Art of the Chopper - First Look

Artists who create choppers believe they must be ridden; it is a performance. It takes an exhibitionist, armed and hammered by his own hauteur. But think of the phenomenon, instead, as the swank of haut moteur, as high fashion is to haut couture. Women wear high heels, men ride choppers; same thing. As builder Eddie Trotta will tell you, “It’s better to look good than feel good.”

Just as a Paris couturier’s gown goes from runway to rack—the archetype of a fashion trend—these one-off, over-the-top, high-priced motorcycles initiate a process of trickle-down style in which Wal-Mart copies eventually dominate sales. Only a few connoisseurs have the economic clout to acquire the real deal, but their patronage allows an elite coterie of builders to reach new milestones of creativity, to transform an unruly congress of chrome, oil, rubber, pig iron, paint and decibels into the high art of the low rider. But choppers are not necessarily long and low, or all show and no go. A modern definition is any one-of-a-kind, handmade motorcycle of exceptional quality and originality. It is exceedingly loud, stripped of everything but what it needs to go fast, stop fast and look good—a minimalist machine. (Well, maybe it doesn’t always stop fast.) It matters little if it is old school or if it skipped school, or if its good looks are inherited from a Hayabusa, a Husqvarna or a Harley. It is a fine mix of good taste and bad behavior.

So it goes that when an imaginative builder conjures up an implausibly beguiling chimera, a hallowed credo goes to hell in a clutch basket, as function trips over form and vice versa while vying for precedence. Proponents such as Roland Sands, Shinya Kimura, Roger Goldammer and Jesse Rooke, carrying on in the tradition of Arlen Ness, Dave Perewitz, Donnie Smith and Ron Finch have balanced the polarized dynamics of flamboyance and minimalism on two wheels. What makes choppers cool is getting something wrong just right.

Exemplars of Chopper Style strive for increasingly radical ways to express the idea that less is more by, well, chopping something off of a perfectly good motorcycle. Nevertheless, whether they start with an old bike or a new one, a sportbike or a cruiser, or even if they start from scratch, they will add a personal touch, something never seen before. By contrast, a modified car—or hot-rod—has elemental design characteristics that cannot be disguised. It will still look like a Chevy, a Ford or a Dodge once customized. On the other hand, a chopper builder can pull something out from inside of himself that bears no resemblance to an existing brand. It is totally original, even if it starts out with, say, a Harley, Triumph or Honda frame and whatever motor happens to be available. In that sense each chopper is a motorhead haiku, a biker’s most succinct expression of beauty. It can be imitated but never copied. The finest examples are poetry in motion.

This new feature of Cycle World, called "Art of the Chopper," offers a glimpse into a parallel universe populated by unconventional poets, the sometimes tattooed and hirsute high priests of horsepower, lane-splitting libertarians on the road to perdition with a lust for life and a consummate sense of style. You will become familiar with the legendary persona behind each artist's legerdemain with sheetmetal and motors. They have earned their pinstripes. This is their Hall of Fame. It is also the first compelling case made for the contemporary art of the motorcycle. And that's the long and the short of it. –Tom Zimberoff