Langlitz Leathers, For the Cool Factor | BEHIND BARS

Now a hipster-topia of microbreweries, chocolatiers, and the legendary MotoCorsa Ducati outlet, I remember it as a decaying ex-boomtown with gutters full of smashed Blitz shorties. The coolest bike shop we had was the teetering bone pile of the Sandy Bandit, and if you lived on the Willamette waterfront, your home was not a condo. It was an appliance box.

There's something cool everywhere though. Since 1947—straight through the Cold War, recession, and the felling of Oregon's timber industry—Langlitz Leathers (langlitz.com) continues as a museum-grade repository of Portland's cool factor.

How cool? Neil Young and “The Boss” both rock Langlitz, balancing out poseurs like Bruce Willis.

And me. When I furtively purchased a glossy Nava and a tattered Yamaha, Mom firmly proscribed street riding without serious leather protection. Said leathers would be underwritten by the “company store” and would constitute birthday and Christmas presents into my indefinite future. Since then, two beaux ideal of my life remain: Langlitz (still cutting custom leathers) and Mom (still cooler than I am and way cooler than Bruce Willis).

I’ve worn through cartons of rugged, weather-resistant garb. Modern gear has kept asphalt and dirt and rocks and trees mostly outside my skin, and my bones inside. Still, nothing matches the sense of destiny bestowed when measured for your first Langlitz.

Dave Hansen (now retired) is the son-in-law of founder Ross Langlitz. Hansen taped me in 1980, guesstimating space for filling out. He must have nailed it because I wore that brown Cascade model through 2005. My jacket came imbued with a personal mission: to grow into it.

And then out of it. My Portland-built ensemble now features a goatskin Columbia and Western pants with 30-inch leg zippers. It’s low tech, high quality, and even a guy with interesting X-rays can don the whole suit in 10 seconds without shucking boots. Hansen’s Law: Leathers can’t help you when they’re hanging in your closet.

When racer Ross Langlitz founded the leatherworks, he’d already lost his right leg to a nasty bike biff, but his event was speedway, and he could still slide to the left.

What he couldn’t do was buy sturdy leathers that didn’t ride up. Happily, Ross was more than a racer. He was a professional glover and inveterate innovator. Sitting at a leather sewing machine over a pile of hides, Ross reinvented the archetypal “biker” jacket with cuff zippers, wind flap, diagonal front zip, and leather zipper pulls. Like Schott’s Perfecto but with doughty, industrial-grade build quality.

If you don’t ride, Langlitz will try not to sell you a jacket. You could be elbowing aside a Portland motor officer or a three-time loser trying to get patched in before he sinks back into the joint.

Unless you spot your size on the crowded rack of trade-ins and seconds, your gratification won’t be instant. The whole crew vacations twice a year and lets their landline ring through to messages, but you’ll still get your jacket in a couple of months.

They’ll advise you to order your leathers in sensible black to hide gashes, grime, and chain lube. Black also holds resale value better. You will gain weight or quit riding within your jacket’s half-century service cycle.

There are no seasonal offerings, viscoelastic pads, or bold new graphics. If the jacket with your name stamped inside doesn’t fit perfectly, Langlitz will cut you another one, no questions asked.

Across Europe, Asia, and even New Jersey, you’ll find instant fraternity. “Hey, is that a Langlitz?”

Yup, but it ain’t my first one. God willin’ and a tailwind, it won’t be my last. Dave Hansen believes in an afterlife wherein he’ll be accountable not only to God but to Ross Langlitz personally. I don’t know about all that.

But if I wake up in Valhalla, I’ll already be dressed for dinner.