crept in, and he quit the industry to polished, riveted aluminum body capped by a big, round, focus instead on furniture design. black nose and tail. Sam then built a tidy 883, followed by a bare-metal Ironhead, but neither of his Sportsters spoke In 2010 Sam opened Shiny Hammer, a creative workshop to him. “I was looking for something that you have a conand design firm in Fayet, France, two hours north of Paris. versation with when using it,” Sam says.

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The Harley-Davidson Duo-Glide caught his eye because it’s an old Harley Sam can actually afford. He stripped the bike down and started with its frame, lowering the rear to create a level spine. He trimmed and de-tabbed what he could, narrowing the bike by an inch and a half, and shaved the engine’s top mount to open up space for the fuel tanks. Masterfully wedged between the frame and almost-split rocker boxes, Sam fabricated twin triangular tanks out of 1mm steel and connected them by T-hose at their base. Under the bike’s seat, next to the custom oil tank, is a third, smaller fuel tank — because Sam thought his Shovel should be able to carry at least eight liters (2.1 gallons) of gasoline.

An S&S Super E carburetor hangs from one side of the Big Twin engine, and on the other side is a big, exposed two-inch primary belt drive. The meandering, raspy, popping stainless-steel exhaust is bent naturally, as if it’s wandering the same path the bike’s exhaust smoke would have followed without pipes. Four-piston Nissin brake calipers and are fed by a Beringer master cylinder. The Shovelhead sits on spoked wheels with Shiny Hammer hubs, Excel hoops, and DOT-approved Pirelli MT 43 knobbies. A stubby duckbill rear fender hides the frenched LED brake light, finished with a stainless-steel surround, and there’s a thin, ribbed solo seat that blends into the bike’s frame like a beach shoreline.

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An oleo-pneumatic monoshock — originally designed for aeronautic use — replaced the FLH’s dual shocks and provides about two inches of travel. Sam fit the front end with conventional telescopic forks but thought they looked jarringly wide and too typical for his build, so he spent 300 hours designing, modeling, and building a one-off girder. “I basically placed the frame at the height I wanted and set the front wheel,” he says. To finish the girder, he added another smaller oleo-pneumatic damper near the bike’s neck, and snuck in a small, circular, offset LED headlight.

Shiny Hammer’s artfully engineered Shovelhead looks firmly rooted in the past, understated and dripping with chrome, but benefits from subtly integrated modern technologies.

Swooping, thin, and balanced, it’s exactingly built but doesn’t take itself too seriously, with its spaghetti exhaust and tires typically used on trials bikes. It’s bold and characterful, and it will haunt your dreams as it does ours. It’s a build we’ll never get tired of studying because there’s always more to discover.

Sam started Shiny Hammer so he could chase his desire to design and build unconventional, timeless objects. His offbeat, striking creations are infused with personality and artistic appeal. He continues to push himself and his designs, and you’re sure to see his name again in years to come. One day, Sam Aguiar will be forgotten, but not anytime soon. And his wonderful work will be remembered fondly — maybe until the end of time. n

Owner: Samuel Aguiar Year/Make/Model: 1972 Harley-Davidson FLH Fabrication: Shiny Hammer Assembly: Shiny Hammer Build time: One year Engine: 1,200cc V-twin Transmission: Stock 4-speed, Rivera Primo 2” open primary Exhaust: One-off, 48mm stainless steel Air filter: One-off, stainless steel Frame: Stock, lowered and narrowed Forks: One-off girder Shocks: Fournales and Fox Tires: Pirelli MT 43 (21”/18”) Fuel tank: One-off, 1mm steel, TIG-welded Handlebars: One-off Hand controls: Stock clutch, Beringer brake master cylinder Hand grips: MCS Gripster Headlight: One-off, 40mm stainless steel, H4 LED bulb Taillight: LED, Custom Chrome Europe Seat: One-off, black leather with stainless pan Electrical: Round ignition coil, stock ignition Paint: Glossy black, SM Autos Graphics: Original Harley logos

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INVENTORY GEAR, GOODS, & MORE

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IRON & AIR | DRIVE SUPER BLEND COFFEE COLLABORATION

We partnered with Drive Coffee to create the Super Blend, a Colombian, single-origin, medium- and dark-roast blend inspired by resilient road racer Dick Mann and his famous, Daytona 200-winning Honda CR750. Super Blend is a flavorful, smooth, go-to daily brew we enjoy so much that we made a complementary mug stamped with our mantra: “The motorcycle and the places it takes us.” | Coffee, 12 oz - $19.95 | Mug - $9.95 | Combo - $24.95 ironandair.com

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THE JAMES BRAND MEHLVILLE

A fascinating new take on the classic carabiner, The James Brand’s Mehlville clip features a dual compartment that helps keep your keys secure even if you’re using the top latch. The clip is machined from a single block of 6063 aluminum and is anodized in silver or black; a stainless steel bottle opener attachment improves an already great piece of kit. | $60 thejamesbrand.com

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DSPTCH CAPSNAP

Do you ever ride with a baseball cap snapped to your belt loop? So do we, and subsequently, we’ve lost a lot good hats to the wind. Then we bought DSPTCH’s inexpensive CapSnap, which bites around the hat’s top button for better retention. Buy a few and you’ll never lose a good hat along the way again. | $9.99 dsptch.com

TRED PRO

If you enjoy off-roading your 4x4, you’re bound to need a recovery device. Tred Pro traction boards provide muchneeded grip when you’re stuck in mud, sand, snow, or other muck. Wedge the spiked, composite traction boards under the tires, and slowly creep forward in your rig until you reach terra firma. We’ve used traction boards for years, and they’ve saved our asses more times than we care to admit. | $233 tred4x4.com.au

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UNIMATIC U1

The minimalist U1 dive watch from up-and-coming Italian watchmaker Unimatic blends timeless beauty and modern technology. With a 316 stainless steel case, 300-meter water resistance, and a serviceable NH35A automatic movement, the U1 is made to accompany you on adventures for years to come. Unimatic timepieces are released in small-batch, limited-edition runs that sell out quickly. | $605 unimaticwatches.com

PANDO MOTO STEEL BLACK DYNEEMA

Lithuanian company Pando Moto uses wonder fiber Dyneema in its handsome motorcycle apparel. We love Pando’s Steel Black jeans, which use a stretch denim that’s over 50 percent Dyneema; if you low-side in these jeans, you can slide roughly 230 feet before skin meets pavement. With reinforced chain stitching, reflective cuffs, Knox knee pads, and optional hip armor, the Steel Blacks are perfect for riding safely and looking good on arrival. | $435 pandomoto.com

GNARBOX 2 .0 SSD

​​ a world before stand-alone storage drives, In photographers and videographers working on location carried their delicate laptops into the unforgiving wild — because how else would they dump memory cards? Then Gnarbox created a rugged, one-pound external storage drive that accepts various memory cards and wirelessly backs up files. Gnarbox recently released version 2.0 after a 60-day Kickstarter campaign that raised over $900,000. Updates include an OLED screen for easy one-touch file uploads, a removable lithium-ion battery, and a fast SSD drive that stores up to 1TB. | $729 gnarbox.com

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BOSE FRAMES

Bose is known for packing big sound into small packages, and the new Bose Frames are no exception. Miniature speakers are encased in the temple arms, discretely directing clear, crisp audio into your ears but not the outside world. A single-button control manages your music via Bluetooth, and a built-in microphone allows for phone calls. Bose’s future plans involve augmented-reality audio experiences through the Bose Connect app. Bose can’t legally promote the use of these on a motorcycle, but we can and will. | $199 bose.com

THE MAKER’S FIELD GUIDE: MASTER MAKER EDITION

An online review succinctly says The Maker’s Field Guide “unveils some of the mysteries of ‘making stuff.’” The 192-page, high-level guidebook provides detailed overviews of the techniques used to make prototypes and models for design, engineering, and product development, as well as many traditional and modern tools. The Master Maker Edition includes 40 additional pages that cover topics like industrial sewing, 3D printing, spray painting, and kit bashing. | $65 themakersfieldguide.com

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Some things never stop being cool.

Even if they’re Old School.

Photo: Kyle Harrison Bike: Nicholas Harrison's 1973 Honda 450 Black Bomber

The best mechanical craftsmanship, married to the finest modern technology. Driven by some pretty cool dudes.

Like this cafĂŠd 1973 Bomber - like Flash Reproductions

Flash Reproductions The proud printer of Iron & Air Magazine Contact Rich Paupit rich@flashreproductions.com

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F E AT U R E

QUEEN OF THE STRIP “I know i’ve been forgiven, but the price of love is high.”

– Loretta Lynn, “Women’s Prison” WORDS

Elena Scherr

IMAGES

Courtesy of Shirley Muldowney & the NHRA

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People have strong feelings about strong women. I’d been told that Shirley Muldowney, the first-ever woman to win a professional motorsports championship, was difficult, mean, and crazy. She’s none of those things. Well, maybe crazy, but anyone willing to strap themselves into a nitro-burning Top Fuel dragster has to be a little bit crazy. Muldowney fought her way to the top in an era when most women who participated in motorsports stalled out in the lower ranks. If Muldowney seemed mean, it was because you were in her way. If she was difficult, it was because what she was doing wasn’t easy.

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uldowney started drag racing in the late “That’s the way the mop flops,” she said with a shrug. It 1950s, a teenage girl living in upstate New did put her in the right place to meet Jack Muldowney, York with her husband and a new baby. and Jack Muldowney had a really nice car.

Now 78, she lives in a cute corner house in a gated community near Charlotte, North Carolina, with a chihua- “A 1951 Mercury,” she tells me. “It had a nice rumble to hua named Midnight. Her garden is full of bird feeders it.” Jack was a senior, almost done with school. Shirley and huge rose bushes, and the front sidewalk is spotless was only 16, but she was done with school, too. “I had because she pressure-washes it regularly. She does her no place to go. No direction. No horizon. I had nothneighbor’s sidewalk as well, because it would be rude ing going for me.” She dropped out and married Jack, not to. But she’s none too fond of her other neighbor, and together they terrorized local street racers. “Jack the loud guy with his power tools and air compressor. taught me to drive. I went 100 mph around a curve the “Shirley,” I ask, “Didn’t you used to be that guy?” When first time I got behind the wheel. Later we’d race and Muldowney ran her team out of Northridge, California, I’d work the steering and shift, and Jack would do the in the 1980s, she had a shop in her back yard and tested pedals. He’d lean out the window and pop the clutch, Top Fuel dragsters along Sepulveda Boulevard. “Yeah,” and we’d race with him hanging both his hands out she answers, “I lived for 40 years with the sound of a the driver’s side window.” compressor. I want some quiet.”

Shirley remembers the ’60s fondly, racing with Jack on When she speaks, she keeps eye contact and gets right the streets and at the local dragstrip, just two kids raisto the point. She starts by telling me about her family. ing a kid; their son, John, was born in 1958, the same “My dad was a bully, and not a nice person. He hit my year Shirley made her first dragstrip pass. She gained mom. He had girlfriends. He spent all our money. I a reputation as the girl who kicked all the boy’s asses didn’t tell the truth when they were writing my story for and even earned a nickname: Cha-Cha. All the best the movie (Heart Like a Wheel, 1983). I didn’t want to drivers had nicknames: Snake, Mongoose, Big Daddy, embarrass my mother. She did all the work of raising us.” The Farmer, The Madman, The Snowman. Cha-Cha raced showroom-stock “door slammers” before movWhen Shirley and her sister, Linda, were barely tod- ing to dragsters, a stripped-down chassis with an elondlers, their father, Belgium “Tex” Roque, abandoned gated frame stuffed with as much engine as could fit. their mother, Mae, in their hometown of Burlington, She couldn’t race a dragster without an NHRA license, Vermont, and headed off to upstate New York where which she earned in 1965 — the first woman to do so. he was a small-time boxer, musician, and all-around License or not, many race officials didn’t like the idea shady character. He then brought the family out to of a woman piloting a dragster, and Shirley and Jack Schenectady, New York, although to hear Muldowney spent the next five years traveling to races, unsure if tell it, they would’ve been better off without him. they’d be allowed to run.

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She couldn’t race a dragster without an NHRA license, which she earned in 1965 — the first woman to do so. License or not, many race officials didn’t like the idea of a woman piloting a dragster, and Shirley and Jack spent the next five years traveling to races, unsure if they’d be allowed to run.

The Muldowneys started with comparatively mild, gas-burning, small-block-Chevy-powered, front-engine dragsters, and when they did well — despite the frustrations with petty track officials — they moved up to an expensive, professionally built car designed by chassis builder Don Long. “That was my favorite car,” says Muldowney. “The twin-engine car.” The dragster ran two Chevy engines at once and performed so well that Top Fuel dragster driver Don “The Snake” Prudhomme took notice. He remembers thinking, “That girl in the dual-engine car is pretty ballsy.”

If dragsters are stripped-down car skeletons, Funny Cars are puffed-up car caricatures: short, nitromethane-burning dragsters covered in cartoonish fiberglass replicas of popular production cars. Muldowney and Kalitta raced side-by-side, he as The Bounty Hunter and she as The Bounty Huntress. She won her first national event in a Funny Car, but also spent a lot of time climbing out of fireballs. After the fourth time burning off her eyelashes and the skin around them, Muldowney saw the appeal of less-volatile, rear-engine Top Fuel dragsters.

She made her first Top Fuel pass in a dragster owned Top Fuel would come calling for Shirley after she met by friend Poncho Rendon and got the attention of proracer Connie Kalitta and his nitro-burning Funny Car moter and racer “TV” Tommy Ivo, who spurned the pidfloppers. She fell in love — maybe with him, maybe with dly prize money of NHRA competition in favor of paid the nitromethane — either way, the end result was the match races all over the country. “I think I gave her the same. Shirley divorced Jack in 1972, moved to Detroit, seat time she never would have had otherwise,” Ivo says, and spent the first few years of the ’70s racing Funny Cars. “but she made her own greatness from there.”

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In 1977, Muldowney claimed a Top Fuel champion- While she had her fans — lots of them — there were ship, becoming the first woman to win a professional plenty of men and women who felt she had no right motorsports title. But while her career was going great, to be behind the wheel in a man’s sport. Muldowney her personal life was not. She and Kalitta split up — suffered through hurled slurs and beer cans, but even “I left him standing in an airport and never looked worse was the assumption that a woman who was willback,” she says — and to this day, Muldowney doesn’t ing to flaunt convention on the racetrack would be up have a nice thing to say about Kalitta, and Kalitta for anything. There were sponsorship meetings that won’t accept an interview if he thinks you’ll ask about ended not with a check slid across the table, but with a Shirley. But there was no time to mourn, because there hotel key and whispered room number. As she tried to were races to win. In 1980, Shirley took a second Top protect her reputation and find funding for her team, Fuel championship, becoming the first person — male she also was trying to raise a child on the road and play or female — to do so. In 1981 she won an AHRA cham- “mom” to her crew and fellow racers. Few other drivers pionship with Rahn Tobler as her crew chief and her were making sandwiches in the pits before putting on

As she tried to protect her reputation and find funding for her team, she also was trying to raise a child on the road and playing “mom” to her crew and fellow racers. Few other drivers were making sandwiches in the pits before putting on their fireproof underwear and running four-second quarter-miles in front of thousands of fans.

son, John, as a mechanic. In 1982, she scored another their fireproof underwear and running four-second NHRA championship, then a win at the U.S. Nation- quarter-miles in front of thousands of fans. Most racals, drag racing’s biggest showdown, beating her ex, ers had their wives or girlfriends to help out with the Connie Kalitta. “women’s work.” Muldowney had herself. “Of course I cooked at the track,” she says. “Who else would?”

Two years later, a front tire went flat during a qualifying run. There was no guardrail at this particular track, Toward the end of our interview, Muldowney apoloso when Muldowney’s dragster turned hard to the left, gizes. “I’m sorry I told so many negative stories,” she it sped straight into a dirt ditch. The car disintegrated, says. “But it was hard. It didn’t have to be so hard.” She and Shirley nearly did too, smashing bones in both legs, regrets some of the things she did in anger or fruscrushing her pelvis, breaking every bone in her hand, tration, and some of the sacrifices she had to make in and severing her thumb and foot. Nobody thought she her family life. When she talks about John, her whole would walk again, let alone race, but 18 months later, mood changes. Her son died in 2017, at age 59. Things Muldowney was at the season opener in Pomona, Cal- had not been going well between them, and Shirley is ifornia. While she would go on to win more races and miserable with guilt. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” set more records until she retired in 2003, the wreck left she says, her voice cracking and her glasses fogging. her with physical and financial scars that still affect her “My beautiful boy. The mistakes I made.” She doesn’t today. “It ruined my life, the crash. I’m in pain every day. know what she could have done differently; she only I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.” knows that in chasing some dreams, she lost hold of others. Even in hindsight she’s not quite sure where it Muldowney knew she could keep winning, and that’s happened. Would she change things now, if she could what kept her going, but it wasn’t easy, even before the go back? “Oh, no. I’d never been good at anything, but crash in ’84. Her life was not like the Hollywood movie, I knew I was good at racing,” she says. “I wanted that where everyone was mean at first and then she won, and win. It was, ‘Get out of my way or I’ll kill you.’ I just everyone loved her and she was accepted and adored. happened to be a girl.” n

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“I’d never been good at anything, but I knew I was good at racing.

I wanted that win. It was, ‘Get out of my way or I’ll kill you.’

I just happened to be a girl.”

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PROFILE

ONE DR AWING AT A TIME Amanda Zito’s tenacious vision for the industry.

WORDS

Gale Straub

ARTWORK

Amanda Zito

Amanda Zito snapped her throttle wrist last July while riding solo to Rocky Mountain Roll, an annual “redneck moto campout” she founded at her family’s ranch in northeastern Montana. She wept openly into her helmet but pushed on for 10 miles before seeing two outdoorsmen in side-by-sides.

Reluctant to ask for help, Amanda used their satellite messenger to contact her family, who met her over 40 miles from where she’d broken her wrist.

An artist with a stubborn streak and a smile, Amanda admits, “I struggle to do what I’m told.” Which is why, safely back in Portland a week later, after her orthopedist told her that the navicular bone in her wrist was indeed broken, she set about learning how to paint and draw with her non-dominant left hand. As she saw it, she had no other option. “I felt like everything had collapsed on top of me and I couldn’t move,” she explains. “Drawing is such a huge part of my life.” Amanda’s never been one to write in a journal for longer than a few days; art is her means of expression and her livelihood, as vital to her as open air.

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manda grew up on a 120-acre ranch in Montana and she speaks about it with reverence: “Being a child and having a crazy imagination, it doesn’t matter how much space you have. If you have any kind of space outside, that’s the whole world.”

She loved horses and dreamed of being a jockey until another girl let her know she was “too big” to pursue that path. So, she turned her attention to drawing, absorbing lessons from her artistic older brother.

for wrenching into a job at a Harley-Davidson and Triumph dealership, starting off as a tech. When the general manager found out she could draw, Amanda moved up to the marketing department. Of her work, she explains, “I mainly do motorcycle event posters now, which I love. With motorcycle events, the flashier the poster, the more interesting it is, the more attention it gets.”

Amanda knows there’s power in good design and cares In 2010, she enrolled in art school and moved to Port- about how motorcycle events are presented. She stresses, land, where she discovered motorcycling as a substi- “I think a lot of people who aren’t into motorcycles see tute for horseback riding and a means to travel back those posters that float around on the Internet, the and forth to Montana. She’s still homesick. “I’ve made ones that look like they were made in Microsoft Word.” a lot of friends here, but I have never felt 100 percent She hesitates. “There’s not an easy way to say it: they comfortable. I feel like I am a horse in the middle of look like they are catering to old, fat, white dudes on a bunch of cars.” Amanda has five bikes now — six choppers.” For Amanda, it’s a disservice to the events if you count the moped. Her first bike, a 1980 Suzuki she attends and to the people attending them.

GS850GL named Lazarus, broke her in: “I am really, really grateful that my first bike was that bike. The Her posters are bold, graphic, and unapologetically troublemaker lived up to her name. She’s definitely hand-illustrated. Amanda likes to add as many storydied and come back to life.” telling details as possible, pulling the viewer into the event and her vision of the motorcycle world. She’s illusThanks to Lazarus, Amanda now knows more about trated posters for annual events like Babes Ride Out, carburetors than she’d like. She leveraged her affinity The Backroad Ball, and Women’s Motorcycle Show.

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If you ask Amanda what she’s passionate about, she says emphatically, “I care about there being more representation of female motorcyclists in our industry. I firmly believe that the statistics are wrong, and that there are more female riders than mainstream companies seem to think.”

oped endurance and precision. Amanda became stronger with her non-dominant hand by reverting back to old lessons, drafting rough sketches. At first, they didn’t look like anything, but eventually shapes revealed themselves on the page in graphite, ink, and watercolor.

Amanda wants the art surrounding the motorcycle It’s also important to her how women are represented. world to reflect how welcoming she has found the Amanda is purposeful in the ways she illustrates rid- community to be, regardless of gender, ethnicity, or ers, making sure they’re in proper gear, not bikini tops riding style. And though it may take longer to achieve or short shorts. And sure, they look sexy, but it’s the than the time it took her wrist to heal, she’s optimistic. kind of sex appeal that comes from strength, comfort, “I think every year, we make more strides as a commuand belonging. nity, especially as the industry changes and the ridership changes.”

Doctors removed Amanda’s cast in late September. Her drawing hand is free once more — for pencil and throt- Amanda’s work mirrors that stubborn potential. n tle. The two months spent teaching herself to use her left hand echoed those first long rides on Lazarus. She fatigued quickly in the beginning, but over time devel- @ b l i n dt h i st l e

“I care about there being more representation of female motorcyclists in our industry. I firmly believe the statistics are wrong, and there are more female riders than mainstream companies seem to think.”

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R OYA L E N F I E L D / I R O N & A I R M E D I A P R E S E N T

A NEW HOPE How Royal Enfield is reestablishing its place in the motorcycle market.

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Julia LaPalme

I M AG E S

Courtesy of Royal Enfield

Royal Enfield team rider Johnny Brittain took the win in the 1957 Scottish Six Days Trial on his Royal Enfield Bullet. The grueling 900-mile race tested the reliability of a motorcycle and its rider.

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In its 110 years, Royal Enfield has changed both ownership and national identity. After decades of mismanagement and reliability issues bruised the company’s reputation, the modern Royal Enfield now has something to prove, and it plans to do that by selling handsome, well-made, affordable motorcycles.

The brand came to life in 1901 in Redditch, England, after two men strapped a Minerva engine into a reinforced bicycle frame. By 1914, Royal Enfield’s first two-stroke went into full production, and by 1930, the company had 11 different models. The reliable, tough Bullet was introduced in 1932, and was used by the British War Department for reconnaissance in WWII. The Indian Army, too, purchased Bullets for its border patrol soldiers, and soon Enfield India was established, building Bullets on license with tooling borrowed from the Brits. The Bullet became popular in the UK after winning multiple trials competitions, including the grueling International Six Days Trial; Americans took notice after 16-year-old Eddie Mulder won the 1960 Big Bear Scramble on a 500cc Bullet.

had heaps of torque and dynamically balanced cranks for a smooth ride, especially compared to the Triumph, BSA, and Matchless, which would rattle so much they’d shake your teeth out.”

Back in the United Kingdom, smaller bikes were in higher demand due to driver regulations, prompting Royal Enfield to release the 250cc Continental GT in 1965.

To celebrate, five riders rode a Continental GT from “top to tip” of the UK, a 24-hour, 1,000-mile relay from John O’Groats to Land’s End. The relay team included John Cooper, who lapped Silverstone Circuit and reached a top speed of 73 mph, earning the Continental GT recognition as “Britain’s Fastest 250.”

That same year, Royal Enfield set its eyes on the U.S. market with the release of the 692cc Interceptor, enticed by America’s growing appetite for large-displacement Japanese bikes. “The Interceptor was received with glowing reviews,” says Gordon May, Royal Enfield historian. “It

Unfortunately, due to financial struggles, Royal Enfield’s production couldn’t keep up with demand in the U.S. or the UK. The company’s UK manufacturing plants closed in 1970, leaving Enfield India as the brand’s only production source.

Above: First Royal Enfield motorbike with a 1.5-hp Minerva engine mounted near the steering head.

Opposite: Continental GT brochure insert shows John “Mooneyes” Cooper at Silverstone.

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n 1977, Enfield India restarted export of the Bullet, and attention, I began to love it for its basic simplicity.” but the company had not made any updates to the Despite the extra attention her Bullet requires, Jacqui design in 22 years. While the Bullet enjoyed a cult says, “I could not possibly travel on another bike. If following in India, outdated engineering didn’t impress someone challenges me about its reliability, I get defenin the United States or the United Kingdom. Throughout sive and tell them where it has taken me over the past 19 the ’80s and ’90s, Royal Enfield built a variety of bikes years.” and mopeds, copying Zundapp models and collaborating with outside engine builders and designers like Despite nicknames like “Royal Oilfield,” the bikes were Morbidelli and Lombardini. The Bullet languished in “no more reliable or unreliable than the other British production, and its much-needed update didn’t surface bikes,” according to Roy MacMillan, president of Royal until 2010, when Enfield India modernized their engines Enfield Owners Club of North America. “It was the type to meet EU standards. Before that, the Bullet used the of maintenance, where if you looked after it, you never original cast iron barrel engines, which demanded a lot had a problem.” MacMillan has had 50 Royal Enfields of patience from their owners. over the past four decades and currently owns 25 — one of which, a ’69 Interceptor, he commuted on daily for 18 Jacqui Furneaux, author of Hit the Road, Jac!, has rid- years. “I like the power delivery on [the Interceptor] betden her ’00 Bullet 500 through more than 20 countries ter than the other British bikes. It had its own look to it; and can speak to the bike’s fussiness. “When I realized it stood out from all the others, and I thought the engiit was really a living antique that needed constant care neering was a little better than its competition.”

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Opposite: Jacqui Furneaux on her favorite motorcycle. Top: CEO Siddhartha Lal rides the new Interceptor in California.

Bottom: Royal Enfield’s new “twins” on the Chennai factory assembly line.

The Interceptor’s engineering may have been progressive for its time, but advancements in motorcycle technology left Royal Enfield behind in many ways — that is, until Siddhartha Lal became CEO in 2000. After earning his undergraduate degree in economics, Lal spent three months studying under Swiss motorcycle tuner Fritz Egli and rode a Bullet 500 for a year, camping throughout Europe. His newfound passion for motorcycles inspired him to pursue post-graduate work in mechanical and aeronautical engineering and earn his master’s in automotive engineering.

Lal’s father was CEO at Eicher Motors, the India-based company that bought Royal Enfield in 1994, and Sid started working there in ’96, at first in the purchasing department and parts development. Around the beginning of the new millennium, Eicher considered shutting down Royal Enfield, which was losing the equivalent of $230,000 a month, but then-26-year-old Sid stepped up and asked for an opportunity to turn around the company.

Sid says, “I was young and naive, so I just dove in headfirst with a relatively cavalier attitude.” It took him only a year to stop the losses at the company; then Sid set out to improve quality. Royal Enfield changed production to high-pressure die casting, using the same suppliers as the Indo-Japanese manufacturers, and invested in CNC and precision-quality machinery. “We have basically followed a Japanese approach to quality,” Sid explains, “with a focus on training, continuous improvement, and statistical process control methods. We took a massive leap in manufacturing and quality in 2013.”

Another improvement in Royal Enfield’s production came in 2014 when the once-British brand returned home and opened its UK Technical Centre. Product and design teams in England work closely with engineers from the main factory in Chennai, India, and the success of their cross-continent collaboration is evident in the recently released Himalayan, Continental GT 650, and Interceptor 650.

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“We have basically followed a Japanese approach to quality, with a focus on training, continuous improvement, and statistical process control methods. We took a massive leap in manufacturing and quality in 2013.”

“We’ve grown from selling about 25,000 motorcycles a year in 2000 to over 820,000 a year by March 2018,” Sid says. Of these, 95 percent stay in India, with only 19,000 motorcycles being exported — but Sid is addressing that problem, too. In 2016, Royal Enfield established its U.S. headquarters in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and in the last three years, Rod Copes, president of Royal Enfield North America, has expanded the U.S. dealership network from zero dealers to about 90. Copes only targets multi-brand dealerships, because he believes Royal Enfield doesn’t compete with any other brand, but instead complements them. “We are the only motorcycle company in the world that focuses just on the middleweight segment,” Rod says.

Royal Enfield believes the middleweight segment is underserved; riders in America and Europe want more approachable motorcycles, while riders in India, south-

east Asia, and Latin America want to commute on bigger bikes. Sid says, “We believe that motorcycling globally is going to converge on the mid-sized segment, and we are making motorcycles in this space that benefit from the scale of developing markets and meet the refinement and finesse required to truly compete with the best in developed markets.”

Royal Enfield has had its ups and downs, and it could have disappeared at any point along its 110-year journey.

But it didn’t. It refuses to give up, and today the brand is learning from years of missteps and making significant, intelligent improvements to its business model. Royal Enfield can now compete — and has to compete — as we root like hell for them to succeed. n

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Opposite, top: The all-new Interceptor meets its namesake. Opposite, bottom: Author Julia LaPalme testing the new Continental GT 650.

Above: The rugged and capable Himalayan.

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POSTSCRIPT

UNDERSTANDING POTENTIAL Can you do more, or do you want more?

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Chris Nelson

I L L U S T R AT I O N

Nick Pyle

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ow did the amazing people we met in this issue realize their potential?

Believers in the Human Potential Movement would say they realized hidden “potentialities.” Started in 1961, the movement says both desirable and undesirable potentialities exist latent in man, and can be “actualized” through various mind-body exercises. Studies of human potentiality draw heavily from theories

by American psychologist Abraham Maslow — who conjectured about a fundamental need for transcendence, “the very highest and most inclusive or holistic levels of human consciousness” — and English writer and philosopher Aldous Huxley, author of The Doors of Perception (1954), which summarizes the writer’s mescaline-induced experiments in personal exploration. Huxley said that if we could realize our desirable potentialities, “we may be able to produce extraordinary things out of this strange piece of work that a man is.” Unfortunately, the hunt for untapped human potential is stifled by a dismal understanding of ourselves and our ancient brains.

But what if man used his brain to build a better brain that could simplify all the complex things his dumb brain couldn’t understand? The conversation around human potential is hot again, because artificial intelligence (AI) is maturing and gradually integrating into our society. Perhaps one day the inhuman will offer a unique, never-before-seen perspective on mankind and show us how to be better humans.

Aldous Huxley believed advancing technologies would yield new methods for unlocking human potential. We’ve been introduced to “weak AI,” like Apple’s Siri or Amazon’s Alexa, but it’s the birth of “strong AI” — non-sentient, thinking machines with more cognitive bandwidth than humans — that could dramatically alter our existence.

Some believe strong AI could evolve into an unstoppable, conscious “Singularity,” the harbinger of an apocalypse; it will get its start, however, by handling our unwanted and routine tasks. Ideally, in this “human-technology co-evolution,” AI augments our lives and gives us more time to understand the inherently human abilities that can’t be automated. AI is cursed, though, because man is its creator, and man is imperfect in ways a machine can’t understand and man can’t accept. If neither metaphysical evolution nor machine-assisted enlightenment will reveal our hidden potential, then what?

Could it be we’re simply not brave enough to believe in the potential we have, because to realize that potential, we must risk trying and failing alone? Could the belief that we even have potential be a grotesque invention of the brains we barely understand? Or should we stop overthinking it, appreciate the potential within us, and realize our potential in whatever way feels natural? n

END

Professional riders depicted on a closed course. Some models shown with optional accessories. Some motorcycles shown with aftermarket exhausts, aftermarket accessories, and custom paint and bodywork. Dress properly for your ride with a helmet, eye protection, riding jacket or long-sleeve shirt, long pants, gloves and boots. Do not drink and ride. It is illegal and dangerous. Yamaha and the Motorcycle Safety Foundation encourage you to ride safely and respect the environment. For further information regarding the MSF course, call 1-800-446-9227. Š2018 Yamaha Motor Corporation, U.S.A. All rights reserved.

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