I had the opportunity recently to retrace one of the last motorcycle rides I was ever able to make with my father. Neither of us knew it at the time, but within a year of that special day, he would sell his motorcycle and exit riding altogether for health reasons. Within a couple of years after that, I would say my final farewell to him. So the memory of that day trip with my father has become all the more precious to me in the years since.
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My wife and I made a 15-day trip to Indonesia a few years back, for a foundation we do some work with. I’ve made the trip several times with 127 Legacy Foundation, an organization that aids and sponsors orphanages, women’s shelters and medical clinics across the equatorial island nation, and I’m always fascinated with the culture of motorcycles over there.
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Richard Worsham is the founder and CEO of Janus Motorcycles, a small bike building outfit in the northern Indiana town of Goshen. Founded in 2011, Richard and company build one-off bespoke single thumper motorcycles that look a century old, but sport modern components. The motorbikes have a design and vibe that hearkens back to an earlier time not only in motorcycling, but also in America. Reminiscent of motorcycles from the 1920s-30s (think Brough Superior, early Indians, etc.), Janus Motorcycles garner attention everywhere they are ridden. And being HQed in Goshen, a region rich in good old American manufacturing yet with a classic small town spirit, Janus Moto is successfully marrying the best of the new with the tried and true.
And Richard is realizing his childhood dream.
I must admit, I’ve found myself more often reaching for my REV’IT! Restless brown leather jacket lately, for its comfort, versatility, protection, and just downright good looks when out riding. This might be my new favorite go-to coat for the street. It’s just so retro-cool. Makes this old fart look sharper than he is.
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The first time I threw a leg over the 2023 Indian Scout Rogue and sat on the bike, gripped those 10” mini-ape bars and thumbed it to life, I’m not exaggerating when I say that the opening guitar riff of George Thorogood’s “Bad To The Bone” started playing in my head. The bar reach, the vibration, the low rumble of the twin exhaust, the somewhat forward footpegs, and the matte blacked-out everything save the chrome pipes just elicits a hooligan cruiser vibe. My voice dropped an octave and gained some gravel when riding the Rogue.
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Now we’ve ridden this new Rebel 1100T Bagger for about two months, and in a three-bike middleweight shootout, the auto Honda shines once again. We’ve ridden the motorbike on long stretches of state and interstate highway, throttled it through the famed Tail of the Dragon and other similar roads in the Southeast, and commuted locally on the Rebel. In all circumstances and occasions, that DCT transmission just performs. Make no mistake, we all still love the full hands and feet interaction of a manually-clutched bike. But this auto tranny is a pleasure to ride.
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Vanessa Ruck is on a mission- To courageously squeeze every drop out of life, and to help others overcome their adversities and step into courageous living as well. To quote her directly, “I’m on a mission to prove nothing is impossible if you want it bad enough.” Gauging from the many adventures in her young life, and the inspiration she is to so many who know her and follow her travels, Vanessa is realizing her dream. She is the one and only, “The Girl On A Bike.”
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Rolling up to a four-way stop in the left turn lane, I noticed an old white pickup truck pull up next to me on my right. As I glanced over, I saw a stocky bald guy with a goatee looking the Nightster over, mouth agape, tattooed forearm resting on his open window. After a moment, he muttered in a thick Southern accent, “Whut da hale??” I knew what he was thinking. I simply smiled then throttled off at my green turn arrow, to let him hear the sound I’m sure he didn’t expect from a Harley either.
This bike has elicited a similar reaction nearly everywhere we’ve ridden it.
As the Royal Enfield-led press junket rolled out of the Laguna Mountains back toward San Diego, our group of 12 riders hopped on I-5 to merge with the fast flowing traffic. A couple of us toward the back of the caravan got separated from the main group while negotiating onto the freeway, so I found an opening, then throtted and upshifted hard into the moto mayhem. The spunky little 350cc single howled through its right side exhaust, and once in top (5th) gear, I pinned the throttle in an open lane, gunning for the front group of riders already about a half mile up ahead. The J-Series thumper took a deep breath, then started accelerating up to top end. Roaring down the interstate, the Hunter was stalking and apprehending automobile after automobile, in its quest for peak power. By the time I caught the group, the little beast had pegged 82 mph, rather impressive for so small a displacement motorbike.
“What a pint-size hooligan!” I shouted in my helmet.
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