Rubber and Steel

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It begins with the fridge, and it ends with sleek, sculpted hunks of metal and rubber that glisten and intimidate like shiny, flame-covered torpedoes.

"This one was done with Guinness," says master bike builder Paul Stewart, speaking of liquid inspiration in the showroom of his Dynamic Choppers custom motorcycle shop, nodding toward a gold and silver creation that looks like it was fashioned from polished glass.

"That one was MGD," he adds, turning toward a shiny black ride with python-thick tires that spring from the machine like flexed biceps.

Stewart doesn’t smile all that much, but he does so now, his steady, business-minded glare leavened by a sly grin.

"I usually start with a beer," he says, his big knuckles slathered in grayish grit, his forearms thick from heaving around chunks of iron for a living.

It’s a little more than a week before the annual "Artistry in Iron" show, an invitation-only competition among 25 of the best bike builders in the world that’s become a centerpiece of the Las Vegas BikeFest each year, and Stewart’s gearing up for the contest.

His entry this time is a luminous, handcrafted beauty, a streamlined, sophisticated looking beast with a crescent-shaped fuselage that eschews a gaudy paint job and novelty add-ons for a clean, refined sheen.

"We made every single component on that motorcycle except for the tires and the front brake caliper," Stewart says of the luxury ride, named "Epic," which recently came in sixth in the World Championship of Custom Bike Building. "Every single component is unique. The rear wheel has 330 individual components that were handmade, the front wheel has 365 components. Most companies that put a bike together, they’ll open a catalog and order a wheel made up of a half-a-dozen components, which they didn’t have anything to do with."

Stewart’s nothing if not a hands-on kind of guy, a tattooed, sturdily built English expat who’s a motorcycle lifer, having traversed every state but one on his bike. He’s been immersed in grease and gears since he was 8 years old, and if he ever should injure himself, you half expect him to bleed motor oil.

For the past 13 years, Stewart has run his own shop, now housed in a west side strip mall, whose bright baby blue brick walls testify to his success: Dozens of trophies are crowded next to stacks of parts catalogs, commemorative Sturgis Budweiser cans and framed issues of Easy Rider Magazine, which is among the dozens of publications that have featured Stewart’s works.

The place smells of rubber, leather and ambition.

It’s here that Stewart and his crew produce anywhere from 12 to 100 bikes a year, ranging in cost from $16,000 for basic models to the mid-six figures for more elaborate creations that take from weeks to years to build.

Stewart designs everything in his head, putting virtually nothing down on paper.

"I don’t draw anything," he says. "I sit down, have a beer, and visualize where I want to go with it and I’ll know exactly what the bike’s going to look like when it’s finished before I do anything. Every bike I’ve ever built — and I’ve built hundreds of bikes — I can pretty much tell you every single component on every one."

It’s this kind of attention to detail that has distinguished Stewart, whose bikes are known for their smooth lines and crisp, uncluttered look.

He makes for a strong local entry at the "Artistry in Iron" show, which will put his labors in front of thousands as BikeFest continues to blossom in attendance.

"We started with 6,000 people, and last year we had over 35,000 people," says BikeFest promoter Pam Schwartz of the event’s swelling crowds. "Our goal is to end up being a Sturgis or a Daytona of the West."

For Stewart, the event is a chance to butt heads with the most renowned bike builders around and vie for a $20,000 top prize.

"It’s one of the top three shows of the year," he says, noting that he normally works 20 hours a day for two to three weeks to get his entry ready for "Artistry in Iron."

It’s mostly a labor of love, a pastime that has turned into a profession, where Stewart has found success only by losing himself in acres of steel and rubber.

"It’s like the motorcycle equivalent of a self-made millionaire," he says, crossing his arms, looking contemplative for a moment. "Every single bike that comes out of here has a piece of me in it."