Names aren’t just labels; they’re commitments. We opened with The Little Prince and the fox’s lesson on “taming," the slow craft of building ties, and used it as a lens to ask why we name bikes, boats, and the objects that shape our lives. From there, we dove into how ritual, patience, and attention turn a mass‑produced machine into a companion with character.
To ground the philosophy, we toured three fresh builds from the shop. A Phoenix 250 in deep green with gold primary and copper secondary striping showed how color can carry personality. A fully dressed vintage‑red Halcyon 450 wore skirted fenders, polished stainless, a headlight visor, and brown leather that felt timeless. A frame‑matched Halcyon 250 with double gold pinstripes balanced elegance and restraint. Each choice, pinstripe width, leather tone, lighting, demonstrated how customization becomes a rider’s signature. You don’t just ride these bikes; you recognize them at a glance, like a friend’s stride in a crowd.
The live chat pushed us further: is naming about power, control, or respect? Are we honoring what’s essential or imposing order so we can understand and care for it? We compared boats and christenings, first cars and quirks, and the way a well‑worn seat seems to “remember” its rider. The consensus landed near responsibility: once you name it, you owe it, regular maintenance, honest use, and stories worth telling.
We also shared updates and plans. Our WeFunder campaign continues to grow, and even a simple follow helps us reach new riders and builders. We’re heading to winter Motocamp with a Rivian partnership to explore the conversation between carbureted two wheels and electric four, and we’re co‑producing the Rye'd or Die custom motorcycle show at Journeyman Distillery in Valparaiso. Expect craft, community, and machines with soul.
If this resonates, ride along with us: follow the show, share it with a friend who names their machines, and leave a quick review to help more riders find the ramble. Got a great bike name and the story behind it? Drop it in the comments, we want to hear it.
More About this Episode
Why We Name Our Motorcycles: Taming, Identity, and the Quiet Power of Connection
There’s a peculiar power in a name. It sounds simple, calling your motorcycle “Foxy,” or “Althea,” or “68,” but beneath that act is something far deeper than personal flair. Naming isn’t just branding, and it’s not just whimsy. It’s a reflection of connection. And in our most recent Ramblestream episode, we leaned fully into that rabbit hole: why do we name things at all, and what does it say about our relationship with the machines we ride?
This was a ramble of the highest order, philosophical, personal, literary, and yes, a little bit bourbon-fueled. But at its core, the discussion hinged on a truth that everyone who has ever formed a bond with a machine understands: when you name a motorcycle, you’re not just assigning it identity, you’re recognizing that it has one.
Let’s unpack that.
Naming Is Taming
In one of the most moving moments of the stream, Richard read a passage from Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince. The scene? The young prince meets a fox who tells him that to be known is to be tamed. That love, friendship, and understanding come not from ownership, but from time, intention, and attention.
The fox says, “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”
That sentiment struck a nerve. Naming something, whether it’s a motorcycle, a boat, or a beloved pet, is often the culmination of that taming process. You’ve learned its quirks. You’ve spent time with it. You’ve endured its tantrums and trusted it with your time and your safety.
It’s not a casual transaction. It’s earned.
Customization Is a Conversation
We say this all the time at Janus; motorcycles customize themselves. Not just through paint, or fenders, or leather options, but through experience. Through relationships.
Whether it’s your first oil change, a long road trip, a surprise breakdown that you fix by the side of the road, these are the moments that make a motorcycle yours. And when you’ve invested time, sweat, and story into a machine, the name almost suggests itself.
It’s a moment of recognition. You’ve shaped the machine, and in turn, it’s shaped you. Now it needs a name.
What a Name Represents
During the stream, a comment flashed across the screen: “Naming things is a form of power.”
Yes. But it’s not about dominance, it’s about meaning.
To name is to define. It’s to give context, to say: “This thing is not just another bike. It’s mine. It’s different from the rest. It has a story.”
Old School’s “Althea.” Jason’s “Foxy.” My own “68.” These names are more than just identifiers. They’re shorthand for entire histories.
And in a world where so much feels mass-produced and interchangeable, these distinctions matter.
Why We Name Boats (And Motorcycles)
Jansen posed a great question during the stream: Why is it bad luck not to name a boat before it sets sail?
There are superstitions, sure. But the underlying reason? It’s about relationships and reverence. Boats, like motorcycles, are vessels of possibility and risk. You’re trusting them to carry you through the unknown. Giving them a name isn’t just tradition, it’s a mark of intention. Of accountability. Of respect.
The same logic applies to motorcycles.
When you straddle a Janus, or any bike, and take off into the wind, you’re not just operating a machine. You’re forming a pact. You and the bike, together, responsible for each other. Naming is how we honor that bond.
Names Are Earned, Not Bought
Here’s the kicker: you can’t name a motorcycle out of the box. You can try, sure. But most names don’t stick until there’s a story attached.
Maybe your Halcyon broke down on a solo trip through the Smoky Mountains, and you rebuilt the carb in a motel parking lot. Maybe your Phoenix carried you through the backroads of Wisconsin, past wheat fields and under apple trees, until it felt like home.
Those are the moments that give a motorcycle its name.
As one commenter said: “You only understand the things you tame.” And you only name the ones you understand.
Connection in the Age of Efficiency
In a world full of sleek, silent, software-defined vehicles, the idea of naming a machine might sound outdated. Why name an appliance?
Because motorcycles are different.
They are visceral. Mechanical. They demand participation. You don’t just ride a Janus, you become a part of it. You feel the vibration in your bones. You smell the exhaust. You tweak the idle screw and hear the difference.
And unlike many modern machines that are designed to be indistinguishable and disposable, a motorcycle, especially a hand-built one, begs for a relationship.
Not just a ride. A conversation.
When Machines Know You Back
There’s a weird magic in riding a bike that’s truly yours.
You know the feel of the clutch. The quirk in third gear. The way the seat has molded to you over time. And in some way, it feels like the bike knows you back.
That kind of connection is rare. And it’s why we believe motorcycles should have names. Not because they need them, but because we do.
The Ramble (and the Point)
We rambled this week, hard. We talked boats, bikes, foxes, feelings. And in the end, we kept coming back to this central idea:
Naming is a form of care.
It signals that something matters to you. That it’s not just a tool or a product. It’s a partner. A companion. A character in your life story.
So if you haven’t named your bike yet, that’s okay. Maybe the relationship isn’t there yet. Maybe you’re still in the early stages of taming. Maybe you’re just getting to know each other.
But when the moment comes, and you’ll know when it does, give it a name.
Not because you have to.
Because it deserves one.
One Last Thing: A Small Thanks
To wrap things up on a more practical note, we gave away a set of Janus tie-downs during the stream, a small gesture to say thanks to our community (and to make up for a few technical hiccups). Congrats to Charles on the win, your bike will be all the more lovable with those extra details.
If you missed it, don’t worry. We’ll do more. These streams aren’t just about content. They’re about connection.
Which, as it turns out, is kind of the whole point.