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1960 Lime Rock Nationals– Denise McCluggage sits on the grid  while SCCA gets things straight.

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Back in 1955 or so, a young Denise McCluggage had a chance encounter with a then unknown Steve McQueen which led to a brief affair and a long-lasting friendship. They would be separated by their own career ambitions, and the many demands and erratic schedules that come with the territory. That said, McCluggage managed to stay in touch over the years. She herself would go on to become a legend in the world of auto racing– a renowned driver, writer, and photographer for over 50 yrs. McCluggage has won trophies around the world and raced for Porsche, Jaguar, Lotus, Mini Cooper, Alfa, Elva, OSCA, Volvo, among others. In 1961 she won the grand touring category at Sebring in a Ferrari 250 GT, and in 1964 McCluggage scored a class win in the Rallye de Monte Carlo for Ford. She shared her remembrances of McQueen and their relationship years after his passing, published in AutoWeek magazine back in 1981. She recalls a young, lean McQueen who was already obsessed with cars and racing, who swept her off her feet with his searing looks, charm and well… incongruity, as she puts it.

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1955, Steve McQueen as he looked back in the day, running around the Village w/ Denise McCluggage – Image by © Roy Schatt

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Shortly after our reunion he had sidled up next to me and whispered in my ear: “I’m falling in love all over again,” and given me the full brunt of the smile. My response had been an instantaneous hoot of laughter. –Denise McCluggage

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Steve McQueen: Car Buff Extraordinaire, for Auto Week magazine– 

I first saw Steve McQueen in front of Joe’s luncheonette on West 4th St. in Greenwich Village. He wasn’t *STEVE McQUEEN* then, just Steve McQueen, Village hang-about. He was leaning against his cream-colored MG-TC holding a new leather-covered racing helmet and telling someone how some friends of his in England had sent it to him. And, man, that was too much!

I was on my way into Joe’s for a toasted bran muffin. Joe’s is long-gone, but at one time tout le village passed through there. That was before the Village was quite so boutique-y or self-consciously freaky. It was just a place to live.

Being a TC owner myself (my second — this one red) and interested in racing, I stopped to listen and stayed to talk.

Steve it seems, was an actor. Well, I knew something about actors having been married to one rather recently, albeit briefly. And I had studied the craft myself at night classes at the Neighborhood Playhouse (the one continuity of my life has been taking classes– in anything). So Steve and I had a wide range of commonality.

And I was touched by his almost waif-like quality– his delight and genuine surprise that someone would go to all the trouble to send him a present, particularly one he really dug. There was this incongruity in Steve’s vulnerability, his cock-of-the-walk posturing, his jive talk. And if there’s anything I’m a sucker for, it’s incongruity.

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1955, Steve McQueen as he looked back in the day, running around the Village w/ Denise McCluggage – Image by © Roy Schatt

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So the conversations continued. Then and later. At Joe’s over toasted bran muffins and at my five-flight walk-up around the corner. Indeed, we became something of a Village “item,” which surprised me. But then MG-TCs — or any sportscars — were comparatively rare, and two of them parked nose-to-tail on Cornelian Street didn’t go unnoticed. One regular at Joe’s, (as pleased as a successful matchmaker) said, “I’ve been watching those two cars around here for months and I knew it was inevitable that you’d finally get together.”

But it wasn’t like that at all! Well, it was a little like that, but not such a big deal.

I’ve been trying to remember what exactly was the Big Deal in my life at that time. The year must have been 1955 or 1956– that means it was after I had become sports writer for the New York Herald Tribune and before I got my Jaguar and raced my first SCCA National at Montgomery, NY.

Steve was at a nowhere place in his career– all possibilities and promise. But every actor I knew, including my ex-husband, had possibilities and promise. And little else.

But possibilities turned into actualities for Steve shortly thereafter, and he was off for the Coast, eventually to become Josh Randall on TV. I left the Tribune, kept racing, published Competition Press. Stuff like that.

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A brilliant photo of racing legends Juan Manuel Fangio, Stirling Moss, Denise McCluggage, Pedro Rodriguez, Innes Ireland, and  Ronnie Bucknum. via

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The next time I saw Steve McQueen must have been at Sebring in 1962. He was driving an MGA for BMC (British motor corporation). I was driving an OSCA (Officine Specializzate Costruzioni Automobili) with Allen Eager, a jazz musician with whom I had won the GT category with the year before. Allen had known Steve in the Village even before I had, and long before I knew Allen.

“Hey, man,” Steve said to Allen in a conspirator’s whisper. “I bet we’re the only two guys in this race who ever…” And he made toke-taking gestures with his thumb and forefinger. Allen’s answer was to start a hand for his pocket. “It just so happens…”

“Hey, man, what are you doing!?” Steve glanced around in a minor panic, his hands pushing disclaimers. I thought that was unfair to Allen. Allen had thought that Steve had gone Hollywood hypocrite. To me it meant Steve had Made It and wanted to Keep It. (This was 1962, remember.)

He had made it. People in restaurant booths pointed at him and called him “Josh” and grinned those give-me-a-prize-for-recognizing-you grins. Steve rather stiffly reminded them: “My name is Steve McQueen. The role I play is Josh.” That broke up Allen, who had had some share of fame for his tenor sax. Gradually Steve loosened up and laughed too, and and we talked Old Times talk. As we talked the quick McQueen smile became less mannered, less shtick-y and more like the Village days.

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Denise McCluggage (with a camera strapped around her neck) at Le Mans in 1958, published her first article for Autoweek in the magazine’s first issue back in 1958. via

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Another incident had loosened him up a bit too. Shortly after our reunion he had sidled up next to me and whispered in my ear: “I’m falling in love all over again,” and given me the full brunt of the smile. My response had been an instantaneous hoot of laughter. Steve looked hurt at first– that old vulnerability– and then th too laughed. It was a good line, and he had delivered it well, and I had loved it, but we both knew it was a stranger to any truth– either at the moment or long before.

And Steve’s truth was what I liked best about him. He had it in his acting. His full use of himself in the character of the moment. I liked his work.

I saw Steve several years later in California. I had a script idea about racing and he liked it a lot, but I wanted a friend of mine to direct it and Steve said (this was before The Great Escape) that he wasn’t big enough yet to risk an unknown director.

He was in a good place then. Enough success for a sense of satisfaction and a strong belief that plenty more was to come. Swell, it was. He led me in his British Racing Green Jaguar D-Type up the winding roads into the hills to see his house and meet his family. Chad was just about two yrs old I think. And Steve proudly showed me  job he had just finished– putting cork on the walls of a den.

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Denise McCluggage with Stirling Moss at Sebring, 1961. McLuggage was driving a Ferrari 250 GT SWB with Allen Eager, who was better known for his tenor sax. via

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Some years later when in London I picked up a newspaper and there was Steve McQueen along with an interview. He was on his way to France to start filming Le Mans. I called the reporter who had done the interview to find out what hotel Steve was in, and I phoned. I had no ide how thick the barrier would be to reaching him. I wouldn’t have tried very hard, but it was only one man deep. I told him I was an old friend of Steve’s and told him who I was. After a while a voice came back: “Denise McLuggage. Now that’s a name from the past.” 

We talked a long time– about his racing successes, his motorcycles, what he had done in Bullitt, what he wanted to do in Le Mans, and how he might revive my long-put-aside racing film ideas.

That was the last time I talked to Steve directly. He used to see Phil and Alma Hill in Los Angeles, and we sent “hellos” back and forth through them and said how we must get together again sometimes when I’m in L.A.

I knew what was happening, as much as you can know what is happening through the simultaneous successes and neglect of the press.

I thought that Steve was going to beat his illness. I really did. Hope gives a lot of color to how I think about such things.

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Steve McQueen, Monaco, 1969

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Steve’s name came up in a group conversation shortly after he had gone to Mexico and a young reporter among us said: “Boy, that’s the way to make a lot of money right now. If you can get to Steve McQueen you can make a fortune. An exclusive interview.”

I said nothing, but my mouth opened slightly as I tried to think of a word that described my feelings. “Appalled” probably came closest. And I thought too that I probably wasn’t much of a journalist.

Appropriately, it was a car radio that delivered the news to me Steve McQueen was dead. He was 50 years old, the announcer said. Fifty. That had no meaning. It was far too young. It was far too old.

I saw then that 1950s day in New York, and a young man with short-cropped hair wearing chino pants and a stark white T-shirt lounging against a cream-colored MG-TC with a machine-turned dashboard. He squints into the stark white sun and smiles a quick, not-yet-famous smile suddenly there, just as suddenly gone. He turns a new white helmet over and over in his hands.

I think too of those E.E. Cummings lines:

“And what I want to know is– How do you like your blue-eyed boy, Mr. Death?”

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RELTED TSY POSTS:

STEVE MCQUEEN, RICHARD AVEDON & RUTH ANSEL | HARPER’S BAZAAR, 1965

STEVE McQUEEN DOIN’ IT IN THE DIRT | TRIUMPH DESERT BIKE BY BUD EKINS

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT’s | 1966 SPORTS ILLUSTRATED

STEVE McQUEEN ’66 POPULAR SCIENCE | WHAT I LIKE IN A BIKE –AND WHY

STEVE McQUEEN | LE MANS & BEYOND GRATUITOUS 1970s RACING GOODNESS

STEVE McQUEEN | HOLLYWOOD’S ANTI-HERO & TRUE SON OF LIBERTY

REQUIRED VIEWING “BULLITT” | THE GRANDDADDY OF CAR CHASE SCENES

THE TSY FRIDAY FADE | STEVE MCQUEEN’S DUNE BUGGY DAYS

HUSQVARNA | THE SCREAMIN’ SWEDE THAT STARTED A RACING REVOLUTION

1970 12 HOURS OF SEBRING RACE | STEVE McQUEEN’S BRUSH WITH VICTORY

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Kirk West is probably best known as the long-time tour manager, archivist, and photographer for the Allman Brothers Band– but before that he spent many years shooting many other musical legends while living in Chicago. Many of those images laid dormant for decades, and now with time on his hands since his 2010 retirement from ABB, the amazing images have now come to light– and many of them are stunning in their honest, fly-on-the-wall, honest energy. Being a lover of the Blues, I was instantly strike by many of his images of legends in a bygone time that I’d love to step back into.

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1978 — Blues guitar great, Johnny Winter at Chicago’s Park West theatre –Image by © Kirk West There’s a famous story about a time in 1962 when Johnny and his brother went to see B.B. King at a Beaumont club called the Raven. The only whites in the crowd, they no doubt stood out. But Johnny already had his chops down and wanted to play with the revered B.B.”I was about 17,” Johnny remembers, “and B.B. didn’t want to let me on stage at first. He asked me for a union card, and I had one. Also, I kept sending people over to ask him to let me play. Finally, he decided that there enough people who wanted to hear me that, no matter if I was good or not, it would be worth it to let me on stage. He gave me his guitar and let me play. I got a standing ovation, and he took his guitar back!” via

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1985 — Late guitar great, Stevie Ray Vaughan at the Chicago Blues Fest –Image by © Kirk West     From Guitar World Magazine ’85 — “Vaughan remembered something that came from Johnny Winter, the first white Texas blues guitar hero, who’d preceded him down the long path. ‘He said something to me when the first record was doing so well,’ Stevie Ray recalled. ‘It made me feel a lot of respect for what we did, for the music. He said that he wanted me to know that people like Muddy Waters and the cats who started it all really had respect for what we’re doing, because it made people respect them. We’re not taking credit for the music. We’re trying to give it back.’” I dig that attitude– doing what you love, and doing it well– to give back to those who cam before you– and the music as a whole. You don’t hear  enough talk like that these days. That’s real heart and soul right there.

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1978– Johnny Winter, Bob Margolin, & Muddy Waters at Harry Hope’s, Cary IL where they recorded Muddy “Mississippi” Waters – Live  –Image by © Kirk West. During early live performances, Johnny Winter would often recount about how, as a child, it was dream of his to one day play with the great blues guitarist Muddy Waters. In 1977 Winter’s his manager creating Blue Sky Records to be distributed through Columbia,  Winter now had the opportunity to bring Waters into the studio for Hard Again. The album became a best-seller, with Winter producing and playing back-up guitar on the set that included Waters, and  the legendary James Cotton on harmonica. Winter produced two more studio albums for Muddy Waters – I’m Ready (this time featuring Walter Horton on harmonica) and King Bee. The partnership produced Grammy Awards, a best-selling live album (Muddy “Mississippi” Waters Live), and Winter’s own Nothin’ But the Blues, on which he was backed by members of Muddy Waters’ band.

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1978– Blues great Muddy Waters at Harry Hope’s, Cary, IL where Muddy “Mississippi” Waters – Live was recorded –Image by © Kirk West. Muddy Waters — Born McKinley Morganfield in Rolling Fork, Mississippi back in 1915. His Mama died when he was just 3 yrs old, and so he was raised by Grandmother in Clarksdale. Muddy started playing the harmonica at the age of 13, and a few years later picked-up the guitar. Muddy was very big on legendary Delta bottle-neck guitar masters — Son House and Robert Johnson. Soon, Muddy was a master himself — being one of the best guitarists and vocalists in the region  – and now recognized as one of the best ever. In 1941, Alan Lomax and a team of Library of Congress field collectors visited and recorded Muddy Waters for the Library’s folksong archives (they were originally looking for Robert Johnson at the time, but had no idea that he had died three years earlier). Muddy finely-honed his blues chops in the tough, back country juke joints until 1943 —  when he left for Chicago. Waters worked hard to make a name for himself, and by the 1950s, he had a string of recordings that solidified his reputation as one of the best. Numerous members of his bands through the years have gone on to become legends themselves– guitarists Jimmy Rogers, Sammy Lawhorn and Luther Johnson, harmonica players Little Walter, Junior Wells and James Cotton, pianists Otis Spann and Pinetop Perkins — adding to Muddy Waters’ enormous Blues legacy.

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1980– Bluesman John Hammond at ChicagoFest –Image by © Kirk West. John P. Hammond, Jr. is an American Blues & Roots music legend with crazy vocal, guitar and harmonica skills. John Paul Hammond hasn’t had huge commercial success, but that hasn’t stopped him from becoming one of the most respected musicians among his peers. Legend has it that Hammond had both Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix side-by-side in his band for five days in the 1960s when Hammond played The Gaslight Cafe in New York City. He’s the son of famed record producer John H. Hammond, and interestingly enough– great-grandson of William Henry Vanderbilt. You would never know he’s a Vanderbilt by listening to him. In fact, you’d swear he was raised on the Mississippi Delta. Hands-down on of my favorite artists of an genre or era. I missed-out seeing him at the New Hope, PA Winery a few months back– and have still not gotten over it.

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1979– A young George Thorogood tunes his resonator guitar backstage before a show at Harry Hope’s in Cary, IL –Image by © Kirk West. In the 1970s, Thorogood played semi-professional baseball in the Roberto Clemente League. A skilled second baseman, he was even awarded rookie of the year. His baseball dreams would take a backseat to music after seeing a young John Hammond onstage. From then on, George knew he was meant to play the Blues. “The people who helped me out were all the guys in Muddy Waters’ band, all the guys in Howlin’ Wolf’s band. They were wonderful to me, and they wanted to help me. They saw what I was trying to do. It (Blues) was a lifestyle as well as an art form, as far as music goes. They were singing about what their life was like on a daily basis. Sonny Boy Williamson and Wolf and Muddy Waters – they didn’t think they were the baddest cats in the world, they knew they were the baddest cats in the world. They had to be, or they wouldn’t have survived. There’s nothing glamorous in it – that’s just the facts. They had to fight their way through on a daily basis just to keep their heads above water. That’s very clear in a lot of their songs.” –George Thorogood. Back in the day, Thorogood and John Hammond (not to mention Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown) would take the stage at John & Peter’s in New Hope, PA — a legendary, original music venue still going strong after 40 yrs. What it lacks in size, it definitely makes up for in spirit! 

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Clarence ‘Gatemouth” Brown, Biddy Milligan’s –Image by © Kirk West. A Bluesman, he was. But this Texan legend is hard to put in a neat little box– spread his love across multiple musical genres– Country, Bluegrass, Calypso, Jazz… you name it, Gate played it. The “Gatemouth” nickname came from a high school teacher who said he had  a “voice like a gate,” and it stuck. His big break came in 1947 concert when he filled-in for T-Bone Walker onstage at Don Robey’s Bronze Peacock Houston nightclub. Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown took up his guitar and played “Gatemouth Boogie” and his career was off and runnin’. In the 1960s, Gate called Nashville home and became a fixture there– appearing on a syndicated Country music TV show, and laying down some Country tracks. Roy Clark had become a good buddy– the two recored an album together, and Gate even show-up on the (very white) TV show ‘Hee Haw’. In the late ’60s, Gate tired of the music scene and headed to the desert of New Mexico and turned in his guitar for a badge– becoming a Deputy Sheriff. Gate’s fans soon came calling like never before. In the ’70s American Roots music swept Europe–  Gates was in demand, and he toured Europe extensively. His guitar style is legendary, and cited for influencing the likes of Albert Collins, Guitar Slim, J. J. Cale, Johnny “Guitar” Watson, and Frank Zappa– who declared Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown s his all-time favorite guitarist. via

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1981– Lefty Dizz, Chicago Blues legend, at the Checkerboard Lounge –Image by © Kirk West. Lefty was a fiery guitarist, and balls-out showman who still doesn’t get nearly enough press for his legend, his skill, and his bravado. A self-taught “lefty” he was 19 yrs old when he picked up a guitar for the first time. Like many lefties back then, he played on a right-handed guitar–  and  did not reverse the strings, as some do. Legend has it that another ‘lefty’ guitar great, a young and then unknown Jimi Hendrix, caught-up with Lefty Dizz at a Seattle gig– and that Lefty’s aggressive playing had an influence on Hendrix. And Jimi wasn’t his only Rock ‘n’ Roll fan– The Rolling Stones, Foghat, and others would often catch Lefty’s Chicago gigs.       

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5/3/1983– “To Muddy”, Blues greats James Cotton and Buddy Guy at the Checkerboard Lounge for Muddy Waters’ funeral wake –Image by © Kirk West. Muddy was the man, and upon his passing in 1983, anyone who was anyone in Blues came to pay tribute to one of the most important musical icons of the last century. Period. End of story.

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Andy Warhol cultural icon, and Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones – Image by © Ken Regan

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It was spring of 1975, and The Rolling Stones were gearing up for their epic Tour Of The Americas (TOTA)– which they would later kick off  in NYC by performing “Brown Sugar” on the back of a flatbed truck driving down 5th Ave. Looking for a place to rest up, rehearse for the tour, and work on songs for their upcoming album, Black and Blue, the boys rented their pal Andy Warhol’s pad (for 5k a month), and got busy being themselves. Let’s just say their presence did not go unnoticed by their buttoned-up neighbors:

“Throughout April sensationally loud music welled through the windows, into the ruts and hollows over the tangled crab-grass of an estate in Montauk, Long Island. Residents of the Ditch Plains trailer park were woken in the night – yapping dogs, even wolves, the loud grief of coyotes. From East Hampton to New York the word spread with the ferocity of a brush fire: The Rolling Stones were rehearsing!”

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June, 1975 — The Rolling Stones, with guest percussionist Ollie E. Brown, outside their rehearsal room at Andy Warhol’s Montauk Church Estate – Image by © Ken Regan. Although the Stones tried to keep a low profile, their fans found their hide away. Andy Warhol remembered, “Mick Jagger really put Montauk on the map. All the motels were overflowing with groupies. Two girls with no hair and black cats on leashes followed them all the way to Montauk. Mr. Winters, the caretaker of the estate, found them hiding in the bushes!”

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June, 1975 — The Rolling Stones, with guest percussionist Ollie E. Brown, outside their rehearsal room at Andy Warhol’s Montauk Church Estate – Image by © Ken Regan. Following Mick Taylor’s leaving the band, Ronnie Wood stepped in to (try and) fill his shoes. Wood was still a member of the Faces while he toured with the Stones on TOTA, and recorded with them on Black and Blue. The Faces wouldn’t officially announce they’re breakup until Dec. 1975, and the Stones announced Wood as an official member of the band in Feb. 1976. “I remember learning 150 of their repertoire (laughs). I gave up trying to remember which key each one was in or the chord sequence to a lot of them. I did a lot of it by feel in the end, you know. Had to, it’s impossible to log all of those songs. It was intense– to get hit with all of those Mick Taylor lines, to echo what Brian had done, then to add my own bluesy input to it all.” –Ron Wood

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Here’s a great little read from Montauk Life that recounts the days of Andy Warhol’s move to East Hampton, The Rolling Stones’ legendary visit to the Church Estate that Warhol owned, and other interesting tidbits of that time:

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If there was one thing Andy loved more than fame, it was money. That’s what first brought the intensely urban Warhol to wide open Montauk. A long time visitor to the Hamptons proper, he and Paul Morrissey, director of many of Andy’s early avant garde films, decided a home here would be a great investment. Ironically, they turned to East Hampton realtor Tina Fredericks, who had been one of Andy’s early champions when art director of Vogue in the mid-1950′s.

One rainy weekend in early 1972, Andy and Paul piled into Tina’s Eldorado for a tour of the East End. She started showing them houses in the primest of areas of the East End – Southampton’s tony Gin Lane, East Hampton’s posh Further Lane and Ocean Avenue, but nothing moved Andy. It wasn’t until they drove into Montauk that eccentric Andy began to perk up.

According to Tina, it was the unlikely sight of the absurd architecture of the Memory Motel and Ronjo Motels that caught Andy’s eye. It seems the mix of Polynesian, Tudor, and “Motel Six” design amused Andy. Driving east of town along the ocean Tina brought them to a dramatic compound, overlooking the Atlantic on the wind swept cliffs of Montauk.

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1972 — Mr. Winters on his tractor at the Church Estate, Montauk. — Image by Peter Beard  via

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The Church Estate was a collection of 5 classic, clapboard houses built in the 1920s. Set on 20 acres high above the Atlantic, they had been designed by noted architect Stanford White. The main house, with 7 bedrooms, 5 baths, 4 stone fireplaces and large living areas would be perfect for entertaining. The 4 smaller cottages would be guest accommodations. They agreed to the price and Andy and Paul split the $225,000 cost. As it turned out, this good investment was the best buy of Andy’s life. Currently on the market for a cool $50,000,000, it’s the most expensive home for sale on the East End, and one of the most expensive in all of America. (Currently owned by J.Crew’s Mickey Drexler.)

Although Andy was happy with his new house, his primary concern that first year was finding a tenant to help with the bills. That started a long parade of celebrity renters for the Montauk home. That first year Andy rented the main house to Lee Radziwill, Jackie Onassis’s famed sister. In her recent bio, Happy Times, Lee remembered that Summer fondly. “The main house had a floor of huge old flagstones and two enormous fireplaces opposite each other. It smelled of cedar and the sea.”

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1971 — Andy Warhol’s beach home– the Church Estate, Montauk, Long Island, New York.  via

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Andy she saw in a different light – “He was almost allergic to fresh air, but once in a while felt obliged to leave the city and check in on the happenings at his place in Montauk. Here a somewhat different person was on display. He loved children and was inventive with them, creating activities in which they became totally abandoned such as when he sat them down at a large round table in the living room to show them how to edit a film in a simple way. He was something of a pied piper, always keeping their attention, always admiring and encouraging them at whatever they did.”

“We spent long lazy afternoons on the beach, talking and burying each other in the sand. At times like this, Andy wasn’t as strange as he initially seemed, but revealed himself as a keen, subtle observer of everything around him.”

“He had a simple supper every night at six before going out, seven nights a week to observe. He didn’t eat the rich food at the dinners and parties that he constantly attended. He was too fragile after the attempt on his life and his serious operation.”

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1973, New York — Andy Warhol and Lee Radziwill  – Image by © Condeˆ Nast Archive/Corbis. Jackie Kennedy Onassis’s sister, Lee Radziwell rented the largest of the five houses on Andy Warhol’s property in Montauk during the first summer he bought it. Lee was there to supervise the “rescue” of Grey Gardens where her eccentric East Hampton cousins, the Beales, lived. Jackie visited Lee several times that summer. It was Lee Radziwell’s idea for the Maysles Brothers (who had filmed The Rolling Stones’ Altamont concert for the documentary “Gimme Shelter”) to film her cousins which became the famous documentary, Grey Gardens.  via

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That Summer, Jackie came for a number of visits with young Caroline and John John. Andy remembered, “They used to run around throwing balloons filled with water at everybody. They were always having egg fights. John John was the ring leader. He was about 12 then. He told the funniest stories and the best jokes. John John and Caroline loved to go down to the candy store to look for pictures of themselves in the movie mags.”

Andy was so proud of his association with the first family of America, that Bob Colacello Interview editor and one of Andy’s closest companions, remembers – “Andy joked about putting up gold plaques that said ‘Lee slept here’ and ‘Jackie slept here.’” The shy boy from the wrong side of the tracks had come a long way.

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1976 — Peter Beard (photographer, writer, painter, playboy, you-name-it-he-is-it) and friends.

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It seems one of the reasons Lee spent 1972 in Montauk had to do with Andy’s charismatic next door neighbor, Peter Beard. Andy described him as – “one of the most fascinating men in the world … he’s like a modern Tarzan. He jumps in and out of the snake pit he keeps at his home. He cuts himself and paints with the blood. He wears sandals and no socks in the middle of Winter. He lived in a parked car on 13th Street for six months. He moved when he woke up and found a transvestite sleeping on the roof.” He also thought Peter was one of the best looking men he’d ever seen. So did Lee.

Peter was both Andy’s neighbor and artist in arms. Unlike some who built his reputation around Andy, Peter had established himself as one of the great nature and fashion photographers long before meeting Andy. Grandson of a well to do western family, Manhattan/England/Yale educated, he began his career while still in college, signed to a $12,000 a year contract by Vogue in 1955. That was also the year he first traveled to Africa, a trip that would forever change his life and work. His landmark work, The End of the Game (1963), a collection of essays and photographs on the rapid decline of Africa and it’s wildlife, is a testament to early ecological and sociological sensibilities.

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Montauk, 1975 — Mick Jagger, Catherine Deneuve, and Andy Warhol – Image by © Peter Beard

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Peter first came to know Andy through his uncle, Jerome Hill, one of the early partners in Andy’s Interview magazine. Beard in turn came to know Lee when he was assigned a photo shoot of The Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main Street tour in 1972. Long remembered as one of the most decadent rock and roll campaigns of the overly indulgent ’70s, the frenzy to report this momentous event was such that the most prominent papers of the day battled to cover this bacchanalian tour. Rolling Stone magazine topped them all by assigning Truman Capote to follow the tour, and Peter Beard to photograph.

While on tour Peter became good friends with Mick Jagger. They partied they way across the country in the “Lapping Tongue” – the Stones speciality outfitted DC-7. As has been well documented they flew considerably higher than the clouds that surrounded them. Half way through the tour, Truman Capote met the group in Kansas City. In tow was his new best friend, Lee Radziwill. The mix of rock royalty and Fortunate Four Hundred did not work well. Jagger hated Capote’s mincing manners, and Capote called Mick – “…a scared little boy… about as sexy as a pissing toad.” Stones guitarist Keith Richards welcomed the cultured Radziwill by banging on her hotel door that night, screaming “Princess Radish… C’mon you old tart, there’s a party going’ downstairs!”

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Biance Jagger, Mick Jagger –Images by © Peter beard

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The final date of the tour was scheduled for Mick’s birthday – July 26, at Madison Square Garden. Afterwards a lavish party was given for the 29 year old Stone by Ashmet Ertgun, president of Atlantic Records, at his palatial roof top suite atop the St. Regis Hotel. Overlooking Manhattan, the creme de la creme of arts and society came to honor the pouting prince– including Andy, Peter, Truman, and Lee. Andy provided the high light of the party. A naked girl popped out of a towering birthday cake, and twirled her silicon tits as a dozen black tap dancers provided a chorus line. The New York Post reported, “In the perfumed twilight of the Roman Empire unspeakable things went on. Are we entering that same twilight?”

The next day Peter invited the exhausted Mick and bride Bianca, to visit his house In Montauk for a quick R&R. They flew into Montauk airport and spent the next few days relaxing at the shore, water skiing on Lake Montauk, and walking the beach. It was an introduction to Montauk that would lead to a much longer stay.

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1975 — The Rolling Stones, with Ollie E. Brown, at Warhol’s Montauk home – Image by © Ken Regan

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By the Spring of 1975, the Stones were in the midst of planning their next American tour. What better place to cool out and prepare, than quiet Montauk? Andy rented Mick and the boys the compound for a princely sum of $5,000 a month, and the Stones began rehearsals for what would become Black and Blue. As was then reported: “Throughout April sensationally loud music welled through the windows, into the ruts and hollows over the tangled crab-grass of an estate in Montauk. Long Island. Residents of the Ditch Plains trailer park were woken in the night – yapping dogs, even wolves, the loud grief of coyotes. From East Hampton to New York the word spread with the ferocity of a brush fire– The Rolling Stones were rehearsing!”

Andy and Jagger first met in 1963, when The Rolling Stones were invited to play a birthday party for then Warhol starlet, Baby Jane Holzer, at the New York Academy of Music. Over the years the artistically inclined Jagger kept tabs on the musically inclined Warhol. Mick was such an admirer, that in 1972 when the Stones formed their own record company, they tapped Andy to design their logo. With characteristic flair Andy came up with the stylized Jagger mouth and tongue that would grace all their albums. Andy also designed the infamous cover for that year’s release, Sticky Fingers-- a cover shot of Jagger from the hips down, in skin tight jeans, with a fully working zippered crotch!

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Mick Jagger taking a walk in Montauk where The Rolling Stones were rehearsing for 1975 Tour of the Americas. – Image by © Ken Regan

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Andy Warhol visited the boys often that Summer. Although the Stones tried to keep a low profile, their fans found their hide away. Andy remembers, “Mick Jagger really put Montauk on the map. All the motels were overflowing with groupies. Two girls with no hair and black cats on leashes followed them all the way to Montauk. Mr. Winters – the caretaker of the estate – found them hiding in the bushes!”

At times the attention went beyond mere fan worship. Andy remembers playing with Mick and Bianca’s then 4 year old daughter, Jade. As he often did with small children he delighted in showing her how to draw and paint. At one point Andy was searching for some material, opened a drawer and much to his surprise found a loaded gun. Jade said,“That’s my daddy’s!” Turned out, Jagger was being hounded by a pair of Rolling Stones obsessed fans that summer, and felt the need for a little extra protection.

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Keith Richards cooking in the kitchen of Andy Warhol’s Montauk home where The Rolling Stones were rehearsing for their 1975 Tour of the Americas. – Image by © Ken Regan

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Little Jade was Andy’s favorite Jagger– “I love Mick and Bianca, but Jade’s more my speed. I taught her how to color and she showed me how to play Monopoly. She was four and I was forty-four. Mick got jealous. He said I was a bad influence because I gave her champagne.”

One of Mick’s favorite hang outs that summer was the Shagwong on Main Street. A little rougher around the edges in those days, it’s main attractions were a pool table and a juke box full of rock and roll. Only problem was, the only Stones tune on it was the by then golden oldie “Get Off My Cloud.” They’d play it every time Mick came in for a drink. One night Mick had enough. After 10 Pina Coladas, and the same number of “Get Off My Cloud”, Mick got off his bar stool, put a quarter in the box, punched up the classic disco tune – “Stand, Stand, Stand” – and started singing along. The whole place got quiet at first, and then exploded.

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Keith Richards on phone in the kitchen of Andy Warhol’s Montauk home where the Rolling Stones were rehearsing for their 1975 Tour of the Americas.  – Image by © Ken Regan

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Now as then, Jimmy Hewitt owned the Shagwong. He remembers Mick and Bianca would come in once or twice a week. “They were great for business. We had girls camped out three deep up and down the sidewalk waiting for them!” Mick would take up a stool at the end of the bar, where he’d sit with his private bottle of Grand Marnier. Bianca would waltz into the kitchen to pick out dinner, and kibitz with the crew. She’d roll up the sleeves of her Yves Saint Laurent dresses and open clams. Many nights after closing, Mick would invite Jimmy back to the hose to hear the Stones rehearse. The only problem was the nocturnal Stones wouldn’t even start 2 or 3 in the morning. By then it was time for Jimmy to go home.

Of course one of the indelible remains of the Stones stay in Montauk, is the song “Memory Motel.” Named for the bar and motel of same name, this lament for a lost girl has become one of the Stones signature tunes.

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“Hannah honey was a peachy kind of girl
Her eyes were hazel
And her nose were slightly curved
We spent a lonely night at the Memory Motel
It’s on the ocean, I guess you know it well
It took a starry to steal my breath away
Down on the water front
Her hair all drenched in spray”
(Jagger/Richards – C- Rolling Stones/Virgin Records 1975 )

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As atmospheric a tune as it was, the truth is, the Memory Motel was not the center of the Stones stay in Montauk. Peter Beard remembers taking Mick there one afternoon, with disastrous results. It seems the owners, an older couple, didn’t much care for the Stones. The bartender as much as told Jagger that to his face. So far as Peter can remember, that was the only time they set foot in the place! As for the “honey of a girl” mentioned in the song, it wasn’t some lovely Montauk lass Mick was pining after, but the Stones traveling photographer, Annie Liebowitz.

One girl who many in Montauk pined for, was a certain Barbara Allen. The pretty young wife of Joe Allen, one of Andy’s Interview backers, Barbara attracted attention where ever she went. Years before she and Peter had a fling. That summer married Mick seemed to find her company very enjoyable. According to Bob Colacello, he was inadvertently present at a night time rendezvous while staying at Peter Beard’s house. One hot summer’s night he was dropping off to a peaceful night’s sleep, when through the open window comes none other than Mick! Seemed he’d mistaken Bob’s room, for Barbara Allen’s. Poor Bob, it was the closest he’d get to having a Rock ‘n’ Roll star in his bed that summer.

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Ken Regan with The Rolling Stones at Camera 5 Studios  – Image by © Ken Regan

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A great article from 1971 unearthed from the Sports Illustrated archives– Steve McQueen discussing desert bike riding with Bud Ekins & Malcolm Smith, Racing in the 12 Hours of Sebring with Pete Revson, The Great Escape, his son Chad, and much more.

McQueen even recalls exactly when he was bitten by the off-road bug– “Well, I was riding along Sepulveda with Dennis Hopper when we saw these guys bopping and bumping through the weeds near there, off the road. It was Keenan Wynn and another guy on these strange machines, dirt bikes they called them. We asked Keenan if he could climb that cliff. ‘Watch this,’ he says. Varoom! Right up to the top. Dennis and I were standing there with our eyes out to here. The very next day I went out and bought me a 500-cc Triumph dirt bike.”

Read on friends, read on.

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Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle. Below is an article from SI magazine, 1971.

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HARVEY ON THE LAM

*  *  *

By Robert F. Jones

By any name, Steve McQueen gets all revved up over dirt bikes.

Slamming one across the California Desert is now his Great Escape.

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The opening scene: California’s Mojave Desert at high noon. Dead silence. Through the shimmering heat waves, Mount San Jacinto seems to writhe on the horizon like a dying brontosaurus. The spines of the cactus at foreground right are in sharp focus, the gleaming spearpoints of a vegetable army. In the shadow of a boulder, sudden movement. A Gila monster raises its beadwork head and flicks its tongue, alert to the distant sound that is just beginning to insinuate itself into the desert’s quiet. A sudden, ululating whine, the invading noise rapidly gains strength as four distorted dots on the horizon weave closer. The dots take on color and shape s they approach: a quartet of red and chrome motorcycles, stunting and racketing through the puckerbushes, their riders vaulting the ridges and slaloming through the cactus at 70 mph. Their ominous, mechanical verve sends the Gila monster– descendant of the dinosaurs– scuttling for shelter. The camers zooms in on the lead rider’s face, sun-blackened and jut-jawed under his helmet. Up music and credits: hold onto your popcorn, folks–

Harvey Mushman rides again!

That scenario, or one like it, takes place nearly every weekend in the desert surrounding Palm Springs. Harvey Mushman is the ocassional pseudonym of Steve McQueen, movie actor and motor sportsman, when he goes a-racing. His companions on those fast, racking transits of the wasteland often include the best of the desert-riding breed: Bud Ekins or Roger Riddell, Mert Lawwill or Malcolm Smith. Now and then a smaller figure on a smaller bike trails behind, slower but only a touch less skillful in his handling of the desert’s harsh nuance– Chad McQueen, the actor’s 10-year-old son.

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June 13th, 1971 – Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle in the Mojave Desert — Photo by Heinz Kluetmeier/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

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To the serious student (or critic) of motor sports, a movie actor might appear to be an odd choice to illustrate the game of desert riding. Actors. after all, are notorious in their appetite for publicity, and even those who appear in racing fils usually have stuntmen do most of their driving. But Steve McQueen’s racing credentials are quite in order. Last year he proved competence as a sports car endurance racer by placing second in the 12 Hours of Sebring. Aided by the considerable talents of Pete Revson as his co-driver, McQueen drove his half of the race impressively, mixing it up nicely in the corners and clocking lap times within seven seconds of Revson. What’s more, McQueen was driving with his clutch foot in a cast– he had broken his left leg just one week earlier in  bike race at Elsinore, Calif. The cast itself cracked during the first 20 minutes of the race “It hurt,” Steve recalls, “and that took a lot of strength away, but mainly it complicated the problems of downshifting through the corners.” Add to that the fact that the McQueen-Revson car was an obsolete Porsche 908, much slower in the straightaways than the top-line Porsche 917s and Ferrari 512s. and McQueen’s finish was even more remarkable. Mario Andretti, who won the race in a five-liter Ferrari, had to shift cars to do so. (His own machine broke down shortly before the end and he commanded another team car that was lying third at the time. At that, Mario only won by 23.8 seconds.) “The motor sports Establishment was scared foofless that I was going to win,” McQueen says now with a grin. “I’m told that Chris Economaki was tearing his hair out and moaning, ‘My Gog, not a movie actor, not a movie actor!’”

But why not? An actor with a rather limited repertoire, McQueen has done a lot to popularize the motor sports he regards as his avocation. In his film Le Mans the romantic cliches of most racing movies are largely avoided, and the kinetic truths of high-speed sports car competition come across with a commanding fidelity. The driving sequences, particularly the crashes of a Ferrari and McQueen’s Porsche 917 (actually a Lola with a Porsche body on the frame), are clearly the best and most realistic ever shot. When they viewed a rough cut of the film at Daytona earlier this year, drivers Jackie Oliver and Vic Elford could find no fault with the footage. “Seeing those shunts in slow motion makes you want to hit the brakes,” allowed Oliver—quite a recommendation from a driver who rarely hits his own.        

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The 65ft jump that Steve McQueen’s stuntman (and riding buddy) Bud Ekins performed on a 1962 Triumph TR6 650cc motorcycle in ‘The Great Escape’ almost defied the laws of gravity. It was a heavy bike– a special ramp was built for Ekins to accomplish the jump over the barbed-wire fence. via

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McQueen’s climactic motorcycle scene in The Great Escape, a 1962 film about Allied POWs in a World War II stalag, was in reality a paean to dirt racing. His slides, jumps, wheelies and even the ultimate “endo” (end-over-end spill) showed a vast audience just what the weekend bike freak sees—and does—at a motocross event. It was a revelation to the uninitiated.

“Most bike flicks in the past concentrated on the outlaw crap,” McQueen says, with some heat. “Hell’s Angels and all of that stuff, which is about as far away from the real world of motorcycle racing as I am from Lionel Barrymore. Brando’s movie The Wild One in the early 1950s set motorcycle racing back about 200 years.”

The real grind of the American Motorcycle Association’s championship circuit is well expressed in Bruce Brown’s superlative bike flick On Any Sunday, which McQueen financed to the tune of $313,000, and the film goes a long way toward rectifying that earlier setback. It shows McQueen’s sometime riding buddy Mert Lawwill trucking his Harley-Davidson from track to track—San Francisco to Columbus to Daytona and back to the Coast, to Sacramento—in defense of his No. 1 plate (which he loses to Gene Romero ultimately). Mainly, though, the Brown-McQueen effort conveys the agility and exuberance of bike riding, particularly off the road, so emphatically that the already swollen market of motorcycle buyers will probably explode as a result.

Insurance hangups have forced McQueen out of sports car racing, but no one can keep him off the motorcycles. “I can’t really say I’m sorry that I don’t race sports cars anymore,” he mused recently at his Palm Springs home. Two tidy Porsche 911s were parked in the driveway, along with six motorcycles. He studied them for a moment. “There’s something awfully final about automobile racing. I learned that when we were shooting Le Mans, if I hadn’t learned it earlier driving. If you foul up in a car often enough, it’s Adios City. Bikes can hurt you sure enough, kill you too, but there’s not as high a fatality rate in bike racing as in cars. I guess it’s the slower speeds and the absence of fire. If you lose it on a bike, you’re clear of the machine when and if it burns. Minus some hide, of course, and dinged up pretty good around the arms and legs and head and shoulders. But basically you’re intact. If you decelerate a car from 200 miles an hour to zero in like 10 yards, which is what happens if you hit a tree on a road course or the wall at Indy, you come out kind of compressed. And if you get knocked out in even a minor shunt and the car starts to burn…well, like I said, it’s kind of final.”

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McQueen himself is kind of final about his role as a motor sportsman. “Look, I’m an actor, not a racer. I love bikes for the fun they give me, not the money they might have given me. You can’t earn more than $80,000 a year racing bikes, and you work your tail off doing even that, races every weekend for seven months of the year and from coast to coast. I think that if I’d started young enough in motorcycle racing, I could have been ranked,” says the actor, now 41. “I’ve won my share of races, and I’ve lost them, too. I was in heavy competition with Scooter Patrick for the course lap record at Phoenix, and finally I did it—I set the record. But it’ll be broken. That’s how it goes and how it should go. Sport is not like art. There is no ‘best’ in sports, only ‘getting betters.’”

McQueen’s interest in motorcycles dates back to 1950, when he bought his first bike, “a mean old 1946 Indian Chief. I remember how proud I was of it—I right away went over to see this girl I was dating to show it to her. When she saw it, she said, ‘You don’t expect me to ride around with you on that?’ Well, I sure enough did. The girl went but the bike stayed.”

Those were hungry days for McQueen the entertainer. A tough kid growing up in wartime L.A., he had done time in the Chino, Calif. reformatory (“It was the competitive urge, I think, and I converted it into stealing cars”). The Marine Corps and a stretch in the Merchant Marine straightened him out and showed him much more of the world– Actors Studio, followed by many stage roles, large and small, confirmed him in the direction of drama.

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That’s a young Chad McQueen going for a ride with dad during the filming of the movie Le Mans in 1970. Chad even went for a ride with Steve in the #20 Porsche 917 that his dad drove in the film. Chad was even allowed to sit in Steve’s lap and hold onto the steering wheel for a short trip down the track. –Nigel Smuckatelli

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But fast cars and motorcycles remained an alternate mode of expression. During the late 1950s he took off on a bike trip through Cuba. “We were quite a group,” he recalls. “An actor, a poet and a guy who was just plain nuts, or maybe we all were. Hurricane Audrey was sloshing around on the East Coast while we zipped down to Florida. Then we ran from Havana to Santiago, about 967 or so kilometers, as I recall. Batista and Castro were shooting it out down there in the Sierra Maestra, and there were uniforms everywhere. I was still a little wild in those days, particularly when I was on the juice. So what happens? I get thrown in the calabozo. I sent a telegram to Neile Adams, my girl, to send money so’s I could get out. Well, she later married me, but that time she said no. It wasn’t so bad. The guard was a friendly dude, and he’d let me out of the cell so we could have lunch together—cheese and onions and wine—and that hot sun with the smell of the manzanita and the sewers. I suppose that’s the great romantic lure of the motorcycle– it’s a key to adventure.”

Thus far McQueen’s machines had all been “street iron,” outsized, over-chromed jobs that were a terror on the highways but stick-in-the-muds off the road. He learned about dirt riding quite dramatically. “You know that cliff that leads down from Mulholland to Sepulveda?” he asks. “Well, I was riding along Sepulveda with Dennis Hopper when we saw these guys bopping and bumping through the weeds near there, off the road. It was Keenan Wynn and another guy on these strange machines, dirt bikes they called them. We asked Keenan if he could climb that cliff. ‘Watch this,’ he says. Varoom! Right up to the top. Dennis and I were standing there with our eyes out to here. The very next day I went out and bought me a 500-cc Triumph dirt bike.”

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June 13th, 1971 – Steve McQueen riding his Husqvarna 400 motorcycle in the Mojave Desert — Photo by Heinz Kluetmeier/Sports Illustrated/Getty Images

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Competition quickly followed—club races, hare-and-hound chases across the Southern California wastelands, point-to-points and snow racing in the High Sierra. “It’s rugged riding,” McQueen allows. “I remember one snow race up in the Sierra where I lost it just as I was coming up on this ragged old pine tree. One of the broken-off branches slammed right into my mouth. I was standing there spitting out bark and blood when a course official came up. ‘Are my teeth still in there?’ I asked him. I didn’t want to waste any time taking off my gloves, so he felt around and said that they were loose but still there. I was just dumb enough to jump back on the bike and finish the race. Wow!” He shakes his head, grinning.

McQueen has also ridden in the real enduros, races like Las Vegas’ Mint 400 and the Baja 1,000 from Ensenada to La Paz. In last year’s Elsinore Grand Prix, a race through that small mountain-slope town and its surrounding gulches northeast of San Diego, McQueen was one of 1,500 entrants. As Harvey Mushman, he started well back in the pack but managed finally to snake, bump and vault his way to 10th place overall, while his friend Malcolm Smith was lapping the field for an easy victory. “In my book Malcolm’s the best all-round racer in the world right now,” says Steve. “He’s a gold medal winner in the Internationals, but he still runs all of it— hare-and-hound, trials, long distance. He’s a fine mechanic, and he gets the most out of a bike. He’s got a bad right leg, though he’s not going to tell you about it. I want him to put a brace on it. If he breaks it again, it’s going to be Adios City.”

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Steve McQueen, Mert Lawwill, and Malcolm Smith in Bruce Brown’s–  ’On Any Sunday’

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Intense as his own competitive instincts are, McQueen has found them changing under the influence of the desert– he respects that sternest of geographical gurus, though he is well aware of its quirky vulnerability. Cleat marks left by George Patton’s tanks, training in the desert nearly 30 years ago, are still visible, but rain may follow the new tracks of a dune buggy or a dirt bike and turn imprints into washes. Too many desert freaks, whether cyclists or truck drivers, leave their junk lying around where they dropped it, beer cans, aluminum foil, bottles, the whole undegradable lot, where even a simple tire track ruins the esthetics of this austere, previously wild desert world. “You end up pushing farther and farther into the boonies,” McQueen observes, “trying to escape from other people and their noise and their crap, but then they see your tracks and they follow you. It’s the problem that confronts all of us in a jam-packed world. Who are we running away from? Answer: us. It’s crazy, but what’s the solution?” Dirt riders are discouraged from much of the desert area of California by new laws enacted as a result of the current wave of ecological awareness, but a number of motorcycle parks have been established, mainly around Los Angeles, to give bike people an outlet. This is only a stopgap solution, but McQueen approves of it, for the moment.

As for the desert, “I first began to understand it as a living thing back in my wilder days,” he says. “I was interested in the Indians, and they had given me some peyote. This was way back before the drug culture got started, and people were still serious about the philosophical aspect of the hallucinogens rather than just kicks. Anyway, the peyote really hit me. I took off into the desert on my bike, bound and determined to whip it. I ran flat out, straight into the desert—I was all ego, challenging every bump and every gulch. I don’t know how many endos I turned, plenty of them. The cactus ripped me up, the rocks chewed on my hide, I had sand in my nose and kangaroo rats in my ears. I rode until the bike ran out of gas, and after that I just lay there. It was dead quiet, night falling and my bike making these little crackling noises as the metal cooled and settled. I knew then that not only could I never whip the desert, but that the whole thought of trying to whip it was the most ridiculous idea in the world.”

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Steve McQueen, Mert Lawwill, and Malcolm Smith in Bruce Brown’s–  ’On Any Sunday’

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On this day there was no thought of whipping anything except city-style boredom. McQueen had driven up to Palm Springs from his L.A. offices (he runs a plastics company in addition to his celluloid affairs) to spend a weekend with Chad and a couple of riding pals before embarking on his next film. The movie, Junior Bonner, about a down-and-out rodeo rider— splendid McQueen casting— is directed by Sam Peckinpah, a man with a good eye for such currently unpopular human qualities as toughness, loyalty and contempt for death. McQueen’s desert hideaway, standing on a sun-scorched ridge overlooking the wealth and desiccation of Palm Springs, is some decorator’s dream come surrealistically true. There are kongoni skulls and zebra skin pillows, the mounted head of a Boone and Crockett-class bighorn sheep, a gold-plated Winchester .30-30 “presentation model” hanging on one wall (“much better than that silly little sawed-off Winchester I used in Wanted—Dead or Alive” Steve muses, spin cocking the rifle absently). The refrigerator is full of Cold Duck, Almaden burgundy, Coors beer and Gatorade—this is a dry climate. In the house, at least, it is also a somewhat sad one. McQueen is separated from his wife. “We’ve got our problems,” he admits freely, “and we’re trying to work them out.”

Looking down into the desert from the poolside, McQueen points to the north. “I used to have a little shack out there in the flats—cost me only $102 a month, and I was perfectly happy with it. It was on a wash, and you could just jump on the bike and disappear into the giggle weeds. Oh, well.” Chad is riding around the swimming pool on a bicycle, doing 50-yard wheelies and other stunts, clearly nudging his father to hurry up and get with it for the afternoon motorcycle ride. In everything but his cycle skills Chad is a striking contrast to his father– dark and open rather than blond and curt. He wears braces over his uninhibited smile and has none of that exasperating cocksurety so common to actors’ children.

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“Actor Steve McQueen and his Triumph desert bike in their native habitat.”  –Cycle World Magazine, June 1964  via

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“I’ve tried to raise him as a real kid,” Steve explains. “He likes to ride in the desert and he bought his own bike, a Yamaha 60-cc Mini Enduro, out of his own pocket money. But his schoolwork has to be good if he’s going to ride. I grounded him for eight weeks earlier this year when his grades got sloppy. He’s shaped up nice since then. Christ, riding has got to be good for a kid. I was stealing cars at his age.”

It is egg-frying hot around the pool. Even the water temperature is an incredible 92 degrees thanks to the searing sun, and no one but Chad wants to ride until the shadow of Mount San Jacinto gets a bit taller. McQueen’s other guests are content to lie lizard-like in the sun until then. Roger Riddell is a lean, longhaired dirt rider from L.A. who has taken time off from the two-wheel wars to beat the promotional drums for Bruce Brown’s motorcycle movie. Morris Langbord is dark and hawk-beaked, an “environmental lighting specialist” when he is not racing through the desert. One can only suppose that “environmental lighting” is a euphemism for comedy– Langbord certainly brightens his surroundings with a ready, quippy wit. Just now, in response to a jocular put-down by Riddell, he has dumped a glass of ice cubes on Roger’s chest with an admonishment to “cool it.” Dirt-rider tough, Riddell scarcely flinches. The thirsty sun evaporates the ice in two minutes flat.

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Steve McQueen, Bud Ekins and the legendary Chevy-powered Hurst Baja Boot, only 2 were ever made.

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The talk touches, desultorily, upon the topics important to motorcycle men: famous spills and fractures; the relative worth of various shock absorbers, gearboxes and tread-shaping techniques. “Hey, Morris,” says McQueen. “The next time you go by Bud Ekins’ shop I want you to do something for me. You know that 1924 Indian Chief I restored—the one with the side hack? Well, Bud clipped the wheels off of it from me—the original wheels. Every time I come over, he hides them and I can’t steal them back. Maybe if you….”

“No way,” says Morris. “Do your own salvage jobs. My picture’s up in too many post offices already.” Yakety-yak, but their eyes keep watching the sun as it slopes toward the mountain. Finally the angle is just about right. “O.K.,” says McQueen, hitching up his Levi’s like an old gunfighter. “Time for a ride. Let’s get it on.”

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Bud Ekins owned and operated a successful Triumph dealership in Sherman Oaks, CA. He had become something of a hero to Hollywood’s young movie actors, who would often hang out at his shop. One of those actors was Steve McQueen. When McQueen bought an off-road motorcycle, Ekins, then the absolute master of Southern California off-road motorcycle racing, coached him in bike control on the desert washes and fir trails of the area. McQueen, in turn, got Ekins stuntman jobs in the film industry. They quickly became very close friends and their attention turned to racing and collecting cars and bikes. via

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The closing scene: four bikes in the desert. The interplay of the riders as they weave and leap their machines, like stampeding impala. It is a series of interlocking races, or fragments of races, with each rider picking up, without an exchange of words, on the challenge of the next patch of ground. Roger spots a tricky wash with an approach route made even trickier by a staggered stand of manzanita, and as he swerves his bike toward it, Steve and Morris take up the chase. There is only one route over the lip of the wash, and each man tries to reach it first, with Chad in vain but straining pursuit. Collision seems imminent, but Roger gets there just a wheel on top, and the others slip grudgingly into line for the jump. On the next extemporaneous heat McQueen wins the sprint into a sandy corner, and Roger, having come in too deep and now unable to pass, lays his bike on its side and slides clear of the corner in a swirl of spokes and dirt. As he gets to his feet, the alert concern of his companions gives way abruptly to raucous, chivying laughter. “Hey, man, you blew it, man, you road-hog, that’ll learn ya!” Roger flips them the bird, restarts the bike and the chase is on once more. At one point Chad loses a plug over his gearbox and is sprayed with oil. “Yuccchh!” he screams, shuddering as he tries to wipe the oil off. “I can’t stand it!” It is a strange moment, embarrassing to the men. Chad is, after all, still a little boy, with a kid’s sudden incomprehensible hang-ups. Steve reassures him that oil doesn’t hurt and tells him that if he’s going to own a bike, he’s got to make sure that everything on it is buttoned up tight before he rides it. They stuff a chunk of cloth into the hole and roar off once again.

The desert is covered with animal signs. Jackrabbits and ground squirrels have been this way, and there are the tracks of a long-loping coyote. As the day cools, the hawks come out, broad-winged buteos with undersides as pale as the desert sky, swinging in search of dinner. Coveys of Gambel’s quail call from the cool spots. “There used to be antelope around here,” says Riddell during one of the breaks, “but the railroad finished them in one year. They were afraid to cross the tracks, so the herd split up and finally died out. It sounds ominously like a metaphor—but meaning what?” McQueen looks serious during the exchange, perhaps recalling that long-ago run he had made in hopes of conquering the desert, but then he flashes the happy, movie-star grin. “What’ll we do for dinner tonight? How’s about Mexican food? Margaritas, frijoles refritos, enchiladas, peppers…” “Yeah,” says Morris, “and after that a 50-gallon drum of Maalox.”

The long shot that follows puts it all together: four bikes in silhouette, running toward the scattered golden lights of Palm Springs. No music, just the fading, up-and-down cacophony of the engines. Harvey Mushman rides again. And again and again.

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

STEVE MCQUEEN, RICHARD AVEDON & RUTH ANSEL | HARPER’S BAZAAR, 1965

STEVE McQUEEN DOIN’ IT IN THE DIRT | TRIUMPH DESERT BIKE BY BUD EKINS

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN’s 1971 HUSKY 400 CROSS UP FOR AUCTION | BUY IT NOW!

STEVE McQUEEN REVIEWS THE HOTTEST NEW GT’s | 1966 SPORTS ILLUSTRATED

STEVE McQUEEN ’66 POPULAR SCIENCE | WHAT I LIKE IN A BIKE –AND WHY

STEVE McQUEEN | LE MANS & BEYOND GRATUITOUS 1970s RACING GOODNESS

STEVE McQUEEN | HOLLYWOOD’S ANTI-HERO & TRUE SON OF LIBERTY

REQUIRED VIEWING “BULLITT” | THE GRANDDADDY OF CAR CHASE SCENES

THE TSY FRIDAY FADE | STEVE MCQUEEN’S DUNE BUGGY DAYS

HUSQVARNA | THE SCREAMIN’ SWEDE THAT STARTED A RACING REVOLUTION

1970 12 HOURS OF SEBRING RACE | STEVE McQUEEN’S BRUSH WITH VICTORY

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The Sports Illustrated Archives– Harvey On The Lam

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Yep. I’m late to the game on this one – but this film is so beautiful and positive that I have to get it out to any of you who may not have had the pleasure of seeing it yet.

“Long Live The Kings” is an original short documentary by Frenchmen Clement Beauvais and Arthur de Kersauson featuring a bevy of beautiful old Beemers courtesy of Blitz Motorcycles. It’s shot on super 16mm film, and is about “relating the hopes and desires of those who go for a motorcycle road trip.” It’s a feel-good flick that’s very well-edited and super-easy on the eyes with breath-taking scenery and badass bikes. Edwin Denim supported the making of this film, and good for them for not jamming product down our throat, and allowing the film to remain pure. Enjoy.

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LONG LIVE THE KINGS’ BLOG

BLITZ MOTORCYCLES

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I was pretty stoked when Doug Gunn sent me a copy of — Vintage Menswear — A Collection from the Vintage Showroom – as I’ve long been an admirer. Being in the menswear trade myself, London has always been a favorite stop for inspiration, and there’s no better place to be inspired than The Vintage Showroom. The collection is insane and beautifully presented, covering everything from academia, sporting, hunting, motoring, military wear, workwear, denim– it’s no surprise that they are one of the most complete and prestigious vintage dealers in the world. Of special interest to me are all things related to motoring as you see below including vintage leathers, Barbour, Belstaff, etc., and all the great snippets of the history, construction, and function behind the pieces.

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CHAMPION CAR CLUB JACKET, 1950s– “This is a simple, zip-up cotton jacket with fish-eye buttons at the cuffs and a short collar. What it signifies, however, is so much more. The hand-embroidered, chain-stitched imagery on its back places it squarely in the 1950s, at the height of the hot-rodding craze in the US. Hot-rodding was said to have been driven by young men returning from service abroad after World War II who had technical knowledge, time on their hands, and the habit of spending long days in male, if not macho, company. Rebuilding and boosting cars for feats of both spectacle and speed — often 1930s Ford Model Ts, As and Bs, stripped of extraneous parts, engines tuned or replaced, tires beefed up for better traction, and a show-stopping paint job as the final touch — became an issue of social status among hot-rodding’s participants. This status was expressed through clothing too. There were the ‘hot-rodders’ of the 1930s, when car modification for racing across dry lakes in California was more an innovative sport than a subculture, complete with the Southern California Timing Association of 1937 providing ‘official’ sanction. But by the 1950s, hot-rodding was a style too.  decade later it was, as many niche tastes are, commercialized and mainstream, with car design showing hot-rod traits.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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BOLENIUM RACING COVERALLS, 1950s– “These cotton coveralls were made in Britain during the 1950s with factory work in mind. Their practicality and, when made in white, dash soon came to be adopted by motor-racing drivers of the period– among them Stirling Moss, Graham Hill, and Juan Manuel Fangio. Each of these helped to make the British racing tracks of the period, the likes of Brooklands and Silverstone, world-famous. The utility and style of coveralls had already been spotted by Britain’s wartime Prime Minister, Winston Churchill– his ‘siren suit’ was essentially a zip-front version of the coveralls, donned in a hurry over clothing or nightwear before entering an air-raid shelter. Although Churchill and members of his family had worn such suits since the 1930s (they called them ‘rompers’), the coveralls became a wartime sartorial signature for the PM. The dapper Churchill had several siren suits made in other fabrics, among them red velvet.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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ALBERT GILL LTD DESPATCH RIDER’S COAT, 1943– “Despatch riders provided an invaluable, if not crucial form of communication during both world wars. With telegraph and radio lines often broken by enemy activity, or the messages relayed on them uncertain of inception, the despatch rider provided an almost assured means of delivery — the likelihood of  a single rider being physically arrested by the enemy was slight. He would be able to use his motorcycle to circumvent blocked roads and bomb damage, to move at speed and to deliver in person. He had to operate at all times and in all weathers– hence the need for considerable protection. This despatch rider’s coat, made by Albert Gill Ltd in 1944 and marked, in quartermaster fashion, (coat, rubber-proofed, motor cyclist’s) is made from bonded, rubberized cotton canvas fabric by Macintosh. Even after softening and with its perspiration eyelets under the armpits, it would have been an uncomfortably hot and heavy garment to wear. But it afforded almost complete water- and wind-proofing. The bottom of the coat even snapped together to cover the tops of the legs of the rider., with the front front rear edgepress-stud-fastened (using brass Newey studs typical of the 1930s and 1940s UK) onto the rear hem, creating a kind of military-grade romper suit. Straps on the interior secured the coat to the rider’s legs, preventing it from flapping about. A double-breasted front provided an additional layer of protection to the chest, with a storm flap designed to keep water away from the body. The most distinctive feature of the coat, however, remains the slanted chest ‘map’ pocket that carried the message– a design detail copied for latter cotton civilian biker jackets.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims  

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BARBOUR INTERNATIONAL MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1950s– “few specialist clothing designs can be said to have been adapted for use by the military and then to have found life with civilians again. Perhaps one of the most successful examples is Barbour’s International trials jacket. The Barbour company was founded by John Barbour in South Shields , north-east England in 1894. He built a drapery business specializing in boiler suits, painetrs’ jackets and oilskins for shipbuilders, sailors and fishermen of the local coastal towns, and later the farming community too. It was a hobby of John Barbour’s son Malcolm that saw the company build a motorcycling range during the 1930s– more or less exclusively kitting out the British International motor-racing team from 1936 onwards. One such design was adapted to make the Ursula suit for submariners during World War II, initially as a private order, and later as an official piece of wartime kit. Adapted slightly further, the jacket part of the suit found a third life with motorcyclists again from 1947. The jacket’s profile rose through the 1950s and 1960s thanks to its use by most of the riders at the UK’s Six Days Trial international motocross competition, as well as by keen cross-country biker and Hollywood actor Steve McQueen. The 1st Pattern civilian jacket, as with this example– still referred to as the ‘Barbour suit’ in its labeling and only later coming to be known as the International– used small-gauge, lightning zip of the Ursula and the moleskin-lined ‘eagle’ collar. Later models replaced the zipper with a larger lightning pull, the collar lining with corduroy, and the plain interior lining with what would become Barbour’s signature tartan.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims  

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BELSTAFF TRIALMASTER MOTORCYCLE MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1960s- “The Barbour International’s arch-rival in motorcycling circles has long been the Belstaff Trialmaster. Today the jacket has four patch pockets, but initially it shared the same ‘drunk’ left breast pocket, and was distinguishable only by being slightly longer in the body and by a few minor details. More distinctive perhaps was Belstaff’s readiness to use color– this jacket, although now broken down with time and use to a shade of maroon-black, was once a bold red. Like Barbour, Belstaff grew out of a business built around the development of early technical fabrics. Established in 1924 in Stoke-on-Trent, Staffordshire, England by Eli Belovitch and his son Harry Grosberg, the company specialized in outdoorsy friction, wind, and  water-proof garments (although its logo, a Phoenix rising, did so from a fire rather than a muddy field). Later such garments resulted from experiments with rubber coatings. This led to Belstaff’s successful Black Prince clothing line, including the company’s first motorcycle jacket, and the waxing of cottons, the use of natural oils giving the fabric greater water-resistance while retaining its breathability. Like Barbour’s International jacket, the Trialmaster too won a stamp of approval from many professional motorcyclists, chiefly of the 1950s and 1960s. The champion trials rider Sammy Miller wore the jacket for many of his record 1,250 victories. adding to its later appeal for some was the fact that the revolutionary Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara wore this jacket for his legendary motorcycle ride across South America.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims

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UNKNOWN BRAND, DOUBLE-BREASTED MOTORCYCLE JACKET, 1920s– “This English, custom-made leather jacket dates from the 1920s when hobby motorcycling was in fancy. It sets a benchmark for subsequent biker jackets, though this one buttons up, lacking the signature asymmetric zip of later models. The hobby of motorcycling soon became a craze and manufacturers rushed to cater for it, vying to create the definitive article and many basing their designs on hunting jackets of the period– a fact seen in the pocket positioning of this example. It stretches the idea to say that these makers liked to romantically compare the motorbike to the trusty steed, but early bikers did tend to wear jodphurs too– if only because they were easy to wear tall boots with. This jacket, with its fleeced cotton lining, flapped pockets, hand-sewn buttonholes and horn buttons may lack any of the double-layered leather or safety features of later jackets, but its cropped style (allowing a crouched riding position), waist belt adjuster and elegant proportions make it much classier.”   –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims 

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LEWIS LEATHERS PHANTOM RACING JACKET, 1970s– “The biker jacket had long been a fashion staple by the time this Lewis Leathers Phantom model was created in the 1970s. The famed Perfecto model had been developed by Schott for a Harley-Davidson dealer during the 1930s– it reached iconic status and sealed its rebellious image thanks to Marlon Brando’s misfit wearing one in the 1953 film ‘The Wild One’. Although specialist pieces had been designed for riding before, this would become the benchmark for biker jackets, especially in the US. In the UK, however, Lewis Leathers was devising a more European feel– more fitted, longer and more blouson in style. D. Lewis Ltd. had been in business since 1892 as a pioneering maker of clothing for early motorists and aviators– for this latter market it even introduced its own Aviakit brand. By the 1950s, it had entered the biker clothing market with styles that defined the ‘ton up’ boys of the era– also the British ‘Rockers’ so stylistically and culturally opposed to the scooter-riding parka-wearing Mods. Two decades on, the company was reinventing the biker jacket in the most obvious way– by producing it not in the standard black or brown, but in bold new hues. In 1972, one catalog proclaimed ‘the colorful world of Lewis Leathers’. This heralded a brash new look for motorcyclists, although it proved to be just an interlude in fashion terms before punk rock made black the biker jacket color of choice once more.”  –Vintage Menswear, Douglas Gunn, Roy Luckett& Josh Sims       

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The Vintage Showroom blog

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James Hammarhead and the rad Hammarhead Industries ’Ninety-Two’ Triumph Bonneville.  –Image by © Jon Patrick

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The last time I saw James Hammarhead and crew was at the Hammarhead x Dunderdon collaboration event at the Dunderdon SoHo shop– where he put the finishing touches on the 2008 Triumph Bonneville that he Hammarhead-ed to perfection. It was time to get to Philly and check out the new Hammarhead Industries shop that is taking shape nicely in Philly’s up-and-coming Fishtown. I was shocked– you couldn’t shake a stick in Fishtown without hitting a hardhat. The amount of rehab and construction happening is really inspiring to those who love Philadelphia and have been waiting for the sleeping giant, and the birthplace of our great nation, to arise from its slumber.

Hammarhead Industries is set right in the thick of it all– snuggly nestled-in on Frankford Avenue next to Lola Bean Cafe, and Stephen Starr’s new BBQ joint is opening soon within a stone’s throw. The Hammarhead Industries new shop is exactly what you’d expect– clean as a whistle, industrial in a modern sense, and all business. The front of the space is currently being readied for a retail installation where they’ll sell set-up shop for cash-and-carry wares. The large open center is where the bike-building magic will happen, and the back-end is command central. James showed me around, and we saw a few surprises and made a new friend, Sam, who’s new to the Hammarhead crew and a helluva guy.

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James Hammarhead at their new Fishtown Philadelphia shop with the ‘Ninety-Two’ Bonneville that’s about to be crated. –Image by © Jon Patrick

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“It’s gonna go like hell…” James Hammarhead showing off the new Fishtown shop and a few projects. –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Hammarhead x Sailor Jerry x Ural collaboration, Solo-X — check-out the subtle branding on the tank. –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Hammarhead’s Solo-X Ural– the tough, old-school sensibilities of the Ural bike come shining through. –Image by © Jon Patrick

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Moto Guzzi sent the Hammarhead Industries crew this lil’ beauty to play with– do stay tuned for more… –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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James Hammarhead showing off the front of the new shop that is being readied for a retail installation. –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Where was this lil’ bad boy when I was a kid? –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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So, this is how I came to meet Sam– checking out his old Harley-Davidson XR-750 tucked in the corner… –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Here’s Sam’s old Harley-Davidson XR-750 flat-tracker– turns out that our Sam is also a hardcore AMA racer. –Image by © Jon Patrick

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Sam mounted the ‘Ninety-Two’ Triumph Bonneville for one final spin to make sure it was tuned to perfection… –Image by © Jon Patrick

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After a few wheelies down Frankford Avenue, our Sam spots and picks-up a lil’ gal who works at the Lola Bean Cafe next door… –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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And it’s back to work for Sam, as the Hammarhead ‘Ninety-Two’ gets some final prep for its new home. –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Hammarhead Industries website

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Evel Knievel rode several brands of bikes during his career. He started-off on a 350cc Honda, switched to a 750cc Norton in 1966, then Triumph from 1966-1968, Laverda 750cc American Eagle from December 1969 to April 1970, and in December 1970 Harley-Davidson became Knievel’s sponsor and he began riding an XR-750– the bike he is most commonly associated with. Knievel has often said that his Triumph was by far the best bike he ever jumped with– “The Harley’s got a little too much torque when it comes to jumping,” according to him.

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San Francisco, 1967–  Evel Knievel’s ’67  Triumph Bonneville 650 T120 TT Special jump bike– love the ”Color Me Lucky” paint job.

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“Anybody can jump a motorcycle. The trouble begins when you try to land it.” 

~Evel Knievel

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1967, San Francisco — Evel Knievel jumps his 1967 Triumph motorcycle between two ramps, 100 feet apart, to open a Sports Cycle Exhibition. –The Associated Press/File photo

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“You can fall many times in life, but you’re never a failure as long as you try to get up.”

~Evel Knievel

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Evel Knievel (on his Triumph motorcycle) prior to jumping over the Caesars Palace fountains in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve, 1967. This was the stunt that put Evel Knievel on the map. He had been in Vegas in November of ’67  to see a boxing title fight, when he saw the fountains and crafted his plan. He quickly created Evel Knievel Enterprises (totally fictitious) and Knievel and his buddies repeatedly called the casino’s CEO Jay Sarno claiming to be Evel Knievel’s lawyers, as well as representatives from ABC-TV, and Sports Illustrated inquiring about this incredible upcoming jump. It worked, and the date was set for Knievel to jump the fountains at Caesars Palace on December 31, 1967. ABC-TV declined to air the event live on Wide World of Sports as Knievel had hoped, so he hired actor/director John Derek to film the Caesars’ jump. It was truly a low-budget production– Derek even employed his then-wife Linda Evans as a cameraman and she shot Knievel’s now famous landing. (She would later become a household name on the TV show, Dynasty. BTW, John Derek’s other wives included Ursula Andress and Bo Derek– he shot all three for Playboy).  – Image by © Bettmann/Corbis.

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“In the old days they, the promoters, wanted more and more from me. They wanted me to jump or spill my blood and break my bones. Every time they wanted me to jump further, and further, and further. Hell, they thought my bike had wings.”

~ Evel Knievel

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Legend has it that on the morning of the epic jump, Knievel popped into the Caesars Palace casino and lost his last 100 dollars at the blackjack table, had a shot of Wild Turkey at the bar, then headed outside to the jump site where he was joined by two showgirls. He went through the motions for the pre-jump show, and took a few routine warm-up approaches. According to Knievel, on the actual approach the motorcycle unexpectedly decelerated when he hit the takeoff ramp. The sudden loss of speed caused Knievel to come up short of the projected 141 feet, and he landed on the safety ramp supported by a van. The bad news was– the resulting crash left Knievel in a coma for a month, a crushed pelvis and femur, as well as fractures to his hip, wrist and both ankles. The doctors flatly told him he may never even walk on his own again. The good news was– Evel Knievel was now famous beyond his wildest dreams. ABC-TV had purchased the rights to the jump footage (paying far more than if they had just televised the original jump live) and the world was in awe of this dashing daredevil. — Image by © Bettmann/Corbis

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Evel Knievel (on his Triumph motorcycle) prior to jumping over the Caesars Palace fountains in Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve, 1967.

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Evel Knievel stunt-riding on his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle in the late ’60s. 

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“If a guy hasn’t got any gamble in him– he isn’t worth a crap.”

~Evel Knievel

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Evel Knievel pulling a wheelie on his Triumph Bonneville motorcycle — Image Mahony Photo Archives

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Evel Knievel performing a standing wheelie on his Triumph motorcycle in the late ’60s.

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Evel Knievel’s nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville (with make-shift wings and twin jet-engines) that he planned to use to jump the Grand Canyon. The National Park Service rightly expressed concern over the stunt harming the canyon, and Triumph notified Knievel that they would void the warranty on his Bonneville due to the addition of twin jet-engines. Thank God this knucklehead stunt was never realized, as it very likely would have meant Knievel’s early demise. (via Motorcyclist)
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Evel Knievel’s experimental nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville motorcycle rigged with wings and twin jet-engines that he hoped to jump the Gand Canyon with in the late ’60s.  (via Motorcyclist)

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Evel Knievel poses with sons Kelly (right) and Robbie at the rim of the Grand Canyon, c. 1968. via On May 20, 1999, Robbie followed in his Daddy’s footsteps and jumped a part of the Canyon (with a depth of 2,500 feet) on his Honda motorcycle for a personal best distance record of 228 feet. He crashed on landing and broke his leg.

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Evel Knievel featured above in Motorcycle Sport Book, 1968, detailing his plans to rig a nitro-powered Triumph Bonneville with wings and twin jet engines to jump the Grand Canyon. Jeezuz, that would’ve been a colossal disaster. (via Megadeluxe)

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“It will reach 250 miles an hour soaring over the Canyon with its twin jet engines and nitro burning Bonneville engine. It will accelerate to 158 miles an hour in 3.7 seconds.”

~Evel Knievel, on his plans to jump the Grand Canyon

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A rare shot of Evel Knievel’s Laverda 750cc American Eagle motorcycle that he rode from December 1969 to April 1970.

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A rare shot of Evel Knievel on his Laverda 750cc American Eagle motorcycle that he rode from December 1969 to April 1970.

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HOUSE OF EVEL: Evel Knievel on tumblr.

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In 1991, photographer Peter Lindbergh shot the elite eight of the world’s sexiest Supermodels in Brooklyn, NY for the September 1991 issue of American Vogue– Cindy Crawford, Tatjana Patitz, Helena Christensen, Linda Evangelista, Claudia Schiffer, Naomi Campbell, Karen Mulder, and Stephanie Seymour. The shoot titled “Wild at Heart” was styled by Grace Coddington, featuring looks that were a hi-lo mix of Chanel meets Schott– and we in the fashion world have never been the same since. This iconic editorial spread continues to inspire and awe to this day– over 20 years+ later. The Brit bikes featured throughout really make this work– several Triumphs, and I think I even spied a BSA in there as well! 

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The 1990s was the decade of the Supermodel– Cindy Crawford, Tatjana Patitz, Helena Christensen, Linda Evangelista, Claudia Schiffer, Naomi Campbell, Karen Mulder, and Stephanie Seymour. This shot was titled “The Wild Ones” with the original selling at auction a few years ago for close to $35,000 –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Supermodel Helena Christensen channeling “The Wild One” and striking a very Marlon Brando-esque pose in her Erez leather jacket and Harley-Davidson leather biker cap –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Marlon Brando as Johnny in the Iconic motorcycle film “The Wild One” which simultaneously thrust biking forward into the limelight in terms of popularity and style, while setting it back in terms of stereotypes and the court of public opinion. Marlon Brando rode his own 1950 Thunderbird in the film– a big boost for Triumph motorcycles. You can read more about that here.

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Wild at Heart– Naomi Campbell, Karen Mulder, Helena Christensen –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Helena Christensen –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Linda Evangelista –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Lifted from the runway to strike a pose out of On the Waterfront: rough but romantic styles by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel. –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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1991, Wild at Heart– Supermodel Helena Christensen –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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1991, Wild at Heart– being a supermodel is heavy lifting! –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Naomi Campbell trenched in Ralph Lauren, dripping in Chanel jewelry –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Claudia Schiffer in Norma Kamali, necklaces and belt by Chanel, dollar sign necklace by Union –Image by © Peter Lindbergh 

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Cindy Crawford showing one of the sexiest ways to wear leather– over bare skin. –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Naomi Campbell in Isaac Mizrahi / Chanel boots, bracelets, choker, and belt / Harley-Davidson leather biker cap –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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Wild at Heart– Supermodel Stephanie Seymour smoldering in a Mario Valentino leather jacket and Harley-Davidson leather biker cap –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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1991, Wild at Heart –Image by © Peter Lindbergh

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

THE 1970′s PUBERTY PIN-UP WARS | FARRAH FAWCETT VS. CHERYL TIEGS

VINTAGE PLAYBOY LANGUAGE OF LEGS | THE STUFF OF MALE SEXUAL DELUSIONS

BETTIE PAGE AND BUNNY YEAGER | LEGENDARY QUEENS OF PIN-UP

JEANEOLOGY | THE SELVEDGE YARD INTERVIEW FOR THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE

HISTORY OF DENIM THROUGH THE AGES | WESTERN WEAR GOES HOLLYWOOD

THE 13 REBELS MOTORCYCLE CLUB | 1953′s “THE WILD ONE” INSPIRATION

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So, I’ve been MIA. Feels like life is moving at 1,000 MPH. I got my mind right, Boss. I’m ready to hit TSY hard again. Good news is that biz at J.Hilburn is growing like freakin’ gangbusters, and I also got my hands on a secret stash of TSY t-shirts like the ones premiered at our Blackbird event at Fast Ashleys. Here they are, just in the nick of time– hopefully while someone still remembers WHO THE F*CK IS TSY!

Email us at info@selvedgeyard.com and we’ll take care of you. $25 per t-shirt includes free USPS priority mail flat rate shipping within the continental US. To our mates overseas, sorry it will be a bit more– $35 bucks includes USPS International flat rate shipping. I’ve got T’s for guys and gals– check the pics below. Old school discharge printing– so they will never peel, and are soft, lightweight 100% cotton. Oh, and for my friends at El Solitario– I’m getting your care package together. I have not forgotten you!

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My buddy Matt Smith of Smoke & Throttle sporting a TSY T-shirt. Image by The Self-Centered Man-

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The TSY ladies t-shirt.

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T-SHIRT SIZES  AVAILABLE – Men (S,M,L,XL) Women (S,M)

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ca. 1975, the original Zephyr (Z-Boys) skateboard team at the Del Mar Nationals, the first US national skateboarding competition — Shogo Kubo, Bob Biniak, Nathan Pratt, Stacy Peralta, Jim Muir, Allen Sarlo, Chris Cahill, Tony Alva, Paul Constantineau, Jay Adams, Peggy Oki, Wentzle Ruml – Image by Craig Stecyk.  While the Z-Boys non-conformist style and brash behavior did not sweep the winners podium, every major skateboard company took notice and came after their stars with lucrative offers and endorsement deals. Jeff Ho and Skip could not compete with the big brand’s deep pockets– within 6 months, the Zephyr team we be no more.

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Born out of the gritty Venice Beach surf slumtown called Dogtown– where you had better have eyes in the back of your head– the infamous Z-Boys were the motley badass boys of skateboarding assembled by the co-founders of Jeff Ho Surfboards and Zephyr Productions–Craig Stecyk, Jeff Ho, and Skip Engblom. This scrappy group of street kids, who gave skateboarding  teeth, were loyal disciples of their radical father figures who put Dogtown style on the map. These kids would carry the torch and create a skateboarding cultural revolution that started as an extension of their surfing, and grew into a distinctive Z-Boys style that forever changed the skating world.

Heavily influenced by Dogtown’s mean streets, Jeff Ho’s surfboard design and attitude was a direct reflection of the neighborhood’s tough low rider and graffiti lifestyle. Ho and crew thumbed their noses (or more accurately “flipped the bird”) at the mainstream squeaky-clean surf culture, and the Zephyr surf team fiercely guarded their turf against any invading non-locals who wanted to ride their waves. And if the locals didn’t get you by hurling chunks of concrete and glass as you surfed, the insanely dangerous conditions of the decaying Pacific Ocean Park would. The mangled and jutting pier pylons were there waiting for a screw-up so they could impale you, or snap your precious board to pieces.

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Dogtown’s legendary Zephyr surf team with c0-founder and designer Jeff Ho far right.

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The Zephyr surf team was the mafia of the waves, and that same toughness and independent spirit was manifested in their talent and angst on the pavement. Jeff and Skip nurtured and forged this young gaggle of waifs and strays, many from broken homes or no place to go, into the world’s best skaters. The kids all found their role at Jeff Ho’s shop– whether it was sweeping the floors or rolling joints for Jeff– everyone found a unique way, on their boards and in the shop, to contribute, complement, and propel the Z-boys forward and keep the team as a whole at the top of their game. It was a wild environment for a kid to grow-up in– legend has it there was plenty of pretty crazy shit going on back then behind closed doors that no one on the outside needed to  know about.

This young crew of Dogtown skaters were driven ruthlessly to aggressive, competitive perfection by Jeff Ho and Skip Engblom. They reached the peak of fame, completely up-ending and innovating the the sport along the way– first with their unique surf-style skating, and then setting the world on fire with the epic pool sessions and radical vertical skating. Ironically through the deeply engrained drive of Jeff and Skip, and their own natural human desire for personal fame and riches, their star skaters would end up unraveling the group and ending the Zephyr organization as they knew it. Legends and brands rose like a phoenix from the former Zephyr team’s ashes– Stacy Peralta, Tony Alva, and the one whose talent and aggression most strongly epitomized the heart and soul of the entire Zephyr crew– Jay Boy Adams.

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1978 — Jay Adams, Marina Del Rey Skate Park – Image by David Scott

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“In contests, Jay was simply the most exciting skater to watch. He never skated the same run the same way twice. His routines were wickedly random yet exceedingly tight and beautiful to watch: he even invented tricks during his runs. I’ve never seen any skater destroy convention and expectation better. Watching him skate was something new every second– he was “skate and destroy” personified.”  

–Stacy Peralta

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“For me, skateboarding started in 1965, so by the time the Dogtown era came around I’d already been skatin’ for 10 years. When I started it was clay wheels and mostly home made decks. We were just trying to copy surfing. Everything about skateboarding had to do with surfing. It was all about fun and a way to surf when the waves were shitty.”

–Jay Adams

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Jay Adams at the Dogbowl – Image by Glen E. Friedman. The mid 1970s in California were the scene of unprecedented drought conditions where residents were restricted from watering their lawns, and it wasn’t  long until hundreds of swimming pools across L.A fell prey and were drained to conserve precious water. The Z-Boys revolutionized skating by repurposing empty pools for vertical skating and in the act invented innovative moves like the frontside air (Tony Alva). The “Dogbowl” is the most legendary, named for the owner’s dogs that were seemingly always at the pools edge checking out the Z-Boys in action. It was the Z-Boy’s friend Dino’s home, and he was terminally ill. His parents allowed the pool to be drained so that his friends could come and hang out, skate and party. Glen Friedman took a ton of shots that are iconic to any skateboarding fan out there. Read more here…

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“I went to the party at Dino’s house and saw the pool before we drained it the next day. It was kinda like a dream skatepark because there weren’t any rules. Only the boys got to ride.”

–Jay Adams

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Jay Adams at the Dogbowl – Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“I was a P.O.P. local from birth. The ORIGINAL MASCOT. My dad rented surfboards under the Northside of the pier. All the guards at the park used to let me in for free. FUCK Disneyland, I had P.O.P., surf and all. I surfed the cove with Mickey Dora before leashes were invented.”

–Jay Adams

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“Jay Adams was not the greatest pool skater, nor was he the greatest bank skater, or the greatest slalom skater or the greatest freestyler. The fact is, Jay Adams’ contribution to skateboarding defies description or category. Jay Adams is probably not the greatest skater of all time, but I can say without fear of being wrong that he is clearly the archetype of modern-day skateboarding. Archetype defined means an original pattern or model, a prototype. Prototype defined means the first thing or being of its kind. He’s the real thing, an original seed, the original virus that infected all of us. He was beyond comparison. To this day I haven’t witnessed any skater more vital, more dynamic, more fun to watch, more unpredictable, and more spontaneous in his approach than Jay. There are not enough superlatives to describe him.”

–Stacy Peralta

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L.A.’s vastly paved architectural valleys, canyons, and reservoirs fenced-off and separated the varying neighborhoods, and would became a massive cement playground of unlimited potential seen through the eyes of young skaters years before skate parks were around or readily accessible. 

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“He (Jay Adams) didn’t give a shit about money, and I don’t think that’s why he did it to begin with. He never was interested in any of the material rewards that came from skateboarding. I think that he just basically had a total Fuck You approach to the whole commercialism of skateboarding.”

–Tony Alva

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Jay Adams — Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“Once pool riding came in– that was like ALL we wanted to do.”

–Jay Adams

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“People just wanted to have what he (Jay Adams) had, you know? They just wanted a piece of him. “

–Jeff Ho

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This low-slung, surf-influenced, fluid style was the hallmark of early Dogtwon Z-Boys skating– which was all about style. If you didn’t have great style, and looked good while you skated– you weren’t anything– you were stinking the place up. “(Surfer) Larry Bertelman was the fundamental impact on the Z-Boys thing– the Z-Boys thing was Larry Bertelman on concrete. That’s what we were all trying to do, because Larry Bertelman just blew the doors off everybody.” –Nathan Pratt. And then the Z-Boys set the bar again with vertical skating, and the world has never looked back…

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“Jay Adams may not have been the world’s best skater, but he was the man, the real deal, the original, the first. He is the archetype of our shared heritage.”

–Stacy Peralta

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1976, Jay Adams — Image by Glen E. Friedman

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“I missed a lot of good times, doing things that I shouldn’t have been doing. There are certain mistakes I’d like to change, but I’m not going to trip on it to hard.”

–Jay Adams 

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Jay Adams, King of the “Bert-slide” – Image by Craig Stecyk. The Dogtown Z-Boys skating style was heavily influenced early-on by Hawaiian surfing badass Larry Bertelman. “I remember being in the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium and watching Hal Jepsen’s surf film ‘Super Session’ and a young Hawaiian surfer named Larry Bertelman came on the screen…” –Stacy Peralta. “He, like, put his hands on the wave– he was one of the first guys that I remember doing that. So we started copying that on the ground.” –Jay Adams. 

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“I believe this photo of Jay (above) is the most stunning and strikingly clear representation, of any photo ever taken, of modern skateboarding. It contains all the elements that make up what modern-day skateboarding has become: awesome aggression and style, power and fury, wild abandon, destruction of all fear, untamed individualism, and a free-spirited determination to tear, shred, and rip relentlessly. Jay should’ve had it all, and it makes me so sad that he didn’t.” 

–Stacy Peralta 

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1978 — Jay Adams at Marina Del Rey Skatepark — Image by David Scott

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“Some kids are born and raised on like, graham crackers and milk– Jay was born and raised on surfing and skateboarding, you know.”

–Tony Alva

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Z-Flex skate team, back to front, left to right– Marty Grimes, Jimmy Davies, Eric Andersen (Froggy), Solo Scott, Jimmy Plummer, George Wilson, Shogo Kubo, and Dennis Agnew (Polar Bear). — Image via Venicepix

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‘Yosemite’ Sam Radoff started customizing cars at the tender age of 12 yrs old– way before he was even old enough to drive! That was back in the mid ’50s, and he went by handle ‘Little Sam’ then. Some 45 years later Radoff is one of the most respected flamers (I love his ol’ crab claw flame jobs), pinstripers, and metal sculptors the kustom kulture scene has ever known. Dr. ‘Yosemite’ Sam, PhD (Phlame Doctor) has also produced custom motorcycle and pinstriping shows across the country.

Despite his vast exposure, he is not widely a household name like Ed ‘Big Daddy’ Roth, Kenny Howard AKA Von Dutch, Dean Jeffries, George Barris, Arlen Ness– but those in the know recognize and respect Sam Radoff as being just as important. His legendary work and countless awards over the years speak for themselves.

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

ARLEN NESS’ SECRET WEAPON DURING THE ’70s CHOPPER BOOM | JEFF McCANN

ED “BIG DADDY” ROTH | RAT FINK KING OF SOUTH CALI KUSTOM KAR KULTURE

HOLLYWOOD’S INNOVATIVE KUSTOM KULTURE LEGEND | DEAN JEFFRIES

THE LEGENDARY STRIPER VON DUTCH | STILL ALIVE AND LIVING IN ARIZONA ’72

KENNY HOWARD | THE MASTER PAINTER & STRIPER ALSO KNOWN AS VON DUTCH

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 A very cool little insight below about how Robert Redford first stumbled upon his higher calling in life while riding his bike. Further proof that Four wheels move the body– but two wheels move the soul! More on Sundance later…

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford, looking very Jeremiah Johnson here, on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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Robert Redford stumbled upon what would become Sundance while riding his motorcycle from his home in California to school at the University of Colorado in the 1950s and saw the totemic 12,000 foot Mount Timpanogos. “It reminded me of the Jungfrau in Switzerland,” he says. “It stuck in my head.”

He later met and married a Mormon girl from Provo, came back, and bought two acres of land for $500 in 1961 from the Stewarts, a sheep-herding family who ran the mom-and-pop Timphaven operation. Redford built a cabin and lived the mountain man life here with his young family when he wasn’t on set making his early films.

By the late 1960s, developers were beginning to change the face of Utah. Redford scrambled– using some movie earnings and rounding up investor friends to purchase another 3,000 acres, heading off a development of A-frames that would have been marched up the canyon on quarter-acre lots.

“I was determined to preserve this, but it was not bought with big money. That kind of development was the reason I left Los Angeles. So I bought the land and started the Sundance Institute before there was anything here. I was advised that I was out of my mind. But I wanted the perfect marriage of art and nature.”  

–By Everett Potter for SKI magazine, 2008

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford, looking very Jeremiah Johnson here, on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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Robert Redford and Lauren Hutton on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy (a film that Redford would rather forget…) – Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Robert Redford and Lauren Hutton on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy (a film that Redford would rather forget…) — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Robert Redford in 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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ca. 1972 — Robert Redford on his Yamaha dirt bike — Image by Orlando Globey

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Robert Redford in a cool Webco sweatshirt on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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Robert Redford in a cool Webco sweatshirt on the set of 1970′s Little Fauss and Big Halsy — Image by Stephen Schapiro

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

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RALPH LAUREN & ROBERT REDFORD | THE GREAT GATSBIES

BUTCH CASSIDY & THE SUNDANCE KID | THE FILM THAT LAUNCHED AN ERA

CANNES FILM FESTIVAL RETROSPECTIVE THE DAYS OF TRUE MOVIE STAR STYLE

WHEN THERE’S NOTHING ELSE TO LOSE, AND NOTHING LEFT BUT THE WIND…

BRING BACK THE ‘STACHE. | MEN, MUSTACHES, MARVELS AND MISSTEPS

GQ ITALIA x TSY | MEN OF STYLE

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WAYWARD BOUND

The premiere of a custom HHI x Moto Guzzi motorcycle

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Clear your calendar. This is not to be missed.

If you are in or around NYC this Friday night then come out for Hammarhead Industries‘ Wayward Bound Launch Party and get up-close and personal at their latest epic bike build for Moto Guzzi. Take a look at the plain Jane Guzzi below and then check out what James Hammarhead and crew can do.

Jan 18, 7-10PM
Liberty Hall @ Ace Hotel, NYC
RSVP @ piaggiogroupamericas.com by Jan 16

See you there.

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Moto Guzzi sent the Hammarhead Industries crew this lil’ beauty to play with– come and see the build for yourself this Friday night at the NYC Ace Hotel… –Image by © Ashley Smalley

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Here’s what James Hammarhead had to say about the personal significance of this build, and what you can expect to see Friday night…

Hammarhead V7 Wayward

Growing up in rural Pennsylvania, a well-used dirt bike was usually only a few steps away.  Trail riding was so pervasive that no clear memory marks my introduction to these machines. However, when it comes to street bikes, a single event in the summer of 1975 is seared in my mind.  Late one evening a friend of my father arrived in our driveway riding a black Moto Guzzi V7 Sport.  He had flown from England, purchased the bike in NYC and was headed west.  Armed only with a map, a small tank bag and the next day’s plan, he was beginning a three-month ride that was to become legend in our house.   I vowed to follow suit.

As I pursued the dream of the road, I steadily traded up for larger and larger adventure touring bikes.  But with each successively more modern motorcycle the experience seemed slightly diminished.  Then on a trip to Southeast Asia, I rented a beat up Honda XL 185 for a few weeks.  Traveling light with only a daypack and not much of a plan, I found myself back in the game.

When I began thinking about a Hammarhead bike that could take on the urban commute and also break free for fast and light travel, the modern take on the Moto Guzzi V7 seemed ideal.  A simple air-cooled V-twin updated with modern electronic fuel injection and niceties such as electric start.  The engine has ample power around town and really shines when paired with the sweet handling chassis and a twisty back road.  Long, low and smooth.   The trouble free shaft drive sealed the deal.

To create the V7 Wayward, we first disassembled the bike to reveal its elemental form.  The goal was to create a minimal experience that was at home on the long road.  The engine was not internally modified but benefits from free flow K&N air filters, custom exhaust and remapped EFI.  The chassis was cleared of all plastic, de-tabbed and visually lightened with careful relocation of ancillary components.  The large stock fenders were replaced with simple alloy units, sized to retain real world function. The rear sub-frame was modified to accept a narrow and lean seat.   Works Performance fork springs and rear shocks were fitted and the bike rolls on Avon Venom tires.

Up front the stock headlight and instrument cluster were replaced with a 7-inch teardrop shell that also houses a small speedometer. To achieve a relaxed yet aggressive riding position, wide mid-rise bars were fitted. Low profile but highly visible LED turn signals were used as well as HHI’s signature 2 inch round brake light.  Finally, inspired by the bags of the 1950s, we created a pair of wax cotton panniers.  The compact panniers feature an internal aluminum frame and are capable of swallowing a laptop and rain suit during the weekday hustle or the bare essentials required for a 3 day, 3 week or 3 month on the road.

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

HAMMARHEAD INDUSTRIES SETS-UP SHOP IN PHILLY’S BOOMING FISHTOWN

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While walking down the stairs to the Ace Hotel’s Liberty Hall last night I knew for sure that James Hammarhead and crew would have a little surprise– the V7 Wayward would not be another Jack Pine / Ninety-Two reiteration. This Moto Guzzi was destined to be the anti-matte black Hammarhead bike. But I didn’t know what that would look like. For sure there would be the editing of all parts superfluous to reveal the raw beauty of the beast beneath with a very strong Germanic-like design sensibility that said this bike was meant to be ridden and respected– not fawned over like some prissy beauty queen.

Stepping into Liberty Hall immediately I was blinded by the optic white Moto Guzzi V7 Stone that glowed like all hell and seemed to possess the room and everything in it. It was so bright that you dare not look at it for fear of being blinded. It was a nice bike for sre, but just a warm-up for what was to come. I grabbed a drink and skedaddled into the darkness. I knew the Hammarhead V7 Wayward lay just beyond in the main room, but I intentionally wanted to take my time getting there as I knew that once I saw it, I’d likely remain there in that spot captivated for the evening. In an adjacent room stood the Moto Guzzi V7 Racer, quietly cocked to the side looking very at ease, and a bit dwarfed by the surrounding crowd that paid plenty of attention to it.

And then I finally allowed myself to make eye contact with the HHI V7 Wayward.

Indeed it was not black. I stared. I smiled. I was hooked.

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Moto Guzzi V7 Stone at the Hammarhead x Moto Guzzi Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC –Photo by Ashley (You’re killing me, Smalls!) Smalley

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Moto Guzzi V7 Racer at the Hammarhead x Moto Guzzi Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC –Photo by Ashley (You’re killing me, Smalls!) Smalley

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Sam from Hammarhead talking through the re-shaping of the frame, re-mapping of the bits, etc. on the HHI V7 Wayward bike. In the background, Sean from Philadelphia Scooters Inc. & Kenric from Quaker City Motor Works. –Photo by Ashley (You’re killing me, Smalls!) Smalley

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HHI x Moto Guzzi V7 Wayward at the Hammarhead Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC

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“To create the V7 Wayward, we first disassembled the bike to reveal its elemental form.  The goal was to create a minimal experience that was at home on the long road.  The engine was not internally modified but benefits from free flow K&N air filters, custom exhaust and remapped EFI.  The chassis was cleared of all plastic, de-tabbed and visually lightened with careful relocation of ancillary components.  The large stock fenders were replaced with simple alloy units, sized to retain real world function. The rear sub-frame was modified to accept a narrow and lean seat.   Works Performance fork springs and rear shocks were fitted and the bike rolls on Avon Venom tires.” –James Hammarhead

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HHI x Moto Guzzi V7 Wayward at the Hammarhead Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC

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“Up front the stock headlight and instrument cluster were replaced with a 7-inch teardrop shell that also houses a small speedometer. To achieve a relaxed yet aggressive riding position, wide mid-rise bars were fitted. Low profile but highly visible LED turn signals were used as well as HHI’s signature 2 inch round brake light.  Finally, inspired by the bags of the 1950s, we created a pair of wax cotton panniers.  The compact panniers feature an internal aluminum frame and are capable of swallowing a laptop and rain suit during the weekday hustle or the bare essentials required for a 3 day, 3 week or 3 month on the road.” –James Hammarhead

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HHI x Moto Guzzi V7 Wayward at the Hammarhead Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC

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HHI x Moto Guzzi V7 Wayward at the Hammarhead Wayward Bound launch party, Ace Hotel NYC

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English artist and motorcycle fanatic Conrad Leach is having his first solo exhibition in the US– happening February 9th at Subvecta Motus Gallery in LA. His graphic Pop style is instantly iconic, and not to be missed– especially when you have the rare opportunity to be face-to-face with the large-scale punchy paintings. Leach’s work will knock your socks off. –Curated by friend Stacie B. London of Triple Nickel 555 & ESMB.

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Lucky 13 by Conrad Leach

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Norton Jack by Conrad Leach

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Speedway by Conrad Leach

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Two Finger Salute by Conrad Leach

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Big One by Conrad Leach

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Gloves Off by Conrad Leach

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United State by Conrad Leach

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Lost in Space by Conrad Leach

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Gold Star by Conrad Leach

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VISCERAL EXPERIENCES OF SPEED
“United State, Selected works by Conrad Leach”
Opening February 9, 2013

Subvecta Motus Gallery | 518 West Garfield Avenue, Glendale, CA

“United State, Selected works by Conrad Leach” expands upon Leach’s dialogue of the body’s relationship with the machine and the visceral experiences of speed. The physicality of the style of Leach’s paintings and his use of high pigmented colors depict charged moments saturated with erotic tension depicting and re-examining the familiar narrative of freedom and the open road. It is easy to be swept away by the meticulous precision of Leach’s strokes and his use of bright and punchy colors. Leach comes to art making via the fashion industry, which is evident in his culturally driven yet stylistic approach to his art practice. He has shown extensively in London with Gauntett Gallery London, where he resides, and in Tokyo with Cafegroove Tokyo. “United State” is Leach’s first solo exhibition in the United States and his first in a series at Subvecta Motus Gallery.

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You gotta love social media– not always, but this particular time, HELLS YES.  So, I see on Stacie’s triplenickel555 Instagram account that there’s a pic re-gram’d of some sort of bike tattoo. I look a little closer, and– hey, I recognize that image! So here’s the deal– this cool gal Matylda in Sweden saw the pic on TSY and was inspired enough to get it inked on her inner arm..OUCH for any of you who know about tattoos. God bless the internets. I reached out to Matylda, and she was kind enough to send pics of the finished work– read on and check it out.

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Scott Pommier shooting Stacie B. London for –SHUTTER SPEED– image courtesy of Camerabag.tv

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Hello from the land of the ice and snow! Hope these pics are usable — it’s winter now and we don’t have any decent light to shoot in (not exactly 30 Days of Night, but you know…). Btw, the website is awesome, and I’ve been a big fan.

Cheers,
Matylda

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

YOU KNOW IT’S A GOOD NIGHT WHEN… THANK YOU SECRET SERVICE LA & NICK

A TIME TO GET BUSY WITH NICK’S RAD PRE-PARTY PHOTOS OF SHUTTER SPEED

STYLE FROM THE CITY OF ANGELS | THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF SCOTT POMMIER

THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF SCOTT POMMIER | EPIC IMAGES OF MODERN AMERICANA

THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF SCOTT POMMIER | PT. II – FALLING BETWEEN THE LINES

EAST MEETS WEST | SHINYA KIMURA ZEN AND THE HEART OF MOTORCYCLES

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In case you missed it over on the TSY facebook page I’ve been obsessed with the below piece of work for quite some time, and finally posted it up and asked the beloved The Selvedge Yard clan for help in identifying the artist. It two about all of 2 seconds.

As a kid, my healthy diet of Happy Days, Sha Na Na, and flicks like The Lords of Flatbush deeply engrained a love of greaser culture and style that will surely remain until I die. “Bad Girls” by James Alfred Meese slays me with every viewing. Obviously the cover art was intentionally as lurid and enticing as possible to get you to part with your money and buy the “pulp” paperbacks that were named after the cheaply produced paper they were printed on. Here are a few other fine examples of pulp art, which really peaked in the ’50s & ’60s, in my humble opinion.

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Bad Girls — paperback cover art by  James Alfred Meese, 1958

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Bad Girls– They prowl the fringe of the underworld for kicks – cover art by  James Alfred Meese, 1958

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Prize Pupil — unsigned paperback cover art, 1966

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Prize Pupil, by Amy Harris – unsigned paperback cover art, 1966

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The Snatch — paperback cover art by Mitchell Hooks, 1958

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The Snatch — Will these three men finally commit the most dangerous crime of all? — 1958

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CHECK OUT:

Book Covers: Vintage Paperbacks, Mars Sci-Fi’s photostream

StevieB44′s photostream

Mitchell Hooks photostream

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

HOW TO MOTIVATE THE MALE MORALE | THE PERSUASIVE POWER OF THE PINUP

VINTAGE PLAYBOY LANGUAGE OF LEGS | THE STUFF OF MALE SEXUAL DELUSIONS

BETTIE PAGE AND BUNNY YEAGER | LEGENDARY QUEENS OF PIN-UP

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This is the one bike show NOT to miss, so get ready to head to Portland and have a blast. Featuring bikes by Chabbott Engineering, See See Motorcycles, Deus Ex Machina, Roland Sands, G&H Cycles, 4Q Conditioning, and more… James Hammarhead had mentioned he’d be there too, hope that’s true! Also, there will hand-painted Bell helmets by over 21 artists, food, drink, merch, music, and more.

 Follow the fun on instagram – @THE1MOTO & @THESELVEDGEYARD

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Find out more about the show here…

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Still regretting that I blew my chance last year to see Ray Gordon’s adrenaline-infused work in person last year– so, I’m sure as hell ain’t going to miss The One Motorcycle Show this Feb. 8th-10th at Sandbox Studios, Portland, OR. Got my ticket, getting on the plane bloody frickin’ early tomorrow morning. See y’all there!

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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THROTTLED II — photograph by © Ray Gordon

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RELATED TSY POSTS:

THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF RAY GORDON | — THROTTLED –

THE PHOTOGRAPHY OF RAY GORDON | BONNEVILLE– HOT RODS IN SPACE

21 HELMETS @THE ONE MOTORCYCLE SHOW | SEE SEE MOTORCYCLES, PDX

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RAY GORDON’S WEBSITE HERE…

THE ONE MOTORCYCLE SHOW INFO HERE…

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