Ural Motorcycles: The most improbable motorbike company anywhere

Earlier this year I had a chance to head up to Redmond, Wash., to visit with the bootstraps brains behind Ural Motorcycles and take a ride on one of the sidecar bikes. The married Russian expats who run the company — Ilya Khait and Madina Merzhoeva — are a grassroots management team who handle everything from homologation concerns to keeping operations running smoothly back at the motorcycle plant in Irbit, Siberia. They have what can only be described as the most unbelievable operation in the motorcycle business.

Here’s the story I wrote for Dealernews about the company. They may have one of the best stories I’ve ever had the pleasure of telling. Really, just the logistics of building bikes in Russia and shipping them over here for distribution in the United States are mind-boggling. Here’s a detail I wasn’t able to fit into the story: After being asked why they have to ship all the bikes west, out of Russia and through Germany to the U.S. East Coast and then delivered to Washington state, when it seems it’s a much shorter route to go East, to America’s West Coast and Ural’s HQ, Ilya said, “Shipments have a way of disappearing when they head in that direction.”

Some other tidbits that didn’t make it: The massive production facility that’s been building Ural motorcycles since the 1940s is spread across nearly 450 acres. It had its own steam generating plant. The total square footage of the manufacturing buildings was about 1.3 million sq. ft., including a 360,000 sq. ft. building that once housed, welding, painting and main assembly. At the height of production in the 1980s, Ural was one of the largest motorcycle manufacturers in Europe and in 1993 it pumped out 132,000 motorcycles. Now? Not so much. After the collapse of the Soviet Union released that captive audience, those number dropped drastically. As mentioned in the story, Ural consolidated all of its operations in one 220,000. sq. ft. building and only uses a small sliver of that space.

I actually met Madina years ago, shortly after she and Ilya took over operations from the previous importer and distributor. It’s been pretty neat watching them build the company, improve the bikes and continually push the motorcycles further into the U.S. powersports market. Check out their full story at Dealernews.com.

 

Gard and Keanu’s excellent adventure: Arch Motorcycle Company

These are images of the KR GT-1 Prototype, the first model built by Arch Motorcycle Company. Arch is a new collaboration between custom builder Gard Hollinger of L.A. County Choprods and actor Keanu Reeves, who both are apparently simpatico when it comes to building high-design, performance-oriented custom v-twins.

Check out more about Arch and the new partnership over here at Dealernews. In the meantime, check out the pics and the vid of Reeves zipping around on the bike. We see on the L.A. County Choprods site that the build involved such industry notables as Bennett’s Performance, Ohlins Suspension, Baker Drivetrain, Yoshimura RD, K&N Filters, Evil Engineering and a host of other fine vendors.

Two-stroke/Blue smoke: a 2-cycle love affair

I’d happily asphyxiate in a cloud of 2-stroke smoke. Locked in the garage, that sweet oily haze drifting around me, the rink-a-dink-ding-dink rattling in my head. Soft sleep calling me down. Nothing.

At least that’s how it happens in my head. Surely, it’s a horrible, choking affair that leaves a blue, wretched corpse. But the distinctive stink of a 2-stroke is intoxicating and not just to these twisted nostrils. Legions of other have a similar sickness. I know. They were all at the 16th annual Two Stroke Extravaganza on Sunday, Sept. 23. Organized by the Socal 2-Strokers, the event is billed as the largest gathering of 2-stroke machines in America. Scooters. Dirtbikes. Race bikes. Street bikes. ATVs. Karts. You name it. All were on hand for the event.

And it’s not just the scent that draws them — obviously. There’s also the power and simplicity of these wonderful internal combustion engines that hold a special spot in the history of motorcycling. Oh, and there’s that sound too. Here’s a smattering of painfully artsty images and a couple of kick-ass videos capturing that jangly-sharp ping-a-rang-tang we all know and love. Like this Suzuki RG500 Walter Wolf edition.

Nobody Walks in Long Beach has it going on!

Here at Nobody Walks in Long Beach I think I’ve stumbled across something very important in nailing down strong and relevant search engine terms. Going over the stats today and found this search landed someone on this blog. I must be doing something right.

Downhill MTB champ Danny Hart can’t sit down …

… For reasons that are abundantly clear when you see the video in this post.

File this under What I Do. It’s a short bit I did on downhill mountainbike champion Danny Hart for Leatt’s newsletter and blog. I interviewed Mr. Hart at least three times over a very bad phone connection. He in his native Redcar in the northeast of England, me here in sunny Southern California. It didn’t go well and took three different conversations because I couldn’t quite catch what Danny was saying in any of my recorded interviews. Chalk it up to scratchy mobile connections and a dastardly dialectical disconnect.

Thank goodness for this video. It provided a framework around which I could wrap my words. It seemed to work I think. I mean, how can you go wrong when you include this quote anywhere in your copy: “How does Danny Hart sit down with balls that big?” View the viddy and check out the Leatt post in its entirety: Danny Hart: Look at that whip.

Tomatoes are for eating! (A recipe for tomatoes that don’t suck.)

Although living in Southern California means access to pretty good tomatoes pretty much all year long, there’s no beating those big sweet beasts of summer. The heirlooms at the farmers markets call out with their awkward flesh and promise of juicy goodness. Even the fake-looking grocery store versions eat well solo with salt and pepper at this time of the year.

Of course, tomatoes in these parts haven’t always been so tasty. (Maybe anywhere, but I’m familiar only with So Cal.) I didn’t really take to tomatoes until my late teens, early 20s when I had my first homegrown beauty that erased the taste of every mediocre mealy-fleshed tom I’d ever tasted.

I can remember back to my youth, to restaurant side salads ruined because of THAT one seed left behind by the unwanted tomato slice I’d always forgot to ask be left off. Tucked into a booth at Bob’s Big Boy with my mom and sister for an after-league-bowling meal, I’d stare at that bright red seed spoiling the vast creamy goodness of the coating of Big Boy’s own blue cheese dressing. The taste memory of those nasty things haunts me still.

But that was then and now we have tomatoes of every stripe and variety — and they sometimes grow in our back weed patch when the blight doesn’t get them first. Otherwise, it’s off to the farmers market (or even those plastic tubs of mildly decent heirlooms from Trader Joe’s) for real honest-to-God good tomatoes. It’s still kind of a wonder the wide variety of fresh produce that’s available to the masses compared to the mid-70s/early 80s.

For these specimens, there is this dish. It was one of the first I ever made back when realizing that I really, really enjoyed cooking. Snagged off the early days of the world wide web, it’s a recipe that’s become part of the Johnson Kitchen Canon and gets eaten several time when tomatoes are at their absolute best. As with many dishes, it’s pretty good when tomatoes are OK, but kind of of sucks when there’s nothing but those uniformly red softballs available at the grocers.

So Fresh Fresh Fresh is the key for all the ingredients. And if you can’t get fresh — say with the mozzarella or balsamic — go for quality. It absolutely pays off with the first bite. This dish is meant to be eaten at room temperature so keep it outa the fridge. The cold will do the flavors no justice. Heating, however, kind of works for any leftovers you may have.

NOTE: Though these pictures show grape tomatoes, I don’t recommend it. While they’re certainly sweet and flavorful enough, I’ve found there’s too much skin in the finished product and it gets kinda chewy. These were from a garden bounty that needed to be eaten.

(Apologies in advance for the pictures. Still working out the kinks in my technique and I’m a huge sucker for high saturation filter on most iPhone camera apps.)

Ingredients:

• Five to seven FRESH (if you can), SWEET (if they are) tomatoes, chopped
• A big fistful of fresh basil leaves, julienned or finely chopped*
• One pound good, whole milk mozzarella diced into 1/2 in. cubes
• Three tablespoons GOOD balsamic vinegar (really, it makes a difference)
• One half cup chopped black olives
• Salt/freshly ground pepper to taste

• Three quarter cup GOOD olive oil
• Five to six cloves garlic, minced

• One pound spaghetti or linguini noodles

1. In a large bowl (glass works best and looks nice too) combine chopped tomatoes, basil, mozzarella, balsamic, olives — salt and pepper to taste. I got heavy on the pepper because I like the punch it give it. Mix well and let sit, about an hour is good, but two is better to let the flavors get it on.

2. Cook your pasta the way you like to cook your pasta. While it’s cooking jump into the next step.

3. Pour olive oil and minced garlic into small skillet or sauce pan and warm over medium-heat. Don’t deep fry the garlic — this isn’t the county fair — just slowly warm the olive oil and garlic for about four-five minutes. If the garlic starts to brown, it’s too hot. The idea is to flavor the oil and keep the garlic as supple as possible. If it gets crunchy it tastes kinda crappy.

4. OK, here’s where it comes together. After pasta is al dente, drain and mix it into the tomato/basil/whatever mixture and thorough stir. Next, pour in garlic-infused oil into pasta/tom mixture and continue to toss and stir. Get that stuff good and mixed up. Season to taste.

5. Serve immediately and enjoy.

Drink: If memory serves me, the O.G. recipe suggested a Valpolicella to go with, but I’ve found that just about any good red wine works. Really, we’re just talking about a good homey meal here. As with most things in life, a good red wine makes this that much better.

* Depends on how you like it. I usually finely chop. For a great easy method for julienning (word?) check this out. http://christinenurnberger.blogspot.com/2009/06/perfectly-julienned-basil.html

Raising the dead: Past thoughts on Harley-Davidson’s Iron 883

Image courtesy of Harley-Davidson

It’s been four years since Harley-Davidson introduced the Iron 883 as part of its Dark Custom lineup, and the same timespan since I got one for a test ride and review. That bike is still one of my Top 10 fun bikes to ride. There’s something very no bullshit about it.

At the time, it seemed that Sportsters were still H-D’s dirty little secret — one viewed by the Harley faithful as the Motor Co.’s “little bike” or “girl’s bike.” Since then, you can’t hit the So Cal highways and byways without spotting a Sporty blasting down the lanes, rider decked out in the proper uniform — open-face helmet, T-shirt or T-shirt/flannel combo, skinny Levis and Converse/Vans/work boots/hipster boots.

This is great as the Sportster, in all of its incarnations, is an absolute blast to ride. Lightweight and zippy (well, zippy enough). At one time in my two-wheeled life, I owned an Ironhead Sportster (hey, there it is to the left) that sat more often than it ran, but damn did it look good sitting there. The problem was electrical gremlins (after a homegrown rewiring job) but it also liked to shed parts while going down the road. Take the generator for instance. No really, take it, because it’s laying back there in the No. 1 lane on Artesia Blvd. in Torrance. Bolt holes in the case stripped out easily and had to to Heli-Coil or filled and retapped. Damn do I miss that bike.

Well the new generation of Sportsters has found a new generation of fans and that’s pretty cool. In honor of these little runabouts, I’m resurrecting a review I did back in 2009 on the Iron 883.

For me, one of the absolute wonders of riding a motorcycle has always been that minute you crest a hill and start to let gravity influence your ride. Where it’s less of you piloting the bike and more of you just riding it. While I love uphill cornering and sections of twisties — with all the physics they represent as I roll off, brake, lean and accelerate in that sublime danceable rhythm — it’s that moment, when you’re no longer pushing it that grabs me and lets me fly.

As a kid I used to trek up to the higher points of the South Bay area of Los Angeles on my Strand cruiser and then make that bomb run downhill. Free flying. Wind swooping. Sensory overload. The pull of flat land bringing you down to its level. It’s the pure sensation of motion, where movement and rolling forward is the only thing.

While riding pretty much anything with two wheels and a motor is a good time, some motorcycles are just more fun, the kind of fun that hints back to those coasting runs on 26-inch balloon-tired wheels. I found this sensation recently on Harley-Davidson’s latest introduction to the Dark Custom line, the Iron 883.

Much like its older brother, the Nightster, the Iron 883 is simply a motorcycle in its most basic form. There’s no bells and whistles and with the Motor Co.’s Dark Customs, that seems to be the point. It’s a blacked-out version of the Sportster 883 Low that’s lighter by about 20 pounds and a lot more sparse and gritty given the flat paint scheme, some sweet rubber fork gaiters and the taillight/brakelight/turn signal combo and fold-away license plate that first appeared on the Nightster.

Unlike the Nightster’s spoked wheels, the Iron 883 comes with black 13-spoke cast aluminum wheels — not much of a difference in my book, though I’m partial to the traditional chrome spokes (Yes, that’s a horrible pic to the right). Also unlike the bigger blacked-out bike, the Iron comes with narrower, tucked-in handlebars that give the already compact package a slightly tighter feel. (It’s also three inches shorter in total length than the 883 Low.)

The styling is immaculate and lives up to Harley’s reputation for a beautiful fit and finish — right down to the black plastic cover that covers the standard rear brake fluid reservoir. Chrome staggered dual pipes help offset the whole black-out theme. It’s a nice contrast.

How does all this translate into on-the-road riding? It’s simple, not only is this a great entry-level bike as it’s very, very easy to ride, it’s also a great little get-around-town ass-kicker of a hot rod for those looking for a bit more oomph. The Nightster’s 1200cc motor offered that much more power, but even the pared down V-twin in the Iron gives enough go-go grunt to smear a smile across your face.

For those requiring rocket-style speed, the Iron probably isn’t for you. But those looking for a broad torque band can find it here. I should note that the bike pulls strong while clicking through each gear, but almost as a matter of course I was hitting the rev limiter through every speed. It was an odd sensation and I couldn’t see where my RPMs were as the Iron is tach-less.

But getting to the earlier point, this is simply a fun bike to ride. It’s in the class of motorcycles where it’s less about operating the bike  and more about riding it. It’s almost an intangible feeling

Motorcycle riders and the road: What’s our responsibility?

Been out on the road a bunch the last few weeks of summer, covering the wide expanses of Southern California. It’s been family fun vacation time and not too much — not any really — two-wheeled time so I’ve been hyper aware of all those out for weekend rides and long-distance jaunts. It’s not so much jealousy that I’m not joining them, more a longing to be back riding again. As I’ve always known since the first time on a motorcycle, it’s that space between Points A and B, that time riding, is the only time I’m truly at peace in my own head. But the post-ACL surgery recovery continues and I’m waiting it out even if I do feel OK enough now to ride.

Seeing all those motorcyclists on the road, going where they’re going, doing what they do, reminded me of something I wrote a ways back when Caltrans launched its “Share the Road” campaign a few years back. See, for every ATGATT-clad rider and leather-ed enthusiast tearing right along there were the guys in T-shirts, tennis shoes, no-socks, and often shorts performing acts of unbelievable stupidity on So Cal’s highways and byways. I don’t get it. Here’s the thing from a few years back:

I was driving into work this week when I noticed that the digital freeway sign that usually informs me about the minutes I’d spend in the purgatory of traffic that is the 405 south had a new message. This week these signs read, “Share the road. Look twice for motorcyclists.” What a fantastic message I thought, and a good sign that the CHP and CalTrans were reinforcing a warning that we riders have been proselytizing all along.

In fact, the “Share the Road” message showing up on the approximately 700 so-called Amber Alert signs across California is part of a public service campaign by the CHP, the Office of Traffic Safety and CalTrans to promote highway safety by getting drivers to actually look for motorcyclists. Nice stuff.

The pessimist in me had another thought — I bet there were more than a few drivers cruising by, reading that sign and thinking, “Why should I care? These stupid motorcyclists are crazy to begin with and dying is a part of their equation.” I honestly believe that there are those out there who don’t give a flying crap about riders and believe some motorcyclists deserve to die or be injured.

After getting into the office and going through my e-mail, which includes Google news alerts that notify me of news stories containing keywords like “motorcycles” and “honda” and such, my thoughts were confirmed. Again. I have a morbid curiosity about reading the reader comment sections in stories about fellow riders going down in traffic or being seriously injured. It’s in these anonymous forms that I’ve read the most vile, repugnant statements made by strangers about strangers that I’ve ever come across.

The other day it was a story about the 91 freeway in Long Beach, Calif., being closed down to investigate a crash between a motorcyclist and a vehicle. There was really no information in the story about the accident or the condition of the rider, but here is one such comment:

Was this an unfortunate accident between a car and a motorcycle? Or, was the motorcyclist splitting lanes so he could go 20 mph faster than the rest of the traffic? If it was an unfortunate accident, I hope everyone is okay. If it was reckless lane-splitting, like I see every single day, then the motorcyclist deserved to be hit.

The thing is, this is one of the more sedate such comments I’ve read. One of the worst happened in a story about the death of an employee of a Harley-Davidson dealership here in Orange County, Calif. Not only did some commentators say he deserved to die, they

Antonio’s Pizza doesn’t live here anymore

The long-closed pizzeria in North Torrance still stands empty and abandoned.

If you’re from North Torrance you know Antonio’s Pizza. Hell, if you’re from the South Bay you probably know Antonio’s Pizza. And, quite likely, if you know Antonio’s Pizza you know that despite now being closed for something like 16 years, the once proud pizzeria sits empty and abandoned.

The lonely shell of Antonio’s Pizza is like a snapshot of what once was. Sitting prominently on Prairie Ave., where the busy boulevard intersects with 182nd St, the building that at one time served some of the freshest slices in the area stands frozen in time.

The exterior looks exactly as it did back the mid 90s, the last time I ate there. The red painted Antonio’s lettered across the storefront facade looks faded, but still reads clearly. The mustached Italian chef is still giving his knowing wink and OK sign. Wanna order a pie? There’s the phone number, in all its seven-digit glory, well before area codes became a mandatory part of the equation. Even better is the admonition painted above the entry door, “If you like it, tell your friends. If you don’t, tell us.” Sadly, there’s nothing left to like or share with your friends (hello Facebook!). Even the phone number remains disconnected. The days of Antonio’s much-loved BYOB policy are long gone.

The interior is the tell that Antonio’s Pizza is no more. Gutted save for a few miscellaneous bits and pieces, a large stainless-steel backsplash, industry range hood and a monstrous, commercial Hobart mixer. It’s like the ghost of a business.

I’d like to perpetuate the Mystery of the Abandoned Pizzeria, as it’s the kind of thing that generates its own myths and urban legends, but I know the puzzle has already been solved. My former colleague at the Daily Breeze, Nick Green, wrote a couple of stories back in 2007 on the real story behind Antonio’s demise, helped by info from former co-owner, Charlie Byrd. I remember Charlie. After Antonio’s he went on to run a joint called Cialuzzi’s in Redondo Beach. Cialuzzi’s begat Charlie’s, a New York Italian Joint that’s also in RB.

I don’t remember all the details of what happened and I’m too cheap to pay the entrance fee to get behind the Breeze’s archive system pay wall, but I recall there was some drama and personnel issues and tension and real estate problems. At least I think that’s what it was. I supposed I kind of like not remembering the details. I prefer the mystery that these photos illustrate. And I suppose I’m also too lazy to write a simple email to Nick to get some info. Again, the mystery.

It’s always strange making the trip back to North Torrance, easing into the intersection of Prairie and 182nd and looking to see if Antonio’s Pizza still stands, is newly inhabited or has finally met the bulldozer. A lot of the South Bay landscape I grew up has long been clear-cut to make way for many more mini-malls and dense housing developments. But there seems to be a few stubborn parts — some of them in North Torrance — that never seem to change. Maybe they get a facade makeover or some fresh new bland paint, but it seems that these places — businesses, apartments, houses, whatever — are left to be worn away by time, the elements and neglect. Like Antonio’s Pizza. I know this isn’t exclusive to the South Bay, but when it’s your own home turf, your own memory base, it just feels more personal.

Big Ass Cranes: Port of Long Beach tour

Apparently the port boat tours put on by the Port of Long Beach are POLB’s best-kept secret. Since I first heard about these tours I’ve tried to get reservations, but to no avail. Getting a spot on the free tour is harder than booking a campsite at one of California’s state park campgrounds. And that’s not easy. So, after begging asking a friend of mine who works at the port to see about getting a slot, I finally landed some seats. Excitedly, I spread this news far and wide. I finally got seats on the port tours!!!! In return everyone responded with, “Oh, what’s that?”

OK, enough of that nonsense. The tour takes you from inside the Long Beach harbor (by Shoreline Village) out past Pier J and into the Southeast Basin, the East Basin, the Middle Harbor, under the Gerald Desmond Bridge, into the Inner Harbor and back. A POLB employee narrates the whole tour, throwing out impressive facts about how much cargo moves through the port on a monthly and yearly basis. But the main thing is the sightseeing. The huge cranes used for loading/offloading the cargo ships are simply beautiful. What engineering. Luckily when we were out, we got to see several ships being loaded/unloaded. The whole process is a fantastic brutal ballet — you can see the crane operators swooping in and lowering the boom to lift the containers from the back of the trucks, make contact, connect and then lift the boxes skyward back toward the ship. The movement causes the containers to sway, but the operator uses the motion to swing the box into the stack on the ship, pulling up slack just in time to rest it on top of the container beneath it.

It’s really great stuff. The visuals are the best. Check out the pics.