Title: “Kiribane in Klettgau – Captured by a Ruffian, One Frame at a Time”

It all began—as these things always do—with an espresso pulled too long, a restlessness Kiribane couldn’t shake, and a browser tab that quietly hissed “you shouldn’t…”

And there it was.

The Ruffian. But not just any Ruffian.

A Sand Edition, created by Eggi.

A “Created by Eggi” masterpiece in a color that whispered desert winds and outlaw weekends.

And then that acronym hit: R.C.O.G. — Ruff Cycles Original Gangsta.

Not a bike.

A statement on two wheels.

The kind of ride that doesn’t ask for attention—it demands it with a raised eyebrow and a low growl.

“I’ll just take a look,” Kiribane told himself, tucking his beloved Hasselblad 500 C/M into its bag, as if he didn’t already know he was heading into a photoshoot he’d never escape.

The Arrival

Klettgau.

A town whose name sounds like it brews obscure philosophy or runs a secret cheese cartel.

But here, tucked between vineyards and understated Swiss envy, sits the Halbrenner Galerie — a shrine to custom bikes and rolling art.

Kiribane arrived with the Hasselblad slung over his shoulder, trench coat billowing, already composing shots in his mind: light, lines, chrome.

And there she stood. He already new her name.

Savanna.

Low-slung. Wide-hipped. With a handcrafted frame that glowed under the gallery lights like it had been waxed with ambition.

One of Eggi’s signature creations — like the White Monster Wave or the rosso e bicciRuffian in Sebring Red — but subtler, deeper. More ...

Her headlight threw a stare that could cut through fog and excuses alike. The handlebars curved like they were designed during a fever dream on Route 66.

Then came Eggi — not introduced, simply present — holding a wrench like a scepter, grinning as if he already knew Kiribane wouldn’t leave the same man.

“She’s ready,” he said. No mention of ‘bike.’ No need.

The Ride

Before the engine even purred, Kiribane raised the Hasselblad. Clack.

Savanna wasn’t just photographed. She was documented.

Each frame: 6x6cm of reverence.

The ride?

A revelation wrapped in torque.

The motor whispered confidence. The seating screamed leisure dominance.

People turned. Dogs pointed.

A local man quietly abandoned his Vespa and bowed.

“Mom, is that Batman’s bike?” a child gasped.

“No, sweetheart,” the mother said, visibly shaken. “That’s art.”

Kiribane cruised through Klettgau like the subject of a slow-motion montage.

Each corner, another Hasselblad frame.

The town faded into the background. Savanna became the subject.

Clack.

Advance film.

Cruise.

Repeat.

Somewhere along the route, he passed the Lil Buddy Expedition parked next to a Biggie HotRod-Style — all part of Eggi’s eclectic fleet. But Savanna was something else. More silent. More certain.

The Aftermath

He tried to leave. Genuinely.

But Savanna held him in that gentle way only fate can.

The Hasselblad stayed loaded. His soul, a little more exposed.

Eggi, without a word, handed him a folded note.

On it, in immaculate script:

“You don’t choose the R.C.O.G. — it develops you.”

Kiribane was hooked.

He rented a guesthouse.

Turned the closet into a darkroom.

Developed the shots in silence, the smell of fixer mixing with the scent of oiled leather and custom lacquer.

Now, a new series appears on his blog:

“Still riding. Still shooting. Still sand-tinted.”

Between shots, he sometimes glimpses a Last Chrom model rolling by, or hears whispers of a new Don Vito build taking shape in the back. The gallery, alive with steel dreams.

The Moral?

Never trust a bike that knows its angles.

Especially not one called Savanna.

Especially not when it’s born in the hands of Eggi at the Halbrenner Galerie, where bikes have names, stories, and maybe even a soul.

And absolutely not if you bring a Hasselblad along.

Because once the shutter clicks—

you’re already part of the frame.