By Jonathan Ryan Patterson Bonanza was around long before I got here. Decades ago, these bikes were being built, ridden hard, and torn apart in garages all across the country. People grew up on them, and some never forgot the sound of one coming down the street. Then the years passed. Plenty of bikes were buried in barns or parted out, but a loyal few kept the flame alive by swapping parts, wrenching late into the night, and keeping the history running. For a long time, that

By Jonathan Ryan Patterson When you’re five years old, your father is the biggest man you know. He knows where he’s going, he knows how to fix things, and he knows when to stop. You don’t know enough to question any of it. You just climb into the passenger seat. For me, it was an old Mitsubishi Mighty Max. Coffee on the dash, sunflower seeds one at a time, Sonoran dust and Tucson sun passing outside the window. I was a kid. I didn’t know I was watching anything. That’s the st

By Jonathan Ryan Patterson I grew up in Tucson, Arizona. Desert dirt, dirt bike exhaust, and Bible pages. That was my dad’s world. By default it became mine too. Weekends weren’t optional. You were either in a Bible study, doing yardwork, or heading out into the desert on a dirt bike or a dune buggy with boots that were going to come back dirty. Sometimes all three before noon. He didn’t negotiate it. He didn’t explain it. That’s just what we did. He was tough. Strong-willed

By Jonathan Ryan Patterson My great grandfather didn’t make a big moment out of it. While he was dying, among the things he said, he mentioned to Wiley, my grandfather’s brother, that the Patterson name wasn’t the bloodline name. Not a confession. Not a scene. Just something that came out when time got short and the truth got heavier than the secret. Wiley carried it and eventually it found my grandfather. So he went looking. What he found was in an attic in Jackson, Tennesse