The Indian has been the iconic image for American big V-Twins down the years, due in no small measure to the motorcycles designed by Charles B Franklin - the Indian Scout and the Indian Chief. Charles Franklin was born and raised in Ireland where he quickly became involved in motorcycle racing during the pioneer years. He rapidly established himself as Ireland's first big star of racing and was the first to represent Ireland in international motorcycle competition. In the Isle of Man TT he consistently finished in the top eight, and in 1911 claimed second place, a remarkable achievement in itself. But it was when he moved to Indian in the USA, where he became the Chief Design Engineer, that his genius really flowed. His designs catapulted Indian back into the forefront of motorcycle design in the 1920s and '30s and his racing engines and motorcycles won much glory for Indian against stiff opposition. Franklin introduced remarkable improvements in sidevalve combustion chamber design that pre-dated the work of Ricardo. He championed an holistic approach that popularised new features such as the semi unit-construction `powerplant', helical-gear primary drive, double-loop full-cradle frames and a host of other improvements to the early motorcycles. This book not only chronicles his life but also sheds much new light on the history of Indian motorcycles and the often turbulent times of the Indian Motorcycle Company itself. A much needed book for all Indian fans and all who love the history of the classic American V-Twins.

One part Plato, one part Aristophanes, two parts Easy Rider, Organ Grinder is a cocktail of lewd wisdom gathered equally from the poetry of antiquity and from near-death experiences on the open road. In a series of short works inspired by Horatian satire, Alan Fishbone bounces from gonzo fever-dream to philosophical treatise, investigating the conflicts between idealism and cynicism, love and sex, body and soul. Here's a taste: After my accident, I thought I was done with motorcycles. Until a few years ago-- I was lying in bed having trouble sleeping when I heard a voice say to me, "Alan, get a Harley and ride to Death Valley." I didn't even like Harleys. And I didn't believe that God had called me and told me to get one. It seemed unlikely that the monotheistic god we're stuck with would endorse a brand of motorcycle. Maybe the pagan gods of antiquity. Zeus might have ridden a Road King, or Apollo a BMW; you can imagine Aphrodite on the back of Ares's Ninja, zooming around the planets with the tip of a golden thong sticking out of her robe. Even that twerp Hermes on a Vespa delivering messages. Those gods liked to drink and screw and run around, like bikers, but not Yahweh or the Lord or Allah--strictly black limousines and security goons for those guys. Thou shalt not ride. Thou shalt not be free. Thou shalt pay off the debt of thy sins. So writes Alan Fishbone, our motorcycle riding scholar of ancient Greek and Latin, in one of the salty, sharp-eyed pieces that fill the pages of Organ Grinder.