Mad Max: The Mythic Hero of the Wasteland

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Sometimes you get a chance to write about a subject that is just a huge amount of fun to explore. This was one such case.

Thank you so much to Dee Dee and Willow for letting me take a deep dive into the folklore of Mad Max, and giving me permission to republish the article here.

Replica Mad Max Pursuit Special vehicle .By Ferenghi - Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11628602

After Mad Max Fury Road came out a lot of people tried to make sense of the chronology of the four films. One of the most interesting theories argues that Mad Max Rockatansky is a folkloric character. A mythic hero of a post apocalyptic world.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Mad Max is one of my favourite films, and it is a very odd film. A lot of the post apocalyptic style and imagery that people associate with the franchise is derived from Mad Max II (sometimes known as The Road Warrior). The original Mad Max is pre-collapse, a world on the verge of falling over a precipice rather than already toppled. Even the signs over the Halls of Justice entrance are falling off the arch.

The Toecutter’s gang rage across the Outback virtually unchallenged, yet the grass still grows, there’s petrol in the pumps and no-one is wearing leather bondage gear while pillaging. (The bikes in the first film owe more to a little known cult Australian film called Stone, which also features Hugh Keays-Byrne who went on to star as The Toecutter and Immortan Joe.)

This is where we see Max’s character established, first as the cool hero during the pursuit of the Night Rider. After all his colleagues wreck their vehicles Max takes up the chase, his mere presence behind the Night Rider enough to reduce him to tears. Then we see the creation of the broken hero. His best friend burnt alive, his child killed and his wife left in a vegetative state. He has nothing left, but to go in pursuit of revenge.

Mad Max is a tale about hero creation, a fact made explicit in a conversation between Police Chief Fifi Macaffee and Max, when Fifi says, “People don’t believe in heroes anymore. Well damn them! You and me, Max. We’re gonna give ’em back their heroes.”

That’s what the film does, not through some higher purpose, but through the breaking down of an honourable man and the creation of something new.

Apart from the tone of the film there is another way Mad Max differs from the sequels. The perspective. In the first film we’re in Max’s community. His world. In all three subsequent stories Max is a transitional character in the story of other communities. He passes through at times of great stress, and moves on. In Mad Max II the story is told by the now adult Feral Kid, and in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome  Savannah Nix speaks the community’s folklore each night.

“This you know. The years travel fast, and time after time I done the tell, but this ain’t one body’s tell. It’s the tell of us all, and you gotta listen it and remember cos what you hears today you gotta tell the newborn tomorrow…but most of all we remember the man who finded us, him that came the salvage.”

In Fury Road the storytelling of the legendary Max isn’t as explicit to the narrative of the film, but the way he’s captured, held, escapes and leaves at the point the community finds its release from oppression is pretty clear. This is also implied in the way that Max is really a supporting character in Furiosa’s story. However, apart from the first film he’s always really a peripheral character to the stories of the communities. A catalyst of change. It’s also noticeable, as Hernán Gamboa points out on his YouTube channel ‘The Long Take’, that every time we see Max his Interceptor also returns (OK, in Thunderdome it’s in a pretty sorry state and he’s using it as a covered wagon at the start, but it’s still there.)

So if Max Rockatansky is a folkloric or mythic hero, what type of hero is he? What’s noticeable is that in all three sequels he appears at times of crisis. In Mad Max II the oil refinery is under daily attack by the forces of the Great Humungus. In Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome Max’s presence allows the children to escape to the abandoned city, and in Fury Road Max’s presence is the catalyst for Furiosa to lead the people from Immortan Joe’s control.

The most obvious folklore parallel is the king in the mountain motif. In the Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson system, the king in the mountain is folktale type 766. The common motifs involve the legendary hero sleeping, often in a cave or chamber, waiting for the time when the nation needs them once more. Usually the hero has a military background, and is discovered by an individual who has a puzzle to solve which will allow the hero to return.

The best known of these stories are King Arthur, Charlemagne, Key-Khosrow of Persia, and King David. However, I think Max Rockatansky fits a specific subset of this hero type, one best represented by General Ludd, Captain Swing, the Golem of Prague, or even Robin of Sherwood. All are vague characters, very difficult to pin down to historical individuals, who lead or defend certain sectors of society when they’re under threat, particularly those who are working class or vulnerable to oppression. The post apocalyptic wasteland stands in for the mountains where the King sleeps, the night where General Ludd waits, or Sherwood Forest where Robin Hood hides.

Max does not appear to the communities in the films to lead them as a king, but to free them from oppression. In each case he is not rescuing the nation but the ones who are being trampled at the bottom rungs of the ladder. He is a catalyst not a leader. A symbol for that freedom. He embodies rebellion and the drive to fight back. Max appears and goes, leaving the world a better place for those who tell his stories.

Another fascinating aspect of the idea of Mad Max as a King in the Mountains folk hero is that these ideas arose online and have become an example of digital folklore, particularly through the excellent analysis of Hernán Gamboa. The transmission route for this interpretation of Mad Max Rockatansky is within a digital setting, showing how important online conversations and exchange can be in creating new mythic storytelling.

Mad Max has an important role to play in the history and story of the wasteland. Maybe there once was a man called Max Rockatansky who was a ‘Bronze’, or maybe that’s part of the folklore surrounding the Road Warrior. Either way, in the post apocalyptic world of the films, he lives on in the stories and the tells of those who survived to pass on his adventures to the next generation.

References and Further Reading/Viewing

Mad Max, 1979, Directed by George Miller

Mad Max II: The Road Warrior, 1981, Directed by George Miller

Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome, 1985, Directed by George Miller

Mad Max: Fury Road, 2015, Directed by George Miller

Hernán Gamboa, 2017, In Focus: Myth and Fury Road, The Long Take

Anon, 2014, Who Was Captain Swing?

Matt Gerardi, 2017, Mad Max: Fury Road is dense with myths, but Max is the biggest of all

Eric Hobsbawm & George Lichtheim, 1969, Captain Swing, Lawrence & Wishart

Chumbawumba, 1988, English Rebel Folk Songs 1381-1984, Agit-Prop Records/MUTT

Psychomania 1 – Petrification and Transgression

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I’ll begin with a bit of honesty. Psychomania is not my favourite biker film, and it’s not my favourite weird British horror, but the way it brings those two elements together is pretty unique, and means there is a lot to say about this strange early seventies flick about undead bikers causing havoc in the British countryside.

Let’s start at the end.

Psychomania is often talked about as a folk horror film, but what is the evidence for that? There is the opening scene with the bikes riding around the stone circle, and the toad (toad lore also features in The Wicker Man), but there is one key scene that is heavily rooted in folklore that cements Psychomania as folk horror.

Toward the end of the film, The Living Dead gather at the stone circle, while Mrs Latham (Beryl Reid) and Shadwell (George Sanders) sit across a table. While Sanders opens a book and explains that Mrs Latham’s fate (to be trapped as a toad) will be for eternity, he also explains that her son, Tom, was also part of the bargain and will have to pay a price as well.

Realising how out of control Tom and The Living Dead have become, she agrees. 

A demonic wind rises, both in the room and at the ancient monument, and while Mrs Latham becomes an amphibian, Tom and the rest of the bikers are turned to stone, adding to the ancient monument.

Being turned to stone for transgressions, particularly the transformation of rule breakers to stone circles, has a long history in folklore, and can be seen in the naming traditions of many such monuments throughout the British Isles, but particularly in Cornish folklore.

Such examples include, The Merry Maidens in Cornwall, The Nine Maidens of Boskednan, Tregeseal Dancing Stones, and The Hurlers. Similarly Long Meg and Her Daughters in Cumbria have a similar story of transgressing Sabbath restrictions and being turned to stone, and the name of the Nine Ladies stone circle in Derbyshire suggests a similar folkloric tradition.

To take the example of The Nine Maidens Stone Circle near Belstone in Devon, (sometimes called The Seventeen Brothers because of the actual number of stones present in the circle), the story goes that the seventeen brothers suffered the punishment of petrification due to dancing on the sabbath. (https://www.ancient-origins.net/ancient-places-europe/nine-maidens-0015525)

(Photo by Guy Wareham Creative Commons Licence CC BY-SA 2.0)

This link to breaking social mores around the Sabbath is present in most of the folklore tales surrounding these stone circles.

With Psychomania, the transgression doesn’t relate to the Sabbath, but breaking the rules of acceptable behaviour decreed by Mrs Latham. When she sees the activities of The Living Dead bikers going too far once they have achieved immortality, she invokes the punishment of petrification. It’s worth noting that it is not the bikers achieving everlasting life that is the issue, but the transgressive behaviour which Mrs Latham knows is only going to escalate with their everlasting life.

To completely cement the link, is the name of the stone circle in Psychomania, which is called The Seven Witches. With the conclusion of the film, watching Tom and the other undead bikers petrify, we are also being told the origin of the name is not a flourish of folklore, but almost certainly fact.

This is where the folk horror element of the film is really solidified, a magic in the landscape, once seen in the deep past, manifesting in a contemporary setting.

“As Long Compton thou canst not see,
King of England thou shalt not be,
Rise up stick, stand still stone,
For King of England thou shalt be none.
Thou and thy men hoar stones shall be,
And I myself an eldern tree.”

Gruf and Nob the Destroyer – Biker Comics by Rich King – An Appreciation

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I write about comics, and I write about motorbikes, but I’m yet to write about biker comics.

Which was the most influential biker comic for me? (Okay, the title of the post sort of gives it away, but bear with me.)

I was a bit young for Ogri, Paul Sample’s groundbreaking comic that started in Bike Magazine back in 1972. By the time I was getting into bikes, Bike Magazine had become more focused on race reps.

Easyriders Magazine ran cartoons, but to a kid growing up in North Yorkshire the world of Miraculous Mutha seemed a long way away.

Although I think Andy Sparrow’s Bloodrunners comic is excellent, it would be a few years before I discovered his work.

For this article, I need to go back to late 1988/early 1989. My parents have separated, my Dad has started knocking around with a bunch of bikers, and I walk into the local newsagents where I discover Back Street Heroes #57 January ’89.

As well as all the gorgeous bikes, there was also a cartoon strip called Gruf. Up to this point most of my comic reading had been The Dandy, Battle, and Scream. All formative in their own way, but Gruf was different. Gruf was about people I knew.

A quick introduction.

The main characters are Gruf, a dog who rides a Triumph chop, his best friend Gilmorton, who is not the brightest and normally rides a Japanese engined hardtailed custom, and Trace, Gruf’s girlfriend, who is the smartest of the lot. As well as these three there is a supporting cast of various bikers such as Chemical Ken, Sprog the Baby Bro, and Evo Eddy, who are as much a part of the storylines as Gruf, Gil and Trace.

For me this is the strength of Gruf as a comic. It gets the biker community, celebrating it for the personalities and characters.

There are scenes in these comics I recognise only too well, including the afterpub discussions back at someone’s flat (normally, in my experience, with either Hawkwind or Apocalypse Now playing in the background), and the bike that won’t start, until someone comes along and spots the problem. Yes, this has happened to me. More than once.

Gruf is also very good at making sure we laugh at ourselves, whether that’s Harley bros, sports-riders, or the righteous biker who constantly boasts about what he’s building, “Mebbe, but nuffin’ as cool as the candy painted Laverda street rat I’m building in me secret lock-up”, why he doesn’t have all the other bikes they see “It’sa FPQX Softbobster Sport – Too Many Hogs around nowadays to get me excited”, then turns up at the bike rally in the car.

In one memorable strip, the Dumpation Bikers go along to an alternative night, and after the dancing someone is saying “Has anyone lost an earring.”, while Gilmorton asks, “Has anyone lost an arm.” In the next month’s strip, we have the conclusion.

Rich King knew the biker scene inside out and that comes through in the story lines. For example Gruf #39 where Gruf goes off on one about doing something for the crack (the fun of it, rather than the highly processed cocaine product), with everyone having prior commitments before agreeing “Next Saturday week it is then. We’ll do summink’ spontaneous then!’

Other strips looked at the difference between old bike shops and new dealerships,

Pop stars who traded on the biker image

and the slight hypocrisy of enjoying wet t-shirt shows at bike rallies while being against their own girlfriends taking part.

Looking back at the strip in that first issue I bought (Gruf #27), Rich King’s knowledge of the biker landscape is all there to see, from Sheepshaggers MCC, with their three members who bring bike parts for Trace’s new bike, to the Warrior Kings MC in East Anglia who follow Scuzz on his BSA Gold Star. The bikes are well drawn and the personality of every character is captured.

This attention to detail, and love of the bike scene, continued in Nob the Destroyer, the strip Rich King started in AWoL after leaving Back Street Heroes.

Gruf and the Dumpation Bikers are trapped in a shed a million years in the future. Back in the past, in some sort of time travel exchange Nob the Destroyer and P’Toke find themselves in Dumpation, taken under the wing of Smeg, one of the local bikers.

The fish out of water setup gives loads of opportunity for storylines, including Nob trying to find a better way to inflate motorbike tyres (pouring golden syrup into them from a teapot), invading a castle tourist attraction, going to their first big biker show, and riding through the urban wasteland that is downtown Dumpation.

In one of my favourite strips from this run, the Dumpation bikers notice kids sat bored on street corners. Rather than berating them, they get together four road legal learner bikes, grab the kids and teach them to ride. The last two panels are perfection, summing up how one generation takes over the mantle from the last.

Of course, it’s worth noting that Rich also draws excellent bikes, both capture the styles around at the time, and the personality of the individual machine. Motorbikes are not easy to draw and all of these are beautiful in their own right.

Gruf and Nob the Destroyer captured the subculture with affection and humour, documenting a very specific moment in time. As I sit here, no longer a thirteen year old kid discovering custom bikes for the first time, but a biker in his late forties who recognises far too much of himself and his friends in Rich King’s comics, I, for one, am grateful.

(Huge thanks to Rich King for giving me permission to use the drawings reproduced in this blog post)

Safe

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Since first reading Neil Gaiman’s Sandman in the nineties, I’ve had a bit of a fascination for forgotten gods finding new roles in the world.

Recently, I wrote this about a Mesolithic god finding a new purpose. I make no secret of wanting to write stories about people who have experienced homelessness, and this is an attempt to do that. I just wish more people could find a safe place before they meet the god in the story.

Safe

When Katie died homeless the god that met her was an old god. A god of flint blades and scattered bones, neck bent from the weight of the antlers it wore. She reached out and touched the god’s face, feeling the chapped skin between the scars and knew there were more scars beneath its ragged clothing. Katie did not ask about them and knew the god would not ask about hers. 

She noticed the small bag hanging on a string around its neck, and her fingers went to the one she wore. The one containing a lighter, some cigarette papers, a note from someone long since dead, and a gifted stone, far more beautiful than the winter sky.

“What are you the god of?” She said, surprised to find she still has a voice. Her throat didn’t hurt any more, but not all the pain within had gone.

“I am the god of the homeless dead,” the god said crouching down when it talked to her, oaken legs creaking as it knelt in the dirt.

“Have you always been the god of the homeless dead?”

The god paused as if thinking, and shook its head. Several lapwings took flight from unhealed wounds.

“When you have no family,” it said. “Then found family is everything.”

Although enthralled by the god, and the softness of its voice, Katie glanced past its shattered shoulder toward the distant skyline.

“Is that where we’re going?”

The mountain shimmered in the sun, slopes covered in crystals of all colours. The god shook its head. Insects fell from its clothes and skittered out of sight.

“That place is not for you.”

“How can you tell me that? How do you know?”

All her life, people had done this to Katie. Told her, rather than listening. She had not expected it to carry on after death. The god took her hand, skin soft, despite the fissures.

“That is a place for people who were searching a long time before you lived. We have what you are looking for here. The Rock Candy Mountain is not it.”

They walked in silence through empty streets, air warm but not stifling. Katie spotted the park first, wrought iron fences rising from the ground as if grown in place. There were four entrances, all the gates removed. Inside the lawn was covered with tents. Some were shop bought, neon canvas glistening in the light, others hand made from cloth and string. People sat in front of some, warming themselves by smoking fires.

“How can you make them still sleep rough?” Katie said. “How can you not give them peace, even now?”

The god stretched out a splintered finger.

“That is their home. The home they need for the moment,” it said, a sadness in its voice. “They have spent so long outside, or found danger under roofs.”

“Can’t you make them go into houses?”

“And that would make me better? Make them better? Forcing something they’re not ready to do.”

“Of course. Why do you leave them out here?”

“Some can’t yet cope with living with other people,” the god said, and Katie nodded, remembering being forced to sleep in shelters next to people raging in their own hurt. “Others cannot yet cope with living alone, isolated by four walls from their friends and the only community they know. Some are worried they will have to give up their possessions, others they will have to give up their companions.” Katie noticed the dogs lying curled up on the grass, their owner’s hands absentmindedly stroking their fur.

“Can you not heal them?”

The god looked at the floor for a moment. Something fell from its eye and burrowed into the soil.

“They are healed, and will realise it in their own time, but until then I will keep them safe.”

Katie and the god of the homeless dead walked on in silence. After a while Katie thought of a question.

“Do I have to sleep outside?”

The god stopped and inclined its head as if trying to remember something.

“No-one has to do anything they don’t want. If you prefer sleeping outside, you can. No one will hurt you here. There are no drunks to attack you.”

“There are other dangers,” Katie said, remembering scars that could not be seen on the outside.

“No-one will attack you,” the god said, and for the first time since dying, Katie shivered at the certainty in that ancient voice.

“And if I don’t want to sleep outside?”

“Come with me.” 

Away from the park, the streets changed, lined with buildings of all types. Some were detached, others tower blocks, in between huts of timber and reeds. Katie walked up to a house and looked through the window. Inside, people of all ages sat around a large table, chatting, in the background a fire blazing in the hearth. Deep inside Katie felt an aching, an emptiness she’d sometimes filled with other things that hid beaten dogs in her veins until they gnawed holes in her flesh.

The god was standing beside her.

“I resisted for a long time, you know, Katie said “I asked my friend what it was like. He told me it was like you had a family that wanted you. A home. A warm bed. Safety. He was right. Never lasted long enough though.”

“Here, you can have those things. You don’t need a replacement.”

She looked from one house to another.

“How do I choose? How do I know what will be the right place?”

The god placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Wherever you choose will be the right place. If you want solitude, I can find that for you too,” it said.

Katie looked in at the people in the room. Someone got up from the table and walked over to the small kitchen, turning on the kettle.

“I don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Then you will find the right family here,” the god said. “For now, I ask you to come with me. One last place to show you.”

Katie nodded and when the god held out its hand she took it once more.

The building stood in the centre of its own grounds, the facade so vast, Katie had to lean back to read the words picked out in gold on the vast frieze above the door.

“You know what the place is?”

“Safe,” she said.

“Safe,” the god said, leading her up the stairs and opening the door. Katie walked in first.

Shelves ran in every direction, stacked to bursting with books. Katie walked up to a nearby stack and took off a paperback, the cover worn from handling over the years. From somewhere deeper in the library she heard snoring, and someone shuffling in their sleep. She put the book back and lifted down another, this one pristine, the cover ripped off.

“Where do these come from?”

“Lost books need somewhere to go too,” the god said. Katie turned around. The god sat behind the counter. “If you need to find me, this is where I’ll be.”

Katie took the paperback over to the god.

“No need to check it out. Just bring it back when you’re finished.”

Katie nodded. “Will I see you soon?”

“Whenever you need me,” the god said.

Katie nodded again, and walked out of the library. Outside she paused, knowing finally there was home for her, a family, the chance to make choices for herself, and she sat down on the steps and began to read.

END

Stories I Had Published in the Year That Was 2023

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Hello!

2023 has been busy, both in terms of stories published and stories written. Here is a short list of my work published this year with a little summary of each piece.

Crumpled in Deadlands #31

Horror, ghosts, family, afterlife.

Dream logic doesn’t normally translate well into the written word, but Crumpled is a story inspired by a dream that broke me. I needed a way to process the imagery and writing Crumpled allowed me to do that. The Deadlands has been a dream market since they first started publishing and I’m over the moon to have my work in the latest issue. You can grab a copy here, and read the story online at The Deadlands website.

Uprooted in IZ Digital

Homelessness, technology, horror, biotech.

Anyone who knows my work will probably be familiar with my own experiences of homelessness and vulnerable housing, as well as my previous work in this area with my writing, particularly Haunt. One aspect of this is to write protagonists who are homeless as rounded, complete characters rather than stereotypes or ciphers (I talk about this in my 2020 Tor article). With Uprooted I wanted to write a story where the main character was experiencing homelessness, and while it’s not upbeat I think the main character takes control of their situation and comes across as a complete individual.

However, this is also a scifi story, set in a future where the dominant technology is based around timber, and was inspired by an article about using tree cellulose to make knives.

You can read the story online at IZ Digital.

The Heart Beats Green and Grey in Three Lobed Burning Eye #38

Folk horror, rural crime, crime families, body horror.

The Heart Beats Green and Grey was published in Three Lobed Burning Eye issue 38, back in March. The story is about a son returning to the Dales village where he grew up to look for his missing father, and might start out feeling like a crime story, but swerves into pretty solid horror territory. With The Heart Beats I wanted to write about that other side of rural life, that not everything is a cottagecore idyll, local criminal families, and the claustrophobic nature of life in these places. I guess a major inspiration was Dead Man’s Shoes, one of the finest British films ever made. You can read The Heart Beats Green and Grey online at Three Lobed Burning Eye.

Through the Ivory Gate in Great British Horror 8 Something Peculiar

Cryptids, Ghosts, Crime, Horror.

Through the Ivory Gate combines a few of my loves, including cryptids (particularly Alien Black Cats), crime stories, and Lovejoy. It is a very British story of power and exploitation, and I’m very happy it found a home in Great British Horror. You can pick up a copy at the Black Shuck Books website.

Vele Di Mar Non Vid’io in Cosmic Horror Monthly #34

Body horror, isolation, cosmic horror.

Vele Di Mar Non Vid’io is a body horror short story inspired by how the Endurance crew used lifeboats as shelter on Elephant Island. Using this as a starting point, I changed the setting and cranked up the horror (which takes some doing, because surviving under a lifeboat after a shipwreck in the antarctic sounds pretty horrifying.), to try and capture the claustrophobia of the situation. You can read Vele Di Mar Non Vid’io online at Cosmic Horror Monthly.

Ohrwurm in Not One of Us #75

Cosmic horror, addiction, music.

Ohrwurm is an example of why you should never delete your trunk stories. I first wrote Ohrwurm in 2012, and submitted it many times over the next seven years. After lots of rejections I parked it for a bit, until this year when I managed to find a home for it in Not One of Us. Ohrwurm is about how music can infect and change us.

Iridescent Screams in Three Lobed Burning Eye #40

Cosmic horror, childhood, peacocks.

Out of all the stories I had published in 2023, Iridescent Screams has the strangest origin. A good friend of mine posted a picture his daughter had made at nursery, pointing out how it looked like a Shoggoth. Someone else commented that it was a very cute picture of a peacock. Iridescent Screams is the result of playing with those two viewpoints, as well as a childhood memory of a freerange peacock that lived on the housing estate where some of my school friends lived. Although the names have been changed, the setting is taken straight from my memories of growing up in my hometown. You can read Iridescent Screams (and listen to me read it to you) at Three Lobed Burning Eye.

And here is the picture that inspired the story.

Best of Selections 2023

Two of my stories from 2022 were selected for Best of anthologies out this year. The Ercildoun Accord was selected by Paula Guran to be republished in The Year’s Best Dark Fantasy and Horror #4.

My knitting cosmic horror story, On the Hills, the Knitters, is going to be republished in the forthcoming Best Horror of the Year #15 edited by Ellen Datlow.

Patreon

I’ve also continued publishing stories each week at my Patreon. I’ve changed the format slightly and now publish a self contained flash fiction every two weeks.

On the other weeks, I’m publishing instalments of an ongoing story called The Bridge about Lily and Rowan who live in the bridge of the title (actually the spine of a long dead creature that stretches between two continents), and are making their way from the middle where they live, to the land. Lily kills demons, Rowan hunts ghosts. Together they might survive.

The Bridge is a lot lighter than some of my other work. The tone I’m going for is a slightly darker Studio Ghibli, with the feel of a webcomic.

Non Fiction

2023 has been a bit quieter on the article front. I’ve continued writing my comics review column for Fortean Times, a job that I enjoy immensely.

I’ve also been publishing my Kaffee (und Kuchen) Racer pieces here, as well as a few little posts about motorbike events in this part of Germany. I’m really enjoying getting back to this side of my writing career.

The January/ February 2024 Analog Science Fiction and Fact is now out, including my interview with Dr Rachel Armstrong. You can grab a copy at the Analog website.

Kaffee Racer 4 – Bistro Leitsch, Steinwiesen

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Is it strange to love a road? A road that you look forward to joining. A road you can feel the anticipation building for as you wait at the junction. A road where you know every mile is going to be a joy to ride.

Where we live in the Frankenwald, we are very lucky to have some fantastic roads, and one of my favourites is the Bundestrasse 173.

The B173 runs for 267km, from Dresden to Hof (incorporating the old Roman Road Via Imperii), then onward to Lichtenfels.

From Hof toward Kronach, the road first opens up, giving vistas over the surrounding countryside, before sweeping through the forest, with old inns, small villages, and the Wild Rodach River lining the route.

(Even the guesthouses look like castles here)

Now, you can go on to Kronach, and in a future Kaffee (und Kuchen) Racer we will call by one of the wonderful cafes of that particular town. However, for this post we turn off just before, and go to the small town of Steinwiesen.

Steinwiesen is best known for the rafting of timber from the Frankenwald that surrounds it. When I visited it was by Bandit 1200 rather than spruce, and my goal was cake instead of commerce.

Bistro Leitsch Cafe, Steinwiesen

The Bistro Leitsch Cafe sits away from the main centre, on the other side of a small stream that separates it from the road.

This is not the first time I’ve visited (though my first time on the bike), and so I knew the cake was going to be excellent.

The range of kuchen and torte on offer is extensive, and on this occasion I chose a mandarin cheesecake, which is really refreshing and sweet on a warm late summer day.

There is plenty of inside seating, as well as an extensive area outside. As well as cake, the cafe also carries an extensive range of ornaments which are also for sale.

Like many places in Germany, the cafe takes a Ruhetag on Mondays, and opens from 12:00 noon until 18:00 for the rest of the week.

I’m happy to report that after filling up with cake and coffee, the ride back home down the Bundestrasse 173 was just as much fun as the ride out.

If you want the perfect combination of excellent motorbike roads and fantastic cake, I highly recommend a visit.

Bistro Leitsch

Leitschsiedlung 17

96349

Steinwiesen

Kaffee Racer 3 – Stadtbäcker Schaller (REWE)

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When writing about a subject like cake, it would be very easy to be snobby – to only visit independent cafes that are in ‘destination’ locations. That’s not me. Firstly, I’m not posh. I ride motorbikes, and normally go into a café looking like a scarecrow after I’ve taken my helmet off. Secondly, that attitude would mean missing some real gems.

Most supermarkets in our part of the world have a Bäckerei with a small café attached, and one of my favourites is at the REWE in Schwarzenbach am Wald. Firstly, it’s just off the B173 (one of the best roads to ride on a motorbike in this part of the world). Secondly, it’s near enough that I can ride there for a break from work, but go the long way home if I have a bit more time. (The St2211 along the Wilde Rodach, and the St2194/St2158 via Döbraberg are both fun roads.)

Thirdly, look at that view! The REWE is just by the road junction, and slightly raised giving you a fantastic view over the Frankenwald as you have a coffee and eat some cake. The skies are massive, the forest is beautiful, and the cake is delicious. What more could you want from life?

The café is part of the bakery operated by Stadtbäcker Schaller. There are only a handful of tables, but those tables are by the large plate glass windows give you a wonderful view. Also, the cake matches the scenery in quality.

As I said above, it’s very easy to get snobby about places to eat, yet this was one of the best cakes I’ve had, and at this point I’ve eaten a lot of cake!

This is a cherry cocktail cake, and consists of cream, chocolate pieces, and chocolate sponge mixed with cherries, with a plain sponge base and tope, decorated with chocolate cream, white chocolate curls, and pistachios. This was an amazing confection and a visit to Stadtbäckerei Schaller, attached to a supermarket, was a highlight of my day. With some fantastic riding and wonderful views I highly recommend visiting if you’re in the area. Now enjoy the photos of the cake.

TLDR

Café: Stadtbäckerei Schaller in REWE Schwarzenbach am Wald

Motorbike: 1996 Suzuki Bandit 1200

Cake: Cherry Cocktail

Coffee: Cappuccino

If you enjoy these posts, and would like to support me, it would be lovely if you could buy me a coffee via Ko-fi.

Kaffee Racer – The Bikes

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Let’s start by addressing the elephant in the room. Though this feature takes its name from the custom bikes made popular in Britain during the late fifties and early sixties, none of the bikes ridden on these cakey trips fall into that category of café racer. While that is unfortunate, and I wouldn’t say no to a Triton, the bikes I own are all excellent examples of their types.

The 1996 Bandit GSF1200 (sometimes called the Bandit Kult in Germany) is the youngest in the garage, though it’s only three years away from being officially classed as an oldtimer.

I’ve had the Bandit since 2021, and apart from an accident where a car pulled out in front of me and it got thrown down the street (the bike fared better than my face), it’s been an excellent piece of kit.

With the Bandit you can walk into the garage, fire it up and it will run. It needs little maintenance, and is fairly easy to work on, especially the unfaired version. On the road it has plenty of power, handles well, and gets up to speed rapidly enough for me. Even in standard trim it looks stocky and aggressive, and it’s easy to see why it has proved such a popular base for later generation streetfighters.

The only changes I’ve made is to upgrade the sparkplugs, replace the handlebars and change the mirrors, the last two due to the contact with the tarmac.

When I bought the Bandit, it was to have something reliable in the garage while I messed with older stuff. It fulfils that role admirably, which brings me onto…

My 1979 GS850N. This is the grandfather of the Bandit, and is also an incredibly reliable bike. With a shaft drive and a very grunty engine, it might not be fast, but it will keep going. This one is fitted out for touring, so has the rack for taking panniers. This means that the GS is the bike of choice when I’m covering events, because I can fit in all my camera equipment, without having to mess around with tankbags or rucksacks.

Although I wouldn’t call this GS a custom bike as such, someone has taken the time in the past to personalise it with a green and black paintjob, higher bars, a finned points cover, and bar end indicators.

There are also some nice little touches like the home done engraving on the rear brake calliper bracket.

While I don’t have a café racer, I do have the anti café racer. Let me explain.

A café racer was about taking a faster engine (for example a Triumph T120) and fitting it in a better handling frame such as a Norton Featherbed.

My 1946 Norton has a slower engine (a Dominator 500cc) fitted in a Norton Model 18 rigid frame. No-one is winning any races on this. Yet I love this bike.

It’s actually very similar to the Dominator Model 77, a rigid framed model (most Dominators had plunger frames or rear shock absorbers) that was sold in limited numbers to the Australian market.

Due to life, the Norton has been stood for a while, both before we moved out to Germany, and after I had it transported out. Now I’m actively working on getting it back on the road, with some replacement parts on order, and a lot of cleaning! Hopefully I will be riding out for cake on this 77 year old beauty in the next few months.

Kaffee Racer 2 – Purucker Bäckerei, Helmbrechts

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For the second edition of Kaffee Racer I took a ride out on the Bandit 1200 to nearby Helmbrechts, and visited the café Purucker Bäckerei.

Located on an impressive slope, Purucker Bäckerei has a fantastic range of cakes, good coffee, and a nice shaded café which was very welcome on such a warm day.

I like to bring a book along when I head out for cake. On this occasion I took Gwendolyn Kiste’s excellent Reluctant Immortals.

I’m always a sucker for anything set in Haight Ashbury during the twilight years of the sixties. This novel is about Lucy Westenra (best known from Dracula) and Bertha Mason (familiar to readers of Jane Eyre), and really scratched that itch for West Coast counter culture fiction. Reluctant Immortals arrived at tea time the previous day, and I devoured it in twenty four hours. I highly recommend picking up a copy.

Talking about devouring, lets move onto the important stuff – the cake!

I didn’t get the name, but it was all in the flavour. The cake was a dense nutty sponge, with a chocolate base, cream, and chambers of a softer sponge. All of this was covered with cream and marzipan.

After an hour of indulging in reading and cake (two of my favourite things), it was time for a third, and a very warm ride back home through the heat of a Franconian summer, enjoying some of the best roads the Frankenwald has to offer.

TLDR

Café: Purucker Bäckerei, Helmbrechts

Book: Reluctant Immortals by Gwendolyn Kiste

Motorbike: 1996 Suzuki Bandit 1200

Cake: Unnamed – nutty sponge with cream, covered in marzipan

Coffee: Cappuccino

Cover Reveal for Best Horror of the Year Vol. 15

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This week Ellen Datlow revealed the cover for Best Horror of the Year #15 which will be out later in the year, containing my story On the Hills, the Knitters.

The artwork is by Samuel Araya, and the full table of contents is;

Solivagant Angela Slatter

Gate 9 Jeffrey Ford

Flaming Teeth Garry Kilworth

On the Hills, the Knitters Steve Toase

New Fox Smell Livia Llewellyn

The Harvester of Ladslove Steve Duffy

Incident at Bear Creek Lodge Tananarive Due

The Myth of Pasiphaë Andy Davidson

The Loneliness of the Long-Distant Reporter Daniela Tomova

In the Wabe Alison Littlewood

New Meat(™) Jordan Shiveley

Eyes Like Small Black Stones David Surface

Bb Minor, or The Suicide Choir: An Oral History Gemma Files

Lifelike Gary McMahon

The Zoo Gemma Amor

Dinner Plans With Baba Yaga Stephanie M. Wytovich

The Collection Charlie Hughes

Tell-Tale Tit Margo Lanagan

The Last Box Luigi Musolino trans James D. Jenkins

1855 Jacob Steven Mohr

Enough For Hunger and Enough For Hate John Langan