BUD EKINS' GARAGE AT AUCTION

Legendary Hollywood native 'Bud' Ekins passed away 3 years ago after a life of hard riding, hard drinking, and irascible good humor.  Born James Sherwin Ekins (although he'd likely punch you if you reminded him) in 1930, 'Bud' had a little too much enthusiasm for cars and motorcycles as a boy, and spent time in reform school after being caught driving someone else's car...a stranger's...without the benefit of a key, or a driver's license.

By 1948 he had acquired his first motorcycle, a '34 Harley Davidson VL, which according to legend leaned against the wall of his father's welding shop.  His uncle owned the defunct machine, and offered to sell it to Bud for $10 if he could make it run.  Thus, the moto-virus was secured in his bloodstream, and he spent the rest of his life intimately involved with bikes, and a few cars.

He commuted the Harley to his job at the welding shop, not over freeways but on the rough trails of the Hollywood hills and along the LA river, before all became concrete and tarmac.  Pushing a large, heavy bike around in the dirt twice a day gave him valuable experience, and soon he was competing in local dirt races on the very same machine...not such an uncommon 'racer' in those impecunious postwar days, before the housing boom and general prosperity paved over LA.

A local dealer spotted Bud's riding talent, and offered him a Matchless single to ride in the Moose Run in 1951, which Ekins promptly won.  After further success, he turned pro, and within a year had sailed across the Atlantic to try his hand against the best in the world on the dirt, and make considerably more money, in Europe.   His first successes were in England, where he earned $200/week racing for AMC (Matchless), about ten times what he'd made in the US.  Shortly he would also ride in France, Spain, and Belgium, all of which had huge followings for scrambles - in fact some of the earliest sporting events on TV at the time were off-road motorcycle races.

He returned to the US in '54, and traded in his Matchless for a Triumph dealership in the San Fernando valley, set up by US importer Johnson Motors (now better known as a t-shirt company...).  Bud continued racing as well, winning the Catalina Grand Prix in 1955 and '57; he also won the Big Bear desert scramble twice.  His winning streak in SoCal was a great boon for Triumph in the US, and his skills handling tricky sand/dirt/rock terrain earned him the nickname 'the Desert Fox'.

Steve McQueen entered Bud's Triumph shop in 1959, and the two became fast friends.  As McQueen's star rose from a Western tv star to international movie star, he brought Bud along for help with film stunt work.  In 1963, during the filming of 'The Great Escape' near Fussen, Bavaria, Bud was employed to ride one of the most famous motorcycle stunts in history; 'the jump' over a prison camp barbed wire fence on a stolen German motorcycle (which transforms mid-scene from a DKW RT250 to a Triumph TR6 in dark green paint).  Of course, everyone thought McQueen had done the jump, as he preferred to do his own stunts, but the production company insisted he was too valuable to the film to risk injury, and Ekins leaped into infamy.  It's a compelling scene, and McQueen's cool demeanor in the film catapulted him to mega-stardom, and 'cool icon' status.  It was McQueen himself who credited Ekins with the jump, during an interview on the 'Johnny Carson Show' (now of course hosted by Jay Leno, a huge motorcycle buff - we are everywhere!), when asked about it: 'That wasn't me. That was Bud Ekins.'  For the jump, he was paid $1000, the highest compensation ever for a single stunt - and it was done in a single take.

During the long weeks of filming in Germany, Ekins entered the International Six Days' Trial (ISDT) in Czechoslovakia (he had entered once before and won a Gold Medal - eventually winning four Golds and one Silver during his career).  After winning his second Gold mid-film, McQueen, an excellent motorcyclist himself after personal tutelage from Bud, convinced Ekins to form the first-ever US ISDT Team.  Thus, in 1964, Ekins and his brother Dave, Cliff Coleman, and McQueen competed in East Germany, where they didn't fare well as a team (both Bud and Steve failing to finish due to injury), Dave and Cliff both won Gold medals.  The unreapeatable adventure of this ISDT is beautifully explored in the book '40 Summer Ago'  (Rin Tanaka and Sean Kelly), and if you're a McQueen or Ekins fan, you really should have it - the photographs are simply amazing.

In 1967 Ekins went on to partner with McQueen on the film 'Bullitt', with an infamous car chase over the San Francisco hills.  Ford was the beneficiary of incalculable publicity as Ekins launched a '67 Mustang Fastback over the sharp hillcrests of the City, smoking tires, sliding around corners, and making an impossible route through SF while chasing the 'bad guys' driving a Dodge Charger.

Bud Ekins retired from motorcycle racing in '67, but continued to run his motorcycle dealership and perform stunts in films, from motorcycle gang films ('Hell's Angels 69' - above, in a pic from the sale), to disaster films ('Towering Inferno'), and even James Bond films ('Diamonds are Forever').  When asked later in life which stunt scared him most, he replied, 'Pretty much all of them'.  Ekins died October 11, 2007.

His great love of motorcycles extended to vintage machinery, and Ekins had a very good eye for interesting early motorcycles and cars, eventually amassing over 150 machines.  One of his employees, Kenny Howard aka 'Von Dutch' (now better known as a t-shirt company...) painted many of Ekins' personal machines, some of which he decorated in his distinctive style of pinstriping and imagery.

Bonhams auctions has secured 8 vehicles from the estate of Bud Ekins, including 5 motorcycles, one 'loose' sidecar ('Mona', painted up by Von Dutch, above), and 3 'brass era' cars.  They're coming up for sale at the Petersen Museum in LA, on Saturday Nov. 13th. Also included will be photographs, memorabilia, trophies, tools, racing jacket, and ephemera from his friend Steve McQueen....it's entirely possible the total sale from the 'automobilia' will exceed the vehicles, given their provenance!

You can check out the entire collection here at the Bonhams website.

BUD EKINS' GARAGE AT AUCTION

Legendary Hollywood native 'Bud' Ekins passed away 3 years ago after a life of hard riding, hard drinking, and irascible good humor.  Born James Sherwin Ekins (although he'd likely punch you if you reminded him) in 1930, 'Bud' had a little too much enthusiasm for cars and motorcycles as a boy, and spent time in reform school after being caught driving someone else's car...a stranger's...without the benefit of a key, or a driver's license.

By 1948 he had acquired his first motorcycle, a '34 Harley Davidson VL, which according to legend leaned against the wall of his father's welding shop.  His uncle owned the defunct machine, and offered to sell it to Bud for $10 if he could make it run.  Thus, the moto-virus was secured in his bloodstream, and he spent the rest of his life intimately involved with bikes, and a few cars.

He commuted the Harley to his job at the welding shop, not over freeways but on the rough trails of the Hollywood hills and along the LA river, before all became concrete and tarmac.  Pushing a large, heavy bike around in the dirt twice a day gave him valuable experience, and soon he was competing in local dirt races on the very same machine...not such an uncommon 'racer' in those impecunious postwar days, before the housing boom and general prosperity paved over LA.

A local dealer spotted Bud's riding talent, and offered him a Matchless single to ride in the Moose Run in 1951, which Ekins promptly won.  After further success, he turned pro, and within a year had sailed across the Atlantic to try his hand against the best in the world on the dirt, and make considerably more money, in Europe.   His first successes were in England, where he earned $200/week racing for AMC (Matchless), about ten times what he'd made in the US.  Shortly he would also ride in France, Spain, and Belgium, all of which had huge followings for scrambles - in fact some of the earliest sporting events on TV at the time were off-road motorcycle races.

He returned to the US in '54, and traded in his Matchless for a Triumph dealership in the San Fernando valley, set up by US importer Johnson Motors (now better known as a t-shirt company...).  Bud continued racing as well, winning the Catalina Grand Prix in 1955 and '57; he also won the Big Bear desert scramble twice.  His winning streak in SoCal was a great boon for Triumph in the US, and his skills handling tricky sand/dirt/rock terrain earned him the nickname 'the Desert Fox'.

Steve McQueen entered Bud's Triumph shop in 1959, and the two became fast friends.  As McQueen's star rose from a Western tv star to international movie star, he brought Bud along for help with film stunt work.  In 1963, during the filming of 'The Great Escape' near Fussen, Bavaria, Bud was employed to ride one of the most famous motorcycle stunts in history; 'the jump' over a prison camp barbed wire fence on a stolen German motorcycle (which transforms mid-scene from a DKW RT250 to a Triumph TR6 in dark green paint).  Of course, everyone thought McQueen had done the jump, as he preferred to do his own stunts, but the production company insisted he was too valuable to the film to risk injury, and Ekins leaped into infamy.  It's a compelling scene, and McQueen's cool demeanor in the film catapulted him to mega-stardom, and 'cool icon' status.  It was McQueen himself who credited Ekins with the jump, during an interview on the 'Johnny Carson Show' (now of course hosted by Jay Leno, a huge motorcycle buff - we are everywhere!), when asked about it: 'That wasn't me. That was Bud Ekins.'  For the jump, he was paid $1000, the highest compensation ever for a single stunt - and it was done in a single take.

During the long weeks of filming in Germany, Ekins entered the International Six Days' Trial (ISDT) in Czechoslovakia (he had entered once before and won a Gold Medal - eventually winning four Golds and one Silver during his career).  After winning his second Gold mid-film, McQueen, an excellent motorcyclist himself after personal tutelage from Bud, convinced Ekins to form the first-ever US ISDT Team.  Thus, in 1964, Ekins and his brother Dave, Cliff Coleman, and McQueen competed in East Germany, where they didn't fare well as a team (both Bud and Steve failing to finish due to injury), Dave and Cliff both won Gold medals.  The unreapeatable adventure of this ISDT is beautifully explored in the book '40 Summer Ago'  (Rin Tanaka and Sean Kelly), and if you're a McQueen or Ekins fan, you really should have it - the photographs are simply amazing.

In 1967 Ekins went on to partner with McQueen on the film 'Bullitt', with an infamous car chase over the San Francisco hills.  Ford was the beneficiary of incalculable publicity as Ekins launched a '67 Mustang Fastback over the sharp hillcrests of the City, smoking tires, sliding around corners, and making an impossible route through SF while chasing the 'bad guys' driving a Dodge Charger.

Bud Ekins retired from motorcycle racing in '67, but continued to run his motorcycle dealership and perform stunts in films, from motorcycle gang films ('Hell's Angels 69' - above, in a pic from the sale), to disaster films ('Towering Inferno'), and even James Bond films ('Diamonds are Forever').  When asked later in life which stunt scared him most, he replied, 'Pretty much all of them'.  Ekins died October 11, 2007.

His great love of motorcycles extended to vintage machinery, and Ekins had a very good eye for interesting early motorcycles and cars, eventually amassing over 150 machines.  One of his employees, Kenny Howard aka 'Von Dutch' (now better known as a t-shirt company...) painted many of Ekins' personal machines, some of which he decorated in his distinctive style of pinstriping and imagery.

Bonhams auctions has secured 8 vehicles from the estate of Bud Ekins, including 5 motorcycles, one 'loose' sidecar ('Mona', painted up by Von Dutch, above), and 3 'brass era' cars.  They're coming up for sale at the Petersen Museum in LA, on Saturday Nov. 13th. Also included will be photographs, memorabilia, trophies, tools, racing jacket, and ephemera from his friend Steve McQueen....it's entirely possible the total sale from the 'automobilia' will exceed the vehicles, given their provenance!

You can check out the entire collection here at the Bonhams website.

CROSS-CANADA MOTORCYCLE ADVENTURE

By Greg Williams (from the Calgary Herald):

Take your semi-reliable car or motorcycle, equip it with a set of decent tires, fill your pocket with adequate cash for gasoline and it’s easy enough to drive across this country.
But just imagine doing it some 80 years ago.
Challenging, to say the least. But J. Graham Oates did it in 1928 aboard an Ariel 500cc motorcycle equipped with a sidecar. He was the first individual to pilot a rubber-tired vehicle from sea to sea – long before the Trans Canada Highway.


And that’s just one reason why Oates, a motorcyclist who hailed from the Isle of Man – an island off the coast of the U.K. in the Irish Sea – was inducted into the Canadian Motorcycle Hall of Fame last year.
Oates was something of a nomad who prior to leaving his Manx home designed and built his own motorcycle, a machine he called the Aurora. In the early 1920s he had big ambitions intending to build and market the Aurora but public interest in his product waned.
In the mid-1920s after the failure of the Aurora venture Oates raced a variety of British motorcycles in competitive events.
Then, Oates moved to Bolivia before eventually winding up in Canada.
Once here in 1928 he worked in the Canadian motorcycle industry as a salesman at J.V. and J.W. Conroy, a shop in Toronto that sold Ariel, Douglas and Royal Enfield machines.
Over a few drinks in the bar with Charles Dennis Browne, a First World War buddy and Castrol Oil rep here in Canada, Oates hatched the idea for his cross-country adventure. He’d ride an Ariel motorcycle to drum up some publicity for both Ariel and Castrol.
Sponsored by Ariel Motors and Castrol Oil, between June and September 1928 Graham rode from Nova Scotia to Vancouver on a new 497cc ‘Two Port’ single-cylinder Ariel motorcycle attached to a Canadian-built sidecar – constructed by Sturgess of Hamilton, Ont.
To do this, Graham motored along roads when he could find them, but resorted to riding hundreds of miles on the railroad tracks between Sault Ste. Marie in Ontario and Whitemouth, Manitoba – a journey that would certainly have tested the mettle of any motorcyclist.
He rode the machine between the steel rails, and every railroad tie in the track would send jarring vibrations through the handlebars and saddle. Oates persevered; moving the outfit off of the rails when a train approached and lifting it back on after it passed. On occasion the train crew had to help him get his motorcycle and sidecar back on the rails.
On Thursday, Sept. 13, 1928 Oates arrived in Calgary.
A front-page story in the Calgary Herald ran the next day, and it summed up his journey thus far.
‘Coast to Coast Cyclist Arrives’, claimed the headline. ‘J. Graham Oates Reaches Calgary on Motorcycle in Cross-Canada Trip.’
And here’s the first paragraph: “Four days from Regina through discouraging prairie ‘gumbo’ and 18 days from Halifax on a coast-to-coast motorcycle tour in an effort to establish for the Ariel motorcycle the record of being the first gas-propelled vehicle to travel across Canada on rubber tires, J. Graham Oates, general manager of Conroy and Company, of Toronto, arrived in Calgary at 7 o’clock, Thursday evening, tired and dusty, but cheerfully satisfied with the results of his trip so far, having covered the 6,700 miles in 18 days.
“Mr. Oates emphasizes that Western Canada’s chief need is more and better motor roads and he heartily endorses the campaign of the Alberta Motor Association to awaken public interest in the subject.”
During his trip across Canada Oates collected letters from the mayors of major urban centres, including Toronto, Winnipeg and Regina. He visited with Calgary’s then-mayor (Frederick Ernest) Osborne and added his message to the others to be delivered to the mayor of Vancouver.
According to the article, Oates left Calgary heading west on what was the beginnings of the Trans-Canada highway to Golden where he expected to cross the Rocky Mountains once again bouncing over railway ties.
Oates made it to Vancouver just 21 days after starting the trip, and he dipped the rear tire of his Ariel in the Pacific, just as he had done in the Atlantic. He returned to Toronto via U.S. routes, and he remained in Canada for another three years.
As if crossing Canada by motorcycle wasn’t reason enough to posthumously induct Oates into the CMHF another of his contributions was the establishment of the British Empire Motor Club. Initially a motorcycle club, the BEMC of Toronto still exists, but now mainly organizes automobile races.
A great book by Manx author Bill Snelling called Aurora to Ariel is available and it details many of the exploits of Oates. According to Snelling, he is in the process of updating the book, and the new edition will include more of Oates’ diary entries and photographs. It’s a great read about an intrepid motorcycle pioneer — put it on your reading list.

(Images courtesy Library and Archives Canada)

CROSS-CANADA MOTORCYCLE ADVENTURE

By Greg Williams (from the Calgary Herald):

Take your semi-reliable car or motorcycle, equip it with a set of decent tires, fill your pocket with adequate cash for gasoline and it’s easy enough to drive across this country.
But just imagine doing it some 80 years ago.
Challenging, to say the least. But J. Graham Oates did it in 1928 aboard an Ariel 500cc motorcycle equipped with a sidecar. He was the first individual to pilot a rubber-tired vehicle from sea to sea – long before the Trans Canada Highway.


And that’s just one reason why Oates, a motorcyclist who hailed from the Isle of Man – an island off the coast of the U.K. in the Irish Sea – was inducted into the Canadian Motorcycle Hall of Fame last year.
Oates was something of a nomad who prior to leaving his Manx home designed and built his own motorcycle, a machine he called the Aurora. In the early 1920s he had big ambitions intending to build and market the Aurora but public interest in his product waned.
In the mid-1920s after the failure of the Aurora venture Oates raced a variety of British motorcycles in competitive events.
Then, Oates moved to Bolivia before eventually winding up in Canada.
Once here in 1928 he worked in the Canadian motorcycle industry as a salesman at J.V. and J.W. Conroy, a shop in Toronto that sold Ariel, Douglas and Royal Enfield machines.
Over a few drinks in the bar with Charles Dennis Browne, a First World War buddy and Castrol Oil rep here in Canada, Oates hatched the idea for his cross-country adventure. He’d ride an Ariel motorcycle to drum up some publicity for both Ariel and Castrol.
Sponsored by Ariel Motors and Castrol Oil, between June and September 1928 Graham rode from Nova Scotia to Vancouver on a new 497cc ‘Two Port’ single-cylinder Ariel motorcycle attached to a Canadian-built sidecar – constructed by Sturgess of Hamilton, Ont.
To do this, Graham motored along roads when he could find them, but resorted to riding hundreds of miles on the railroad tracks between Sault Ste. Marie in Ontario and Whitemouth, Manitoba – a journey that would certainly have tested the mettle of any motorcyclist.
He rode the machine between the steel rails, and every railroad tie in the track would send jarring vibrations through the handlebars and saddle. Oates persevered; moving the outfit off of the rails when a train approached and lifting it back on after it passed. On occasion the train crew had to help him get his motorcycle and sidecar back on the rails.
On Thursday, Sept. 13, 1928 Oates arrived in Calgary.
A front-page story in the Calgary Herald ran the next day, and it summed up his journey thus far.
‘Coast to Coast Cyclist Arrives’, claimed the headline. ‘J. Graham Oates Reaches Calgary on Motorcycle in Cross-Canada Trip.’
And here’s the first paragraph: “Four days from Regina through discouraging prairie ‘gumbo’ and 18 days from Halifax on a coast-to-coast motorcycle tour in an effort to establish for the Ariel motorcycle the record of being the first gas-propelled vehicle to travel across Canada on rubber tires, J. Graham Oates, general manager of Conroy and Company, of Toronto, arrived in Calgary at 7 o’clock, Thursday evening, tired and dusty, but cheerfully satisfied with the results of his trip so far, having covered the 6,700 miles in 18 days.
“Mr. Oates emphasizes that Western Canada’s chief need is more and better motor roads and he heartily endorses the campaign of the Alberta Motor Association to awaken public interest in the subject.”
During his trip across Canada Oates collected letters from the mayors of major urban centres, including Toronto, Winnipeg and Regina. He visited with Calgary’s then-mayor (Frederick Ernest) Osborne and added his message to the others to be delivered to the mayor of Vancouver.
According to the article, Oates left Calgary heading west on what was the beginnings of the Trans-Canada highway to Golden where he expected to cross the Rocky Mountains once again bouncing over railway ties.
Oates made it to Vancouver just 21 days after starting the trip, and he dipped the rear tire of his Ariel in the Pacific, just as he had done in the Atlantic. He returned to Toronto via U.S. routes, and he remained in Canada for another three years.
As if crossing Canada by motorcycle wasn’t reason enough to posthumously induct Oates into the CMHF another of his contributions was the establishment of the British Empire Motor Club. Initially a motorcycle club, the BEMC of Toronto still exists, but now mainly organizes automobile races.
A great book by Manx author Bill Snelling called Aurora to Ariel is available and it details many of the exploits of Oates. According to Snelling, he is in the process of updating the book, and the new edition will include more of Oates’ diary entries and photographs. It’s a great read about an intrepid motorcycle pioneer — put it on your reading list.

(Images courtesy Library and Archives Canada)

BURT MUNRO VELOCETTE UNDER THE HAMMER

Yesterday Webb's in New Zealand auctioned off a rare piece of history; Burt Munro, builder of the 'World's Fastest Indian' and several other Very Fast motorcycles, was also known to build engines for a few friends. As far as I know, these were all Velocette MSS-based sprinters, as another machine came up for auction a few years ago, in very similar spec. The Munro bikes proper are simply unavailable, and living in New Zealand, but a few of his other projects pop up occasionally, and are certainly worth the attention. This sprinter is beautifully crafted by Duncan Meikle, lifelong friend of Munro's; he lived within walking distance and they developed their Velocette sprinters in tandem, sharing tuning secrets and parts, and competing against each other at various sand and road sprints. Together, they developed the most effective Velo sprinters in the world.

One great story from their days sprinting at Invarcargill beach from 1959:
"Meikle and Munro were practicing quarter-mile starts. Munro decided to give a couple of young fellows a good head start and an even better beating, screaming past the surprised young men and giving them a wave bye-bye to boot. Unfortunately, this sent the Velo into a nasty tank-slap and, within a fraction, Munro had bailed and the Velo was twisted metal, 30 feet in the air and rising. As the machine churned down the beach, so did Munro.

Meikle [informed] Munro's mother of the unfortunate accident. [He said], 'I have come to report on Burt, he had a bit of an accident yesterday.' 'Oh', she said, 'Serious?' 'Well no', said Meikle, 'a few pounds of meat were ground off and a broken arm.' The next query from Mrs. Munro was 'I suppose it was on that motorcycle.' 'Yes.' 'That foolish Herbert, when will he ever give up those motorcycles!?!'. Mrs Munro was 84 years old, and her son Bert was 60!"
By the way, the bike went for NZ$71,000... that's over double the estimate.

(Information taken from the Webb's auction site.)

BURT MUNRO VELOCETTE UNDER THE HAMMER

Yesterday Webb's in New Zealand auctioned off a rare piece of history; Burt Munro, builder of the 'World's Fastest Indian' and several other Very Fast motorcycles, was also known to build engines for a few friends. As far as I know, these were all Velocette MSS-based sprinters, as another machine came up for auction a few years ago, in very similar spec. The Munro bikes proper are simply unavailable, and living in New Zealand, but a few of his other projects pop up occasionally, and are certainly worth the attention. This sprinter is beautifully crafted by Duncan Meikle, lifelong friend of Munro's; he lived within walking distance and they developed their Velocette sprinters in tandem, sharing tuning secrets and parts, and competing against each other at various sand and road sprints. Together, they developed the most effective Velo sprinters in the world.

One great story from their days sprinting at Invarcargill beach from 1959:
"Meikle and Munro were practicing quarter-mile starts. Munro decided to give a couple of young fellows a good head start and an even better beating, screaming past the surprised young men and giving them a wave bye-bye to boot. Unfortunately, this sent the Velo into a nasty tank-slap and, within a fraction, Munro had bailed and the Velo was twisted metal, 30 feet in the air and rising. As the machine churned down the beach, so did Munro.

Meikle [informed] Munro's mother of the unfortunate accident. [He said], 'I have come to report on Burt, he had a bit of an accident yesterday.' 'Oh', she said, 'Serious?' 'Well no', said Meikle, 'a few pounds of meat were ground off and a broken arm.' The next query from Mrs. Munro was 'I suppose it was on that motorcycle.' 'Yes.' 'That foolish Herbert, when will he ever give up those motorcycles!?!'. Mrs Munro was 84 years old, and her son Bert was 60!"
By the way, the bike went for NZ$71,000... that's over double the estimate.

(Information taken from the Webb's auction site.)

PALADIN - 'NOBODY IS BORN A BIKER'

Paladin was a friend of mine from Berkeley CA, a fixture of the burgeoning Old Motorcycle scene in the late 70s/80s, where he could often be seen hanging around T.T. Motors on Ashby Avenue, giving unsolicited advice and a disposition on just about any subject, to anyone who was nearby. Often, that was me, and I rode whatever machine was running, from S.F. to the East Bay to check out the bikes for sale at T.T., visit my friends, and have a chat with Paladin.

He was a devoted Triumph man, and I owned several of his 'hardtail' Triumph conversions over the years, each honed closer to the 'bobber' ideal than anything made today - they were fast, light, and no-frills. He could appreciate other Marques though, and enjoyed discussing their relative merits. As mentioned in my 'tattoo post', he had amazing self-inflicted Triumph tats on his body, and donated his skin to a Japanese tattoo museum on his death.

John Galivan, owner of T.T. Motors (see period photo of John below), has this to say; "I liked and respected him a great deal; I sold him that bike [Triumph TR6] for $49.00 and he stayed. His writing in Iron Horse magazine and others are classics. He coined the word 'unobtanium' referring to rare British parts. The centerfold of this mag w/ the girl and real rats crawling all over is a classic." (Iron Horse cover photo below).

As John mentions, Paladin died twenty years ago in his sleep; nobody knows exactly how old he was, but 50ish would be my guess. He had suffered a mighty knock to the head a few years prior, which definitely altered his personality. Still, an amazing soul - when I bought my first Velocette in 1985 from Munroe Motors, Paladin brought out a bucket of water and sponge and washed it! "Such a finely made motorcycle as this should NEVER be dirty!"

The following is an excerpt of an interview with Paladin, from the book, 'Berkeley U.S.A.' (Anne Moose, Alternative Press, 1981):

"Essentially, everything that I do relates at one level or another to motorcycling. I make my living by writing for motorcycling journals and doing illustrations for them... I'm into motorcycle paint work and uh, you know, it's kind of dull if you ain't into bikes, but I'm into bikes so I find it all quite fascinating....Twenty years ago, it didn't matter if you rode a Harley, or if you rode a Triumph, or if you rode a BSA. If you rode, you rode. You were committed. The other people who rode were your brothers, except you didn't use the word brother because you didn't have to. This was all just, you know, understood at almost a back brain level.

Now then, when the Japanese started bringing their bikes in, what they brought was nothing new in the sense of engineering. What they did was... a publicity campaign. They brought in a form of advertising to make the motorcycle, shall I say, socially acceptable. Well, people that are stone bikers, as opposed to motorcycle operators, don't really care much about social acceptability... But what this did, brought a whole new kind of person into the riding scene, and it brought in a lot of divisionism. In 1963, you break down on your bike on the side of the highway, you know that the next guy who comes by is going to stop and help. And it don't matter what brand of bike you're riding, or if his bike is chopped or not, or who's in a club and who isn't - that's jive. You're a biker or you're not. Since the Japanese bike has become popular...it's brought this new element ...this whole concept of antagonism and divisionism which we've had to deal with for about the past twelve to fifteen years.

Personally, I can't stand Japanese bikes. I don't care how fast they are, or how many camshafts they have, or if they win races. I just don't like the aesthetics of the damn things. But at the same time, it doesn't matter what kind of sled you've got under your ass - when you're in the wind, it's like, the same wind, and that's the policy we're pushing.

As far as I'm concerned, the only group that really matters in this country, per se, is the bikers. And this may sound like an off-the-wall statement, but I think if you'll check back you'll find that during that whole big so-called cultural revolution of the sixties, language, style, and everything was copied from the bikers. Our influence is a lot more subtle than many people would imagine. We're simply living our own lives, and in living our own lives we're setting such a rare example in modern times...

The thing is, you're born black, you're born Chicano, you're born Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, Jewish, Polynesian, whatever. Nobody is born a biker. It's something you do by choice. A biker is under a complete psychic necesssity, right, in that he is one half of a symbiotic organism of which the other half is a motorcycle. And if you wish to make any value judgements on that, go ask your mother how she likes her valium.

One of the things that a lot of people that I'm close to are into, is trying to get more women into riding. I guess you could say it's part of our highway beautification project. I personally think that women and men both - and everyone - should know how to handle machines... that, to me, is the only way we're ever going to have what I'd consider to be a sane and healthy culture... If people are going to band together, it must be through recognition and respect of their own strength, and of the strength of those about them. It always starts at the inside and works out."

B/W photos of Paladin are from 'Berkeley USA'. Other photos were sourced from Facebook!

PALADIN - 'NOBODY IS BORN A BIKER'

Paladin was a friend of mine from Berkeley CA, a fixture of the burgeoning Old Motorcycle scene in the late 70s/80s, where he could often be seen hanging around T.T. Motors on Ashby Avenue, giving unsolicited advice and a disposition on just about any subject, to anyone who was nearby. Often, that was me, and I rode whatever machine was running, from S.F. to the East Bay to check out the bikes for sale at T.T., visit my friends, and have a chat with Paladin.

He was a devoted Triumph man, and I owned several of his 'hardtail' Triumph conversions over the years, each honed closer to the 'bobber' ideal than anything made today - they were fast, light, and no-frills. He could appreciate other Marques though, and enjoyed discussing their relative merits. As mentioned in my 'tattoo post', he had amazing self-inflicted Triumph tats on his body, and donated his skin to a Japanese tattoo museum on his death.

John Galivan, owner of T.T. Motors (see period photo of John below), has this to say; "I liked and respected him a great deal; I sold him that bike [Triumph TR6] for $49.00 and he stayed. His writing in Iron Horse magazine and others are classics. He coined the word 'unobtanium' referring to rare British parts. The centerfold of this mag w/ the girl and real rats crawling all over is a classic." (Iron Horse cover photo below).

As John mentions, Paladin died twenty years ago in his sleep; nobody knows exactly how old he was, but 50ish would be my guess. He had suffered a mighty knock to the head a few years prior, which definitely altered his personality. Still, an amazing soul - when I bought my first Velocette in 1985 from Munroe Motors, Paladin brought out a bucket of water and sponge and washed it! "Such a finely made motorcycle as this should NEVER be dirty!"

The following is an excerpt of an interview with Paladin, from the book, 'Berkeley U.S.A.' (Anne Moose, Alternative Press, 1981):

"Essentially, everything that I do relates at one level or another to motorcycling. I make my living by writing for motorcycling journals and doing illustrations for them... I'm into motorcycle paint work and uh, you know, it's kind of dull if you ain't into bikes, but I'm into bikes so I find it all quite fascinating....Twenty years ago, it didn't matter if you rode a Harley, or if you rode a Triumph, or if you rode a BSA. If you rode, you rode. You were committed. The other people who rode were your brothers, except you didn't use the word brother because you didn't have to. This was all just, you know, understood at almost a back brain level.

Now then, when the Japanese started bringing their bikes in, what they brought was nothing new in the sense of engineering. What they did was... a publicity campaign. They brought in a form of advertising to make the motorcycle, shall I say, socially acceptable. Well, people that are stone bikers, as opposed to motorcycle operators, don't really care much about social acceptability... But what this did, brought a whole new kind of person into the riding scene, and it brought in a lot of divisionism. In 1963, you break down on your bike on the side of the highway, you know that the next guy who comes by is going to stop and help. And it don't matter what brand of bike you're riding, or if his bike is chopped or not, or who's in a club and who isn't - that's jive. You're a biker or you're not. Since the Japanese bike has become popular...it's brought this new element ...this whole concept of antagonism and divisionism which we've had to deal with for about the past twelve to fifteen years.

Personally, I can't stand Japanese bikes. I don't care how fast they are, or how many camshafts they have, or if they win races. I just don't like the aesthetics of the damn things. But at the same time, it doesn't matter what kind of sled you've got under your ass - when you're in the wind, it's like, the same wind, and that's the policy we're pushing.

As far as I'm concerned, the only group that really matters in this country, per se, is the bikers. And this may sound like an off-the-wall statement, but I think if you'll check back you'll find that during that whole big so-called cultural revolution of the sixties, language, style, and everything was copied from the bikers. Our influence is a lot more subtle than many people would imagine. We're simply living our own lives, and in living our own lives we're setting such a rare example in modern times...

The thing is, you're born black, you're born Chicano, you're born Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, Jewish, Polynesian, whatever. Nobody is born a biker. It's something you do by choice. A biker is under a complete psychic necesssity, right, in that he is one half of a symbiotic organism of which the other half is a motorcycle. And if you wish to make any value judgements on that, go ask your mother how she likes her valium.

One of the things that a lot of people that I'm close to are into, is trying to get more women into riding. I guess you could say it's part of our highway beautification project. I personally think that women and men both - and everyone - should know how to handle machines... that, to me, is the only way we're ever going to have what I'd consider to be a sane and healthy culture... If people are going to band together, it must be through recognition and respect of their own strength, and of the strength of those about them. It always starts at the inside and works out."

B/W photos of Paladin are from 'Berkeley USA'. Other photos were sourced from Facebook!