The Shop

We didn't start this shop to get rich. We started it because nobody was building the bikes we wanted to ride. It was 1980 in Simi Valley, California. The trend was loud paint, miles of chrome, and bikes that spent more time on trailers than on the asphalt. Butch hated it. He started tearing down Harleys in his garage, stripping off the useless bling, blacking out the hard parts, and building engines that could pull your arms out of their sockets. Forty-five years later, we're still doing exactly that. We are a family-run operation. When you walk through our doors, you smell gear oil, welding fumes, and stale coffee. The walls are covered in race flags and photos of customers who have become brothers. Some of them even have our shop logo tattooed on them. That's not something you buy—it's something you earn. We sell the parts we run on our own bikes. No catalog filler. No cheap knock-offs. If it's in our shop, it works, it lasts, and it looks mean.