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Richard Kranzler straddled a Harley of sorts when he was 16 years old. He's been building bikes and bouncing around the industry since. Recently his wife was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and Lupus. Richard left his job in the engineering field, sold all his bikes, gave Sportster parts to Jon Towle and hauled all his […]

At first the hard-riding HORSE staff compelled me to blast each issue with rugged anecdotes of outlaw lore. If I went much further with my own road stories, I might confess to some treacherous crime that would bust my three strikes standing to an even half dozen and you'd never hear from me again. So

I often state that anything truly cool is running near the edge between life or death, pass or fail, Ted Nugent or “Damn Yankees”, etc. Just so you know ,when I write these stories, they are not “based on fact” or “inspired by”. They happened, and as a lot of you know the ” smoothing”

The author, Bob T., riding in the old days. Last segment I dug up an old riding pal, Bob T. who now lives in a '59 Cadillac buried in the desert. He's hiding from society, but I sparked his attention and he peeled off his thoughts about the past after snorting some desert sand mixed

That title rings true today constantly, but this was based in '71. If you think newbies run afoul of old school now, hang on. This is a story about a rider, Bob T., who rode with me in the early '70s. He was laid off from Hughes Aircraft after his stint in the Marines, as

Hey, I got sick of telling stories about the bullshit mistakes I've made over the years. Besides I might stumble into a story that isn't covered by the statue of limitations and throw myself into a 50-gallon drum of boiling oil. So I'm shifting to terrible tales of bikers from the past. Not exactly the

Hey, I lost chapter 21. Actually, I started and never finished, and it never made it to the pages of HORSE. We jumped right to 22. So, over the next couple of weeks I'll dig it out, dust it off and dial it in. You'll get an original. In the meantime here's 22. I've never

I don't talk about clubs much. I won't mention names to protect the guilty. This particular story will ring a lot of bells from coast to coast. I was in a club in the mid '70s. Some of us were new members, some were old club guys who had been in one club and transferred

I was pulled over recently. While standing on the concrete curb of a city street, a brother rode past at double the speed limit, his straight pipes making the cop’s door rattle. The rider held the throttle open with impunity, barely lifting an eyebrow as he jammed through the traffic unencumbered, disappearing in the crowded

Bandit, circa 1972 Back in ’73 I was young and full of questions. I was taking college classes and working for Easyriders. The pay was poor, but life was one party after another. A riding partner, Mick, worked in the oil fields as a driller/ manager of an oil well. He was a whip-crackin’ sonuvabitch,