Also by Bob
The
Indian Allure
Undamped
Rebound
A
Luddite Nation
Flying
the Flag
The
Real Deal
In
the Spotlight
Bob is a contributing member, watch for more articles.
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When I got involved in
this hobby, I figured it would be excitement enough if I could keep an
Indian running and occasionally ride it around the neighborhood, away from
traffic. Taking into account my limited mechanical experience, I bought
one that appeared to be roadworthy already. I could certainly learn to do
the maintenance, I reasoned, and with any luck, the fragile
conversation-piece relic would hold up under the easy life of the garage
and infrequent low-speed putts.
Less than two years later,
I found myself hundreds of miles from home riding the 71-year-old 101
Scout at pretty close to top speed in driving rain that stung like BBs.
That day, I covered a distance nearly equivalent to riding from
Philadelphia to Washington, D.C.
The occasion was the
Empire Chapter’s first AMCA national road run, a tour of the Finger
Lakes region of New York in August. I had given no thought to
participating until a friend who had worked on my 1928 101 contacted me
from his new home in Florida and said he knew the roads in that area and
thought my bike’s performance would be adequate for the conditions. Dave
Grassi also offered to lend me his truck to haul the 37” 101 from my
home in New Jersey. With support vehicles following us in the event of a
breakdown and a truck to take it from there on the way home, I started
thinking, what have I got to lose? Besides, for years, Andrea had been
saying she wanted to see Niagara Falls, which was only about 125 miles
from the gathering point for the run. Then I looked at the calendar and
found we had put in for vacation that week with no particular plans, and
that settled it. With that many stars lining up, you just go with it.
As a longtime night worker
accustomed to rising around noon, the best I could manage on the first day
was a 9:30 start, with the support vehicle leaving around 10. Nearly
everyone was long gone by then, but organizing team members Tom and Karen
Thomson kindly invited me to join them as they brought up the rear to
scout for trouble and alert the support crew by cell phone. Also with us
were Tom’s cousin Al Sorensen and, as Tom’s passenger, a youngster who
happens to be the great-grandson of Don Cole, a late, much-beloved
stalwart of the Empire Chapter. Karen led on her three-wheeled
Harley-Davidson Servi-Car, which she generally limits to about 45 to 50
m.p.h. – perfect for me.
On our way to the lunch
stop at the Curtiss Museum, featuring many gorgeous old airplanes and
motorcycles, we stopped twice to sit out brief spells of rain, and it
really started coming down as we neared the museum. People riding ahead of
us had escaped the heavy stuff. There were times on long stretches of 55
m.p.h. state highways when I looked forward to the “reduced speed ahead”
signs signaling the approach to a town. This may have been the fatigue
factor of keeping a rather small motorcycle pretty wound out, averaging
about 50 m.p.h., but maybe it was more my lack of road seasoning. After
all, people have ridden 101s across the country in recent years.
In any event, there was
ample reward when we soaked up the peaceful lakeside scenery or wound our
way through the woods or chugged at leisure through the idyllic little
towns. What better way to pass through a village seemingly of yesteryear
than on a machine with the proper vintage feel and sound and looks? We got
some admiring stares from pedestrians, and I took pride in riding the
oldest Indian on the run, though of course no one would expect an award
for such a narrowly defined distinction.
Those pedestrians may not
have realized it, but there was far more to admire than the brief stately
procession of nostalgia on wheels. With 101 motorcycles at least 35 years
old out on the road, many for all three days of the run, ranging from 135
to 150 miles, not once did a chase vehicle have to load one up, though
some riders made roadside repairs. So much for the frail old iron, best
limited to displays or chuffing up and down the block. One night in the
motel parking lot, a member of the support crew told me a Henderson Four
had taken a tumble, snapping off the brake pedal. Well, good to hear it
was nothing serious, I replied, thinking only in terms of the cost of the
repair. I felt kind of dumb when he pointed out that it is rather serious
if you have to ride the thing back with virtually no brakes – not much
in the way of a front stopper on that one, and plenty of weight to stop.
Fortunately, the resourceful crew found a shop that was able to help
fabricate a repair.
It was gratifying to be
out using these machines as they were intended, though on roads allowing
higher sustained speeds than the manufacturers could have imagined. In
fact, we not only held our own in the modern traffic but apparently even
blended in at times. During a gas stop, another customer who was
complaining about the cost of gas motioned at my 101 and the Chief beside
it and said, “If it goes any higher, I’ll have to get one of those
things.” Only then did he realize that these were not modern bikes. I
guess people either are or are not attuned to motorcycles, and maybe only
a trained eye would notice a rigid rear end or a hand shifter, but how
about handlebars a mile wide? Enormous leaf springs over the front wheel?
I wonder if we have the latter-day Harley springers to thank for this.
People may have come to see antiquated-looking features as retro styling
statements.
I decided to skip the
second day of the run so Andrea and I could visit Niagara Falls, and it
was a bad call because that day turned out to offer the best weather for
riding. The night before the third day, the forecast worsened to rain
likely, so I didn’t bother setting the clock. About half the
participants went anyway, and I understand that they did get wet, but the
rain in the morning had given way to periods of sun by early afternoon.
After I took a last spin on the 101 through Waterloo, where we were
staying, we got in the truck and did some sightseeing.
Clearly, the
organizers put an enormous amount of work into planning this run, starting
a year and a half in advance, and the results paid off handsomely.
Smooth-running, pleasing to the eye, and emotionally captivating – like
a properly tuned and maintained classic antique motorcycle.
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