Roughchild
Specialist motorcycle restoration with a clever slant on a noble surname (can you guess which one?) I was asked to write creative accompaniment for a custom line of ‘RSWB’ (R series short wheel base) motorcycles, using imaginative prose to author a marketable world for each build as a sales strategy. I wrote individual pieces to display online, with each having a practical and concise digital newsletter application as well.
Enjoy!
Dunkel Blau RSWB
Meet our front runner of capable class. Meet your new favorite pair of blue jeans. Meet Dunkel Blau.
The blues are alive in this build. ‘Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground’ plays Blind Willie Johnson on vinyl, a tune so emotive and steeped in indigo that its story is somehow eternal, and under three minutes all at the same time.
A dark night. Cold ground.
It sets a mood, an ideal backdrop for our Dunkel Blau R75 RSWB. It’s a story of mystery, insatiable intrigue. A sliver of moon and a single headlight are all that guide you. And it’s in those moments on Dunkel that your mind is clear, allowing you to think of nothing but the next turn in the road. And that turn is handled well—a whirring big bore motor is balanced with top tier suspension components, making the maneuvers of this dark knight intentional and precise.
Outrun a storm, escape a villain, retreat to a bat cave until the next mission of vigilante justice calls your name. Dunkel Blau is a dressed up workhorse—tuxedo clad with a concealed carry holstered within. Handsome, yes, but highly capable. Meet our front-runner of capable class. Meet your new favorite pair of blue jeans. Meet Dunkel Blau.
Red like the carpets in Hollywood. Red like the stop sign you just rolled through because you’ve got 1000cc’s and twin spark under your feet. Red like Ruby, the elusive damsel running a four minute mile through your mind all day at work.
And when Ruby runs, she runs smooth, and she runs for the coast. Five-thirty. Let’s take PCH, the sun’s dipping. The sky’s a daydream disco of colors—the road is aglow, reflecting honey gold hues off a toaster tank that’s been polished to mirrored perfection. Smooth running pavement. The motor’s humming its horizontal tune, rhythmically knocking back and forth in its case like a metronome.
Let’s open her up a bit—the motor howls in delight, wind whipping faster on your cheeks; Malibu’s a beauty in blur. A truly vintage machine with endless class and expertly curated modern dependability. Marilyn Monroe in a Tenenbaum tracksuit. Meet one-of-a-kind engineering. Meet the fully custom R75 RSWB. Meet Ruby.
Ruby Red RSWB
A truly vintage machine with endless class and expertly curated modern dependability.
Olive RSWB
Your steed feels weightless—light in your saddle and relaxed in your grip. How equestrian of you.
Olive juice. Mouth it out to that recently paroled biker guy sitting on his shovelhead and see what happens. We’ve all read the lips, and we’ve all had our hearts ripped out realizing our crush was just pulling a fast one.
Well fear not, because when it comes to the Olive R75 RSWB our phonetic twins are finally one in the same. There’s a new crush in class, and the only fast ones being pulled are with 1000cc’s of twin sparked glory.
And the color? Rest assured, this vintage shade is suited for two things: a dirty martini—and by no coincidence at all—an airhead with a ‘69 912 in the same period-correct and Porsche-authentic color. The 912 now has its canyon companion, just in a much more fun-size. And what a fun size, indeed.
Let’s run it. Topanga. State highway 27—twisting two-lane black top set hillside in the Santa Monica Mountains, flanked on either side by tunnels of tree overhang and fascinating rock formations. Morning sun fills holes in the branchy arches, spilling beams of light into heavy green shade. Everything’s green, and then some.
Our transport is a ‘69 Olive R75 RSWB, as if picked directly from the surrounding woodlands. The turns are tight up here—lodge style estates, cabin hideaways, stables whipping past you. A repurposed school bus sells leather goods on the side road.
What year is it again? Up here it’s a time capsule, like a tape deck with tangled ribbon, endlessly looped in the early ‘70s. Another hairpin. You lean in, feeling sticky rubber on sun dried pavement, accelerating out; deliriously torque happy. The sound of the motor is hypnotic. Your steed feels weightless—light in your saddle and relaxed in your grip. How equestrian of you. Gears click with intentional ease. Maneuvers feel effortless. This olive branch is on us—it’s up to you to reach out and grab it.