This is a quirky story, but it’s all good. I met a guy named Steve Curran at a brisk Easyriders show in fog-strewn Seattle in the mid-90s where I met my Indian and Steve’s ’59 Panhead. A short squat but stand-up guy, we talked because of his love of martial arts and his bike. At the time I trained with Mark Lonsdale in close-quarters combat.
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Steve was way more serious about his regime involvement. Introduced to Karate in the service, while in Hawaii, he also studied Tae Kwan Do off the coast of Vietnam, while on a ship. He discovered a natural ability through dance training as a kid. He ultimately ran two dojos in the Seattle area and trained kids constantly.
I’ve always been a biker and a loner, but I recognized something deeply positive in martial arts. There is a spiritual aura and a pure Zen essence and understanding with kids when it comes to martial arts. You are taught to find your strengths and hone them. Training teaches a deep sense of observation and protectionism.
You have never read about a martial arts instructor who abused his students. There’s something very deep and vast about martial arts training. It actually teaches compassion and benevolence while enhancing self-esteem. It trains the body, heightens discipline and brings confidence to the soul. It also defines and promotes respect. It helps center the man or woman. It’s amazing.
I have never met anyone who trained in martial arts and was devoted to the regime to be anything but honorable. I have met men who I didn’t understand, but then found a window to their soul through martial arts and training kids.
So here’s Steve “Mad Dawg” Curran, 11-time sport karate world champion, Vietnam veteran, actor, and many things. He has also built 45 motorcycles, all for himself.
“If I bought a bike from someone else, I’ve always torn it down and rebuilt it,” Steve said. “I’ve been involved in motorcycles my whole life, along with hot rods. My wife, Suzanne, is my main supporter.”
Speaking of his lovely wife, Steve added, “Suzanne’s been the force behind all of the things I’ve ever done. She pushed me out onto the National Karate Circuit. After producing the World Karate Championships one year, we made some money. She asked me what I was going to do with it. I said I was going to get a Harley. From that day on, she was totally behind me with all of my bike builds. The first ones were all old bikes until Easyriders had their first show in Seattle, where I took my Indian (which is yours), and my ’48 and ’59 Panheads.
“I took 1st, 2nd and 3rd in each division,” Steve continued. “After that, I started building custom bikes. All along, Suzanne was right with me. She owns our karate school and runs it from the desk. She’s in charge of several black belts who teach different classes. If it wasn’t for her, the school would probably shut down. With all the tournaments and bike building I was doing, she was the person in charge of the real business. She made me the best I could be.”
After I met Steve, we started to hang out anytime he was in Los Angeles. Sometime in the early ‘90s. Steve called me and wanted to bring a couple of bikes to sell in Los Angeles. I hooked him up with Max at Thunder Road on Sunset Blvd. It had to be the hottest place to sell an antique bike in Hollywood.
I met Steve and Max at the shop when he arrived with the two bikes loaded on an open trailer. It was a strange experience. I’ve been around hot-looking bikes most of my adult life, but here sat a fully restored 1959 Harley just inches from a 1946 Indian Chief. I discovered later, with the help of Rick Krost, that Indian was built in 1945, during the war years, when few bikes were manufactured, but these were a part of a 100-bike order for a police contract. They could have been the only Chiefs built in ’45 and titled as ’46.
My epiphany was the comparison of the two machines in close proximity. The Indian contained miles of style compared to the disjointed-looking ’59 Panhead. I studied the frames, accessories, you name it. The 13-year older Indian overshadowed the Panhead as if the factory completely missed the art deco boat.
But in defense of the Harley, it won the prize when it came to mechanical elements. I remembered reports and reviews from the late ‘60s and early ‘70s about the “tractor” Harleys. Reporters used the slang to downgrade Harleys against the light and nimble British makes, Triumph, BSA and Royal Enfield.
In a sense, the slurs could have been considered compliments, because Harleys were stout, tough, resilient and everlasting, as us outlaws discovered and still cherish about our classic Knucks, Pans, Shovels and Evos. Maybe the factory didn’t understand styling, but that opened the door for the chopper fanatic to show them the error of their ways.
Here’s how the story played out. I fell in love with that Indian. I liked the paint, not being classic red, but something stylish yet completely in keeping with the classic lines and era. At the time, Indian was owned by DuPont and customers could often dictate their color combinations. But this was initially a cop bike, so who knows? I liked the low hot rod style of the bars, the solo configuration and the lack of accessories. This puppy was perfect.
A couple of years passed and Steve sold the ’59 Panhead. I was standing in my kitchen in the Valley one afternoon when my phone rang and it was Steve. He could be sort of a hot head. Needless to say, he wasn’t pleased with the lack of the sale action with the Indian. I don’t know what the deal was, exactly, but he was coming to get it, he barked in the phone. “Unless you have something to trade,” Steve said.
I had always loved that Indian, and in my humble way, never envisioned ever owning such a classic, especially that one. I stood looking out over the valley as his words sunk in.
“I’m building a hot rod FXR,” I muttered, sorta taking stock of my limited rolling motorcycle inventory.
“I’ll take it,” Steve said. “We can work out the details later.” He hung up. I was dazed. We were working with Marty Ruthman on this bobbed FXR at his shop, and it wasn’t completed just yet. I needed to make sure everyone involved was taken care of first.
Needless to say, the Indian has been apart of my life ever since. We featured the FXR in VQ magazine. When Steve got his hands on it, he tore it down, re-chromed everything and detailed the living shit out of this bike. It glistened when he was done, but the design and paint remained the same.
Recently, I thought about selling the Indian, but couldn’t let it go. She still sits close by, after almost 25 years, in my office everyday.
