The day the Stark Varg EX showed up at my house was my middle kid's birthday. He was, as usual, very excited about a host of things we had planned for the day. A party, a trip to this cool local museum, the cupcakes my mom and daughter had made him, and the presents everyone had given him.
He was five going on six, so it's very easy to have, in his words, "The best day ever!" But while I enjoyed seeing his smile light up everywhere throughout all those other things, it was what happened when we'd finally made it home that personally piqued my joy.
My kids and I have been riding motorcycles since they were infants, them strapped to my chest via a papoose. That might not make me father of the year in some eyes, but it's been my way of introducing them to bikes and having fun with them when I can no longer sit through another Bluey or Baby Shark episode. Now, years later, my daughter is riding her Kawasaki Elektrode with me—though she's already tall enough to reach the pegs on the Stark—and the boys are just starting to play with the throttle when I let them.
And all I hear are giggles when I've got them squeezed between my thighs as we snake our way through the single-track dirt bike trail we've built behind our house, along with the small kick-up jump I've made in the front.
But that night, after all the fun birthday things, my middle son asked me, "Dad, can I ride the new motorcycle with you?" I asked if he was too tired for that, as it had been a long day, and it was fast approaching bedtime. But he replied, "No, I want to ride with you," and so we set off, and rode and rode and rode until well after the sun set behind the mountains, somewhat to the charging of my wife, who was trying to get our other two to bed.
Even as the last gasps of sun touched the gravel, the two of us rode the single track, spinning the rear wheel, brushing our knees into sage bushes, kicking up dirt, and watching as our dog chased us along the trail: the Stark's light guiding our way.
In the past, this all wouldn't be possible. Dirt bikes are, traditionally, noisy things. High-strung two-strokes are generally anti-social, and even with a good muffler on it—who wants that?—you'd be hard-pressed to continue riding within a neighborhood past dinnertime before your neighbors called the cops or your HOA. They'd be getting their own kids ready for bed while you, the degenerate father, is hysterically laughing popping wheelies with your own brood.
They'd clutch their pearls and scream, "Won't someone please think of the children!" That's not the case anymore.
Electric motorcycles, and in particular this Stark Varg EX, have made complaining HOAs and cop-calling neighbors a thing of the past. We've entered a new era of dirt biking. We've entered a new era of action sports and powersports, as you can stretch those days behind the bars into infinity. Add the Varg EX's headlight and you've got the recipe for backyard dirt biking that stretches until well past dark, well past normal running hours, and well past my kids' bedtime.
That day, we rode until around 10 pm—it was summer and my kid's birthday, sue me. We rode until we literally ran out of battery, though I'll admit that we didn't start fully juiced up. I, however, could've kept going. My son could've kept going, too, and asked me why we were stopping. I told him, "We're out of power for today, bud." An "Ahhhh," emanated from his mouth. But I replied, "Don't worry, we can do this tomorrow night, too, I just have to charge it up, and so do you."
And off he went to sleep, having a lovely cap to "The best day ever."
