Antique Motorcycle People
If there is anything more fascinating than antique motorcycles,
it's the people who restore, collect, own, ride, and enjoy them.
Here we celebrate a few of the many.
Success does not come from setting records, accumulating wealth,
establishing a business, or erecting monuments. People are
the name of the game. To have success you must build upon
the immortal mind with love; without prejudice or greed.
–John Penton, who helped revolutionize the American off-road
motorcycle industry in the 1970s with the Penton motorcycle.
People are a company's only sustainable competitive advantage.
–Rich Teerlink, who helped save Harley-Davidson from bankruptcy in the 1980s.
Jon Szalay:
Preserver of memories
Within the sea of curiosities that is the Davenport swap meet, Jon Szalay’s booth is perhaps the most curious. A crude robotic head for which you can make the jaw work and the eyes move right and left; a heavy electrical gizmo that was once used to cut layers of fabric (below left), but you’re not quite sure what; an ancient motorcycle carburetor that looks like it might be better suited for making sausage; dilapidated mechanical toys that still function as well as they did when made more than a century ago. And buttons and banners and photos and all kinds of odd things big and small that can command your attention for hours. People walk up, see something that triggers a personal memory from long, long ago, and smile. Or laugh. Or even shout. Jon Szalay preserves memories.
Szalay (pictured right) was born in Perth Amboy, New Jersey in February, 1963. Frank, his father, ran a small engine repair business, sold lawn mowers, and had a franchise as a Bronco minibike dealer. Szalay says, “I was one of six children, and we were aboard Broncos from the age of 6 or 7. I learned about mechanical things in dad’s shop, including an appreciation for small engines.” This learning would serve Jon well in later years, but it was not the most powerful influence in the formation of his career. He explains, “One of the big 
events in my life was reading Eric Sloane’s “A Reverence for Wood.” Written in 1965 and now out of print, Sloane’s book fired in Szalay a passion for wood working and a love of early American furniture and wooden artifacts. By the age of 12, he was restoring furniture, professionally. Szalay relates, “I loved this work, and I was very motivated. I knew it is what I wanted to do to earn my living.”
When the Szalays moved from Perth Amboy to South Jersey, Jon found himself in an area that thrived on tourism. He developed a good business of restoring and repairing furniture for dozens of local antique shops, and building cabinetry for the kiosks on the board walk. He recalls, “Some of my 
high school teachers were my best customers. When school was out for the summer, many of them were involved in small businesses catering to the tourist trade. I built a complete set of showcases for math teacher.”
By 17, Jon had earned enough to buy his own building, an abandoned bank (below left) that had been built circa 1915 in Barnegat, on the South Jersey shore. Szalay explains, “This bank had been abandoned a long time, and one day it came up for auction. My dad and I decided to check it out, and I ended up buying it for $37,000!” He adds, “I couldn’t even sign the papers. Dad had to do that for me, but I paid for it and it was all mine.” The interior was a wreck, and Jon set about making it habitable. He relates, “We turned the president’s office upstairs into a living area. It even had a fireplace. There was a
lower level that I turned into my shop, and the lobby became a showroom for my work.” Jon wasn’t even out of high school when he moved into the bank. He jokes, “I finished high school in 1981, then the only other classes I ever attended were at the University of Hard Knocks.”
Szalay got more involved with antique motorcycles in the 1980s. “Dad dragged me to a flea market,” he relates, “and I really liked some of the bikes there. But I didn’t feel I could afford a big Harley or an Indian.” Rather, Jon was drawn to small, rare, and early engines. He says, “In the early years, when a motorcycle fell apart, the farmers kept the engines. That’s what survived. For the really old stuff, the late 19th century stuff, usually the engine was the only thing left.”
Jon began to use his fabricating skills to recreate accurate motorcycles around such engines. One example, a gorgeous 1901 Thomas (Pictured right), was selected for one of the Guggenheim The Art of the Motorcycle Exhibitions. He has restored several Thomas’s and currently has a 1912 Thor, a 1912 Emblem twin, a 1909 Colorado—the only one known to exist—and two pre-1915 Indians as works in progress.
From his restoration of these early machines, Szalay has spun off yet another specialty business . . . carburetors (below left). “Missing or irreparable carburetors are often what stands in the way of finishing one of these machines. So I started making early and functioning replica carburetors.” To build carburetors, Jon had to develop his own sand-mold and casting process. “I will only start with an authentic, original carburetor to make my 
molds. I can do aluminum and bronze, but I am still trying to learn to do cast iron.” His production includes racing carbs for eight-valve Indians, and Orient and Curtiss carbs, in addition to the aftermarket Pokorney carb used by Thomas and other early brands.
As much as Jon loves early Americana, including motorcycles, he does not regard himself a bigtime collector. “I am a restorer,” he says. “I restore other people’s property, and if it is mine I will eventually sell it.” This is the perfect mentality for the kind of professional who has become known as – thanks to a hit television show – a “picker.” In fact, Jon Szalay and television picker celebrity Mike Wolfe have been friends for more than ten years, long before Wolfe became famous and “picking” became a household term. Jon says, “He’s a great friend. When he is working on the East Coast, he sleeps on my couch. And when I go out west for the Davenport meet, he and I would go picking up and down the Mississippi River.”
Playing on the fact that he built his business in a defunct bank, Szalay calls it First National Antique Restorations. However, 
over the ensuing three decades, he has become so skilled and well-regarded that his clientele is indeed national. He holds membership in the leading professional guilds, and is currently doing work for clients as far west as Minneapolis. He says, “The bad economy has slowed things down a bit, but I still need about four of me to keep up with my commitments.”
Szalay reports that it is not unusual to put in 16-hour days, which is too easy to do when your job is just through a doorway from your home. “But,” he says, “I love it and I am still very motivated.” He continues, “You walk into the shop in the morning and see five or six different projects. There’s a stain that you put on a desk the night before, and you can’t wait to see how it has turned out. Or a carburetor casting to break out of the mold. Or a piece of furniture you 
have glued that are ready for the next step (pictured left). You can just go from one fascinating project to the next, and it never gets old.”
But you would be wrong if you conclude that Jon Szalay is nothing but work. Late in 2010, for example, he managed to break away long enough to participate in the famous pre-1916 Cannonball Motorcycle Rally with a 1911 Harley-Davidson. Expecting that the odds were against a 1911 completing the 3,000-mile route (the motorcycle of choice was the two-speed 1915 Harley), Szalay outfitted his van with a mini machine shop, including a lathe. It proved a smart plan, because he spent many sleepless nights making parts for his bike—he broke two rods—and the bikes of other contestants. Szalay explains, “I was out of spare rods, but I found a fork lift rod that was exactly the right length, but everything else was wrong about it. It was a big, beefy thing that I 
had to shave down, and I had to make a bushing to down-size its lower end.” He continues, “I made it all the way to Santa Monica, but I don’t think I got a night’s sleep during the whole run. Usually you were up all night just trying to make the bike run all of the next day.” He concludes, “It was the most grueling yet exhilarating experience I have ever had.”
Szalay’s description of the Cannonball sounds more like a nightmare, but a true devotee of early Americana like Jon considers it a dream. He asserts, “The dream’s not over! I’m getting ready for the next cannonball. The bike I plan to ride is in my shop right now.” Then, with a smile, he adds, “Well, its only a frame right now. Actually, its still half a frame.” While Szalay continues long days to preserve other people’s memories, today he has at least begun to find time to make some of his own.
To access his web site, click here. To see a video of Jon Szalay on the Cannonball Rally, click here.
Editor's Note: This story was originally published at Motohistory.net on January 30, 2012.
Jon Szalay story posted March 20, 2012
The wild world of Don Bradley
Quality graphics contribute to the prestige of any corporation or special event. A logo, an image, a mascot that captures the imagination and speaks of creativity and style certainly infers those qualities on the entity it promotes. Take for example the Riding Into History Concours d'Elegance, an event at the World Golf Village in St. Augustine, Florida, begun in 2001 that has become one of the most prestigious and well-attended motorcycle concours in the eastern United States. Yes, it's in a classy setting, and it is organized by people who pay great attention to detail, but there is no doubt that its reputation has been incalculably enhanced by the work of graphic artist Don Bradley (pictured above), whose beautiful poster art is like nothing seen before at a gathering for cars or motorcycles.
Don Bradley, born in 1939, grew up in Winter Garden, Florida. His father died of cancer when he was just four, so he was raised only by his mother. He recalls, “We were poor. My mother had to work, so I spent a lot of time alone, but she always had plenty of paper, pencils, and paint for me to entertain myself with.” Bradley adds, “I drew for hours on end, and it became a way for me to bring my fantasy world into reality.” However, as a teenager, Bradley discovered motorcycles, 
which temporarily pushed his art aside. “I always liked mechanical things,” he explains, “and at about 14 I abandoned the drawing board and really got into motorcycles. I loved riding and wrenching, and I did a little racing, mostly with BSA Gold Stars.”
After high school, Bradley went to college and returned to his art. He landed a job as an illustrator and went on to become an art director. When the company where he worked went out of business seven years later, he went to RCA where he became a technical illustrator. He kept his hand in his creative work by freelancing, but by 1980 he was burned out on drawing. He found a ragged old 1952 Vincent Black Shadow, and he was bitten again by the motorcycle bug. He recalls, “I immersed myself in motorcycles. I worke
d as a salesman and then the sales manager at a thriving Honda dealership, and when a competing Honda dealership came up for sale, I bought it.” In the late 1980s, Bradley sold the business to turn his attention to motorcycle restoration, and again to his art. He explains, “Restoration combined my two loves. For me, creating a painting and restoring an old motorcycles are both works of art. They are just different media.”
A whole new period in Bradley's work opened when he did some motorcycle t-shirt art for his grandchildren. People reacted positively to the t-shirt, so he began to design others. His designs featured an accurately rendered vintage motorcycle with a cartoon creature onboard—a tiger on a Triumph (above left) or a Manx cat on a Norton Manx (right)—and they had a touch of the crazed quality of Ed Roth's hot rod art of the 1960s, except they were far more refined and impeccably executed. But the t-shirt art evolved from cartoon fantasy into a strange and otherworldly mythology featuring strikingly beautiful women aboard motorcycles. The change came with a wild Vincent-riding woman (pictured below), originally created as t-shirt art, that took on a whole new significance when it was selected as the promotional graphic for the Riding Into History Concours in 2004.
With a positive response to the Vincent woman poster, Bradley launched a new series that brought together the fastidious attention to detail that was required as a technical illustrator at RCA with the wild and otherworldly mythical creatures living in the artist's mind. With his originals executed in one-quarter scale in acrylic on illustration board, Bradley reports that he typically spends six months on a single work. He explains, “I research and study the motorcycle in great detail; its design, its history, and its cultural significance. On the original painting you can see every nut, the threads on bolt, even cotter pins.” But the women who ride these machines are anything but realistic. They are lithe, elegant, elongated, vigorous, curvaceous, overtly sexual, and often intimidating. They are Valkyrie, banshees, temptresses, and sometimes demonic. They are women to die for and women to die from. The result is a shocking contrast between the near-perfect photo realism of 
the motorcycles and the creatures who ride them.
“The Seven” (pictured right) features a mid-1960s Honda RC174 six-cylinder grand prix machine. Bradley has taken the liberty of removing the fairing so that he can reveal the detail of the engine and chassis. The story in the painting is based on Japanese mythology and literature, featuring the goddess Benten (or Benzai), the only female among the Japanese seven deities. In mythology, Benten selflessly married a dragon in order to protect the Japanese people. Bradley's wild Benten, her nudity only slightly hidden by bit of Samurai armor, has mounted her RC174 to do battle with the dragon, raising her sword in battle. This work was adopted by the Riding Into History Coucours as its 2006 design.
“Time Tangle” (pictured left) depicts a 1947 Moto Guzzi Bicilindrica 500cc racer. The curvaceous woman riding the machine is leaping fearlessly into space as the cobblestones of the real world crumble away under her wheels. She is entangled in a ribbon-like time line that has on it names of great grand prix champions. “Time Tangle” appeared as poster art for the 2007 Riding Into History Concours.
“Katrina” (pictured below right) places a 1916 overhead-cam Cyclone racer before the devastating horrors of nature destroyed. Swirling behind the nearly naked woman aboard the motorcycle is the violent vortex of a hurricane, devolving into a black hole. The rear wheel of the Cyclone shatters the surface of a board track as the machine leaps into space. “Katrina” became the poster art for the 2008 Concours.
Drawing from the well-know verse from the Book of Revelation, “Behold a Pale Horse” [And I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and hell followed] (not pictured here) may be Bradley's darkest work yet. Death, as a woman, is astride a 1937 Harley-Davidson Knucklehead on rocky terrain. Skulls hang from her tunic and beside her is a road marker pointing to the River Styx, which souls must cross to enter the underworld.
“Blue Angel” (not pictured here) features a beautiful woman reminiscent of Marlene Dietrich, the German actress who gained international fame through her performance in the 1930 motion picture “Blue Angel.” She is astride a 1929 BMW R11, wearing only a head scarf, white gloves, white panties, and white silk stockings. A sign pointing toward “Luft Rennen” indicates she is on the way to the air races, reminding us that BMW was once a leading aircraft engine manufacturer. Above her in 
the sky are bird-like fantasy air racers. There are BMW and NSU logos on the wings of two of the aircraft. “Blue Angel” was featured at the 2005 Riding Into History Concours.
This year's signature art for the 2012 Riding Into History Concours—the theme of which is Japanese motorcycles--features a female Japanese archer aboard Wayne Rainey’s Superbike National Championship Kawasaki (pictured left).
Bradley has also created original art for the Cycle World Rolling Concours, and his work has appeared in major galleries, including the Norton Gallery in West Palm Beach, Florida. He counts among his influences the Russian artist Romain de Tirtoff who worked under the name Erte, the American magazine illustrator J.C. Leyendecker, and the Brandywine school of painters. Giclee prints of Bradley's motorcycle posters have been produced in limited editons of 100, and are available for $475 each, except “Black Lightning” and “Pale Horse” which are available for $375 and $275, respectively. His signed caricatures on 12x17-inch heavy stock are available for $50 each. For more information about Don Bradley's art, click here. 
To compare his work with images by Erte, click here. To compare images by Leyendecker, click here. To read about the Brandywine Painters, click here. For information about the Riding into History Concours, click here.
Editor's Note: Don Bradley has been featured also at the Motohistory web site in regard to his motorcycle restoration work. For over two years, Bradley and his friends restored a pair of BSAs in celebration of the 50th anniversary of BSA's remarkable five-place sweep of the Daytona 200 in 1954. Pictured here are Myles Raymond (left), Bradley, and Nick Simpson (right) with the motorcycles, which were featured in an exhibit at the Motorcycle Hall of Fame Museum in 2004, and have since been exhibited internationally. To read more about the exhibit, click here and go to News & Views 4/28/2004 and 5/21/2004. To read about the BSA restoration project in which Bradley was involved, click here.
This story was updated from a feature about Don Bradley published originally at Motohistory.net on April 30, 2009.
Don Bradley story posted January 14, 2012.
Jack and Judie Wells:
On wings and wheels
After a full life of hard work, Jack and Judie Wells are retired and homeless.
Well, not exactly. They live in a 75x100-foot hangar at Cannon Creek Air Park, just north of Gainesville, Florida. It’s what you have to do when you need to take care of four airplanes and more than a hundred motorcycles. About this unusual state of affairs, Jack acknowledges, “We’ve all got our addictions.” But don’t feel too sorry for them. A quarter of their hangar is outfitted as an apartment with all the comforts of home, and nearby a new house is under construction. Not that they couldn’t get along just fine as they are, but now there are only two—a 1948 Navion (pictured here) and a Vans RV8—of the four aircraft housed in the hangar, and it would always be nice to have room for a few dozen more motorcycles.
Jack is known for his collection of vintage BMWs, but he is certainly not a one-brand kind of guy. There are also three Broughs, two Vincents, three Indians, four Sunbeams, an Ariel Square Four, 
and a Velocette Venom V-Line. Then there are those bikes you don’t see just everyday, like a Maico Taifun, an NSU Max, a Neracar, a Lilac, an Adler, and an Abingdon King Dick. And among this sea of motorcycles, you can even occasionally run across a cool scooter, such as a Maicomobile or a Fuji Rabbit.
One might quickly get the idea that Jack Wells likes owning motorcycles more than riding them, but he would be wrong. Jack and Judie have ridden a sidecar rig in every country in the Americas, from Prudhoe Bay to Tierra del Fuego, except for Colombia. They could have ridden there as well, but they approached the frontier at a particular hot spot, and decided they didn’t want to be shot at. They also have ridden in Australia and Hawaii. Judie has logged over 200,000 miles in the saddle of her own motorcycles, and Jack has compiled 700,000. They have also participated in the Three Flags Classic five times, and three of those were in connection with four-corners tours. But Jack admits, “This antique motorcycle thing has really cut into my motorcycling. I spen
d so much time now hauling my bikes to meets and attending air shows that I don’t get much time to ride.” Still, their extensive travels can be seen in the stickers on the windscreens and bags of their adventure bikes.
Jack Wells was born on Long Island, New York, in August, 1942, and grew up in Sparta, New Jersey. His first motorcycle was a Cushman scooter with an ice cream box on the front, which he bought for five dollars and kept hidden from his parents. He admits that he was pretty much a scholastic wash-out, stating, “I spent all of my time in machine shop and wouldn’t attend regular classes, so I flunked my freshman year of high school. I wanted to know about things that run, and I couldn’t see the point of English or history.” That performance convinced his father to ship him off to Riverside Military Academy in Gainesville, Georgia, where his first year wasn’t much better. He recalls, “I spent most of my available time working off demerits.” He adds, “I finally got it through my head that this wasn’t the easiest way to do things, so I got serious in my second year.” Wells graduated from the Academy in 1961 as a Cadet Officer and member of the Honor Society.
Wells wanted to go straight to the military, but his mother insisted he get at least two years of college, which he completed at Tusculum College in Greenville, Tennessee. He says, “I needed 60 credits and earned 65. I probably could have had six or eight more, except I refused to attend chapel.” Flying had always been prominent in Jack’s family—his father was a TWA pilot and one of the first to fly international routes—so upon graduation from Tusculum, Jack joined the Navy, 
where he learned to fly T34s and T28s at Pensacola. This proved to be his true calling, and after the Navy he quickly earned private and commercial licenses, flight instructor credentials, and qualified to fly DC-8s and eventually heavies, such as the Airbus. Jack flew for several charter freight lines, and for awhile dodged small arms fire while flying cargo and troops into Vietnam. He spent the last years of his career with American, retiring in 2002 after 34 years of service on the flight deck.
Jack and Judie, who was a friend of Jack’s sister, had known each other since she was five and he was six. He says, “I was always doing things with Judie. She was a lifeguard and I had a boat, so we became water and snow skiing partners, depending on the season. However, there were no romantic inclinations until after I completed military school.” They were married in 1966 and raised two children, Wendie and John, who is also a commercial pilot. They got a BMW R60 with Steib sidecar, and later Judi got her own BMW K75 police 
special. For their adventure riding they outfitted a 1984 BMW RT with Earls forks and Ural sidecar. The vintage motorcycle bug bit in 1974 when Jack ran across a Dover White BMW R26 in Phoenix that was on its way to the landfill. He says, “It was really rough, but I knew it was too good to throw away, so I had it loaded on an airplane as luggage and took it home.” For a long time, Jack’s fascination for the little BMW singles governed his collecting. Today, he has virtually all of them—from the R2 to the R27—except for the exceptionally rare R39, built from 1925 through 1929. But once he had acquired most of the singles, he branched out into BMW boxer twins, military motorcycles, and finally to other brands.
Now his nine BMW singles are only a fragment of his motorcycle collection. His rare Wehrmacht Zundapp with sidecar and armament has been featured in the Guggenheim’s Art of the Motorcycle Exhibition twice, and it, along with his Harley WLA, Harley XA, Indian 841, and BMW R75 with ammo trailer are in demand at military shows all over the nation. To meet this demand, he has acquired a big diesel truck to pull his 30-motorcycle trailer to various motorcycles to antique meets from coast to coast. He is a member 
of two Antique Motorcycle Club of America chapters, and an AMCA Field Judge. In addition, he is Chapter 977 President for the Experimental Aircraft Association and a regional director for both the Veteran Motorcycle Club of America and the Vintage BMW Club. In all, Jack belongs to six motorcycle clubs in America and six in England and Europe. Any given month, his desk calendar (pictured right) contains more writing than white space, and when they’re not on the road, Jack and Judie are entertaining flying and riding friends at their hangar/home. Jack thought he was pretty busy when he was flying aircraft all over the world, but he admits that he didn’t know what busy was until he and Judie decided to enjoy their retirement on wings and wheels.
Editor's Note: This story was originally published at Motohistory.net on January 21, 2010.
Jack and Judie Wells story posted December 3, 2011.
Bob Logue and his
Motorsports Honda Museum
Bob Logue--one of ten siblings--was born in Cascade, Pennsylvania in 1955. When he was nine, his father bought a Honda Trail 90, and kicked in half the price for a Fox minibike for Bob. That's when Bob gained a lasting impression about Hondas. He recalls, “The Fox was always breaking down; the Honda never quit running.” In addition to earning a healthy respect for the Honda brand, Bob formed a lifelong love affair with motorcycles. He says, “There was this long, long hill that went up to my grandparents' place. The day I no longer had to walk up that hill was like heaven. Zipping up it on a motorbike gave me a whole new outlook on life.” Still under ten years of age, Bob decided that one day he would like to be a Honda dealer.
Logue went to Penn State University, and in his final year applied for his student teaching certificate and a Honda dealer franchise at the same time. The dealership came through, and he never graduated. He bought a defunct lumber yard in Williamsport, and opened for business. Bob Logue Motorsports is still in its original location, a fact for which Bob is proud. Commenting on current tough times, Logue says, “We're gonna make it. This place is paid for and we know how to operate lean. I'm glad I am not one of these guys with a huge mortgage for a new million-dollar building facing the freeway.”
Undoubtedly, part of what sustains a good business is its attitude toward the brand. Bob says, “I tried Yamaha personal watercraft for awhile, and once I had a chance to buy out a Harley dealership for $15,000--the cost of the parts inventory--but I've chosen to 
focus on Honda for a reason. We don't try to divide our loyaltiesbetween a bunch of different brands. We do only one thing, and we do it well. That's why our slogan is 'We speak Honda.' It's because we appreciate and believe in Honda quality.”
Bob Logue Motorsports is more than a dealership; it is also a museum. Two rooms are consigned entirely to vintage Hondas and Honda collectibles . . . well, almost entirely. Among the 150 motorcycles on display are a couple of nice Triumphs and a BSA. Bob says, without a hint of malice, “I keep these around to remind me how things changed when Honda introduced a higher standard of quality. These are the victims of continuing to do things the same old way.”
Logue had an opportunity recently to demonstrate Honda's legendary reliability when the Discovery Channel wanted to feature a Honda Cub 50 in its “Seven Wonders of Motorcycles” program. Logue 
pulled a mint-condition example (pictured left) out of his collection, fired it up, and went for a 25-mile ride with the camera crew through the Pennsylvania mountains along the Susquehanna River.
The most remarkable thing about the Logue collection is that none of the motorcycles is restored. All are in original condition, ranging from good to pristine. For this, Logue gives credit to Myron Schroeder, 87, (pictured below right) who has spent endless hours lovingly detailing each machine. Logue says, “Myron comes to work every day, riding here every day on his motorcycle, and spends most of his time bringing vintage Hondas up to showroom standard.” In addition to the rows of fine motorcycles and cases of memorabilia, one notices giant graphics around the walls of each room. These played a role in Logue's decision to create his museum. He explains, “In 1998, when the Motorcycle Hall of Fame created an exhibit to celebrate the 50th 
anniversary of Honda, they asked if I would lend them my 450 police bike for the display. I did, and when the exhibit ended and I went to pick up the bike, I saw all these wonderful giant graphic panels they had made for the exhibit.” He continues, “There were 47 in all, and I bought all of them. It was my intention to sell them and make a profit, but on the way back to Pennsylvania I started thinking about keeping them for decoration, and I began to realize that with my collection and these graphics, I had the makings of my own museum.”
We all understand the influence that Honda had on the American motorcycle market, but nothing brings it home like viewing all of the most significant and beloved models all in one place. This is what Bob Logue has provided for all to enjoy, and it is nothing less than the brand deserves. To access the Museum on line, click here. To learn more about Bob Logue Motorsports, click here. To read about Myron Schroeder and his motorcycles, click here. To read our Motohistory Tribute to the 50th anniversary of American Honda, click here.
Editor's Note: This story was originally published at Motohistory.net on August 13, 2010.
Bob Logue story posted October 15, 2011.
Mike Crone:
Touched by Triumph
Bud Ekins may have done more than any other single individual to make young Americans fall in love with the Triumph brand. His larger than life achievements aboard the marque in both Europe and America created an aura of romance and adventure around the marque that undoubedly sold countless numbers of the British twins. Ekins won the Catalina Grand Prix, the Big Bear Run three times, earned gold medals at the International Six Days trial, became the first America to earn a point in world championship scrambles competition, and was ranked first in Southern California competition seven times. Many of his achievements were aboard Triumph twins, as was his famous stunt-double jump for Steve McQueen in "The Great Escape." His running crew included the likes of Keenan Wynn and McQueen, who were often seen hanging at his shop.
Mike Crone was born in the San Fernando Valley in 1946 and spent his impressionable teenage years hanging out at the Ekins dealership, listening to the sounds of Triumph twins and the war stories of Ekins' Hollywood buddies. He recalls, "In addition to the new Triumphs in the showroom, Ekins had rows 
and rows of antique motorcycles, many of which he had brought back from England. Undoubtedly, this is where I got my love of Triumphs, but I think it is also where I got the idea that a motorcycle is a collectible, worth protecting and preserving.
Crone began riding a Triumph in high school, and after graduation he earned a degree in landscape architecture at California Polytechnic at Pomona. With the boom in popularity of golf in the 1970s, Crone began to supplement his landscape architecture work with golf course design and construction, and by the 1980s it had become a fulltime business. Since then, the work has taken him to Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina, and finally to Florida, where he resides today. The lucrative nature of golf course construction also enabled Crone to take a look at motorcycles as investments and collectibles, and in the 1980s he bought his first collectible bike. No surprise that it was a 1968 T100C Triumph.
Interestingly, building golf courses also led Crone into another area of collecting. He explains, "A golf course's demand for water often dictates construction near rivers or lakes, and this is where Native Americans established their villages. When we began moving earth for a golf course, it was not unusual to find arrowheads, spear points, and other stone tools. I was amazed at the quantity that were out there, and I developed
an admiring respect for the artistry, craftsmanship, and skilled labor that went into each and every one of them." Today, Crone is an expert on Native American artifacts and has a collection that rivals his motorcycles for quality and value.
As for his motorcycle collection, Crone relates with a smile, "It was slow and steady for awhile. Over the first twenty years, I accumulated about 20 Triumphs, but around 1995 things kind of got out of hand." He continues, "British bikes were really coming into their own among American collectors. I set myself a goal to get at least one example of each year of the Speed Twins and Thunderbirds, and I went after them with a vengeance." The pursuit resulted in many duplicates, it branched out into TR6s, and finally an example of every year of the T110.
Today, in Mike Crone's garage are 55 Triumph, and in other storage areas are about 40 more of the Meriden twins. With so many Triumphs, Crone explains, "I have begun to sell off post-war duplicates and look for pre-war models." His current pride and joy is an original 1938 Speed twin with 1945 Watsonian sidecar, and his holy grail is a 1939 Tiger at a reasonable price. He also has a 1945 Speed Twin, which he explains, " . . .is very rare because so few were built that year when civilian production resumed after the war. No one even knows how many were built."
Crone has won many awards with his Triumphs, and publishers often call upon him to allow his machines to be photographed for calendars. An especially notable achiement came in 2009 when his Thunder Blue 1950 Thunderbird won best of show at the Riding into History Concours d'Elegance. Today, standing in a sea of Triumphs, Crone remarks, "It is a very fulfilling hobby, but it is also an investment. I did not collect these motorcycles to turn over and make money.
I do it for the enjoyment. Still, some of them will undoubtedly be sold as I move into my retirement years. But I don't think I'll ever sell them off. I may cull the herd, but I'll always be looking for rare and special examples to add to the collection."
After an afternoon of exploring and talking with Mike Crone about his collection, one cannot help but note conspicuous omissions among the marque. There are no singles; there are no triples; there are only twins. It would appear that having "Triumph" on the gas tank is not enough to satisfy Mike Crone. He is touched exclusively by the direct desendants of the singular genius of Edward Turner; the Speed Twin that evolved into the iconic design of British motorcycles. And we can't help but think that in his love for the twins, the shadow of the hand of Bud Ekins still spreads across Mike Crone's collection.
For a Triumph historical time line, click here. For a video of Triumph motorcycle history, click here.
Editor's Note: This story was originally published at Motohistory.net on April 28, 2011.
Mike Crone story posted August 16, 2011.
Jerry Hatfield: Motorcycle historian
Jerry Hatfield's experience as a motorcyclist began like so many young men of his generation, lobbing newspapers from the saddle of a Cushman scooter. But somewhere along the way, he took a different path from many of his contemporaries. Not satisfied with just riding, he turned to writing about riding, and about the machines we ride, and the companies that build them. If the number of books published are any measure—and they certainly should be—over time Hatfield became America 's pre-eminent motorcycle historian.
Hatfield was born in 1938 in Durant, Oklahoma where his father, Charles, was a Depression-era door-to-door peddler and an oil field roughneck. When Charles landed regular work with the Santa Fe Railroad in 1943, he moved his wife, Virginia, and young son to Cleburne, Texas, a town of about 12,000 people near Fort Worth. Eventually, a sister arrived. Jerry says, “Since Deedee was 15 years younger, we were both raised basically as only children.” Because of this, perhaps the Hatfields were a little more protective of their son than they would have been otherwise. Jerry explains, “They had no problem with the Cushman Eagle, but when I wanted to buy a Harley 165, they said, ‘No way!' They considered anything named Harley-Davidson a real motorcycle, and that meant death, destruction, and degradation.” He adds, “Like so many parents of the era, they would not have been caught dead setting foot in a motorcycle dealership.” So Jerry stuck with the Cushman, running two paper routes each day to pay for it, and he modified its exhaust pipe to run up high under the luggage carrier so it would not burn his paper bags. Recalling this, he smiles and says, “The very next year Cushman came out with its chrome-plated high pipe, which was about the sexiest feature on the whole machine.”
The Hatfields attended the Field Street Baptist Church where Bill Ellington was Jerry's Sunday School teacher. Bill's daughter, Ella Jane, was about the prettiest girl around. Ella needed an escort to the Valentine Banquet, and she called Jerry to ask if he would oblige. Hatfield recalls, “That made me really uncomfortable. I was 13 and she was 12, and I had really never talked to girls before. I rode my scooter over to her house, we went to the banquet in the back seat of her parents' car, then when we returned I rode back home.” But it was enough to piqu
e his interest, and soon he rode over to Ella Jane's house to visit. He says, “We talked for over two hours that day. She was interested in a lot of the things that interested me.” The couple began dating, awkwardly working their way around the fact that Jerry did not yet have an automobile license. He explains, “I would ride my scooter over to her house, then we would call a taxi to take us to town to watch a movie. Aftera soda or milkshake, we would walk to the taxi office and hire a ride back home.” Dating became simpler when Hatfield got a driving license in 1952, and by high school the two were madly in love. Hatfield declares, “There was never another woman who interested me.”
Hatfield enjoyed school, and was a good student. He declared a major in engineering when he entered Texas A&M University in 1956, but he struggled. He says, “I went from an A student in high school to a C student in college. I longed for a liberal arts major where I could study literature and history, but somehow I stuck with engineering.” Jerry got his BS in Engineering in 1960, and now, looking back, he states that it was a decision he would never regret. “The engineering degree,” Hatfield clarifies, “enabled me to get a regular commission, rather than a reserve commission, in the U.S. Air Force.”
Hatfield made a career of the Air Force, serving 23 years and advancing to the rank of Colonel. During their military years, the Hatfields lived in Alabama, Alaska, California, Panama, Illinois, and New Mexico, and Jerry continued a life on two wheels, using scooters and motorcycles as regular commuter vehicles in most locations. Hatfield says, “My last posting was in California where over a two-year period I made a daily 156-mile round-trip motorcycle commute from the high desert into the heart of Los Angeles.” His various rides included a Vespa, a Honda 150, a 650cc BSA, a Yamaha Vision, and a Honda Helix scooter. He chuckles and says, “Maybe it is good that I became a motorcycle historian rather than a motorcycle engineer. I developed some very strong opinions about comfort and convenience, but it seems like everything I decided I liked immediately went out of production.” He adds, “I think modern motorcycle design is largely insane!”
Hatfield retired from the Air Force in 1984 and got a job at Hughes Aircraft where he worked until 1991. Ella received her Bachelor Degree and an MBA from Golden Gate University, and in 1992 they moved back to Texas, leaving two adult sons—Scott and Charles—in California. Jerry completed a Masters Degree at the University of Oklahoma, but admits that his wife is the superior student in the family. He laughs, “When she graduated summa cum laude, I said, ‘Why didn't you make magna cum laude,' and she explained, ‘Because summa cum laude is better!” In the mean time, Hatfield had been writing for various periodicals where he was published in Cycle World, The Antique Motorcyclist, The Harley-Davidson Enthusiast, American Rider, Classic Motor Cycle, Classic Bike, and American Heritage, the journal of the Smithsonian Institution. His by-lines caught the attention of Haynes Publishing in Great Britain, and in 1982 the publisher approached him with a book proposal. Haynes had enjoyed good sales with a book entitled “British Racing Motorcycles,” and wanted a companion book entitled “American Racing Motorcycles.”
Hatfield's acceptance of that job launched his long-awaited second career in history and literature, where he has proven to be the most prolific historian in the American motorcycle community. From 1982 through the present, Hatfield has written 15 books. Seven are about Indian motorcycles, four are about Harley-Davidsons, three are on American motorcycling in general, and one is a biography the iconic Rollie Free. Among these, “Flat Out,” his book about Rollie Free, can be considered his magnum opus. Hatfield met and interviewed Free shortly before he died, and the idea of a book fermented in his mind for over two decades while pressing deadlines kept his attention on other projects. Hatfield explains, “Just as I was concluding my obligations to other publishers, Texas collector and Vincent expert Herb Harris recruited me to write about Free. Herb owns the very motorcycle on which Free set his American speed record, and he gave me the support I needed to get this book out of my head and onto the page.”
Two of Hatfield's books have been re-published in foreign languages. He has appeared in two television documentaries about Indian motorcycles, and in one of these was principal narrator. He is a member of the Trailblazers Hall of Fame, the Indian Motorcycle Hall of Fame, and the Sturgis Motorcycle Hall of Fame, as well as a Life Member of the American Motorcyclist Association, an honorary member of the 
Australian Indian Motorcycle Club, and one of only 17 honorary members of the 11,000-member Antique Motorcycle Club of America. And his Rollie Free book has kindled a friendship with Vincent fan Jay Leno, who agreed to write the foreword for the book.
So what does a man do after such a fulfilling career in motorcycle history? He looks back on his own history and returns to that most unfulfilling moment, that time of disappointment when his parents just didn't understand. Hatfield explains, “I've had a number of collectible motorcycles, and I still ride regularly on my trusty airhead BMW, but I still needed the one motorcycle that really pulled my heartstrings. So now that I can afford it, I got me a beautifully-restored 1953 Harley 165.” With evident pride and satisfaction, the man who has written about great classics such as the Indian Four and the Harley Knucklehead adds, “I think this is the best looking little motorcycle ever made. You ought to see the heads turn when I ride my 165 to the local Harley shop!”
To review Jerry Hatfield's bibliography, click here. To visit his web site, click here. To visit Herb Harris' web site, click here.
Photos, top to bottom:
Jerry Hatfield, in front of his old high school in Cleburne, Texas, with his 1953 Harley 165 (Cleburne Times Review photo).
Hatfield and Ella Jane Ellington as teen agers.
A quilt of covers of some of Hatfield's 15 books.
Hatfield and Ella with Jay Leno, 2007
Hatfield today with his 1973 BMW.
Photos not credited to the Cleburne Times Review provided by Jerry Hatfield.
Editor's Note: This story was originally published at Motohistory.net on January 30, 2009.
Jerry Hatfield story posted June 12, 2011.
Summer camp at Fort Yarocki
By Larry Barnes
The board of directors of the Antique Motorcycle Club of America (AMCA) has long understood the need for a centralized repository of antique motorcycle literature. Members need a resource for accurate information about a brand and model of the motorcycle(s) they are working on or thinking of acquiring. To address this need, a committee headed by Steven Slocombe began searching for a physical location. But, with today's Internet technology it became more efficient and logical to build a virtual library. Not built from bricks and mortar, this library would be constructed on a computer and server, accessible on-line through the AMCA's website. I was chosen to initiate this project, and I began to scan old literature and parts manuals into a database.
Our first big opportunity came when I learned that renowned Indian expert George Yarocki (pictured here) would make his vast literature collection available to the AMCA for its virtual library. At 80-years young, Yarocki is undoubtedly the world's most knowledgeable Indian 101 Scout restoration expert and parts machinist. He has built countless 101s over the years, and, along with his dear wife Milli in his sidecar, has probably ridden more miles on 101s than all the rest of us combined. So when George offered his literature collection for scanning, I jumped at the opportunity to go to Torrington, Connecticut, where he lives. Torrington, founded in the 1700s, is a postcard beautiful town in the foothills of the Berkshire Mountains. Here, George's shop, which is fondly called “Fort Yarocki,” is built in an old dairy creamery that he converted some 30 years ago. While he sold off his machine shop business some time ago, he kept half of the buildings for his Indian business, which really feels like an Indian “workshop” rather than a retail store. There are welding equipment, lathes, sandblasting cabinets, paint booths, and dozens of old Indian frames and parts stacked everywhere.
While it took me several days just to figure out how to get around Fort Yarocki, I recognized it immediately as a heaven for any Indian motorcycle fan. There's nothing fancy, but it is absolutely amazing. For example, when George is going to work on a bike for a customer, he fires up a tow motor (pictured below) and lifts you and the bike up onto a flat roof where you push the bike off the skid and into a special upstairs room. Here you will find no fancy hydraulic lifts. Just block-and-tackle chain hoists to lift your bike onto one of George's wooden work tables. I noted on three of these tables a trio of Indian Powerplus machines in various stages of reconstruction. George has been researching Indian's Powerplus models 
for the AMCA judging program, and I noted that many of the parts on all three bikes were chalk labeled with the model year. Although I did not press George for shop time, he took an interest in the history of my Dad's 101 Scout, and soon the machine was on George's “Number One” table, a spot that other 101 owners have waited years for. George quickly diagnosed that its magneto was dead, and he vowed to attack it the next day.
Inside George's office is a veritable museum of antique motorcycle literature and photographs; each one carefully hand-labeled by year, make, model, and description. The guy is clearly a fanatic for organization. Every drawer, shelf, and box in every one of George's buildings is hand-labeled. As George explained, “a drawer isn't worth anything unless it's got a label.” This facilitated our task, but as my wife Debbie and I began to scan George's literature collection, we began to realize how truly massive and significant it is. It begins with original 1900 factory brochures, drawings, and specifications, and goes up through the mid-1950s. There were tens of thousands of pages to be scanned about almost any motorcycle ever made in the United States . In addition to Indian, he collection contained documents about brands like Flying Merkel, Yale, Marsh, Cushman, and yes, even Harley-Davidson. The most valuable pieces were locked inside a giant antique safe each night to protect against fire or theft. And the whole compound is enclosed by chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. Hence, the name “Fort Yarocki.”
So here Debbie and I were, sitting at Fort Yarocki unfolding rare and delicate pieces of paper and placing them face down on the scanner; one page after another. While this may sound boring to some, to me it is great fun. It's absolutely amazing to read the information that is contained in those pages! Do you need to see the inside of 1915 engine before you tear it apart? Do you want to know what year had what part or accessory on it? Or do you want to know how to ride, maintain, and work on an antique motorcycle? It's all there.
George built this collection over the past 30 years so that antique motorcycle enthusiasts could actually find what we need, when we need it. And, as we all know, finding correct information about a bike can be a very difficult and time-consuming exercise. In my opinion, George, his wife Milli, and his sister Ruth Deming should have a special place reserved for them in motorcycling's Hall of Fame for the many years they have meticulously catalogued, copied, and sent documents to motorcycle restorers all over the world. They have done this at a price that barely covered their costs, let alone the value of the information contained. George likes to tell how he never
sold originals, only copies. . . except for that one time when Harley Davidson wanted to buy a piece that had been signed by Arthur Davidson. “I needed a new car, so I sold that one,” laughs George. “But I still can still make you a copy of it,” he added.
Today it makes more sense to scan the material digitally and transmit it via the Internet so anyone with a computer can download the information they need. Wit this method, the Yarockis will no longer have to unfold each rare and delicate document, put face down on a copy machine, copy, and “snail mail” it to a customer. Now, much of the collection is now available to all AMCA members online at a reasonable cost, organized and searchable by year, make, model, and description. At least this can be said for what we've scanned so far, but by George's own estimation, it would take us a year, full-time, to scan his entire collection. Because the task is so daunting, we have tried to start with the documents that would be most useful to AMCA members. Yarocki welcomes this project because he would like to retire from the literature part of his business in a few years, sell it to a collector or a museum, and thereafter concentrate on fixing motorcycles for the rest of his days, which is what he seems to enjoy most.
And speaking of fixing bikes, when George gave the signal it, was time for us to go work on my Dad's Indian. Or perhaps I should say go watch George work on my Dad's Indian. He is the maestro and you are there to assist and learn, or fetch a wrench or wipe a spill. I spent the better part of two days hanging over his shoulder, watching his deft fingers rebuild a Splitdorf magneto from the ground up (pictured above), including replacing all bearings and wires, measuring and shimming for proper shaft clearances, and recharging the magnets. Although George performed almost all the work himself, he does it in an instructive 
manner so that in the event the customer ever has a breakdown, he will be able to make repairs himself. While I'll never be able to re-build a magneto like George did, at least I now have the knowledge of what could go wrong and how to fix it.
After completing repairs and reassembling the magneto, Yarocki tested it with his own amp measuring device that runs the magneto at a speed equivalent to 50 MPH for an hour. After that, if the spark plugs won't start a paper towel on fire, it goes back to the bench for more tuning. Fortunately, my revitalized magneto passed with flying colors! After the magneto was re-installed in my bike, its timing checked, the heads de-carboned and bolted back on, and the oil pump was checked and adjusted, it was time again for the tow motor which lowered my bike and I to the ground very gently. After just a few kicks, it roared to life. With minimal carburetor tuning it simply sat there and purred. It hadn't run that well in, oh, say, 75 years or so. Now, with a good running Indian in the beautiful foothills of Connecticut, each work day each work day began and ended with a run to a small café somewhere in the area. I rode with Tim Raindle, another 1929 Indian rider who is a traveling vintage bike 
enthusiast from the United Kingdom. Raindle discovered Fort Yarocki a couple of months ago and never left until his visa expired in late July. He felt the learning he gained by working with George was priceless, and it was clear that Milli and George enjoyed Tim's company as well.
But don't get the idea that just because George is one of the nicest people you will ever meet he can maintain an open door policy for unlimited visitors. He works on bikes only by appointment, and usually only with the owner looking over his shoulder to learn. His mission is to pass along as much information and techniques about antique motorcycles as possible. When not in the shop, he is usually on-line conducting research. The man never stops!
Editor's Note: "Summer Camp at fort Yarocki" was published originally on the web site Motohistory.net May 30, 2009. Today, George Yarocki remains active with the AMCA by writing the column "Retrospect" in its magazine, "The Antique Motorcycle." To learn more about author Larry Barnes (pictured above), click here and scroll to the story dated 4/11/2005. To learn more about the AMCA's virtual library, click here. To join the AMCA, click here.
George Yarocki story posted April 18, 2011.
Matt Olsen: Bringing a younger point of view to antique motorcycling
Matt Olsen is only 25, but he is anything but a typical Gen-Xer. Matt sits at a computer keyboard only when he has to, his cell phone mailbox is usually full, there's nothing he likes better than turning wrenches and cutting metal, and he hates working on much of anything younger than he is. He's a fresh face and bright mind within a club where the typical member is old enough to be his father, if not his grandfather. He loves the affiliation, and he firmly believes there are many other young people who would like it as well, given the right exposure and a fair chance.
Olsen was born in Minot, North Dakota in the spring of 1985, which makes him a full decade younger than the years required by the AMCA to call a motorcycle an antique. In 1989, the year before Matt entered kindergarten, his father, Carl, moved to Aberdeen, South Dakota, and opened Carl's Cycle Supply, a shop that specializes in restoring Harley-Davidsons where they'll gladly work on a Pan, but would much prefer to get their hands into a Knuckle.
Matt says, "I can't remember a time when I didn't want to do this. I love making parts and rebuilding old motorcycles. We get frames that are so bad we can only use the castings and have to replace all the tubing. When we can't find parts for engines, we make them ourselves.
Matt so enjoys the work that in high school he spent every additional hour he could in the machine shop. About his education he adds, "I did one year of college, and it was the worst year of my life. I have 
Attention Deficit Disorder to the max. I can't bear to sit still when I can be up and doing something. I think college can be good for a lot of people who need to figure out what they want to do, but I solved that problem a long time ago."
But others would challenge the ADD diagnosis and say that Matt has a strong ability to focus . . . on motorcycles! For example, one sophomore year teacher wrote on his evaluation form, "I have enjoyed him. He is clearly focused on cycles. He did take time out to do well in class!" Consistent with his obsession, when Matt graduated, he chose to pose in his gown with a Knucklehead (pictured right).
Olsen got his first motorcycle, a Honda 50, at the age of seven, then at nine he got a Cushman Highlander, which was the perfect vehicle to putt around on at the antique bike swap meets that he attended with his father. At ten, he built his own Harley Hummer and took it to the 50th Anniversary of Hollister. He had posed with a Hummer at the age of eight (pictured below left), and it so captivated his attention that he studied the photo every day until he had finished his own little Harley. He 
says, "I've never not been around bikes. I rode to Washington with my dad in a sidecar on a 1946 Harley when I was ten (pictured below right). My dad is my best friend, and we have shared a love of old motorcycles as long as I can remember."
A few years ago, the leadership of the Antique Motorcycle Club of America began to worry about the club's aging demographic, wondering how to get younger people involved in the antique motorcycling community. Matt, who was 19 at the time, says, "An ad was placed in the club magazine for a Volunteer Youth Coordinator, and I was the only person who applied." In this capacity, Olsen writes columns for the club magazine, and has recently supervised a contest that has been acclaimed club-wide as a resounding success.
Olsen explains, "A couple of years ago there was a message from Mark Woodstock on the AMCA web site forum complaining that not enough was being done to attract younger members. I called him, and we opened a regular dialogue, brainstorming ideas. Olsen and Woodstock hit on the idea of holding an 
essay contest for men and women between 18 and 25 to win the chance to build and keep his or her own antique motorcycle.
Olsen, a persuasive salesman, got on the phone and started calling companies involved in the antique motorcycle aftermarket, seeking sponsors and parts that could eventually come together as a 1942 Harley-Davidson period-modified bobber, built from the ground up. Using a grant from the Antique Motorcycle Foundation, the winner would be sponsored to spend time in Maggie Valley, North Carolina, building a transmission under the supervision of Wheels Through Time Museum curator Dale Walksler, then travel to the Olsen's shop in Aberdeen to build an engine and finish the project under Carl and Matt's supervision.
Matt recounts, "The response was wonderful. AMCA members and affiliated companies donated parts and support amounting to more than $18,000 in value, and we received nearly a hundred essays from young men and women from all over America." Matt adds, "We would like to do a similar project for young people every three or four years, but it is a huge 
undertaking. It requires a lot of time from a lot of people."
Another result of the successful project was that it earned attention at the highest level of the AMCA, and Olsen was elected to a seat on the club's Board, beginning January 2010. This earned him the distinction of becoming the youngest person ever to hold a position on the Board. In this capacity, he will have an opportunity to help bring the club into a new era, hopefully with a new generation of younger members.
During 2011, Olsen gained even more notoriety within the AMCA, but it may have been through a couple of experiences he would rather do without. Matt became one of group of elite men and women who took on the Cannonball Rally, riding pre-1916 motorcycles from coast to coast over a route of more than 3,000 miles. For the task, Olsen built a museum-quality 1913 Sears (pictured left), and not far into the run he was pulled over for a speeding ticket (pictured below). He explains, "The bike had no speedometer, and only one gear. I was cruising along in North Carolina, and got busted for doing 48 in a 35mph zone."
The other riders on the Cannonball thought it was hilarious, but there is little doubt they felt some envy for Matt's being caught speeding on a 1913 motorcycle! But more trouble lay ahead. Six days into the ride, the Sears went into a wobble and crashed, breaking Olsen's arm and nose, and loosening some teeth. He recounts, "I couldn't eat solid food for two months."
So, for Matt Olsen, the inaugural Cannonball Run was an inauspicious event. Now, however, he is healed up and back in Aberdeen, wrenching life into old Harley Knuckles and Pans. And while he's wrenching, he's also constantly brainstorming ways to bring more young people into the world of antique motorcycles that he so thoroughly enjoys.
To read Matt Olsen’s blog, click here. To learn more about where Matt and his father Carl work, click here. To learn more about the Cannonball Rally, click . To find out how to join the Antique Motorcycle Club of America, click here. To read more about the AMCA Youth Program bike build on this web site, click here.
Posted March 14, 2011