Garage Eleven

Garage Eleven Garage 11 specialises in the rehabilitation of miss treated 2 stroke MX bikes from the 80's and the

This photo feels like a time capsule from an era when rivalries weren’t manufactured or amplified online — they were bui...
25/06/2026

This photo feels like a time capsule from an era when rivalries weren’t manufactured or amplified online — they were built on the track, lap after lap, with roost flying and elbows up. Mike Kiedrowski and Jeff Matiasevich were two riders who approached racing from completely different angles, yet somehow ended up in the same moments over and over. Kiedrowski was calculated, smooth, the kind of racer who made tough tracks look rideable. Chicken was fire and unpredictability packaged inside a rider who never backed off, no matter how wild the bike got beneath him.

This moment captures the tension perfectly. The body language, the lines, the stubborn determination… it tells you everything without needing a single word. Riders in this era didn’t have sports psychologists or analytics teams behind them. They had instinct, pride, and a willingness to push past the point where common sense usually steps in. The competition was raw, not polished. You earned respect by riding with heart, not by putting out carefully curated content.

Photos like this remind you how physical the sport used to be. The bikes shook, the powerbands were abrupt, and the suspension had a mind of its own if you let it. Riders weren’t just racing each other — they were wrestling machines that tried to throw them off in every corner. Kiedrowski handled that chaos with technique. Chicken fought it with aggression. The result was some of the best racing the sport has ever seen.

There’s something incredibly real about this image. You can almost feel the vibration through the handlebars and hear the echo of two-strokes hammering into the ground. It’s the kind of moment that sticks with fans decades later, not because it’s dramatic or staged, but because it captures what motocross truly is: two riders refusing to give an inch.

24/06/2026

The 2004 YZ250 is BACK. 🔥
Jed Beaton just picked up his fully restored 2004 YZ250 — and if you know, you KNOW. This thing was the pinnacle of two-stroke motocross. Raw, loud, and absolutely unfiltered. 💚
No electric start. No traction control. Just you, the throttle, and 250cc of pure two-stroke chaos. This is how legends were made. 🏁
Jed's been through Kawasaki, Honda and back to Yamaha — and something tells us this restored YZ250 feels like coming home. 🤍
Would you restore a classic or ride a modern 450? Drop your answer below 👇

2004YZ250 MXRestoration ClassicMoto TwoStrokeOrDie

This is going to be wild. 1992 RM chassis, CR500 power. Let's build a monster.
20/06/2026

This is going to be wild. 1992 RM chassis, CR500 power. Let's build a monster.

19/06/2026

This is what happens when you hit the ridiculous button way too hard 😮‍💨 Think you know your stuff? Drop a comment — who can pick it? 👇

Classic Weekend
KINCROME
Fuchs Silkolene Australasia
Acerbis Australia
Fist Workwear
Rat Racing
Bolt Motorcycle Hardware
dirtactionmag
MXstore

Jeff Matiasevich’s time in Japan produced some of the most underrated photos of his entire career. Riders often talk abo...
19/06/2026

Jeff Matiasevich’s time in Japan produced some of the most underrated photos of his entire career. Riders often talk about “starting fresh,” but Chicken didn’t just start fresh — he reinvented himself. The Japanese Nationals weren’t a step down. They were an entirely different battlefield. The factories treated these races as live testing grounds, and the level of support riders received was unreal. Chicken rolled into this environment with years of U.S. intensity behind him, and it shows in every part of this image.

This photo captures a rider who knows exactly what he’s doing. The throttle hand is steady, the posture is balanced, and the bike looks like it’s sitting perfectly in the stroke. Chicken wasn’t just surviving the track here; he was reading it. The Japanese circuits were tight, technical, and layered with ruts that could ruin a race faster than bad luck ever could. A rider needed finesse, aggression, and the ability to adjust instantly. Chicken brought all three.

The late 90s were a fascinating time for factory development. Suspension companies were experimenting, engine departments were pushing boundaries, and frame designers were quietly reshaping the future of motocross. Riders like Chicken were handed parts that most people have never even seen. Prototype clamps, one-off ignition systems, handmade pipes, and suspension internals that were tuned by engineers with decades of experience. This photo reflects that entire world — a rider and a machine both operating at the edge of what was possible in that era.

There’s a calm intensity in his expression here. It’s the look of someone who still loves the fight, still loves the uncertainty, still loves being the guy who can show up on foreign soil and prove he belongs in the deep end. His style matured, but the aggression never left. It just became sharper.

There’s something about early 90s ads that you just can’t recreate today. They didn’t care about being polished. They di...
18/06/2026

There’s something about early 90s ads that you just can’t recreate today. They didn’t care about being polished. They didn’t waste time trying to tell a deep story. They weren’t trying to sell you a “lifestyle.” They just hit you right between the eyes with big fonts, loud colours, and a bike that looked like it wanted to rip your arms off. And this 1993 Kawasaki KX ad is one of the absolute classics.

The early 90s KX lineup had a presence that’s hard to describe unless you lived through it. They weren’t pretty bikes — they were mean. The frames, the stance, the way they sat in a rut… everything about them looked aggressive. Kawasaki didn’t try to hide the attitude. They embraced it. If you bought a KX in this era, it was because you wanted a bike that felt like it had a bit of a temper. And honestly, that’s exactly why everyone loved them.

Ads like this worked because they told the truth. You didn’t need a cinematic video or a perfectly lit studio shot. You just needed a bike and a message: This thing is fast. Hold on. And anyone who rode a KX back then knew they weren’t exaggerating. These bikes were raw. The powerbands were sharp. The suspension was stiff. And the handling demanded commitment. They weren’t for beginners — they were for riders who wanted to be challenged.

Looking at this ad now brings back all the energy of that era. The magazines, the posters on bedroom walls, the gear that looked like it came out of a paint explosion, the smell of premix on a cold morning… it all ties together. This was motocross before the sport got clean and strategic. It was loud, messy, unpredictable, and full of personality.

And that’s why people still love these old ads. They weren’t trying to be cool. They just were.

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By the time 1997 rolled around, Jeff Matiasevich had already carved out a legacy in the U.S., but his move to the Japane...
18/06/2026

By the time 1997 rolled around, Jeff Matiasevich had already carved out a legacy in the U.S., but his move to the Japanese Nationals gave us an entirely different chapter of his story. These weren’t small events, and they weren’t some retirement hobby — Japan took motocross seriously, and the manufacturers treated these races like rolling test labs. And Chicken? He fit right into that world of factory experimentation.

This photo captures a version of Chicken that people sometimes forget existed — experienced, controlled, and riding with a confidence that only comes from years of racing at the highest level. The Japanese tracks were tight, technical, and full of sections that demanded precision. But they also gave him access to bikes and parts that never even made it to the U.S. The factories were testing frames, ignition curves, prototype suspension, and pieces that the public wouldn’t see for years. Chicken got to ride all of it.

You can see how sharp everything looks in this shot. The bike sits tall and aggressive. The body position is dialled. He’s not wrestling the bike — he’s directing it. There’s a maturity in his riding here that contrasts the wild, unpredictable version of Chicken people remember from his early years. Still aggressive, still committed, but more calculated. More aware of exactly what the bike is doing underneath him.

That’s what makes this era so cool. It’s the meeting point of old-school aggression and the growing sophistication of late-90s factory development. Japan was ahead of the curve in a lot of ways, and Chicken was right in the middle of it, pushing those prototypes in real race conditions.

These photos remind you that a rider’s career isn’t just their American results. There’s a whole world of racing that shapes who they become.

12/06/2026

ripping this '92 Suzuki RM250 before it gets the full Garage 11 treatment 🔊 Same as the one we just built for Classic Weekend — but first, enjoy how she runs right now. Tear-down starts soon. Follow along to see the after 👇

There’s nothing in motocross quite like a start. You can be the fastest rider on the track, have the best bike, the best...
11/06/2026

There’s nothing in motocross quite like a start. You can be the fastest rider on the track, have the best bike, the best fitness, the best everything — but if you don’t get off that gate clean, the whole moto turns into a fight. And that’s why photos like this are so special. They freeze that split second where absolutely everything matters. Heart rate spiking. Arms tense. Clutch loaded. Rear wheel digging into the dirt. Every rider locked into their own little universe, waiting for that gate to flinch.

The best part about starts from this era is how raw they were. No traction control. No electronic launch maps. No engine modes. You weren’t relying on tech — it was just your reaction time, your setup, your nerve, and whether you could hold it wide long enough to survive the first 20 metres. The dirt explodes, the two-strokes bark, and 20 riders all funnel into one line that definitely isn’t wide enough for all of them. It’s chaos, but it’s beautiful chaos.

You can almost feel it in this shot — the weight shift forward, the elbows locking in place, the clutch slipping just enough to keep the rear hooked up. Every rider is making micro-decisions in real time. Feather the clutch or dump it? Lean forward or sit taller? Aim for the inside or gamble on the outside? And all of that thinking happens in less than a second.

What I love most about old start photos is the personality. The gear, the goggles, the brands, the number plates… everything screams character. You knew who everyone was just by their stance. Some riders were coiled tight, ready to explode. Some rode with confidence, sitting heavy and controlled. Some looked like they were ready to destroy anyone in their way. That’s the magic of the gate — it exposes who’s who before the race even begins.

This moment right here? This is motocross distilled to its purest form.

1992 was one of those transition years in motocross — the gear was getting louder, the bikes were getting sharper, and t...
11/06/2026

1992 was one of those transition years in motocross — the gear was getting louder, the bikes were getting sharper, and the riders were caught somewhere between the old-school toughness of the late 80s and the more refined style that was coming in the mid-90s. And sitting right in the middle of that shift was Jeff Matiasevich, better known as Chicken. A rider who somehow managed to combine pure aggression with just enough technique to keep the whole thing from blowing apart.

This photo says everything about him. Look at the posture — elbows high, chest forward, weight committed. He always had that “I’m going whether the track likes it or not” energy. Chicken wasn’t here to look polished. He wasn’t trying to be graceful or effortless. He rode like every corner was personal. And when you throw a rider like that onto a Kawasaki of this era, you end up with moments like this — raw, loud, and full of attitude.

The early 90s didn’t have perfect groomed ruts or sculpted supercross rhythms. The tracks were rough, lumpy, and unpredictable. If you didn’t have confidence in your front wheel, the whole day could go sideways real quick. But Chicken thrived in that chaos. He could be wild one moment and laser-focused the next. That’s what made him such a fan favourite. You never really knew what he was going to do — you just knew it would be worth watching.

There’s something nostalgic about these shots too. The gear colours that shouldn’t work together but somehow do. The helmets that look huge compared to the slim modern designs. The bikes that shake, vibrate, and pull in every direction. You look at this and instantly remember a time when motocross wasn’t polished — it was gritty and unpredictable. And riders like Chicken brought that whole vibe to life.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t pretty. But it was proper motocross.

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