The Road to the Rupp Scrambler: A Ride Through Memory Lane

By Jim Hanel, Truck Company Lt, East Williston Fire Department

How many of you remember the glory days of minibikes in the 70s? For me, it all started with one goal: the Rupp Scrambler. Those who grew up around Carle Place, especially near Jericho Turnpike, might recall a little shop that sold minibikes—it’s now Clinton Welding. Walking through that place was like stepping into a dreamland of shiny, new bikes, each one more promising than the last.

Back then, minibikes were barebones machines: just a Briggs and Stratton engine, a chain, and fat tires. They had no suspension, no front brakes—just pure, unfiltered fun. Even now, I can't believe we rode those things without front forks. But the Rupp? Oh, that was something else entirely. It came with front and rear shocks, tires three times the size of the competition, and a powerful 3.5-horsepower engine. Not only that, it came in colors other than black, which was rare back then.

The Rupp had a big enough seat for two, but you'd better hope you weren't riding uphill with a passenger! With knobby tires, drum brakes, and a center stand for maintenance, it was an upgrade in every sense. The top-of-the-line model, the Roadster, even had headlights—imagine riding through the fields at night with actual visibility! The Rupp wasn’t just a minibike, it was the bomb, and I was determined to get one.

At the time, I had saved almost $150 from cutting lawns with my brother. I scoured the Buy Lines newspaper for a used Rupp Scrambler, as new ones were out of my budget. The listings were tempting, but most bikes had seen better days. The first one I checked out had handlebars that had smashed into the tank—clearly, it had taken a beating. But my older, wiser brother convinced me to wait.

Then came Thursday. I grabbed the new paper and there it was: a 1972 Rupp Scrambler, listed for $200. It was just within reach, and my dad agreed to help me make up the difference. We headed out to Huntington in our trusty Colony Park station wagon, ready to bring the bike home. I’ll never forget the moment we arrived—the Scrambler stood proudly in the driveway, gleaming as the sun set. It was green, my favorite color, and it looked like it had barely been ridden.

The seller’s son, about a year younger than me, stood there with his dad. I had just one question: “Why are you selling this beauty?” I couldn’t fathom parting with something so powerful. The father answered, “The neighbors don’t appreciate the noise.” My brother nudged me and whispered, “Offer them $165.” I thought there was no way they’d negotiate on something this perfect. But, as always, my brother was right. We settled at $175, drained the gas tank, and loaded up the Scrambler. It was mine.

Back at home, we had plenty of space to ride. My dad had purchased my grandfather’s country house, which sat on 20 acres of land. There was a stream, a mountain, a valley, and a huge lawn to cut twice a month. That land, plus an additional 300 acres nearby, became our playground. The next morning, my brother and I hit the trails—him on his CB 125, me on my Scrambler. If I could relive that day, I would, at any cost.

Sure, you can still find refurbished Rupps online. They sell for five or six grand now, looking brand new, as though it were 1972 all over again. But it’s not the bike I long for. It’s the feeling—the freedom, the thrill of being a kid with nothing but open land and endless possibilities. These days, I get a glimpse of it when I put a few hundred miles on my Harley Fat Boy, cruising down smooth roads, feeling like that kid again.

I’ve had a two-wheel vehicle for more than 50 years, ever since I bought that Rupp Scrambler. And over the course of these columns, I’ll take you along for the ride—across continents and through countless adventures, from police chases to emergency situations. I hope you’ll enjoy coming along for the journey, and I’ll even throw in a few pictures to bring the stories to life.

So buckle up, because the road ahead is full of memories, and I can’t wait to take you there.