Freedom should not be measured in 15-minute increments.
I was suffocating in the monotony of the everyday
and needed something to remind me I'm alive.
My new commute on heavily-traveled twisties was torturous.
Stuck behind crawling truck n' trailers spewing burnt diesel and cheap weed.
Ruins my ride.
And yet, I'm the outlaw, passing on the double yellow.
The urge to split this scene is overwhelming.
One of the original factory cafe racers: the 1962 Royal Enfield Continental GT, a 250cc sports machine with Ton Up tricks, like a racing fuel tank, 5-speed gearbox, clip-ons/rearsets, a bump seat, mini fairing, brake cooling rings, etc. A winner! [The Vintagent Archive]My two-wheeled Wurlitzer was a drag in the tight, congested bits,
and I needed a soulful ride.
A motorcycle that makes me look forward to my commute.
A melodic machine to lift my mood.
Capable of running away from life's hassles if let off the leash.
With a riding position that makes me focus on the job at hand.
narrow upholstered two-by-four solo seat, nice pegs,
polished alloy engine cases with character.
This is not some plastic boytoy.
Is there such a thing as an adult motorcycle?
The styling of the Royal Enfield Continental GT650 is pure vintage cafe racer. [Peter Domorak]Arriving at the seller's garage, I'm greeted by a man my age.
First things first.
‘So you're selling this bike. What are you replacing it with?’
He pulls a cover to unveil his brand-new Royal Enfield Interceptor 650.
It's the same basic bike with an upright riding position.
He tells me years of physical work had taken a toll on his back.
And his days of clip-ons were over.
The fact that he purchased a similar machine spoke well of the brand.
‘May I sit on your bike?’
Grabbing her by the clip-ons and lifting the bike off the side stand,
The first thing I noticed was the heft (weight).
While light is always right, a little extra weight in the right places can give
a street bike a solid feel rolling down the road. And I'm ok with that.
‘Are you cool with me taking her for a ride through your neighborhood?’
He nodded yes, so I tossed him the keys to my truck to hold.
Turning the ignition key and the gauges do their sweep.
Pushing the starter button was the next pleasant surprise.
This motorcycle sounds terrific even stock,
Faint clutch plate rattle at idle, high-pitched whir from the engine.
Followed by a wonderfully deep intake honk under accel.
The exhaust lets you know you're riding a twin, too,
It has to be one of the best-sounding stock motorcycles I've thrown a leg over.
Immaculate, stock bike, no crash damage, no fluid leaks, all ok.
We stuck a deal, and I rode my new-to-me Royal Enfield home.
The GT is silky and solid rolling down the Interstate at 80 mph.
Acceleration for a 650cc air-cooled twin is more than adequate and wonderfully smooth.
The Continental makes the mechanical music enthusiast dream of.
While the bike does well on highways, it shines on a fast-flowing two-lane blacktop.
The kind of bike you dream up a reason for taking the long way home.
It's about perfect at a casual to brisk pace.
I had to remind myself not to step over the line, though.
This is a road bike, not a racer.
Keep it real, and you'll be fine.
The Continental made the commute to work bearable.
Being torquey and narrow is a big plus.
With swan-neck handlebars and twin analog instruments, the stance is aggressive, but not uncompromising. [Peter Domorak]Like many newer street bikes,
the big motor radiates heat,
but that's only an issue when sitting still.
Stopping for fuel is always interesting.
Random folks tell me it's an attractive machine and ask about the brand.
That's a story. Or they ask if I restored it.
Maybe I should keep my black visor down?
Part II
It’s the end of a long workday.
I’ve got time for the long way.
The sun is setting as summer turns to fall.
I’m at the traffic light where the old steel mill used to be.
Up rumbles a brand-new Street Bob.
I hear the aftermarket exhaust first,
and am surprised to see a young rider.
Late twenties, no helmet, big sunglasses & cigarette dangling from his lips.
I look over and nod, he smirks back.
The new Royal Enfield Continental GT, a 650cc parallel twin with many of the same styling cues - classic Ton Up stuff - as its 1960s namesake. [Royal Enfield]Greenlight we drop the hammer, accelerating through the gears.
At the top of the rise there's a kink to the right.
He audibly rolls off the throttle.
I reach for 5th, squeaking through the kink and staying in my section of our lane,
The road plunges downhill to the left in a roller coaster sweeper.
Running between the railroad tracks and the river.
It narrows as you enter the section through the trees
With no side roads, I keep it above the ton.
Thru the leaves ahead, I see the red brick building that used to be a candy factory.
Squeezing on the brakes firmly, downshifting back to 3rd.
Entering the left turn that runs alongside the old brick building.
The camber drops away, which dictates the line.
Back up to 4th, the sound of the Royal Enfield twin reverberates off the stone building.
The barking parallel twin makes her own soundtrack, urging me on.
Squeezing on the brakes again, back to second to make the uphill 90-degree right-hander,
Accelerating hard up into fourth to take the flat left-hander without rolling off.
I shut the throttle on the next straightaway as we entered town.
Past the first stop sign and catching the next red light.
The Harley roars back up.
The rider looks disheveled.
Humorously, the cigarette is still on his lips, reduced to the filter.
He yells over ‘Dude that little bitch got some snap yo!’
I flick open the dark visor on my Lane Splitter to reply.
She’s got a little, but she is no GSXR.
It's fun, tho. We fist bump and part ways.
The camaraderie of riders.
For a daily ride-to-work, why not use a bike that's fun but still civilized? [Peter Domorak]I’ve spent the summer into the fall on the Continental GT.
Frankly, it’s been terrific.
I’m surprised I don’t see more of them on the road.
I went home Friday dog-faced and hurt. But woke up with her Saturday morning. This was a first. She normally rolls out after the fun stops. I feel privileged if a woman lets me see her without makeup. Like I've made her shortlist. I walked into the kitchen to put on coffee. Picked up my practice mute and trumpet to play on the terrace, waiting for it to brew. Applause was new too; I turned around to find her wearing nothing but my white dress shirt from last night. Michael, what happened to your torso? 'Your dad and I had words.' 'Well, he had words with me.' 'How did you get here, Valerie?' 'I borrowed the housekeeper's minivan. It's better that way.'
She walked over, putting her head on my shoulder. Started kissing her way down my chest. Undoing my belt. I picked her up to carry her back into the bedroom.
Let me make you some breakfast. I whip up a spinach omelet for her. She said she feels special with me. So, what do you want to do? Valerie smiles... 'Run away with you. Somewhere no one will find us A place we can't be found. My parents are in Florida this weekend. I'm yours until Monday.'
Have you been up to coal mining country? No one will find us there. We can pull the seats from your housekeeper's minivan, and drive there with the motorcycle. Cruise the mountain roads by day, camp in the van at night. She laughed, she'd never been camping. Daddy booked them in resorts. Sounded like a crazy adventure, Why not?
We ransacked my apartment for my comforter, pillows & sleeping bag. Grabbed snacks, bottles of wine, and some firewood. We drove for an hour or two. Pulled into a truck stop for coffee and fuel. You coming inside? 'Truck stops are scary. My dad always made me stay in the car.' Really? Truck stops are fun! You don't know what you're missing. I took several steps before I heard the door open behind me. We walked in together. I tell her I'm hitting the men's room. By the time I catch back up with her, she has her arms full: Hoodie, trucker hat, beef jerky, shot glasses, and French ticklers. 'What's Shoofly Pie?' About perfect with coffee - want a cup? We laugh about her purchases over coffee and pie. It was good seeing her be herself. Free of what they told her to be. She looked like a redneck dream in that trucker hat. We had become partners in crime. She trusted me. We sought freedom on the road together.
I'd been dirt biking in coal country before, And love the rugged beauty. Old rusting bits from the boom days, The black landscape around the mines looks lunar. Alien stuff for a pair of suburban kids. I knew a camping spot off the beaten path.
I couldn't take my eyes off her in that trucker hat. She turned it backwards as we offloaded the bike. We kissed as the bike warmed up. Helmetless, we meandered down gravel access roads, Soaking up the magic of being in the woods, together. My 500 might be a street bike, but it does ok on hard-packed dirt. We rode back to the van and grabbed our street gear to hit the pavement. Today is not about corner speed. Not about dragging pegs or carrying momentum. I know doing sketchy shit would ruin everything. Gotta keep my monsters at bay. And just be with her. I keep things mellow. Route 125 is a narrow ribbon of asphalt Snaking up and over the mountains. It cuts through small towns and crossroad villages that time forgot. Paths laid out long before highway engineers. Twisty steep grades with hairpin corners, Mile after mile of rugged beauty. It's a crazy piece of a road that's just for a motorcycle. My usual pace would be brutal, I would attack this road with everything, Shooting apex to apex, either on the throttle or braking. Shooting that grey ribbon, Wanting to kill everything in my path, With my world become narrow. I'll keep those urges to push at bay, I want her to experience the beauty of this place. For her, I'll slow my pace.
It's been a perfect day of two-up riding; Valerie is a great passenger. The air gets cooler as the sun sets. That's my signal to loop back to our campsite. I build a fire as she opens the wine. We talk over the day's highlights. The wine flowed as the fun ensued. We lay together after, skin on skin, under the blankets in the back of the minivan. The van's sliding door made a great view of our fire. The smell of autumn, burning wood, and her. I couldn't imagine life being more perfect.
Nothing like a Sunday morning to bring you back to reality. I snuck out of her body hug. And straighten up to face the day. Got the fire going as she sleeps. Made coffee while cooking breakfast over open flames. I wake her with a cuppa. We lounge Enjoying the silence Punctuated by the scream of an occasional dirt bike.
We know our time has come, And solemnly pack up. She follows me, driving the van up to the truck stop, Happy to finally have cream for her coffee, plus clean restrooms.
We park the van to roam the back roads, Rolling through the remains of Centralia. I feel her bewildered vibe. 'What happened here? There used to be houses and streets?' This is Centralia. An underground coal fire was ignited by burning trash in a landfill, Long ago. They couldn't extinguish the fire, The government bought out the townspeople, Then bulldozed everything over. They say the underground fire will burn for generations. Snow doesn't stick to the roads here. It's an eerie place. Another man-made disaster swept under the carpets.
Heading back, I showed her Graffiti Highway, The colorful road alive In a dying landscape. Our time was running out. We had to go back to the world we knew. The ride home was quiet.
Arrrgh! Overslept again. I never know when to stop drinking on a Sunday night. No time for coffee. Or food - if I had it. Putting on helmet and gloves as the bike warms up, It's a flat-out sprint to work. Winging by cars to save myself getting chewed out. I walk into the chaos and commotion of the car business, Hungover and strung out. I worked with several clients, The people are the good part, In all the stupidity. The greeter walked over, smirking, 'Hey, there's some guy on the phone saying he's your lawyer.' She walked away, saying out loud 'as if he has an attorney.' I took the call in private. 'Why, good morning sunshine, it's your favorite lawyer. I was at a function recently. Turns out you and I have a common friend in the unions, We spoke about you. Look, I can help you with your legal issues. But not so much with the Teamsters. My professional advice to you? Find someone else to shtup.' That's Yiddish slang for sex.
I survive the daily bullshit and lies of my job, By ripping around the back roads, Pushing my motorcycle as hard as I can to forget. I treat roads like my personal racetrack, Using every inch of my lane, From yellow line to white and back again, Just chasing corner speed. Nothing like the intensity of dragging a peg through a blind bend.
After numbing myself with a 1.5 of red, Glass in hand, thinking life is a nasty circle. I do a job I hate to support my habits. Happiness is fleeting; freedom is just a word. I wake up wearing the clothes from yesterday.
It's the racer equivalent of 'the walk of shame.' The long, quiet drive home after not making the show. Jake Shoemaker drove nearly two hours without saying a word. Our white Chevy van rolled north through the night. Even with the AC on max, you could feel the heat of frustration radiating off him. His stare could have melted steel.
We left Pennsylvania Friday after working all week. Drove through night to get to the track in Georgia. Jake started off looking racy but got lost chasing settings and didn't make the main. Soul-crushing for a guy who's been on the podium. All while hemorrhaging his own money, too.
A moment of levity (ha!) in a hard drive home. Jake Shoemaker on the 'drive of shame'. [Mike Lawless]Finally, he spoke. "Dude, I gotta get an Indian. This Kawasaki ain't cutting it anymore. No Indian, no chance." The writing was on the wall. The days were numbered for a built Kawasaki junkyard motor in a flat tracker frame. A guy like Jake could build his own race bike and be competitive for $10-15k. The new Indian FTR750 was available to the public for $50k. The cost of racing just jumped, if you wanted to win. Everyone knows it takes money and expertise to run a Harley Davidson XR750. Indian had upped the game. Their bikes didn't break, and flat-out worked.
"I need a sponsor with deep pockets or like fifty grand plus for an FTR750. Come on, Mike; you gotta know somebody or something." The only thing I could do was write about it. I sketched out "Flat Track and the Single Dad" in my head that night. The article hit well with the community, and someone with an Indian FTR750 reached out to Jake....
Sometimes a story brings results; after publication of 'Racing and the Single Dad', Jake Shoemaker got the Indian he needed. [Mike Lawless]Those were exciting times. Signs of rebirth in the American Flat Track (AFT) series. Indian was back in flat track racing. We hoped they'd be competitive. We heard Jared Mees was testing the bikes on Mondays after the Nationals. (no testing is allowed prior to events at that track) First time I saw the Indian at Santa Rosa in 2016 I thought 'what a handsome machine'.
Santa Rosa was supposed to be a shake-down run for the new FT750. Retired champ Joe Kopp was riding, it ran up front all day and didn't break. We would have laughed if you predicted this was the last win for a factory XR750.
Indian invited journalists to try the FTR that Monday. The bike looked like it just rolled off the showroom floor. It didn't have that custom/home-built feeling of most flat track racers. Fit & finish was as good as any brand-new production motorcycle.
'Closeys only count in horseshoes'...Mike Lawless after hooking up and launching toward the camera truck...[Indian]I was the first journalist out. The other journos hung back, the tragedy of two racers killed there days before fresh in their minds. "Follow the camera truck for two laps in second gear for the action shots. The driver will wave you past, then let her rip." Mile race tracks are serious business. The quote 'speed doesn't kill, but it complicates mistakes' rang in my head. I vogued for the cameramen for two laps, then the driver waved me by. I rolled open the throttle, upshifting to third. The FTR snapped sideways and hooked up, catapulting me forward. For a split second, I thought I would torpedo the camera truck. So did the cameramen, from their startled looks. I flicked the bike left, rocketing by for the action shot. I was carrying so many RPMs it was safer to upshift to fourth and let her eat. The rear suspension squatted as we lunged at the horizon. She felt like a power boat cutting through the waves. The acceleration was ethereal. We rolled into turn three with great feel. She tightened up her line effortlessly. This motorcycle makes a good rider look great. I got off the bike, feeling I'd got away with something. Didn't mind the cameramen teasing me, either.
Mike Lawless on a press tryout for the new Indian FTR750; first ride on a rocketship. [Indian]Now it's 2025, and AFT has banned 'race' engines, so it's the end of an era, and the end of Indian FTR750, now in the pantheon of great racing motorcycles. Indian invested millions into flat track racing, both in development of the FTR, and paying racers' contingency money. After the news broke, I spoke with Gary Gray, Vice President of Racing and Service for Indian motorcycles. Gary was diplomatic, and 'disappointed' with the decision to ban race engines for 2025. He's more than a corporate talking head, Gary actually rides and races motorcycles. (Yes, I do find it odd that some industry people don't ride.) Gary confessed to having 15 motorcycles in his garage. Claiming he's not the fastest rider, but has set a land speed record on an Indian, and vintage raced an Indian jockey shifter at Mid-Ohio. He worked on design with Polaris' original brand, Victory, including their Pike's Peak & Isle of Man compeititons. He spoke of his dream job of designing the FTR750. They studied the strengths and weaknesses of the competition. Their early goals were to finish on the podium in the first several races. Perhaps fight for a championship in 3 to 5 seasons. Well, they won the first official race they entered, the season opener at Daytona, finishing 1-2, and won every race that season but the TT events. Gary said he was shocked they won Daytona, and it's one of his favorite memories. Indian has won the championship every year since. Total domination. But was that really a shock? They had the budget, the best two tuners, and three of the hottest racers on their bikes. Soon, it wasn't the races they won that stood out, but the races they did not win. Briar Bauman gave his Kawasaki a win at Lima. Jeff Carver gave the XR750s a final win in Texas as a privateer. And Henry Wiles owns the Peoria TT. Those were the exceptions. To beat the Indians, it took immense talent, a huge heart, big balls, and the right bike for that track. Soon, every rider wanted an FTR, but the factory guys had a leg up on them. You had to run factory livery if you wanted the lucrative Indian contingency money. The tracks looked like a dominating army of Indians, which they were. So AFT tried to level the field to keep the show going fairly, but still, the Indians kept winning. The new rules allow only production engines for 2025.
East Rutherford, NJ - October 6, 2018 - American Flat Track At Meadowlands Racing and Entertainment. Indian out front, as usual. [Steve Koletar]Back when they rebranded AFT, They knew they needed TV coverage to grow the sport and attract sponsors. They hoped history would repeat itself with another Harley/Indian war. Unfortunately, the new Harley was not competitive, regardless of talent and money. COVID stuck just as they were to launch the Premier class on live TV with NBC. The timing could not have been worse. But the action on track has always been incredible. The new Indian era was a great one. Who will fill the void now that Indian is gone?
Whatever happened to Jake Shoemaker? Well, it wasn't for lack of talent or trying. The dice didn't roll his way, and Jake faded away from flat track. Started his own business and became successful, married a pretty girl and had children. It feels good to see the same winning racer drive carried into the rest of his life.
Jared Mees takes Indian's first flat track victory in decades at Daytona. [Steve Koletar]What does Ten-Time AFT Champion Jared Mees think?
"Reflecting on my time with the Indian FTR750 brings back so many incredible memories. I was there for its very first start and had the honor of making the inaugural lap on the bike. The 2017 Daytona race, where we won on the FTR750's debut, stands out as one of the most memorable moments. The uncertainty surrounding how it would perform made that victory even sweeter. That year, winning 10 races and clinching the championship a few races early solidified my belief that the FTR750 was going to be the ultimate flat track race bike. It’s hard to put into words how much I’ll miss racing it. The support from Indian Motorcycle, not just for me but for flat track racing as a whole, has been nothing short of remarkable. There was a time when I could walk into any Indian dealership and be recognized, which speaks volumes about the brand’s impact. Cheers to Indian for creating a legendary bike and making a mark in the sport. You know you're a bad ass - being restricted multiple times wasn't enough, so they excluded you. It’s a true testament to the brand’s greatness."
Davis Fisher takes his father on a victory lap at Charlotte NC. [Steve Koletar]And from Race Winner/Indian Privateer Davis Fisher:
"I’ve been lucky enough to ride the Indian FTR750 for the past 6 years. I saved up and bought my own Indian in the beginning of 2018. I jumped on it for the first time at the Calistoga Half Mile and I was fastest first practice. Indian motorcycles built the greatest flat track bike. The first time I started up my FTR750 Indian and rode it around the block I was amazed with the smooth power delivery over my Kawasaki EX650. It was like a sewing machine and didn’t miss a beat. Throughout the years in the American Flat Track series it has been handicapped several times but it still is a competitive bike. I grabbed my first premier win at the Charlotte Half-Mile in 2021. I’m glad I got to be apart of the Indian FTR750 era."
Sammy Halbert doing his best on his Harley-Davidson at Mechanicsburg PA in 2018, at the Williams Grove Half Mile [Scott Hunter/American Flat Track]And from factory Harley Davidson (on the XG750), privateer on Harley Davidson XR750 & Indian FTR750 race winner Sammy Halbert:
"It sucked trying to beat the Indians. I like the XR750 better."
Shawn Baer with his wife Bailey and his father. [Steve Koletar]And from Privateer Shawn Baer:
"When the FTR 750 Indian entered into the world of Flat Track Racing it was viewed as a 'dream horse' that brought in a new era. It was the machine that ran out the majority of racers that had weekday jobs, paying for and building their own equipment. Knowing how good the FTR was right out of the gate, I knew at that moment this form of racing was headed down a narrow path. For one it pretty much doubled the cost of the bike needed to line up for competition."
Traffic was heavy as I merged onto the road in front of the dealership.
Rolling on the throttle aggressively to blend into traffic,
the ZERO spun up the back tire hard,
snapping me opposite lock sideways in a lurid slide.
The kind of moment when atheists see Jesus.
Cold tires on a wet day caught me off guard.
I could lie to you, saying my flat track experience saved me.
But in reality, it was the excellent balance and neutral handling of the Zero.
A lesser machine would have put me down hard.
It’s always the memorable bikes that put the fear of God in me.
The FXE has a lightweight dualsport vibe, and weighs only 309lbs. [Raymond C Schwab IV]
I was left gobsmacked by the ZERO FXE
Didn't expect such fun in a silent, efficient package.
No honking intake or bellowing exhaust.
Just effortless thrust as the throttle is rolled open.
No banging gears, just seamless acceleration.
The rushing sound of the wind is your companion.
She whispers in your ear while center punching with a wall of torque.
(If you’re a numbers person: curb weight 309 lbs./78 ft-lbs. of torque per ZERO)
I used to say 'they'll pry my four-stoke from my cold dead hands'.
But after some saddle time with the FXE,
I felt like shouting: 'I've seen the future, and it's fun!'
The controls are as simple as can be, with no clutch lever and digital instrument panel. [Raymond C Schwab IV]
The FXE has the lightweight feel of a dual-sport.
Wide handlebars give that urban gorilla vibe.
Direct drive makes local stuff fluid & graceful.
Swinging effortlessly from stop light to stop light.
To sum up the riding experience in a word? Elegant.
Traditionalists may scoff at the lack of a clutch lever, though.
The bike carries its weight well.
Changes direction like a Rotax framer. (high marks)
There is no vibration-even at full throttle.
No warm-up time is needed either.
Just push the button and ride away,
even on the coldest mornings.
A perfect urban runabout that doesn't make enemies...except 'loud pipes' bikers. [Raymond C Schwab IV]
I'm silently trolling for photo spots late at night in a corporate office complex.
Just singing along with The Doors.
(I'm a spy in the house of love. I know the dreams that you're dreaming of)
I'd be safe from security if I could toggle off the lights.
Being silent is my friend and ally here.
Love riding in the crisp winter air.
The rides are fewer, so I savor every mile like it's my last.
Coming upon another bike that night really opened my eyes.
The big twin had open exhaust, running way fat.
You could smell the unburnt fuel in the air.
The rider was blipping the throttle,
Making his presence felt and pissing people off.
I didn't want to be part of that scene,
so I turned right to give him the Irish goodbye.
Looks small because it is small. Zero survives because they've remained focused on what they do best, and slowly built a following. [Raymond C Schwab IV]
Know someone who wants to learn to ride?
Especially if they've never driven a manual transmission car.
The complications of a manual choke, the fuel tap, and the clutch.
All that is out the window with an electric bike.
It's direct drive, so there’s no whiskey throttle moments learning to use a clutch.
Is there anything as lonely as a single-cylinder motorcycle on a blustery winter's day?
Bolt upright and tossed around by the wind
I felt alone, but not forsaken.
Am I the only one out here?
I struggle on the highway, trying not to pull too many revs.
It's a miserable run.
After an eternity, I start the countdown to my exit.
And the relief of rolling off the highway.
Where the essential machine does best: the back roads and interesting places. Who wants to ride on the Interstate? [Michael Lawless]I bang her hard over, sailing down the exit ramp.
No need for braking, the single cuts like a scalpel.
The blustery wind no longer an issue in town,
Just braaping thru gears from light to light.
The mellow aftermarket slip-on makes mechanical music.
For me, skinny lightweight singles are pure motorcycle.
There is no fat.
It's not an ego extension or some twisted fantasy.
It's all that's really needed.
The essential machine.
Not that it pulls like a train, but it will get you to the station quicker. [Michael Lawless]The KLX is no highway hero.
It shines brightly in urban environments,
Is a genteel friend down country lanes,
And an absolute party on dirt roads and trails.
I like the slender two-gallon fuel tank.
Large tanks make awkward, top-heavy motorcycles.
I'll trade agility over range any day, especially in my corner of the world.
The handling is what you would expect of a dirt bike on the road.
Super light, ultra-narrow, and tall. The slightest input makes changes.
Quite different from sport bikes and heavy street bikes.
Where we at? Urbex is a thing made easier on a light, agile motorcycle. [Michael Lawless]I'm not used to being the center of attention.
Riding across town, little kids shout 'pull a wheelie!'
Gassing up, a loud Hemi Charger rolls by, "Dawg! THAT JAWN’S LIT!!'
Dressed in black, rolling into the Porsche dealership.
The young office hottie said, 'You look like a bad guy from a James Bond movie."
Must note the curb appeal of the KLX is massive.
Strong curb appeal: kids dig it. [Michael Lawless]Another advantage to being skinny & light?
You can take it with you.
The KLX is easily squeezed into a minivan, pickup, or bike carrier.
Why ride two hours of crappy highway when you can just offload at the base of some tasty mountain roads?
The KLX250 was my gateway to flat-track racing too. (see our article)
Simply remove the lights and front brake lever, swap tires, and put on number plates.
Everyone knows Kawasaki builds bulletproof bikes.
You're race ready. No need for safety wiring.
It’s a very inexpensive way to race.
The KLX is similar to but more docile than a 450.
Experience taught me that Hooligan class or modified street bikes are just too heavy.
Flat track racing is about putting the power down.
Lightweight singles are the real deal.
Truly race on Sunday, ride to work on Monday.
I highly recommend flat-track racing.
A great way to learn about motorcycle dynamics while getting your competitive urges out.
Why sit in the stands if you can be out there on the track?
"No need for braking, the single cuts like a scalpel." [Michael LawlessI would love to try the 2023 version of the KLX.
Not only more engine displacement (300cc) but, gasp, fuel injection.
We endlessly scroll the internet trolling for our next motorcycle.
Does the 'disease of more' impel the search for something better?
There are much worse addictions.
Low mileage, late make, high tech, and cheap. But it's a 250. What to do? [Mike Lawless]I stumbled on a bike nobody wanted.
The price was beyond right for a newer street legal motorcycle with a title.
The ad had been running for weeks with no takers.
The Suzuki GW 250 is an odd little duck.
Not much info for the American market.
Small Japanese machines bear the stigma of gutless beginner bikes.
The road tests said the GW was underpowered.
Could barely keep up in freeway traffic.
Bad reviews are the kiss of death.
I know Suzuki has many versions of their 250 street bikes.
Both singles and twins.
For the record, the GW250 is a water-cooled, fuel injected parallel twin.
I drove out to the country for a look.
The condition was typical of a bike in a barn.
The seller was gracious enough to allow a road test before buying.
Where lightweight canyon carvers belong: on the bendy bits. [Mike Lawless]My first thought was 'how petite', compared to most street bikes.
The riding position; classic UJM.
The instrument cluster just about perfect:
Analog tach with digi speedo, clock, fuel gauge & gear indicator.
All you need and then some.
The engine was a pleasant surprise.
The reviews shouted: counter balanced, long stoke, two-valver.
To me it was a twin that felt more like a four.
Very smooth revving out to a pleasant crescendo at 11,000 RPM.
Suspension and brakes were fine, considering.
Handling is good, even if the front lacked feel when pushed.
Which might say more about me being a ham-fisted rider.
While the GW250 will never be a freeway flyer,
It was a pleasant roadster on narrow lanes.
Don't let the mean bunny get you down - he's not getting any lady rabbit despite spending $35k on a special special Italian stallion. [Mike Lawless]The price was so cheap I gave the man my money.
I took her home, removed the stock mirrors and a few logos, put on a pair of my favorite grips.
Plus the usual stuff; changing the oil, service the chain, set the tire pressure.
My eighteen-year-old daughter liked the Japanese Anime styling.
Exploring the backroads leads to unexpected pleasures/treasures. [Mike Lawless]For weeks I cruised the back roads and commuted.
Enjoying the back roads.
You must carry your momentum,
This bike will never go down a gear and disappear. Ever.
But the motor has good character.
It sounds like a motorcycle should, even with a stock exhaust.
The GW250 is quite a refined little package.
I dubbed the little roadster "Lusso".
Pulls like a train...well actually not. But that's ok, you're still riding. [Mike Lawless]I love modern, giant gas stations on a motorcycle.
Clean bathrooms, lots of pumps & fresh coffee.
A young man rolled up on his Ducati as I refueled.
I nodded in his direction.
He took off his helmet and asked "Is that your piece of shit? Like are you just learning to ride or something?"
I laughed, mentioned the Ducatis I've owned, and that I was service manager at a Ducati dealership.
Said Ducati makes nice art work, but his sportbike is miserable as a road bike.
The riding position is a pain in the neck, the heat from your 1098's engine will melt your legs on a summer day.
Plus, we all know what they're like to get serviced.
He fired back 'Well I meet babes".
Shaking my head I replied 'If you want to meet women, buy a Vespa".
There is not much respect for small motorcycles.
The adage of the bigger the engine, the bigger the man is tiresome.
A brand doesn't define the man.
Are we not all riders?
I paid cash for my little bike, and will carry on riding it.
We're at a flat track race run in conjunction with a state fair.
It's blazing hot and I'm sweltering in full race leathers, helmet on, ready to go.
Standing beside me in staging is my daughter Olive.
She's happily eating chicken fingers from the concession stand.
Olive and Mike at the track. [Michael Lawless]For me, just making a race is a win.
We would never have these adventures if her mom hadn't left me.
Yeah, part of me died, but that's no excuse not to live.
In my younger days, I blew an offer to road race because I was too busy partying.
I used to kick myself about that, but maybe this was God's way of giving me another chance.
I knew if I fell back into my drinking ways, none of this would be happening.
Regrets from my earlier decisions propelled me forward.
Chasing my dirt track dreams pulled me out of the hurt I was in.
Being out on the road and sliding around on dirt made life worth living again.
Mike Lawless on the Buell he flat tracked for a time. Read all about it here. [Michael Lawless]I feel awkward when normal folk see me in my racing gear.
Kind of like the guy in the movie Electric Horseman wearing his purple cowboy outfit.
They say it's crazy for a man my age to be flat tracking.
But I'm just like him, trying to unscrew the damage I created.
These racing adventures with my daughter in tow are the best memories I have.
I can look back now, knowing the hurt was worth it.
I wrote down these stories for Olive to remember me by.
Just because the marriage didn't work out doesn't mean it's game over.
I had to accept it,
it was what it was.
Spend time with your children, or somebody else will. [Michael Lawless]Regret is a monster.
I couldn't let it paralyze me.
It could destroy the good that's around the next corner.
I had to realize that my decisions put me here.
That it was me and only me that could pull me out of this too.
I got down to doing what I was doing when I was happy: trying to go fast on motorcycles.
Balance in life is the key for me.
Between work, being a dad, a writer, and yes, a racer.
My first motorcycle brought freedom. I roamed twisty back roads, flicking from corner to corner. Lost and tired one ride, I stumbled into a motorcycle shop I never saw before. Not expecting much this far away from the city.
Mr. Varnes, John Lawless & Ed Fisher with John's Yamaha TZ racer. [Michael Lawless]But in the shadows lurked an honest-to-goodness Yamaha TZ racer. Gobsmacked - how did it get here? I walked over and soaked in the details. A soft voice behind me said, "that's something, huh? "Bikes like that take constant work, you really don't want that. See those FZ's over there? All they need is an oil change every now and then. You can ride'em all day."
He'd changed my focus in a gently paternal way. We talked motorcycle for a bit. I heard one of the guys call him Fast Eddie. To me, he was always Mr. Fisher. His humility inspired me. He never bragged about the things he'd done. That just wasn't how he was geared.
Ed with his son Gary Fisher; both men won at Loudon.
Years passed, and my brother started racing vintage motorcycles. We would leave Friday after work, drive straight thru the night to reach Mid-Ohio by dawn. Things got tricky when John switched from four-stroke Hondas to two-stroke Yamahas. He had no time to test or tweak before getting to the track. We couldn't get the bike to run right. Practice was coming up soon.
Ed Fisher with his daugher Kimberly and his Indian 101 Scout at Daytona.
Seeing our struggle, Mr. Fisher and his friend Jimmy (AKA Mr. Varnes) came over to give us a hand. They never asked for anything. Just happy to see my brother make the show. I was impressed by the way they carried themselves. Humble yet gracious. They inspired me to try and be that way too.
Perhaps if one was to beat 'The King' in a straight fight at the Peoria TT.
Who would not want to be remembered as the man who beat 'The King'?
It's the equivalent of Arthur pulling the sword from the stone.
So far, many have tried but none have done so.
A win there could be every bit as big as clinching a championship.
The Peoria TT is a fearsome place.
The younger generation calls it sketchy.
The type of track that puts a premium on skill and bravery,
separating those who have it from those who don't.
Airborne is not typical flat track stuff! But TT racing is a very different animal, and a little MX training couldn't hurt, no? Henry Wiles airborne and sideways. [American Flat Track]
There is more to flat track than turning left.
TT courses like Peoria have a right-hand turn and a jump.
Unlike the ovals, front brakes are used on TT courses.
This track is built in a valley forming a natural amphitheater.
Perfect for gladiators.
A rider must pull different skills from his bag of tricks to be competitive there.
Cole Zabala's plan was simple.
Train at motocross to build the skills needed for TT.
Unfortunately, while training he got out of shape on a jump which led to him
coming down sideways crashing heavily.
Lying on the race track, dazed from the impact Cole accessed the damage done.
Pain everywhere, the lack of movement in his right wrist followed by coughing up blood
And the realization a hospital visit was required.
Give my cast a zipper, doc! When your livelihood is at stake, and you gotta race, regular hospitals just don't get it. A little plaster didn't dampen Cole Zabala's spirits. [Taylor Bellegue]
Going to a regular hospital after a motorcycle accident is never fun.
It's bad enough you pitched it away but now you have to explain yourself.
The doctors diagnosed Cole with a broken scaphoid and a bruised lung.
They were not impressed.
They recommend surgery on the wrist with a non-removable cast.
He would need to cease training for ten weeks.
They said a removable cast was out of the question.
Cole spoke of the need to decrease the timelines due to his racing schedule.
The doctors would not flex.
Dreams of Peoria glory faded.
The need for speed! Cole Zabala blasting along the straightaway with nobody in sight. [American Flat Track]
Racers always look for a better way.
Cole went for a second opinion at a sports medicine clinic.
He liked being treated like any other athlete there.
They offered a plan to minimize his downtime to 3 weeks.
Cole did PR only at the Pennsylvania round.
His first race weekend back was New York.
He was able to get a third in one of the qualifiers.
Bike issues prevented better results in the mains.
I talked with Zabala during that New York round.
Cole's smiling face told the story.
Saying the pain was manageable.
We laughed about the hospital visits we riders have.
Commiserating about the 'less than' treatment for guys who crash bikes.
Cole laughed saying "regular hospitals hate us!"
Hey we should do an article!
That line stuck in my head.
Thinking about it while watching practice.
I started pecking away on my iPhone:
Regular hospitals hate us. Have they never suffered for their art? Experience has taught me I'm better off saying I fell out of a tree. They roll their eyes when we drive ourselves to the ER after declining the ambulance ride. I need your help, not your judgment. I know your words come from a good place. The kindness is much appreciated. I can get thru the pain and the bullshit Cause I'm living to line up again.
Peoria was next.
Time to find out if the blood, sweat, and tears were worth it.
But Mother Nature was not cooperating.
It took a whole lot of magic from Caterpillar to get the rain-soaked track together on time.
As the race day wore on the track got rougher.
Their race was the last of the day.
The battle began as the green flag dropped.
The King was on form.
Two of his challengers crashed out in the pursuit of victory.
Two red flags with the pressure of being perfect for the restarts.
Zabala still on the mend fought gallantly. At one point running close second to The King.
Game face on. That's racing - you win and you lose, and sometimes you get hurt. Cole Zabala focussed on the win. [Steve Koletar]
But The King was on a planet of his own.
He left the intensity behind.
Leaving second, third & fourth locked in a frenzied battle.
Pass after breathtaking pass at a ferocious clip.
Cole made a bid for second in the last corner but came up short.
Still a fine third place on his second race since the injury.
Jubilant times on the podium were a fine payback.
I just wonder how he'd do on a twin.
Coie Zebala looking like a centaur on is racing machine. [American Flat Track]
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. - William Shakespeare, 'Macbeth'
He knew by her stripper hug that he was going to have fun tonight Dinner and drinks, her for dessert. She makes the good nights better. All week he struggled to sneak out for a ride but work got the better of him. His buzzing wristwatch signaled it was time. He slipped out of her body hug, Climbed into his riding gear. Grabbed a quick double espresso on his way to the garage. He toggled through his choices. The sun crests the canyons as he wheels out his machine. He coasted down the hill, away from the house before firing her up. The sound of a three-cylinder MV barking to life. The engine makes the music, Turning from growl to wail as she revs. It's the soundtrack for this morning's ride.
The stress of the week melts away as he picks up speed. That job sucks all the joy out of him. But between her and the bike, he was glad to be alive again. Howling down the straightaway, he drifts over to the double yellow, flicks hard right, arching from the double yellow to white and yellow again. Tossing her left, he tags a knee then rockets up the hill through the trees on the narrow two-lane road. Smiling in his helmet high on adrenaline. He follows his asphalt path as it snakes through the forest. The rider is all in, with the Armco keeping him honest. Turning right the road follows the coastline. The smell of the ocean and eucalyptus trees fill his helmet. All good things come to end. He silently glides back into his garage. Electric motorcycles make for happy neighbors. The sounds of the MV are just computer-generated. His onboard system reads his throttle input, pumping in the appropriate engine sound into his helmet speakers. The advanced system even mocks the power delivery and corresponding engine vibrations. His bike is so quiet that the dogs don't even bark. Heavy metal thunder is dead. The future is silent.
I turned 18 years old in 1969, the minimum age to race motorcycles at the professional level in the United States. In those years dirt track racing and roadracing were combined in the same AMA Grand National Championship Series, so to contend at the top level, a rider needed to do both types of racing. I am probably best known for my roadracing—having won the Daytona 200 in 1972—but I did dirt track racing also and learned some things that served me well in all forms of racing.
My family lived then in the San Diego area, but the best place to go dirt track racing was Ascot Park, a half-mile dirt oval located in Gardena, south of downtown Los Angeles. Unlike other tracks where a race might be held once a month, Ascot ran every Friday night from April to October.
The AMA pro licensing system required first year pros to compete in their own Novice class and limited to 250cc machines. Second year pros were called Juniors and still competed in a separate class, but they could ride machines up 750cc, then if your scored enough transfer points, riders were at the top level called Experts and could then race in the National Championship races.
Don Emde (135R) leads the way at Ascot in 1969. [Mahony Photos]My father, Floyd Emde, was a past champion of the sport, but at the time was a motorcycle dealer carrying Suzuki, BSA and other brands of motorcycles. For the 1969 season, he built me a pretty exotic race bike for my first season at Ascot. It used a special lightweight racing frame and was powered by twin-cylinder 250cc Suzuki X6 roadracing engine. It was wicked fast and what made it especially “exciting” was two-stroke engines don’t have a natural compression that slows the motor when you roll off the throttle, they just free wheel. Also, in those years brakes were not allowed on our dirt track machines.
I learned real quick how to handle my X6, finding the happy medium between going fast enough to compete for the races wins, and not too fast to end up on the ground…or worse yet in the solid wooden wall on the outside of the turns.
Getting a good start was critical at Ascot. Most of the riders I was competing against also had twin-cylinder two-strokes like me—either Suzukis or Yamahas—and if I got stuck in the pack with them, then I just rode the track wherever I could find an opening to try to pass the other riders.
To have a clear track ahead, however, I could then set my own pace and take control of the race. I knew in my mind what the “Perfect Lap” consisted of and what I needed to do, including how far into the turn to go at full speed, and then how to use my only tool to help turn the corner, the throttle. In flat track racing, a spinning rear wheel under full power serves as a bit of a brake and forces the motorcycle to turn in the direction you get the machine pointed.
Once I understood how to use the rear wheel to turn the motorcycle, I found that instead of riding the track as an oval, the actual line to follow was more of a diamond shape. Just past the start/finish line I could lean the machine over, let off momentarily, then back on and get the rear wheel spinning. This continued about half-way into the turn and the rear wheel would eventually start catching traction and heading out of the turn onto the back straightaway towards the next turn and then do it all over again.
That season I won 11 of the 30 Main Events in the Novice class and came back the next and won more races in the Junior class on a BSA 650. In 1971, I was hired by BSA to join their factory team and was racing the full AMA Grand National Championship schedule. I wasn’t able ride at Ascot as much in the coming years, but the concept I had learned of figuring out the perfect lap on a racecourse stuck with me, even in roadracing at places like Daytona.
[Editor's note: Don Emde was the first child of a Daytona 200 winner to win the race as well. His win on a Yamaha 350 (tuned by Mel Dinesen) had other firsts: it was the smallest-capacity machine to win the race, the first two-stroke to win, and the first win for Yamaha. After a successful racing career as a very young man, Emde worked in marketing at Bell Helmets, then was editor of Motorcycle Dealer News. He later took up writing his own books, including Daytona 200, Finding Cannonball's Trail, and his magnum opus 'The Speed Kings', a history of board track racing, which we reviewed here. Thanks to our Flat Track Editor Michael Lawless for securing this article!]
How he grew up racing motocross, then made the switch to speedway.
Johnny studied martial arts and wrestling in school.
I applaud his decision to chase his dreams.
Plenty of time later to work in cubicles if they don't pan out.
Jake Meyer looking more pro wrestler than motorcycle racer, but that's Speedway... [Stever Koletar]
The second rider I spoke with was Jake Myer.
He looked more weightlifter than motorcycle racer.
He could easily bench press a speedway bike.
How did he get involved?
As a boy, his parents took him to the local speedway races,
and he was taken with the spectacle.
Jake hadn't been to a race in years but spotted an ad for a local race.
He had such a good time he took his wife to a second event.
She asked - why don't you race?
With her blessing, he started competing.
I'm not sure what her motives were.
Max Ruml is the master of the one-handed wheelie on his speedway bike. [Steve Koletar]
One racer stood out among this motley crew.
Max Ruml has an air of professionalism mixed with that west coast vibe.
This showman is ruthlessly fast while pulling off one-handed wheelies.
He recently clinched the 2021 AMA National Championship.
Max hopes to race in Europe next.
Gino Manzanez (another MMA fighter!) broadsliding at extreme angles, which is part of the Spectacle of Speedway. [Steve Koletar]
Our photographer Steve Koletar is a well-traveled race enthusiast.
He covers both automobile and motorcycle racing.
I asked Koletar what's the best show in racing?
Steve said "Speedway is out of this world.
It's a must-see spectacle."
I confessed I'd never been.
He wouldn't take no for an answer,
so we attend the next AMA National together.
The racing is intense.
You can see all the action on these small tracks.
I noted the enthusiastic crowd seemed very 420 friendly.
Speedway is a box that should be checked off by any true racing enthusiast.
Jason Bonsignore and Len McBride with the trophy Len created celebrating Jason's 25 year ownership of Champion Speedway. [Steve Koletar]
Note: We would like to thank Jason Bonsignore.
Jason manages both Champion and Action Park East in New York.
His love for speedway keeps the sport alive on the East Coast.
Speedway has a huge following in Europe but is mainly based in California here in the USA.
This was the first time the AMA Nationals were held outside of California.
Hopefully, it will be an annual part of the schedule.
The racing is very sideways in Speedway, as full broadsliding is the technique for racing. And wheelies. [Steve Koletar]The broadsliding technique used in Speedway was invented in the 1920s, some say by American rider Sprouts Elder, who improved on the original 'leg trailing' technique, in which a rider dragged his foot behind the machine. The sport of Speedway was originally called Dirt Track, and was the most popular motorsport in the world - period- in the mid-1920s. Riders traveled the world on an international, professional circuit following the seasons: the USA, Britain, South America, and Australia.We have plenty of archival stories of Dirt Track racing in its original days: have a look at a few here:
Writer and flat track racer Michael Lawless aboard one of his racers, from his story 'Passing, Pain, and Purpose.' [Michael Lawless]Not racing is hard too.
Part of me dies at the track when I’m not suiting up,
and the dream floods back watching American Flat Track on TV.
The contradiction was killing me.
Lucky, I ran across Kenny Dahlin.
He runs a flat track racing school called 'EZ Does It',
named for his approach to racing.
We crossed paths on social media,
thumbs up & positive comments.
On the track Kenny looks effortless and in control.
Exactly what I wasn't.
I knew I could learn a few things.
So, I decided to invest in my riding skills.
Kenny Dahlin keeping a close eye on a student. [Kris Keath]
Kenny teaches on the track.
He sent me out first, then joined me:
We rip off a bunch of laps elbow to elbow.
He dropped back to tail me, then cleared off to see what I'd do.
His feedback made me realize
a lifetime of sport riding had made me lazy.
On the road, to corner quicker I'd enter fast and lean harder.
This doesn’t work on the dirt.
Charging into a corner,
I’d lose front grip then pick her up to regain traction.
By then I'm running wide, struggling to change direction,
and grabbing throttle to make up for mistakes.
Out of shape and into the next corner too fast.
Over the limit is thrilling
but actually slow.
Just a hot mess on the edge of crashing.
Getting real feedback on riding or racing is invaluable, especially from a pro who knows. [Kris Keath]
