Trail Rider Magazine

24 Trail Rider www.TrailRider.com Ed Hertfelder Ed Hertfelder "The Worlds Worst Dirt Rider" "The Worlds Worst Dirt Rider" By Paul Clipper By Paul Clipper Tuesday, February 27, 2024 we lost another one of the greats. Edward Anthony Her elder ("Just call me Ed!"), living out his re rement quietly in southern Arizona, turned in his scorecard for the last me a er 95 years. Ed was the author of "The Duct Tapes" stories, seen in magazine columns and self-published books for at least fi y years of that long life. He was a lifelong woods rider, and in his wri ng made his own brand of enduro riding look at the same me both ridiculous, terribly hazardous and oh so appealing. Ed was a world famous personality in offroad rid- ing, over the years wri ng his Duct Tapes editorial column for Cycle magazine, Cycle World, Dirt Rider, and in later years for my dear old Trail Rider mag- azine. He was our last journalis c link to the days when riders rode Harleys, Triumphs and BSAs as trail bikes, and he o en wrote about thrashing those old machines through the Jersey Pines. He claimed to be the "World's Worst Dirt Biker," and had a vanity plate from the state of New Jersey with the word WORST on it that he used on his dual sport bikes in later years. He also had a huge blue box van with an electric winch inside that he would use to noisily load his bike a er a ring ride, and on that truck he had a license plate with the word POETIC. He'd tell anyone who asked that he was the only writer in the state of New Jersey with "poe c li- cense," and I'm damn proud to tell you that he bequeathed that plate to me when he le the East Coast to live out his re rement in Arizona. We were friends for decades, pre y much from op- posite sides of the country, unfortunately. The more I dig into our history the more I remember, and it all makes me laugh. Apparently, the first me I saw him was at an ISDT Qualifier in the Jersey Pine Barrens, with his bike laying on its side—I think because he was trying to save the gas from leaking out of the cracks on the other side of the fiberglass tank— holding forth to a crowd of people who were being entertained with his yarns he'd knit about that day's distress. One of the guys in the crowd told me that his name was Ed Her elder, and he wrote a monthly column for Cycle Magazine. Well I'll be damned, he must be famous! In spring or summer a er that event, my buddy Supe told me one day, "Hey, there's an old guy living down the street with a bike that says "BULTACO" on it, but it's upside down." It dawned on me that I had seen that guy somewhere, vaguely remem- bering seeing a Bultaco badge rightside up on a laying-down bike. We went down the block to see what was up with that, and here was Ed working on the bike in ques on, I think it was an old Frontera or a Matador, and sure enough the BULTACO s ck- er on the tank was upside down. We introduced ourselves, a bunch of teenage kids just star ng to ride, and asked him why the s cker was wrong way up, and he said "So I can find my bike easier when I crash. I have a hard me reading upside down!" He made a huge impression on us, and I don't think he remembered us for a second. But we were proud to know he was one of us, or we were one of him, or whatever. Years later, I wound up in California, working on the staff of Dirt Bike magazine by some miracle, and my phone rang one day. I picked it up and this Jersey-fied voice said, "My name is Ed Her elder. I heard a kid from South Jersey wound up working for Dirt Bike magazine, and I just wanted to offer my congratula ons." Over the course of the conversa- on, he told me to come see him in Collingswood next me I was in town, and I said I'd be sure to do that.

• Cover