The two Northeastern stops of the 2021 Progressive IMS Outdoors tour are on consecutive weekends in September. The New York City event will be at the Brooklyn Army Terminal, September 3-5 (Labor Day is the 6th), and the Pennsylvania event will be at the Carlisle Fairgrounds, September 10-12.
This 281-mile route begins in Saratoga Springs, in the heart of upstate New York’s farm and horse country. The town is home to the Saratoga Race Course, one of the oldest horse tracks in the country, dating back to 1863. The annual meet runs from mid-July to Labor Day, but there is harness racing year-round. Saratoga is famous for its mineral springs and bath houses, and there are plenty of excellent restaurants and vibrant nightlife to enjoy.
The route leaves Saratoga Springs to the south, on U.S. Route 9, and passes through Malta. It turns east onto State Route 67 and crosses the Hudson River at Mechanicville. Continuing east, Route 67 passes through Schaghticoke and follows the Hoosic River. At Eagle Bridge, the route turns south, and it picks up State Route 22 at the town of Hoosic Falls. At Lebanon Springs, it turns west on U.S. Route 20, then southwest on State Route 66. After crossing Interstate 90 and passing through Chatham, it continues on the Taconic State Parkway.
The 104-mile parkway took 40 years to build, from the mid-1920s until its completion in 1963. Parts of the road were designed by Franklin D. Roosevelt during his tenure as head of the Taconic State Park Commission, and we can thank him for insisting those sections follow the natural landscape instead of powering through in a straight line. Built in a simpler time, the Taconic has narrow lanes, minimal shoulders, and plenty of gentle curves, but do be on the lookout for accidents and state troopers.
The route ends at the George Washington Bridge in Manhattan. From there, many options are available to get to the Brooklyn Army Terminal, which is off the Belt Parkway (Interstate 287) on the edge of Upper Bay. Enjoy the show!
For more information about Progressive IMS Outdoors and to buy tickets, visit motorcycleshows.com.Rider is the media partner for the Adventure Out! area at IMS Outdoors.
Sometimes you don’t know where you are, the name of the town or even the state. The place is located by days and miles. It is remembered by highway proximity. And by what kind of terrors gripped you there.
For me, that April night fell on day four. I had already passed through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia and North Carolina, finally stopping in Tennessee. Yes, that’s as far as I must have gotten. Near U.S. Highway 81. Days Inn.
After a little practice, divesting a motorcycle of all its luggage for the night and carrying it into a motel — three trips, including the tool pack with its 10 tons of lock, spare cables, liter of oil, roll of tape, tire tube, rain gear — doesn’t get any more fun. But such a trip, all alone, is about repetition as much as it’s about welcoming the blessedly new. I’ve always stayed at Days Inns or Knights Inns, make of that symmetry whatever you will, because a woman searching for lodgings after dark by herself is looking only for predictability and the guaranteed anonymity these places make it their business to provide.
After three days of telling myself different, the truth was coming through like green oxide on bogus silver: this wasn’t such a gas. My vacation, my proud declaration, my little adventure, was oppressing me as nothing before. I hadn’t suddenly become loquacious the minute I hit the road, the sort who meets locals at every way station and makes them fast friends over a bowl of chili, or gets invitations that start a new trajectory of discovery about the places passed through. I was still myself only more so, saying not much more than was necessary to purchase gas, coffee, a place to sleep, glossy post cards on which “Wish you were here” was written with no little urgency. Night would bring the same: take-out food eaten at the plasticized fake-wood veneered desk; a long bath to leach the cold from the bones; the local news indistinguishable from any local news anywhere; five hours before sleep to kill in the confines of the double-double-bedded room because continuing after nightfall pushed the stakes up a tad too high; a dose or two of Jack because of that.
I was feeling every one of the 975 miles that separated me from home. The most comfort I’d had was talking to my painfully estranged boyfriend, a mechanic, from a hotel room in Waynesboro, Virginia, the first night. Earlier in the day, stopping at a truck plaza after riding through two hours of the most imposing rainstorm I’d ever encountered, I’d noticed the box at the rear axle spewing the 90-weight oil that lubricated the shaft drive. My boyfriend was properly worried on my behalf and told me to seek out a bike shop in town the next day and have it checked out before I started down the Blue Ridge Parkway. The second deepest conversation I’d had in all the intervening time was at that shop, when four mechanics stopped to inspect my bike.
Now, near U.S. Highway 81, I spread the map out on the rigid bed and scanned it for some promise that I might make it all the way home tomorrow, three days before schedule. There didn’t seem much point in drawing it out longer, to look for more motels just like the last. I’d simply had enough of blissful solitude.
However I looked at it, though, the miles would collapse no further. There were at least 15 hours of holding the throttle open at a steady 70 mph etched in those lines, and it couldn’t be done — not by me at least. The force of the wind at that speed, the temperature, the buzzing, the constant watchfulness, the tension that crept up the neck, took it out of you too fast. You got more tired on a bike than you ever thought possible.
The days had grown so elongated that to look back on them seemed to be to glance into history: had it really been this same afternoon that I had ridden up the side of Mount Mitchell, parked, and ascended the lookout tower in the persistent wind that blows up there? Taking in the small exhibit room empty of visitors except for me, I read the placards that described Mitchell’s quest to prove that his mountain was actually higher than Clingman’s Dome, that it was in fact the highest spot in the East. Scrambling around on the desolate peak with his calibrators, he slipped and fell, perhaps dying instantly, perhaps waiting days for death in the cove of rocks. His was a bitter feud with Clingman, and his victory was posthumous. He lay now under the stones there, unable to give up his purchase on faith. At the height of my own futile journey, I realized that he and I were about the only people up here on this cold day, and he was dead.
I had known from my trip down this bucolic byway the previous October, legendary among motorcyclists, that the next stretch would take me farther into the Smokies, and that the higher I went, the lonelier the way. Then, though, I had simply felt alone, not lonely; I was with a man I was beginning to love. At that stage you welcome the height, the wide vista over uninhabited wild. It feels fine to be there and feel small, together. Now, the peculiar lunar landscape at 6,053 feet, the highest point on the Ridge, was crushing. The wind singing over the rocks had an edge of cruelty. I had climbed into the thinner air with my Guzzi’s beating engine without seeing but a car or two hurrying in the other direction, and the groups of riders I’d hoped to fall in with were still home, waiting for the next month and warmer air.
I wouldn’t let it stop me from going through the motions of marking my trip in the customary manner, and I stopped the Moto Guzzi in front of the sign that declared this the highest point in order to take the obligatory photo of proof. As I did so the lone man who had been standing, looking out over the view from the opposite end of the parking lot, came up behind me and told me I could get into the picture, too.
After handing my camera back he engaged me in a conversation that felt somewhat unreal: he told me his destination, his reason for g here in such an unvacationlike month, all the while glancing at my bike. As often happens, he informed me he used to ride, too, and asked me if the road was good for riding. My enthusiasm was a little forced – it certainly was, but I would have hardly known it from this experience. He said he wasn’t sure if he’d ever make such a trip alone, and he kept complimenting me on my bravery, though I wanted to correct his misapprehension so it could bear the more proper label: foolishness, a bid to prove I would have a grand time without anyone else at all.
But I couldn’t say it to this stranger. It took too much explaining, too much time-intensive shading between black lines. The simple version was more appropriate to this meeting, so I let him have it the way he wanted. He insisted on writing his name and address in my notebook, extracting a promise that if I ever passed through Iowa I’d look him up. I put it in my tank bag with an assurance that I would, while the knowledge that I wouldn’t sunk down hollowly inside.
There was nothing else to do but get on the bike and keep going, to the next mark on my map, the end of the Parkway in Cherokee.
On the prior trip, too, I had insisted on stopping in this gewgaw heaven, darting into stores on a restless search for the perfect ridiculous souvenir, tiring out my boyfriend until he cried uncle. He let me go on rushing from shop to shop while he waited outside by the row of glass windows that housed the Drumming Duck and the rattlesnake and the python and the rabbit clown and the other sad creatures on display for the visitors who paused a moment, pointed to the displays for their ice-cream-sticky children, then hurried on to buy their rubber tomahawks and beaded belts.
On this day I went looking again, having never found the perfection in plastic I sought, but after two stores I wandered back to my bike and glanced at the sky. It was getting late, and I needed to make it through the winding ways of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park with plenty of light. Besides, I had it in mind to visit Dollywood in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, before nightfall.
Pressing on. I began seeing monumental billboards, on which a horrific, huge butterfly loomed, for the attraction miles before town, a formerly bereft Hamlet that had been Dolly Parton’s hometown before she made it big and it turned into a theme park of cheap restaurants and Western-wear outlets. I turned into the massive parking lot for the amusement park and saw the sign that informs two bucks is the price for parking; besides thinking that was steep for the few minutes I wanted to spend inside, I always resented paying anything to put such a narrow machine into a corner that couldn’t have been used by anything else anyway. Then I found out the admission was $18, and that clinched it. Who spent that much money to ride a ferris wheel alone? Shady characters in old movies did it, but they had ulterior motives. I could only turn around, another wistful goal having come in sight and revealed itself useless in plain view.
The sky was lower as I headed back out of Pigeon Forge, and I wanted to do it fast. I wanted to find somewhere I could be alone where no one would see me being alone. It was time to find the night’s Days Inn.
I hauled in all the garbage — the saddlebags, tank bag, helmet, tool bag. I went back down the hill to the service station’s convenience store and got some Italian rolls that were too white and too soft and a package of string cheese, thus exhausting their variety of real food. I sat in the bathtub and turned on the orange-red heat lamp so that the timer buzzed judiciously for 20 minutes. I unfurled the map and read it with a side of bourbon, so that some time in the future I might be able to fall asleep in the strangely familiar room. I made my peace as best I could with the discovery that I would have one more night like this, but I could do it. Since I had to, I could.
I turned on the news, and just when I was listening intently to some important-sounding item about the municipal airport of the nearby town I can’t recall the name of, I heard the voice.
It spoke in a stage whisper that reached to the fifth tier and back.
It said, “Tomorrow is the last day you will spend on earth.”
A shaking started in my gut, my feet felt very far away. The words of the anchorperson continued to accumulate in the room like cotton batting being stuffed into a mattress. Behind my eyes a scene was now projected, and I saw a white car of some general make coming at me and my white bike — a horror all dressed in the tones of clouds — but there the movie stopped, although I knew its end.
The utter precipitousness and incongruity of this final pronouncement made me unable to avoid its truth. I had apparently had one of those supermarket-tabloid premonitions: WOMAN FORESEES OWN DEATH.
It seemed just as certain that I couldn’t stay in a Tennessee motel in order to stave off death; the irony of that, I presume, is completely obvious. I reached for the glass of Jack Daniel’s and saw my hand quivering in midair. I spoke to myself sharply: Don’t be ridiculous! It kept on shaking.
It was intolerable, more than merely nettlesome, to be here alone now, and I caught sight of the decorator-almond telephone with its little red siren light sticking off the top. Besides the fact that it was well past midnight, how could I explain to anyone I could rouse from sleep what I’d just experienced? I was beginning to think that most of my friends thought I lived on the border of sanity anyway.
I lay back on the bed with a groan. Say, eight hours isn’t too long to spend lying here in the leaden grip of an absurd fear, until it’s light and you can go out and bravely prove the folly of your fantasies, shaking all the way.
If I couldn’t talk to anyone real, I figured I could make someone up and talk to him on paper; God knows I’ve got enough characters in my brain that one of them must be up and willing at this hour.
In the desk drawer were three sheets of motel stationery. Not enough, but a start. I took them back to the bed and started talking. We discussed why at this particular time I would be feeling afraid, why fear was often my co-pilot on my motorcycle. From the moment I’d bought my first bike three years before, I’d managed to pin most of my previously free-floating anxieties on some aspect of machinery. And wasn’t that why, later, I’d realized I wanted one in the first place, to wage war on this fear in the concrete?
At the bottom of the second page, the TV well into a rerun of “All in the Family,” the writing trailed off. I slipped into sleep and dreamt of nothing.
There is a beginning to this story, of course, far before the beginning. I was boarding at a prep school in Ohio, the town — a miniature replica of a New England hamlet replete with town green, white steeples, stone wall around a campus of gentle slopes and neatly tended playing fields — was midway between Akron, where I am from, and Cleveland. Although I had opted to attend (pleasing my father, who had also gone there) and escape public school for which I was decidedly not cut out, by my third year I was beginning to feel I had chosen another type of prison instead. I was blissfully happy up in the art room, a sun-filled kingdom ruled by the brilliantly eccentric Mr. Moos, but I was not allowed to spend all my time there as I would have wished. I had to do sports (for which I was equally woefully miscast), science, woodshop (which I flunked, for “refusing” to keep my plane sharpened), and, most loathesome of all, math.
No one has ever erred in calling me stubborn. I have a place, like the end of spring, beyond which I can stretch not a millimeter further. I hit that wall one achingly green spring day, on which I was not uncoincidentally expected in math class at 8:30 a.m. — stupefyingly early, to add injury to insult. I looked at the clock when I opened my eyes, saw it was 8:20 and pulled off the covers. I put on my jeans, forbidden in class, a T-shirt, and put my money and keys in my backpack. I wheeled my Raleigh 10-speed out the door, carried my prize possession bought with hard-won summer babysitting funds down the stairs and outdoors. And I rode past the streams of students heading up the brick walks toward school.
The trip took a half hour in the car. I was thankful in more ways than one that the direction was reversed this time. Approaching the quaint crossroads of Peninsula, a half-mile hill shot down into the town. I coasted, let the bike pick up speed. The wheels were flashing now in the sunlight. I couldn’t go fast enough; I shifted into tenth gear and pedalled as hard as I could, pumping, pumping. The wind dried my teeth clean so my lips stuck to them — that was because I smiled.
When I turned up the drive to my house my mother looked up from her gardening. She hardly seemed surprised to see me. Without her asking, I told her that I simply couldn’t take it anymore. She nodded, and we had some lunch. I think she must have called my father at the office, because when he came home he didn’t seem too stunned either. I was relieved, near elated. I could stay — we would work out the credits and whatnot later. We had the usual nice dinner my mother prepared. Then my parents rose from the table and announced it was time to get going.
Now it was my turn not to be surprised. I had achieved at least that much maturity to understand a certain version of reality.
The next day I was summoned into Sherwin Kibbe’s office. The school’s dean was a dead ringer for Norman Mailer, and he looked frighteningly out from under overhanging silver eyebrows and inquired just what I thought I had been doing. I was several pages into my explanation, which combined a bit of Jefferson with a smattering of Kerouac, when he cut me short. “Well, I think you just wanted to take a ride on a nice day.”
My deeply felt protests met with an offer of demerits and probation. Tears of misunderstood frustration coursed down my cheeks after I shut the door. My issues were high – how could he have leveled me with such an insignificant charge? It was contemptuous.
Sixteen years later and I still ask myself the same question. My answer is still stubborn. So why shouldn’t I run away because it’s a nice day? There is never a better reason.
I’d made it as far as the Delaware Water Gap in one day. I’d been riding for 13 hours, and it was now 1 a.m. I was strung out from the numbing consistency of the highways, the same speed, the light, persistent rain that shrouded everything in mist, just like my brain felt. If I could just stay awake and bear down hard enough, I could be home in another two hours.
It was just me and the long-haul trucks now, and nothing broke the dark outside my headlight beam. I didn’t know if I’d been riding for one day or 10. Time had no meaning, except that it was what had exhausted me. I probably could have gone on. Suddenly, though, a thought came into my head, a small distillation of all the biking horror stories I’d ever heard: I was outrunning my headlight’s visibility, and if there were a railroad tie across the lane, I wouldn’t see it till it was too late. I was awake enough to appreciate what that meant.
In a few miles I saw the green Holiday Inn sign rise above the gloom of trees. In the office the woman behind the desk gave me a wide-eyed look as I clomped in in my rainsuit. No, no rooms, all full; there was another place 20 miles away — she’d call. No room in that inn, either, she informed me on putting down the phone. I felt at that moment I was going to collapse.
Actually, she considered, there was one, but the air conditioning had gone out in it. If I didn’t mind….
No, I didn’t. A couple of hay bales would have sufficed. I fell asleep in moments in the sickly, still air.
It was still raining in the morning, and I jerked on the same still-wet clothes and covered them up with the rubber-lined suit. I got an early start.
Two hours later I made the last turn onto my street, and for the first time was forced to slow to a near halt. It had stopped raining. The sun was calling up the hot moisture from the pavement to choke the air. Halfway down the block an earth-mover and police barricades barred the way. Workmen were sweating in their undershirts. I felt the heat rise up from the Guzzi’s cylinders and envelop me. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, jeans, leather jacket with winter lining, rainsuit on top of that; my hands were encased in rubber gloves with a thick synthetic liner, and the vents on my helmet were closed against the early morning chill that was an incredible memory now.
The men tried to wave me to a stop. Instead I let out the clutch and came toward them, provoking wilder gesticulations. At the last moment, I jumped the curb onto the sidewalk to pull up in front of my garage. Only then did I apply the brake.
I switched off the key, then pulled off my helmet and sat for a second, steam rising around my neck. The bike let out its little clicks and coos, already cooling in the heat.
This is how 2,000 miles ends. I’d made bigger trips, but not alone. There was a certain purity to this one, a perfect insularity. It was as though I had done all that distance without leaving a mark on any atom in the universe. I had slipped quickly and quietly by, and the wind in my wake only a vague memory of disturbance in the grass by the edge of the road. Maybe we were white dream-cars ourselves. Yet now I was home, and that’s all that mattered.
Brice Hennebert, owner of Workhorse Speed Shop, in Belgium, has been busy during lockdown. After creating Appaloosa V1.0 in 2019 for the Sultans of Sprint then re-working the Indian Scout build into Appaloosa V2.0 for the Baikal Mile Ice Festival, Brice has focussed his attention on building two special dream bikes based on the Indian FTR 1200.
The first build, Black Swan, is a 90’s sports bike concept utilizing the latest parts and materials to make it extremely sporty. The build extensively uses carbon fibre to minimize weight, Ohlins suspension, Beringer brakes, and modern additions such as a quickshifter. The second build, FTR AMA, is based on the 80s era AMA SBK race bikes and Rally cars, inspiring an angular design and will be finished in the classic Martini Racing livery.
Black Swan and FTR AMA Build – Q&A with Brice Hennebert
We caught up with Brice to get an insight into his latest projects, both of which are shaping up to be remarkably interesting, but quite different builds – just as we have come to expect from Workhorse.
It’s been a long time since you came back from Russia after taking Appaloosa V2.0 to the Baikal Mile Ice Speed Festival – that must feel like a dream now, are the memories still strong?
Yes, the memories are really strong. With the lockdown, it was some time after coming back from Russia that I saw many of my friends. Every time I reconnect with a friend they always ask about the trip. So, I get to relive the memories regularly and so they are still strongly alive.
And when Appaloosa finally got back to Belgium after the Russian borders reopened, unpacking the bike and reassembling it meant I got to relive the memories all over again.
Obviously, lockdown has changed the way we all work, but you have still been busy with brand-new builds based on the FTR. What are the concepts behind each project?
The concept for the first build, Black Swan, came a few years ago when I was racing at Wheels & Waves against the Miracle Mike Scout built by The Young Guns. During that time, I had the vision to build a sports bike for road use. But, really sporty, built like a GP bike. It’s deeply inspired by 90’s sports bikes, all made from carbon fibre. That’s what happens when I have total freedom from the commissioners of a project. And I’m even thinking about doing a small series of this bike for sale. It’s pretty unique!
The second FTR project is based on the 80s era AMA SBK race bikes and Rally cars. Black Swan and the FTR AMA project are for two brothers. The brother that commissioned Black Swan asked me to design a second build for his brother. Something colourful but sharp like a war tank. The only restriction was that it should have a Martini Racing livery.
After a little research and brainstorming, the main influence became the Lancia Delta HF. I’ve mixed this with a bit of the early Bol d’Or race bikes and some muscle bike flavour keeping an upright riding position, close to the original FTR which works so well.
With the Appaloosa v1.0 and v2.0 builds, you had some great partners providing advice, components, fabrication, and tuning skills. Who has stepped up for these FTR builds?
All of them and even more. I went to the Akrapovič factory a few days after the Baikal Mile to work on the Black Swan exhaust. I crossed the border to go home for a few hours and they decided to close the border. That was tight.
Öhlins have shipped me a full set of custom components for Black Swan, quite impressive I have to say. Beringer Brakes is also in the game on both bikes with their new 4+ system. Super light, super nice.
I’m also working with Vinco Racing in Holland, Tim is taking care of all the CNC parts around both bikes. And there’s many of them.
My buddy Robert Colyns from 13.8 Composite is taking care of the carbon fibre fabrication.
On Black Swan, we will be fitting Rotobox carbon fibre wheels, they really are pieces of art! Liteblox Germany have made a bespoke carbon fibre battery for the bike, Cerakote Nl did all the black ceramic treatment. Jeroen from Silver Machine the seat works. Christophe from Forame design did all the 3D modelling from the Clay scan.
The FTR AMA wheel set is a total eye catcher. I collaborated with Fabio from JoNich Wheels in Italy. The design is based on his Rush wheels but without carbon flanges. They are machined from billet aluminium. And the design made me think about the turbo fans wheels used on the racing Lancia, so that was a perfect choice. They are completed by a Dunlop GP tyre set with this mad 200 section rear tyre.
So, as you can see, I’m not alone on this bike.
We can’t reveal too much at this stage, but from the pictures from the builds so far, designing the bodywork seems to be a fairly intensive process. Can you walk us through the steps, from visualisation and sketches through to a finished piece of the bodywork?
Yes, it’s quite a long journey, here’s roughly the stages for Black Swan:
First, preliminary sketches and a compilation of reference pictures for the details. At this stage I’m drawing the main lines of the bike, the mood.
Then I sent everything to Benny at Axesent in Japan to make proper renders in several versions, with realistic lighting and some livery ideas.
When I was happy at this point, I started 3D modelling. I modelled the bike at full scale in clay directly on the FTR, but only on one side of the bike. This step took about 6 weeks, between the clay structure and perfecting the final shape.
Then I scanned the bike in 3D to start the CAD modelling stage. The scan was used as a starting point to be sure of the proportions, but there was always freedom for new ideas. In the meantime, I worked on the symmetry, details, articulated parts, and assembly systems between the different elements. All told, another 2 months of work.
The next step went to 13.8 Composites. Firstly, they 3D printed all the bodywork from the CAD models. These prints were used as a master for moulding and creating the die that the carbon fibre was laid into.
Once done, adjustments were made between all the parts to be sure that it all fit together and looked perfect.
With the FTR AMA build, rather than start with the clay, here I used direct CAD design based on a 3D scan of the FTR chassis. Then all the body parts were 3D printed and reinforced with carbon fibre.
Is this a process that you have used before? You seem really keen, on every project, to try something new and expand your skill set.
This was something totally new to me, at least at this scale. I have done clay shaping before, but not on something so complex.
The bodywork is bound to be the main focal point when people first see the bikes, but what else can you reveal about the builds at this stage?
The body of Black Swan is just 1.8 kg for the entire bike. I’ve also decided to fit a few accessories such as a quick shifter and Power Commander. The idea is to initially test the bike with the standard performance in the racing configuration (position, bodywork etc.) 123 hp is enough for road use today in Europe. And if the owner of the bike needs more power then we will go into the engine.
On the FTR AMA, there are two aluminum fuel cells to reach a total capacity of 3.7 gallons with one of the tanks under the seat. Plus, the intake has been redesigned and 3D printed to work with DNA performance air filters. On the chassis side, the tail section has been modified to fit a twin shocks system powered by Öhlins.
Plans are progressing on when and how the bikes will be revealed, but they will certainly make an impact.
Yes, with the events calendar being difficult to predict over the last few months, we’ve had to come up with several plans. I really can’t wait to see the response to these two bikes.
The Petersen Automotive Museum and Motorcycle Arts Foundation have launched a new exhibit titled ADV:Overland, which celebrates the spirit of adventure through off-road and off-world motorcycles and related vehicles. With support from Harley-Davidson, the exhibit features 23 adventure-touring motorcycles and race vehicles from 1930 to the present, as well as sci-fi and NASA off-world exploration vehicles, to tell a comprehensive story about adventuring on two wheels, on Earth and beyond.
Motorcycles and off-road racing vehicles on display include an example of the 1903 California that was the first motorized vehicle to travel coast to coast; a 1912 Henderson Four as used in the first motorcycle trip around the world; a 1915 Harley-Davidson 11-F with sidecar, as used by Effie and Avis Hotchkiss when they became the first women to drive across the United States; the 1932 Douglas “Mastiff” which inspired Robert Edison Fulton Jr.’s novel “One Man Caravan”; the 1933 Puch 250SL that was the first motor vehicle to overland from Europe to India; a 1964 Honda CL72 Baja Scrambler homage to Dave Ekins’ first timed run down Baja; a 1974 BMW R60/6 which inspired the book “Lone Rider” by Elspeth Beard; a 1906/2019 Contal Mototri veteran of the Peking to Paris rally; and many more, including an example of the 2021 Harley-Davidson Pan America.
Real and science fiction space vehicles are also on display and include a 2021 Tardigrade concept electric Lunar motorcycle; a replica of the 1965 chariot from the “Lost in Space” television series; as well as another from the 2018 remake; a model of the Opportunity MER-1 rover, the robotic spacecraft that holds the long-distance record in off-world overlanding; and a model of the 1996 Sojourner rover.
“We are proud to partner with Motorcycle Arts Foundation to gather this impressive display of vehicles in the spirit of adventure,” said Petersen Executive Director Terry L. Karges. “Coming on the heels of a global pandemic, ADV:Overland is an important retrospective of the freedom of exploration, to go where no one has ever gone and accomplish things that no one has ever accomplished. This visionary spirit drives innovation in transportation and has inspired this exhibit.”
Exhibit curator Paul d’Orléans explains, “This exciting, first-ever collection of Round-the-World, overland racing, and off-world overland vehicles is the perfect pandemic escape hatch. Most of these extraordinary machines have never been publicly displayed, and absolutely radiate the spirit of adventure: some even retain their original accessories, 90 years later. These are must-see vehicles, on display in the best motoring museum on the planet.”
“ADV:Overland” opened on July 3, 2021, at the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles. The exhibit is produced by Motorcycle Arts Foundation (MAF) and Sasha Tcherevkoff with support from Harley-Davidson. Guests who would like to visit the museum must purchase tickets in advance on the Petersen’s website. Health and safety guidelines are being followed: face coverings are required for all guests (single-use face masks will be provided to those who do not have one).For more information visit: petersen.org/overland.com.
The CE 04 scooter marks the beginning of a new chapter in what BMW Motorrad calls their “electromobility strategy.” The thoroughly contemporary design includes an all-electric drive and, BMW claims, innovative connectivity solutions aimed squarely at urban mobility and commuters. The bodywork is finished in Light White as standard, contrasting with black working parts, and finished with a modern “floating” bench seat. Solid wheels and a sidestand, integrated with the bodywork, finish off the styling. The CE 04 is also available in an optional Magellan Grey metallic, supplemented with a black/orange seat and an orange wind deflector.
The CE 04 uses an innovative liquid-cooled, permanent-magnet electric motor, mounted in the frame between the battery and the rear wheel. BMW says they have conducted extensive riding tests to develop specific types of battery recuperation relative to the choice of riding mode. The motor is rated at 20 horsepower with a claimed maximum output of 42 horsepower, which should make it zippy. BMW has highlighted the importance they placed in providing opportunities for riders to choose between maximum efficiency and maximum riding fun, as the mood or need requires. Three riding modes include Rain, with reduced power, Eco, where range is prioritized over performance, Road for more zip, and an optional Dynamic mode, for maximizing performance. Top speed is limited to a healthy 74.5 mph, and 0-30 mph is achieved in 2.6 seconds.
The CE 04 has a battery cell capacity of 60.6 Ah (8.9 kWh), providing a claimed range of 80 miles (the reduced output version manages 62 miles). The last published study conducted by the DOT on commuting was in 2003 and found that, on average, U.S. commuters travel 15 miles to work. The CE 04 is well within those limits but will require owners to regularly recharge. The lithium-ion battery is charged using one of the BMW integrated charging devices and a regular household socket or a public charging station. When the battery is completely flat a complete charge takes about 4 hours and 20 minutes. The optional quick charger reduces charging time to 1 hour and 40 minutes from completely flat and will take a battery at 20% up to 80% in 45 minutes.
The frame is constructed from tubular steel, with a telescopic fork and twin disc brakes for the front wheel, and a single-sided swingarm/monoshock, and a single-disc brake at the rear. ABS comes as standard, and BMW’s ABS Pro (combines with tilt sensor) is an option. Tires are 120/70-R15 at the front and 160/60-R15 at the rear. A 10.25-inch TFT color screen with integrated map navigation and extensive connectivity should allow owners to safely stow their device in the ventilated mobile phone charging compartment with USB-C charging port. All-round LED lighting units are standard. Adaptive Headlight Pro provides cornering illumination as an available option, as is Dynamic Traction Control (DTC), available by means of an ASC (Automatic Stability Control) unit. ASC limits engine torque in relation to rear wheel slip and DTC enables safe acceleration in various conditions and is also sensitive to lean angle.
Oliver Zipse, CEO of BMW AG, said, “The BMW CE 04 is our new electric star for the city. It combines an e-drive with emotion and motorcycling fun. The latest technology, and the best battery cells, which also provide power in the BMW iX. Just like the CE 04, all future new BMW Motorrad models for urban mobility will be pure electric.”
Price and availability have not yet been announced. For more information visit: bmwmotorcycles.com
Our guest for Episode 17 of the Rider Magazine Insider podcast is Valerie Thompson, a professional drag racer and land-speed racer who holds the title of “World’s Fastest Female Motorcycle Racer.” She holds eight land-speed records and is a member of the Sturgis Motorcycle Hall of Fame, seven 200 MPH clubs and one 300 MPH club. In 2018, she piloted the BUB 7 Streamliner to a record speed of 328.467 mph and is the only female rider featured on the “World’s Top 10 Fastest Motorcycle Riders” list. At the 2021 Bonneville Motorcycle Speed Trials in August she will attempt to break the motorcycle land speed record of 376.363 mph. Valerie’s quest to become the world’s fastest motorcycle racer is the subject of the upcoming film documentary, “Rockets and Titans.” Learn more about Thompson at ValerieThompsonRacing.com.
Riders Share is providing owners the opportunity to cash in on their motorcycles and the perfect excuse to buy another.
Riders Share, the largest motorcycle sharing marketplace, announced today that it would pay an extra $250 to owners who list an additional 2015 or later model motorcycle and perform three rentals with it before October 14, 2021.
According to Riders Share, the motorcycles and vehicles that perform the best on the platform are adventure bikes, especially BMWs, Ducati Monster and Scrambler models, Harley-Davidson Road and Electra Glides, Indian Chieftains, Challenger and Roadmasters. Can-Ams and Urals are also very popular. They suggest researching the platform in your local market for pointers on which late model motorcycles are currently underrepresented, and therefore the most likely to meet the three rentals deadline.
Riders Share also has a referral program, which allows users to provide $50 in free credits to friends to allow them to experience the site and book their first rental, thus streamlining the opportunity to get paid for owning a motorcycle.
“Historically, purchasing a motorcycle hasn’t been viewed as a good investment, but we are aiming to change that with the Riders Share platform,” said Guillermo Cornejo, CEO of Riders Share. “We have helped many of our users turn their motorcycles into incredible financial investments, returning as much as 2,800% in 3 years by listing their motorcycles and utilizing the peer-to-peer platform. Riders Share users have been able to start businesses based on the volume rentals they are performing on the platform. It truly is the power of the peer-to-peer platform.”
I can report, from first-hand experience, that this is more than just marketing hype. I recently rented a 2021 BMW R 1250 GS through Riders Share and was surprised to find that the owner of the bike I rented, one of the early adopters on the site, had subsequently built a fleet of 28 motorcycles. He also explained that he managed to pay off his first two bikes in just two months and is considering giving up his IT business to focus on Riders Share.
Riders Share is the world’s largest peer-to-peer motorcycle marketplace platform. Their mission is to match underutilized motorcycles with vetted riders. They provide an insurance policy for owners and roadside assistance coverage for renters. With over 100,000 registered users, Riders Share offers the largest variety of motorcycles available to rent in the world. For more information visit: riders-share.com
At select U.S. cities through November of this year, the Progressive IMS Outdoors series is hosting three-day powersports festivals for enthusiasts and potential riders of all ages and skill levels. You can see the latest models from motorcycle manufacturers and products from aftermarket vendors, and get demo rides on motorcycles, ATVs, e-bicycles, e-scooters, and other powersports vehicles, both on- and off-road. There will also be local artisans, musical performances, and craft food and drinks available throughout each weekend.
Returning attractions include the Marketplace, IMS Vintage, Discover The Ride, the Ultimate Builder Custom Bike Show, and an expanded Adventure Out! area, a space to learn, explore, and share the adventure of life on two wheels. A central campsite, surrounded by exhibitors, acts as a place for education and discovery with experienced riders and RVers sharing their stories and tips. While there, be sure to enter Explorify’s and Rider Magazine’s sweepstakes for a chance to win a free 3-day motorcycle rental and a lifetime subscription to Rider Magazine. And pick up a copy of Rider Magazine, your source for touring, travel, and adventure on two wheels.
Guest speakers at Adventure Out! include:
Longhaulpaul (Paul Pelland), a long-distance motorcyclist with multiple sclerosis who is riding 1,000,000 miles to raise money and awareness for MS. Longhaulpaul will be at the Northern California (July 16-18), Chicago (August 20-22), and Southern California (November 19-21) shows.
Bret Tkacs, a world traveler, professional trainer, writer, and YouTuber who gives dynamic presentations about the physics and psychology of riding. Bret will be at the New York (September 3-5), Pennsylvania (September 10-12), Texas (October 1-3), Nashville (October 8-10), and Florida (October 15-17) shows.
Lucinda Belden, a motorcycle and RV travel writer who has a column in Ride Texas. She is an avid sidecarist and documents her travels on Facebook for Direction Wide Open and Twist Your Throttle. Lucinda will be at the Chicago (August 20-22), Pennsylvania (September 10-12), Texas (October 1-3), Nashville (October 8-10), Florida (October 15-17), and Atlanta (October 29-31) shows.
Andrew Muse, is a professional multisport athlete and adventure filmmaker who’s lived on the road for the better part of the last decade out of many different kinds of vehicles. Andrew is known for his aptitude for actions sports, wild lifestyle, and his series “Tiny Home Adventure.” Andrew will be at the Northern California (July 16-18) show.
Our guest for Episode 16 of the Rider Magazine Insider Podcast is Wayne Rainey, president of MotoAmerica and a motorcycle racing legend. Rainey is a 2-time AMA Superbike champion (1983, 1987) and 3-time Grand Prix World Champion (1990-1992) in the premier 500cc class. In 1999 he was inducted into the AMA Motorcycle Hall of Fame, and in 2000 FIM named Rainey a Grand Prix Legend. Rainey is the president of MotoAmerica, which has managed and promoted the AMA Superbike series since 2015. We discuss Rainey’s racing career, MotoAmerica’s efforts to grow U.S. motorcycle racing, and MotoAmerica’s different classes, including Honos Superbike and Mission King of the Baggers. The GEICO MotoAmerica Superbike Speedfest will be July 9-11 at WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca in Monterey, California. Tickets are available online, and racing coverage can be streamed on MotoAmerica Live+ or watched on Fox Sports FS2 and MAVTV. Check out the MotoAmerica website for details.
Indian Motorcycle has announced its continued support and sponsorship of the seventh annual Veterans Charity Ride (VCR) to Sturgis. The two have partnered with the initiative of “America Get Out & Ride” while using motorcycle therapy to support combat veterans’ transition to civilian life.
Many of the veterans joining the Veterans Charity Ride for the first time are amputees, paraplegics, or suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress and other issues veterans face after leaving the military. Each new veteran will pair with mentors who have already been through the Veterans Charity Ride program and receive one-on-one support to help their transition back to civilian life. The 2021 ride will include 16 total veterans – eight new, along with eight returning veterans who will serve as mentors.
“Veterans Charity Ride was designed to assist combat veterans who face challenges in their daily living and provide them with a support structure that will get them back outside and living life to the fullest,” said Dave Frey, Veterans Charity Ride Founder. “Many of our veterans used to ride motorcycles before their injuries and thought they never would ride again. Through support from companies like Indian Motorcycle and Champion Sidecar, we are able to get these vets back on bikes and enjoy the freedom of the open road.”
This year’s ride to Sturgis will start on July 28 in Moab, Utah where the group will take the trek through some of the nation’s most scenic backgrounds roads in the western United States. The group will stop and visit local communities along the route, such as Fort Collins, Colorado, where the group will be receiving an official proclamation and welcoming by the mayor before arriving at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota on August 6. Participants will be riding an assortment of Indian Motorcycle models, outfitted with Rekluse auto clutch systems and custom-built Champion Sidecars for amputee and paraplegic veterans.
The 14-day adventure allows participating veterans the opportunity to push towards conquering their post-war challenges while out on the open road. Throughout the trip, veterans will also conduct team-building exercises allowing riders to share their service experience during the emotional and mind-detoxing motorcycle ride.
“We’re honored to support our U.S. veterans and contribute to such noble cause like the Veteran’s Charity Ride,” said Aaron Jax, Vice President for Indian Motorcycle. “Riding can be one of the most therapeutic experiences, as we have seen first-hand the dramatic evolution and incredible growth from vets that have completed the VCR program.”
The Veterans Charity Ride to Sturgis was created by veteran Army Paratrooper Dave Frey and leverages the therapeutic effects of motorcycle riding to create an adventure of a lifetime for wounded and amputee combat veterans adjusting to post-war life.
Veterans Charity Ride (VCR), started by veterans for veterans, is a non-profit organization that delivers Motorcycle Therapy and additional life changing, life-saving holistic programs specifically designed to assist wounded and amputee combat veterans with their needs and the issues they deal with on a daily basis. Helping our fellow veterans through outreach, action, activities, education and follow-up is what drives our organization. The end result of our program is a healthier and happier, more capable individual, who is now living life in a much better physical and mental condition, and able to help and support other veterans to do the same. Visit www.veteranscharityride.org to learn more and support this worthy cause.