Richard Chambers, his voice instantly recognizable and a popular figure in American motorcycle road racing whose career spanned twisting the throttle of high-speed superbikes to the microphone of iconic race weekends, passed away early this morning, in Los Angeles, California, according to his friend Lee Bivens in a post on social media. Richard was 79.
Chambers grew up immersed in the roar of engines and the scent of castor oil, fostering a lifelong passion for two-wheeled competition. A self-taught mechanic and relentless competitor, he raced club events for several years and won frequently before hitting the national circuit in the 1970s, racing under the banner of White’s Union 76 Truck Stop. Sporting the iconic No. 76 on his bikes, Chambers became a familiar sight on the AMA circuit, his grease-stained leathers and unyielding grit embodying the spirit of the privateer racer.
Based out of Raphine, Virginia, Chambers quickly made his mark in the grueling world of AMA national road racing. In 1977, he notched a pair of top-10 finishes in the fiercely contested Formula Two class, showcasing his skill on nimble machinery that demanded precision and bravery. Transitioning to the premier divisions, he competed in AMA Formula One and Superbike events, establishing himself as a regular contender in Superbike from 1978 through the mid-1980s. His best seasons saw him battling alongside legends like Eddie Lawson, Freddie Spencer and Wes Cooley, often on underfunded bikes pieced together in makeshift pits. Though he never claimed a national win, Chambers’ consistency and sportsmanship earned him respect across the paddock.
Richard’s lone national podium came in AMA Formula One (at the time the premier national road racing class) at Loudon in 1981.
“It’s hard to say just how much this means to me,” said Chambers to Cycle News associate editor Gary Van Voorhis after his outstanding third at Loudon. “A lot of people have stuck by me for a long while and I hope this is just the first of many trips to the winner’s circle.”
He scored 19 top-10 AMA Superbike results with a 5th at the Daytona Pro-Am in 1981 his top result. He retired from full-time racing in 1985, citing a desire to give back to the sport that had defined him.
Chambers’ second act proved no less impactful. Trading his helmet for a headset, he became one of the most beloved voices in motorcycle racing as a pit announcer and interviewer. For over four decades, he was a fixture at Daytona Bike Week, where his gravelly Virginia drawl narrated the chaos of the pits and his insightful conversations with riders peeled back the curtain on the high-stakes drama of professional racing. Having raced alongside the stars, Chambers offered rare, behind-the-scenes perspectives – stories of midnight rebuild sessions, mechanical gambles, and the unbreakable bonds forged in the heat of battle. He didn’t just announce, he educated. Rich seemingly knew every scar on every bike and the story behind every crash and hard-earned finish.
Even as health challenges began to slow him in his later years, Chambers remained a steadfast presence at races across the country. An unselfish soul with a mechanic’s hands and a historian’s heart, he also championed track safety. He was an avid supporter of rider safety initiatives, specifically the Roadracing World Action Fund. His advocacy extended to preserving the legacies of unsung heroes; Chambers tirelessly nominated several overlooked behind-the-scenes persons for induction into the Motorcycle Hall of Fame.
Thad Wolff, a longtime friend and fellow former racer, shared a poignant memory that captured Chambers’ essence: “The thing I’ll always carry is watching Richard at the races, welding on some privateer’s greasy expansion chamber right up to last call for his class. He’d lay down his equipment at the last second, throw on his racing gear over his filthy hands and arms, go out and race like hell, then come straight back to the pits to help the next guy get his bike sorted. That was Richard—always putting others first and doing whatever he could to help.”
Rich is survived by his wife Laurel.
Richard Chambers didn’t just race motorcycles – he lived them, announced them, and elevated everyone around them. The pits will be quieter without his voice, but the echoes of old No. 76 will thunder on forever.
We will post more information as it becomes available. — Larry Lawrence
Rider Files 
Thank You Larry. Richard was a brother to me for 45 years. He taught me a lot! The one thing that he told me and i will always remember, “You just got to want to be there!” Race In Peace Brother Richard until we meet again. Godspeed!
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Richard helped countless privateers—myself included. Everyone who met him at the track will remember his grace, generosity, and unbeatable “can‑do” spirit.
For me, it all started at a motorcycle race in Loudon sometime in 1976, before I began racing myself. I spotted a kid holding a big wrench, “working” on a bike marked #76. I took a few black‑and‑white shots of him and later enlarged them.
At my first race in Bridgehampton, I noticed a rider beside his #76 bikes and handed him the photos. That racer was Richard Chambers. He was moved—those pictures were from the very first event his son’s mother had allowed the boy to attend. Richard looked up, smiled, and told me to park my bike next to his van. From that day on, I did just that at every race.
Richard took me under his wing. He mentored me, sketched track turns, pointed out lines, and led me through practice laps so I could follow and learn. I was a rookie, way off the pace—but under his guidance, I once managed to cut my lap time by a full 22 seconds. For a beginner, that was night and day.
I’ll never forget the time I snapped two manifold bolts on my 492cc Honda’s four‑into‑one exhaust. I thought my weekend was over, but still went to the riders’ meeting. When I got back, my bike was as good as new—Richard had seen the damage, drilled out the bolts, and fixed it himself.
That was Richard—always ready to help, expecting nothing in return. The greatest guy you could ever meet, on or off the track.
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