In 2025, Colby Raha didn't travel to make history — he built it in his own backyard. On the home dirt of his compound, he broke two world records in a single night: a 175-foot solo Harley jump, and a 130-foot tandem leap with his mother on the back of the bike. This is Rahville, the birthplace of a revolution.
The Setup: Home Dirt
Every legend needs a birthplace. Most riders chase theirs across stadiums and sponsor tents, borrowed ramps in borrowed cities. Colby Raha did the opposite. He looked at the ground he already owned — the dirt he’d bled into, the compound where he’d learned to ride — and decided history would come to him. He named it Rahville. And in 2025, he turned it into the birthplace of a revolution.
There’s a particular kind of pressure in performing at home. No neutral ground to hide behind, no anonymous crowd to disappear into afterward. When you build the ramp in your own backyard, the stakes stop being professional and start being personal. Every takeoff is watched by the people who knew you before the records, before the cameras, before the name became a place. Colby wanted it exactly that way. Rahville wasn’t a venue. It was a statement: this is where I’m from, and this is what I can do.
A Harley-Davidson is not a dirt bike. It is not built to fly. It is heavy, stubborn, iron-hearted machinery that fights every foot of air you try to steal from it. That’s the whole point. Anyone can make a purpose-built freestyle bike dance. Raha’s calling card has always been taking the machine nobody would choose and making it defy its own weight. On his home dirt, with everything to prove and everyone he loved watching, he lined up to do it twice.
He didn't travel to make history. He built it on the dirt he raised himself on.
The Moment: Two Records, One Night
The first record was the one built on solitude. One rider, one Harley, 175 feet of open air between the lip and the landing. Watch the run-up and you understand how much has to go right — throttle held with total conviction, body loose but locked, the bike screaming toward a takeoff that offers no second chances. Then the launch, and that long silent beat where physics and faith negotiate. Colby cleared it. One hundred and seventy-five feet on a machine that was never supposed to leave the ground. A solo world record, set on the dirt he raised himself on.
Most nights, that’s the whole story — the peak, the summit, the thing you talk about for years. Rahville was only halfway done.
Because the second jump changed what the record even meant. Colby rolled back to the line, and this time he wasn’t alone. His mother climbed onto the back of the bike. Not a stunt double, not a stand-in — his mom, arms around her son, trusting him with the most literal weight a rider can carry. Together they launched into a 130-foot tandem jump, and together they landed a second world record before the night was over. Two people, one bike, one impossible arc of air, and the deepest kind of trust a family can hold.
Think about what that asks of both of them. For Colby, it’s no longer his own life on the line — it’s hers, riding on every calculation, every degree of throttle, every inch of that landing. For his mother, it’s a leap of faith you can’t fake, made at speed, in the air, with nothing to hold but her son and her belief in him. The 175-foot solo record was about skill. The 130-foot tandem record was about heart. Rahville delivered both in the same night.
The Legacy: The Birthplace of a Revolution
Records fall. That’s what they’re for. Someone, someday, will jump a Harley farther than 175 feet, and the number will change hands the way numbers always do. But you cannot break what happened on that dirt. You cannot take away the night a rider set two world records at home, with his mother trusting him enough to fly on the back of the second one. That’s not a statistic. That’s a story, and stories don’t fall.
That’s why Rahville earned its name as the birthplace of a revolution. It rewrote the geography of what these nights could be. It proved you don’t need a borrowed stadium to make history — you need home dirt, a machine that shouldn’t fly, and enough heart to put the people you love in the frame with you. It moved the whole idea of a record from something you take to something you share.
Record Breakers Co. exists for exactly this — the nights that refuse to be forgotten, the moments where a number becomes a memory and a backyard becomes a landmark. Rahville is the proof of concept and the high-water mark all at once. Two world records. One night. One family. One patch of home ground that will carry Colby Raha’s name long after the ramps come down. Because every event goes down in history — and this one built the house it lives in.
The solo record was about skill. The tandem — with his mom on the back — was about heart. Rahville delivered both.
The Athletes
Colby Raha
The man who turned his own compound into the birthplace of a revolution, setting two world records in one night on a Harley that was never built to fly — 175 feet solo, then 130 feet with his mother on the back.
Colby's Mother
She climbed onto the back of her son's bike and trusted him with a leap of pure faith, landing the 130-foot tandem world record and turning a night of skill into a night of heart.
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