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Asphalt Treks, Chrome Missions Bandit Reflects On Life In the Saddle By K. Randall Ball Hey, Someone told me recently that I have some fleeting knowledge of the bike industry, that what I have to say about the past, my bikes, and other shit might have some consequence. I tried to convince them that I

My First Outlaw Learning About Motorcycle Geometry From The Seat Of My Pants By K. Randall Ball It was in 1970, and I didn’t know many riders and didn’t really care to. I suppose it was a personality flaw. I was recently released from the Navy after three tours in Vietnam, and I was taking

1970 Yuma Prison Run Note: The following photos are actually from the Terminal Island Prison Run That Happened Years Later, But What The Hell, We Figured You Wouldn’t Mind….. By K. Randall Ball   It was 1970 and the summer sizzled, so much so that the asphalt softened from the unrelenting heat as I prepared

Indio ’70 Reds And Women By K. Randall Ball I got off track last issue. I had promised to describe my first Indio Run, back in 1970. Perhaps it was a hollow promise. I don’t remember much from that weekend. Indio was one of the first runs I went on, 118 miles from Long Beach.

The Destruction of One Big Toe By K. Randall Ball In 1973, I had been working for Easyriders for a couple years. I was attending a community college and buying and selling auctioned Los Angeles Police bikes. I had left my first wife, who was extremely religious and couldn’t handle any aspect of my life,

Kern River ’83 By K. Randall Ball I’m just telling this sordid story because we’re trying desperately to piece together the tale of how we got a wild hair to hit three runs in one weekend. They were the annual Kern River Run, the Bakersfield Motorcycle Jamboree Run and the Molachs MC party on the

First Panhead A Motorcycle Deal Based on Trust and Honor By K. Randall Ball It was 1975 and I was on one of the few major So Cal runs a year – the MMA ride to the outskirts of Fresno. A year before I had lost my toe to a stretched 1968 Shovelhead, fixed the

First Prison Run By K. Randall Ball This was a strange one in awkward times. I was working at Easyriders in 1972 and filtering through thousands of letters from cons. We discovered some truly talented brothers behind the walls. A few became some of the best writers, illustrators and brothers we ever met. Some were

Easyriders Blues By K. Randall Ball It was 1973 and I’d been working part-time for the magazine for about a year, making $50 a week while going to college. I was learning to write in the classroom and Frank Harding, the managing editor and recluse, was unlearning my college education and teaching me the art

1970 Triumph Experience Merging Brotherhood, British Bikes and Mechanical Surprises By K. Randall Ball This tale takes me back to my early days on Harleys. My first Harley was a new, 1969 XLCH Sportster–an absolute classic machine, one of the last. I spotted it in the window of Long Beach Harley-Davidson and fell in love.

Makin’ Junk Run By K. Randall Ball I have a bitch about those who complain about guys who can buy new motorcycles, or trailer to events or even afford to have customs built. I got into custom bikes because of the freedom. I could do whatever I wanted and fuck anyone who didn’t like it.

The Story Of One Fine Rat Bike By K. Randall Ball I’ve mentioned in other articles how I started out buying cop bikes from Los Angles police auctions, fixed them up and either rode the shit outta them or sold ’em. It was a poor guy’s way to make a little extra cash on the

Yuma Run Once More By K. Randall Ball This is one of those strange stories about the past that conjures up a bushel of memories. Until recently I never thought much about the Yuma Run, then it dawned on me that it was the first serious run I tried. A couple years later I went

The Steel Mentor A Little About Growing Up In The Shop By Bandit This issue I thought I’d touch on the art of building motorcycles, the desire and the talent. Many of the old school guys want to point fingers at those who don’t do their own work. On the other hand, if we didn’t

The “Outlaw” In Me By Bandit I will always have a soft spot in my heart for the club I was in the ’70s. I wasn’t the kind of outlaw they needed at the time so I resigned. There was considerable violence then and I took my part, but that wasn’t me. As the years

The Wrong Arrest Or Was That The Wrong Girl? By Bandit Last issue I mentioned that I’d jump off the confessional and spring forth with violence, clubs, and action this issue. Since Laughlin just rocked the world, I’ll stay away from my history with patches and let the current dust settle. This issue, we’ll step

Jumped A Couple of Decades Tearin’ It Up On The Streets Of Sturgis By Bandit I don’t know why I leapt from the ’70s to the ’90s? Suppose it could have been the date, the first of August, when I would usually be cutting a hot dusty trail to Sturgis. The year in question was