Garage Eleven

Back from the finishers and ready for assembly 🔴
XR600 engine fresh off the bench — cases and barrel hydroblasted back to bare-metal factory finish, RFVC head done in Honda red. The 591cc big single is about to go back together.
Full rebuild coming — follow along to see this Honda XR600R engine assembly from bare cases to first kick.
Tag a mate who needs to see this before/after 👇

1987 was the beginning of the legend. Jeff Matiasevich was still young, still rough around the edges, but already riding with that unmistakable attitude that would define the rest of his career. This photo captures the early version of Chicken — the natural talent, the confidence, and the spark that made everyone realise he wasn’t going to be just another name in the field. He had something else. Something you couldn’t teach.

The 80s were a completely different era of motocross. The tracks were rutty and brutal, the bikes were stiff and unforgiving, and the gear looked like it came straight out of a paint factory explosion. Riders had to muscle the bikes around because nothing was truly refined yet. Suspension didn’t smooth out the track; it just tried to survive it. Engines didn’t deliver power gently; they snapped and barked the moment you breathed on the throttle. Chicken thrived in that environment.

This photo shows the raw side of motocross that often gets forgotten. The head-down aggression, the elbows that look like they’re trying to break free from the gear, the wheels dipped into deep, carved lines that punish any hesitation. Chicken wasn’t afraid of any of it. He rode with the kind of intensity that made people lean closer to the track just to see if he could pull off what he was about to attempt.

His style was messy but effective, wild but controlled just enough to keep the whole thing from becoming a disaster. That balance — or imbalance, depending on who you ask — is what made him so fun to watch. Even in 1987, he already had that signature edge. The bikes were slower, the tech was older, but the heart was the same. Pure commitment.

Photos from this era hit differently because they remind you of when motocross was still raw, unpredictable, and full of personality. Chicken wasn’t shaped by data or trends.

What a weekend. 🔥
Blessed to head up to Classic Weekend with dirtactionmag to judge what has to be THE best vintage motocross weekend of the year. 🏁
Wall-to-wall incredible bikes and some of the most passionate people in the sport, all in one spot. If you love two strokes and old-school moto, this is the event. 💯
Now the big question — do we need to bring this to VICTORIA? 👀
Drop a 🙌 in the comments if you'd be there 👇

DirtAction OldSchoolMoto VicMoto

MXstore
Fist Handwear
Rat Racing
Acerbis Australia
Fuchs Silkolene Australasia
MSC Moto - Australian Made Dirt Bike Parts
Bolt Motorcycle Hardware
Hundred Club Society
KINCROME
Ballard's Off Road

This shot captures everything people loved about Chicken — the attitude, the aggression, and the feeling that he was always seconds away from doing something either brilliant or completely unhinged. Jeff Matiasevich didn’t ride like anyone else. He didn’t care about looking smooth, clean, or technically perfect. He rode with the kind of raw intensity that made fans stop what they were doing just to watch. That unpredictability wasn’t a flaw; it was his signature.

The early 90s were full of riders with polished form, picture-perfect elbows, and neat race craft. Chicken wasn’t interested in playing that game. His style was heavier, louder, and built on instinct. He threw the bike into lines other riders avoided, pushed through chaos without blinking, and relied on a sixth sense that kept him upright when common sense said he shouldn’t have been. That’s why photos like this still hit hard — you can almost feel the commitment in his stance.

This era of Kawasaki machinery suited him perfectly. The bikes were fast but violent, powerful but twitchy. They rewarded riders who weren’t afraid to bully them around a bit. Chicken made them look like they were built specifically for him. His body position here is pure “hold on and let’s see what happens,” yet somehow it still looks calculated where it counts. The body English, the weight on the pegs, the way he leans into the moment — it all tells the story of a rider who trusted his instincts more than anything else.

These images remind us why riders like Chicken became cult favourites. They weren’t safe, predictable, or careful. They were the spark that made the sport exciting. The crowd never knew what they were about to get, but they knew it wouldn’t be boring.