Jason Momoa’s Motorcycle Collection: Keeping History Alive, One Ride at a Time

Jason Momoa’s vintage motorcycle collection raises a question that reaches far beyond Hollywood: what are we trying to save when we restore an old bike? Its factory appearance, the evidence of its working life, or the chance to keep riding it?

For many owners, the answer begins with that last point. A motorcycle rescued from deterioration and returned to the road has a future again. Whether its tank gleams or wears decades of faded paint, the achievement is that someone has cared enough to keep it going.

Momoa’s relationship with old Harleys offers an interesting way into that discussion. His documented comments reveal affection for their engineering, the people who work on them and the experiences they make possible. His collection includes both preserved survivors and machines rebuilt with personal touches. There is more than one way to care for motorcycle history.

Jason Momoa’s vintage Harleys carry personal history

In a 2021 interview with Men’s Journal, Momoa explained the appeal of century-old motorcycles: “I feel like I’m in a time capsule.” He also spoke warmly about their straightforward artistry and the craftspeople who build and maintain them.

One detail makes that enthusiasm particularly relatable. His first motorcycle, Mabel, was a 1956 Harley-Davidson Panhead with a 1948 front end, named after his grandmother. Here was a machine with mixed components and a family connection, rather than simply a model designation and a place in a collection. 

In a separate 2024 interview with Condé Nast Traveller, Momoa said he still owned his first Harley and had ridden it from the West Coast to the Midwest. For anyone who remembers a first bike, that continued attachment needs little explanation. 

Motorcycles accumulate meaning through ownership. The purchase might mark a first proper wage, a return to riding or a particular chapter of family life. Eventually, the machine becomes inseparable from those memories. Factory correctness cannot measure that connection.

Restoration and preservation both have a place

Discussing his series On the Roam with Condé Nast Traveller, Momoa described it as being about “restoration and bringing things back to life.” He also discussed a 1936 Knucklehead rebuilt in pink, his favourite colour, and the pleasure of finally riding it.

That example adds a useful complication. His affection for motorcycle history accommodates personal taste and the work required to make an old machine usable again. 

Meanwhile, Harley-Davidson’s museum in Milwaukee is displaying six motorcycles from his collection, built between 1941 and 1944, through June 2027. The museum describes them as survivors retaining worn finishes, period modifications and the character of their long lives.

Those particular exhibits are wartime machines, distinct from his enthusiasm for prewar Harleys. Their presentation places value on the physical evidence of use, rather than returning each example to showroom appearance. 

Taken together, these examples suggest an appreciation for different approaches. They do not establish that Momoa opposes concours restoration. That broader debate is ours to explore, rather than an opinion to put in his mouth.

Does concours restoration erase a motorcycle’s history?

There is something extraordinary about a meticulous restoration. Recovering the right parts, researching finishes and rebuilding worn machinery demands patience, skill and commitment. An immaculate motorcycle can reveal details of design and manufacture that a neglected example has almost completely lost.

For a machine rescued from boxes of corroded parts, a comprehensive rebuild might be its best chance of survival. Nobody should dismiss that achievement because the finished tank happens to shine.

Yet restoration also involves choices about which period of a motorcycle’s life deserves to be represented. Returning it to factory specification takes us back to its beginning. What happens to everything that followed?

A modified carrier might explain how an owner travelled. An unusual bracket could record a practical answer to a recurring problem. A replacement component might have kept the bike running when the correct part was unavailable. Removing those details can tidy the machine while making its individual story harder to read.

The question is whether we recognise what we are removing before we reach for the spanners.

The appeal of patina and Heath Robinson ingenuity

At Motorbike Mad, there is something deeply endearing about a motorcycle that looks as though it has lived. Worn paint, polished contact points and a slightly unconventional adaptation can give it a presence that fresh paint alone cannot recreate.

A proper Heath Robinson solution deserves particular affection when it reveals an owner thinking their way around a riding problem. It might lack elegance, but ingenuity has always had a place in the home workshop.

Even a familiar mist of oil can belong to the sensory memory of old machinery, although affection should never become an excuse to ignore a developing fault. The drip tray may be part of the relationship; oil reaching a tyre certainly should not be.

The distinction matters. Patina is not a maintenance programme. Brakes, tyres, steering and structural condition still need proper attention, and an unsafe repair needs correcting however interesting it looks. Preserving character and maintaining roadworthiness can sit comfortably together.

Keeping a classic motorcycle riding is an achievement

Our preference is for restoration that gives an old motorcycle more life. Sometimes that requires a complete rebuild. Sometimes it means careful mechanical work while leaving the appearance largely alone.

A home restorer should not feel that success depends on producing a concours contender. A dependable old bike, assembled with care and enjoyed on the road, is a considerable achievement. Its owner has preserved skills, supported parts suppliers and kept another machine available to be experienced.

Equally, a beautifully restored motorcycle need not spend its life under a cover. Many owners take great pride in immaculate machines and ride them enthusiastically. Finish alone tells us very little about how a bike is used.

Recording its condition before work begins helps whichever approach is chosen. Photographs, old receipts and recollections from previous owners can preserve details that mechanical work or repainting might remove. History needs someone to remember it as well as someone to maintain it.

Momoa’s stories offer a reminder that an old motorcycle can be a survivor, a personal creation and a much-loved riding companion. Our own garages contain versions of those same relationships, usually with rather smaller budgets.

Every mile adds another chapter, provided we keep the motorcycle capable of making the journey.

If it were your bike, would you return it to the day it left the factory, or retain its battle scars and concentrate on keeping it roadworthy? And which alteration would you never remove because its story means too much?