5 Things I Don’t Like About The Custom Motorcycle Scene

The Quail motorcycle show Facebook page posted up photos of the bike that won Best In Show. The bike was a Vincent V-twin engine slung into a banana style frame. The front wheel was almost all brake drum with the levers and pivots inside the polished backing plate/dust cover. The foot pegs were forward mounted and the handlebars were very low attached near the top triple clamp, the control levers were internal cable type to leave a clean tube.

To ride the bike, if it was even rideable, your body would be bent into a severe “C” shape. For me, the bike would be unusable and I don’t think anyone ever really planned on riding it more than a mile or two. I don’t want to pick on this particular machine.  There is no denying the skill that went into the build, but the bike reminded me why I’ve gone sour on custom, show bike stuff. Here’s my list of 5 reasons I don’t like custom bikes.

Reason Number One: Professional Builders

I understand that people have to make a living. If you are good at building custom bikes you should get paid for it. However, from the customer standpoint hiring others to build a custom bike for you ultimately means nothing. Well, not nothing…I guess it means you have the money to hire a builder. Yea you.

Motorcycles are tools to build your personal experience.  They are the means, not the end. The rides you take in the stinging rain, switching to reserve on a lonely highway or cold ice cream from a glass-top freezer are the true artistry of the motorcycle. Making the mundane exceptional is the reason motorcycles exist. Having a custom bike won’t make that experience better any more than a gold-plated paintbrush will make you a better artist. Throwing tons of money at a professional builder to win a bike show hollows out the win. What was it for? You didn’t paint that picture.

Reason Number Two: Regressive Engineering

I’ve built custom bikes in the past. They would be considered Tracker-Style today but back when I built them the goal was lighter weight, improved handling, better braking and more speed. I wasn’t averse to making the bikes look cool as long as it didn’t get in the way of a better motorcycle. The modern custom bike scene sees master engineers and amazing craftsmen devoted to making fantastically intricate clockwork movements that cannot tell the time of day. Look Ma, no hands! Useless quality, while nice to look at, is still useless. The custom-built bike turns out to be a worse motorcycle for all the effort. The handling is worse, the practicality is much worse, the braking is worse.

We see beautifully designed, narrow tube chrome forks that work as if they have no suspension. We see swoopy frames connected with buttery welds but poor in every factual way. They scrape the ground rounding a mild corner and flex under the slightest load. Think of the misallocation of skills: we have our best and brightest motorcycle engineers and craftsmen wasting their time building non-functional wall hangings. We are squandering talent and treasure and there isn’t that much around here to squander.

Reason Number Three: Art for Art’s Sake

I hear you. These are rolling art projects. Custom bikes aren’t supposed to be sensible. I learned a long time ago that art is defined by the artist: If you say it’s art then it’s art, dammit. My problem is that there’s nothing particularly new or innovative going on in the custom bike scene…oops… I mean art world. The motorcycles are all derivatives of each other with the few new-ish ideas getting beat to death over and over. Is it really art if we are just coloring between the same lines? Is bolting on a tiny fireman’s ladder art? How low can we set the bar?

I’m going to cause hurt feelings here but the custom bike scene is no more artistic than making a different length lanyard in your grade school arts and crafts class. In fact, it is craft, something that can be taught and through repetition honed to perfection.

Reason Number Four: Stupidity is the New Cool

Up until the 1980s most custom bikes were rideable. A little rake, a bit of extension to get the stance right, funky pipes, and maybe a cool seat, but the bike could still get around without causing too much pain. Those days are gone, replaced by the excess, the decorative, and the soulless. Now custom bikes must tick all the stupid boxes. Hubless wheels? Check. Horribly ugly bagger with giant front tire? Check. Cookie cutter, store-bought choppers that look exactly the same as every other cookie-cutter chopper? Check. If you’re going to remove the burden of function and place a motorcycle in the art world then that world demands better than what we see now. How many Mona Lisa copies does it take before someone builds a melting landscape? The custom scene is boring crap and deep in your heart you know it.

Reason Number Five: I’m Getting Too Old For This

When we were kids we used to cut up good running motorcycles thinking we were doing something worthwhile. My dad would tell us to leave it alone, that we were just going to make it worse and he was right. We did make the bikes worse. There are a million Harleys out there so go ahead and butcher them if you must, but when I see a nice classic bike tore up to make look it look like a child’s toy I say, “I’m getting too old for this.” I realize that everything I cherish will disappear eventually. I know that it’s your bike and you can do what you want to it. I know it’s none of my business, but if destroying nice bikes to make boring customs is your thing I don’t have to like it. Skill and craftsmanship do not absolve you from responsibility and I will not go quietly into the night.


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ExNotes Review: Operation Mincemeat

Susie and I were channel surfing on Netflix the other night and a trailer for Operation Mincemeat appeared.  It looked like it might be interesting so we hit the play icon.  Wow, this movie is great.  The story is about the British military intelligence deception operation to convince the Nazis the 1943 Allied invasion of Europe would begin in Greece and not Sicily.  Everyone knew Sicily was the logical choice, including the Germans, but the Brits managed to pull off a miracle and the Germans diverted the bulk of their forces to Greece.  I won’t tell you much more about how MI5 did this (beyond what the trailer below shows) because I don’t want to spoil the movie for you.

Operation Mincemeat is a dark, foreboding movie, as it should be.   Literally tens of thousands of lives and indeed, the future of humanity, hung in the balance.

One of the interesting characters in this true Operation Mincemeat story is a mid-level British Intel officer named Ian Fleming.

Johnny Flynn playing Ian Fleming in Operation Mincemeat.  Here Fleming is intrigued by a Q Branch watch with a bezel that becomes a buzz saw. You have to pay attention or this and other scenes that inspired 007 will zip right by.

Yes, that Ian Fleming…the one who went on to create and write the James Bond stories.  He and several other MI5 officers were working on spy novels while the real Operation Mincemeat was unfolding.  At one point, the man in charge (played to perfection by Colin Firth) exclaimed, “My God, is there anyone here who isn’t writing a spy novel?”  There were other James Bond references, including the senior MI5 person everyone referred to as “M,” Q Branch, and more.

Trust me on this:  If you are a James Bond fan, you will love Operation Mincemeat.

Nah, that’s too restrictive.   Anyone who enjoys a good movie will enjoy Operation Mincemeat.  It’s on Netflix and it’s one of the best movies I’ve seen in a long time.  I enjoyed it so much I watched it again from start to finish the next day.  It was that good.  You can thank me later.


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ExNotes Review: The Penske Racing Museum

I grew up in the South, way deep south, which means open-wheel automobile racing has always been a little suspect to me. Stock cars built in the good old USA slamming into each other every corner was auto racing. Tracks were small ovals either paved or dirt and the fence wouldn’t save you if a Chevelle climbed the wall just right. Stock car racing was total immersion. Saturday night, roasted peanuts, greasy pizza, burning rubber and beer will transport me right back to Hialeah Speedway in the late 1960s. For a young punk it was a glorious way to pass a hot Florida evening.

Yankees raced open-wheel. Yankees to me were any people that lived north of Fort Lauderdale. I couldn’t tell the difference between Indy cars and Formula One cars and truthfully, I still can’t. The open wheel cars raced far away from the crowd: almost nothing ever hit you at an Indy car race.

Roger Penske was a successful Indy car team owner before he started renting big yellow moving vans and he has a multibrand luxury car dealership with a small museum attached. I had time to kill so I wandered over to the museum with a southern-chip-on-my-shoulder, cocky, dirt oval attitude: Show me what you got, Big Daddy.

The museum is small, all on one floor with a gift shop and a lunch counter a floor above the display cars. Turns out Penske won the Indy 500 more frequently than you would assume and the 500-mile winners in the museum are the actual race cars tidied up for display.

The first engine on your left as you enter the place is Mercedes-Benz 500/265E. Right off the bat with the foreign car stuff, you know? This sweet looking 3-1/2 liter V-8 put out 1024 horsepower at the relatively low RPM of 9,800. The first time out this engine won the pole and the Indy 500 in 1994 with Al Unser behind the wheel. The Mercedes 500 was the first car to pull off this stunt so I guess they got it right the first time.

Mark Donohue won the 1972 Indy 500 in this Drake-Offenhauser powered McLaren M16B. With a 4-speed transmission the car burned through methanol 75 gallons at a time. The car averaged 191 miles an hour for the race, which is about 91 miles an hour faster than the cars on my beloved dirt ovals.

Rick Mears of off-road racing fame won the 1984 Indy 500 in a Penske-March car powered by a Cosworth-Ford. Averaging 207 miles per hour I’m guessing the Cosworth fairly sipped fuel from its 40-gallon methanol supply. Or, maybe the pit crew was really fast. When you’re circling in top gear all the time you don’t need more than the four speeds the March transmission provided.

Now we’re getting somewhere: a Chevy 2.65 liter V-8 pumping out 720 horsepower at 10,700 RPM. This engine won the 1991 Indy 500 with Rick Mears behind the wheel again. This engine went on to win 72 races.

I find it hard to believe that these tiny, multi-plate clutches can hold up for 500 miles pushing 200 miles per hour. The things aren’t much bigger than a motorcycle clutch. Maybe I’m wrong?  Is this an accessory drive?

Penske didn’t just run teams, he raced real cars like I like. This Pontiac super-duty 421 cubic-inch beast won the 1963 Riverside 250 with Penske behind the wheel. A Borg Warner T10 handled the shifts, Monroe Regal Ride absorbed the bumps and a Carter AFB mixed the fuel/air. I guarantee the bodywork was not this nice in 1963.

Joey Logano won the 2015 Daytona 500 with this Penske-chassis Ford Fusion. The 358 cubic-inch Ford put 775 horsepower to the famed Daytona high banks.

The photos above show an unusual Lola T-152, 4-wheel drive Penske car from 1969. It’s plenty potent with 850 horsepower squeezed from the Drake-Offenhauser engine at only 9000 RPM. That big hair drier on the side must have made lots of boost. This car also lugged around 75 gallons of methanol.

There are more cars and engines at the Penske museum but I’m leaving them out so you’ll have to visit the museum to see them all. Penske even built a small racetrack for Mini Coopers behind the museum but that area has been taken over as a parking lot by the dealerships. Land Rover enthusiasts have a couple of artificial hills to practice on but the lady who runs the museum said that they don’t use those hills any more.

I came away from my visit impressed by Penske’s many racing successes. He’s not just a rental truck guy. I’ll go as far as to say if Penske raced at Hialeah Speedway back in the late 1960s he would have probably banged fenders with the best of them and carried many golden trophies somewhere north of Fort Lauderdale. Where the Yankees are from.


The Penske Racing Museum is located at 7125 E Chauncey Lane in Phoenix, Arizona.


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Billville and the Collections

People collect for different reasons.  Some are completists…they collect to own every variation of an item ever made.  Others have a theme…something guides their collecting and they can’t rest until they have acquired items that show all aspects of that theme.  Still others are brand loyalists…they want everything associated with a particular marque.  Others collect to rekindle memories…items in their collections bring back better times.  And people collect different things.  All kinds of things.

As I surveyed the expansive and overwhelming contents of Bill’s Old Bike Barn, I wondered:  What made Bill tick?  What fueled his desire to collect?  I asked the question and Bill answered it, but I’ll wait until the end of this blog to share the answer.  Hold that thought and we’ll return to it.

When I knew we were going to Pennsylvania and my wife Susie Googled motorcycle museums…well, silly me.  I thought we would find a motorcycle museum if I was lucky and it might make a worthy topic for a blog or two.  Maybe an article in a motorcycle magazine.  Susie gets the credit for finding Bill’s Old Bike Barn.  I didn’t realize we had hit the Mother Lode.  We had stumbled into a more advanced collection than we had ever seen.

No, wait:  I need to restate that.  It would be unfair to call what I found in Bill’s Old Bike Barn a collection.   I realized when assembling this story that what Bill created is not a mere collection.  It is, instead, a collection of collections.   Bill’s Old Bike Barn might have started as a motorcycle collection, but it goes beyond that.

Way beyond.

Anybody can collect and display motorcycles.  Well, not anybody, but you get the point.  In the course of curating a collection, advanced collectors, the guys who go exponential and become collectors of collections, amass collections of all kinds of things.  Then the question becomes:  How do you display your collections?  What’s the right format?

Bill had the answer to that, too.

Billville.

Hey, if your name is Bill, and you have a collection of collections, why not start your own town, and display each collection in different stores and businesses and government offices, all in a magical place called Billville.  You see, if you have your own town, you will also have streets on which these shops are located.  And you can park different cool motorcycles on the streets in front of the shops.  The Billville concept solves several challenges simultaneously.  The streets let you display the motorcycles and the shops.  People see the shops and what’s in them and they want to add to the collection, so they bring in and contribute more things you can exhibit.  The shops grow and the town of Billville thrives.  Sense a pattern here?

Bill, at home on the streets of Billville.
One of many streets in Billville. The streets in Billville are lined with something even better than gold: Vintage motorcycles and Bill’s collection of collections.  Bill’s collections are hypnotic in their appeal.

Being a world-renown blogger and motojournalist, I had the grand tour of Billville, led by Bill himself.  Bill led, I followed, and my jaw dropped with each turn and every stop in Billville.  Billville.  I get it.  It’s brilliant.

The Billville camera shop. Nothing is for sale, much is on display, and the inventory exceeds 6,000 pieces.

We started in front of the Billville camera shop.  I had my Nikon D810 along for the shots you see here.  I’ve been a photography enthusiast all my life. I asked Bill if he was into photography, too, when he mentioned the camera shop.  “Nah, I just had a few cameras on display.  Folks see that and they come back a week later with a bag of old cameras.  There’s more than 6,000 cameras in the collection now.”

There’s a very cool Norton parked in front of the Billville Camera Shop. The bike behind it is a Velocette. Per capita motorcycle ownership in Billville is off the charts.  Billville is huge, the streets are long, the shops are amazing, and the collections are dreamlike.  Pick a collectible item, and there’s a Billville shop housing a collection for it.  Into Coca-Cola memorabilia?

An Aermacchi Harley and Harley’s attempt to penetrate the scooter market, the Topper, parked in front of the Billville Coca-Cola shop.

You can’t have a town without a police department, and police paraphernalia are collectible.  Billville has its own PD, with a police stuff collection.

The Billville PD and its neighbor…a shop with walls constructed entirely of collectible beer cans.
Every police officer who wanders through the Billville PD probably leaves a department patch.
The Billville PD has, as you might imagine, its own contingent of motor officers.

Bill told a funny story about visiting firemen.  After seeing the collections, they asked Bill if Billville had a fire department.  When they asked the question, Billville did not.  So the visiting fireman  offered to donate their vintage fire engine if Bill would build the Billville Fire Department around it.

A vintage Mack fire engine. A local fire department donated it.

“Then I had to make a fire bike,” Bill said.  After all, this is a motorcycle museum.

Bill and his personally-crafted fire bike. This is cool stuff.

Bicycles?  You bet.  Billville has an interesting collection.  Check out the badging  on the one shown in these photos.

Want to guess who made this bicycle?
Check out the chainring. HD. Cool.
Harley-Davidson. I had never seen one of these before visiting Bill’s Old Bike Barn.
My Nikon was earning its keep during my visit to Bill’s Old Bike Barn. If you make the trip, don’t forget your camera.

Some people collect toys.  Bill is one of them.  What would a town be without a toy store?

Another place to display one of Bill’s collections. That’s a cool two-stroke Harley parked on the street in front of it.

Billville has a post office and a restaurant.  Take a look at the ornamental wrought iron surrounding the restaurant.  Bill told me he purchased huge quantities of wrought iron when he was buying up motorcycle dealer inventories in Europe.

The Billville post office is on the left; the restaurant is on the right.
A vintage bike in front of the finest dining in Billville.

Are you into Avon collectables?  Billville has you covered there, too.

A 1970s Harley two-stroke and a vintage CL Honda Scrambler. Bill’s collections are extensive and varied.

There are several spiral cases throughout Billville.  I thought they were purely decorative.  But there seemed to be more to see upstairs, so I climbed one.  My reward was more collections.  How about phones?  Yep, those, too.

Some of the phones in the Bill’s Old Bike Barn phone collection…
…and more phones.

Bill told me again about people bringing things to him.   Matchbox cars?  Why not?

Matchbox cars line a wall. There’s something for everyone here. Dads, moms, and kids.

Into horse collectibles?  You bet.

Horsepower. Lots of it.

As you might guess, there was an area for Elvisabilia (or should that be Presleyana?).

The King.

If you were wondering, Billville has a dentist’s office, too, complete with vintage dentistry equipment.

Vintage dental stuff. The photo ops in Bill’s Old Bike Barn were endless.

And, of course, Billville includes the motorcycles, motorcycle engines, and everything-associated-with-motorcycles collection.  Bill’s collection doesn’t stick to only one marque.  You’ll see Harley, Indian, Moto Guzzi, Triumph, Norton, Velocette, Honda, Yamaha, Zündapp, Peugeot, and many, many more motorcycles.

An airbrush painting on one of Bill’s trailers. Check out the vintage Harley and sidecar.
Now, check out the actual vintage Harley and sidecar.
A vintage Knucklehead in the main hall. Note the spiral staircases on the right. There’s more up there, folks. Lots more.
Vintage Indians. Some are left unrestored; others are restored to better-than-new condition.

Bill’s collection is eclectic.  The collections themselves are eclectic, and within the collection, the pieces Bill has exhibited vary widely.  He’s not just a Harley guy or an Indian guy.   He likes anything that’s interesting.  You saw the prior blog about Bill’s favorite ride, a Zündapp.  Other bikes pepper his collection, including one I always wanted…an early SL350 Honda twin.  It’s the color I always wanted, too, and it’s in its 100% original, unrestored condition.  I stared at the SL so hard I might have worn away some of its paint.

A stunning and unrestored SL350 Honda.
Ah, the mileage on the SL350 Honda…the motorcycle is over half a century old, and it has but 4,000 miles on the clock. Wow.

So, back to that question I posed at the top of this blog:  What makes a collector collect?  Everyone has their reasons, and like I said at the beginning of this blog, I wanted to know Bill’s.  I asked the question.  Bill smiled, lowered his gaze, and answered softly.  “I like to see peoples’ reactions when they see the collections,” he said.  That being the case, I think Bill must have really enjoyed our visit.  We sure did.

A sparkadillo. There’s a lot of folk art in Bill’s Old Bike Barn.

Our first blog on Bill’s Old Bike Barn?  Hey, here it is:

Bill Morris:  The Man.   It’s a great story.

Military motorcycle half-tracks?  You bet!

With 200 motorcycles in his collection, Bill’s personal favorite might surprise you!


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Bill’s Old Bike Barn: A Tale of Two Moto Half-Tracks

Today the ExNotes blog extends the tale of Bill’s Old Bike Barn and our continuing features on this magical mystery museum.  I knew as soon as I entered Bill’s that a single blog would be entirely inadequate.  Nope, this place is like peeling an onion; each layer reveals another story or three.  Today’s feature is on two of Bill’s more interesting vehicles, and it was a tough call…everything in this Pennsylvania pleasure palace is interesting.  But for today’s feature, the motorcycle half-tracks get the nod.

Bill with his Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico.  Bill said riding the Mulo is a bear…there are levers and pedals and other things that require constant attention.

Motorcycle half-tracks?  I mean, who’d a thought?  They come across as the illegitimate offspring of a motorcycle and a Viagra-fueled armored vehicle.  It’s a concept that just seems weird, like the designers were stoned when putting pencil to paper.  Maybe it is and maybe they were.

The first of these moto half-tracks is the Kettenkrad.  The Nazis created the Kettenkrad koncept at the beginning of World War II and it’s no secret the Übermenschen used a lot of what they called Pervitin (which was actually crystal meth) to stay, you know, amped up.  That might explain some of the Kettenkrad’s design.

A Kettenkrad parked under the awning behind Bill’s Old Bike Barn.  What were the engineers smoking?

I’d seen Kettenkrads in photos and World War II movies, but I’d never seen one in person until a very recent visit to the Lyon Air Museum (the topic of an ExNotes blog and a recent Motorcycle Classics Destinations piece).  And wow, just a few months later, here’s another one.

The other moto half-track, the Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico, was new to me (I had never heard of it before my visit to Bill’s).  It’s the machine you see in the cover photo above.

Bill has one of each:  A Kettenkrad and a Mulo Meccanico.  The Guzzi half-track holds a place of honor in Bill’s Guzziland display; the Kettenkrad rotates between museum display duties and residing among several military vehicles parked outside the Museum.

Although both are rare, of the two there are a lot more Kettenkrads. Both vehicles were designed specifically for military applications, but in different eras. The Kettenkrad was a 1939 Nazi project designed and built by NSU Werke AG at Neckarsulm, Germany.  Originally designed as a paratrooper support vehicle, NSU built 8345 Kettenkrads (10% were built under license by Stower, another German manufacturer). Production stopped at the end of World War II, and then NSU resumed Kettenkrad manufacturing for agricultural applications through 1948.

The Nazi war machine used Kettenkrads extensively on the Russian front for ferrying supplies and troops.  Some also saw duty in western Europe and North Africa.  Toward the end of the war (and because of fuel shortages) Kettenkrads became airfield tugs (the Nazis used them to pull their airplanes to the runway; the Luftwaffe pilots only started their aircraft engines when they were ready to take off).

As a mechanical engineer, I always wondered if the Kettenkrad’s motorcycle front end actually steered the thing, or if the vehicle steered by driving the tracks at different speeds (as other tracked vehicles do).  Talk about mechanical complexity…the Kettenkrad does both. Up to a point, the steering is via the handlebars and front wheel. Once the handlebars go beyond a certain angle, differential track speed steering kicks in. In really rough terrain, the Nazis removed the front wheel entirely and traveled only on the tracks.  The Kettenkrad tops out at 44 mph, it has a 36-horsepower, inline, four-cylinder, water-cooled Opel engine, and it weighs 3,440 pounds (a little more than my Corvette).

Next up:  The Moto Guzzi.

Wow, talk about mechanical complexity. Check out the front end: A brake, front-wheel drive gears, shafts, u-joints, single-sided fork, and more.  The fender offers enough clearance to allow use of snow chains.  I wonder what shop rates were back in the 1960s.

The Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico is a real oddity.  Not only had I never seen one; I never knew such a thing even existed.  There were only 200 ever made, and it all happened in the early 1960s.  Built for the Italian Army (its official designation was the Autoveicolo Da Montagna, or mountain vehicle), Bill explained to me it was designed for hauling supplies over Alpine peaks.  The Italians wanted something more modern to replace the donkeys they had been using (hence the unofficial name, the Mulo Meccanico).

The Italians have a thing for gated shifters. Before going to paddleshifters, Ferrari used the same approach.

The tracked Goose had a gated hand shifter on the right side of the thing that allowed the rider to select any of six forward speeds or reverse. A speedo is the only instrument; it was the Mulo’s single nod toward simplicity.  Everything else was hopelessly complex.

You could run the Mulo Meccanico with or without treads.  You could adjust the track (distance between the rear wheels) on the fly.  You know, sometimes those Alpine goat trails get narrow.

The mechanical details and specs on the Guzzi half-track are both unusual and impressive, but ultimately, the all-too-common engineering mistake of injecting complexity where none was required doomed the Mulos.  And wow, the Italian military had a complex set of requirements.  The Mulo had to do everything a real donkey could do and then some.  The Italian Army wanted to be able to adjust the rear track on the fly to suit narrow trail conditions, so Moto Guzzi designed that into these bikes.  The Army wanted all wheels to be driven.  Atsa no problem, the Guzzi guys said.  The customer wants tracks, like Il Duce’s buddy had on the Kettenkrad?   Si, Guzzi said; tracks could be added to the two rear drive wheels (as you see on Bill’s).  A steering wheel will do nicely, they thought.  And check out the front fork.  It was way ahead of its time:  Single-sided, a driven front wheel (the thing can actually climb a vertical surface, as you’ll see in the YouTube video below). It’s not hydraulic drive, either; there are shafts and gears and u-joints buried in all that mechanical complexity.

Moto Guzzi originally planned to use their 500cc single for these vehicles, but it wasn’t powerful enough. So Guzzi engineered a V-twin-powered half-ton half-track that could tow and haul a combined 1,100 pounds.  The Mulo weighed about 2,200 pounds and had a top speed of 50 mph.  Yee haw!

Patina raised to an exponent. Hey, it’s only original once!  The future of Moto Guzzi motorcycles, the transverse V-twin engine, lies buried in amongst all that complexity.

What you see here is a camel designed by a committee (the Italian military-industrial complex tried to mechanically create a donkey).  The only lasting things to come out of the effort were the famed Moto Guzzi transverse V-twin engine and a good story (that would be this one).  The resulting mechanical camel intended to replace the mule died a quick and merciful death, but the engine went on in several iterations to power all subsequent Moto Guzzi motorcycles.  Modern versions of the Mandello Del Lario motor power Moto Guzzis today, and the guys who ride Moto Guzzis (like my good buddy Dan) absolutely love them.  I always wanted a Guzzi, but it’s an itch I haven’t scratched.  Yet.

The Italian Army originally ordered 500 Mulos with deliveries starting in 1961.   But the Guzzi’s complexity ran smack into that age-old engineering axiom (KISS, or Keep It Simple, Signore).  The Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico was just too complicated, too difficult to operate, and too dangerous.  The real donkeys could get through those mountain passes just fine and the Mulos could not.  In 1963 production stopped after only 200 units.  The Army literally went back to donkeys.  The real ones.

Hee haw.


One more thing I thought you might enjoy:  I found a couple of YouTube videos showing both moto half-tracks, the Kettenkrad and the Mulo Meccanico, in action.  The folks in the videos seem to be having fun.


Bill Morris is the real deal, and Bill’s Old Bike Barn is one of the most interesting motorcycle museums I’ve ever visited.  We’re doing on a series on the man and the museum, and this is our third installment in that series.  You can see the first two below.

Miss our first installment on Bill’s Old Bike Barn?  Hey, here it is:

The next blog in this series is on Bill Morris:  The Man.   It’s a great story.


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Bill Morris: The Man

Any story about Bill’s Old Bike Barn has to feature Bill Morris, the man who created it all.  The museum and its contents are amazing.  The man is even more so.

Bill grew up right where I met him:  Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania, the site of Bill’s Old Bike Barn.  Bill started working at age 11 on the farm, and he never stopped.   Bill is 83 now, something I found hard to believe (he doesn’t look or act like it), and his energy level tops most young folks I know.  Let’s start with a Reader’s Digest biosketch.  Bill joined the US Army (Corps of Engineers) from 1957 to 1960, and then went to work for Chrysler building Plymouths and Dodges in Newark, Delaware.  After two years with Chrysler it was back to Bloomsburg and a job with the local Harley-Davidson dealer.

Parts is parts. Keep what you like, sell the rest. That’s a gold-plated Knucklehead engine on the right. As in real gold. “Never could sell it,” Bill said. There was no regret in that observation.

Harley and Bloomsburg Harley were a good deal; Bill went to Harley-Davidson’s motorcycle technician school in 1966.  Yep, he’s a factory-certified motorcycle tech.  He worked for Bloomsburg Harley from 1966 to 1969.

Ah, 1969.  Let’s see…Hollywood was going ga ga over The Wild Angels, Easy Riders, and other miscellaneous motorcycle movie mayhem. The chopper craze was sweeping through America and the rest of the developed world.  Bill wanted a chopper, and a builder in Westminster, California advertised that if you had five old hogs to trade, they would build a California custom for you at no charge.  Bill asked if he sent 18 old hogs, would they build him a California chopper and return some cash?  The answer, of course, was yes, so Bill shipped 18 old Harleys to California and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  He finally went to California to see what was happening and found a rundown chopper shop big on dreams but short on ability.

Bill hung around California for 60 days, bought a pickup truck, and took a partially crafted California chopper back to Pennsylvania.   “I figured if those clowns could make custom motorcycles, I could, too,” Bill explained.  And he did.  The bike Bill hauled back to Bloomsburg needed wiring, wheels, and more, but that was simple stuff.  Bill was, after all, a factory-trained motorcycle tech.

Indeed, a Silent Gray Fellow. It’s one of many Holy Grail bikes in Bill’s Old Bike Barn.

Bill’s Custom Cycles emerged, and Bill’s talent (as a custom motorcycle builder, a collector, and a businessman) took center stage.  Bill purchased his first collectible motorcycle for $20, a 1928 single-cylinder Harley-Davidson, but he quickly realized the best way to acquire collectibles and saleable parts was to buy out other motorcycle businesses and that’s what he did.  When Harley Davidson entered troubled times in the early 1970s, Bill purchased the assets of 28 Harley dealerships in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware, and in an international reach, the Netherlands, Belgium, and South Africa.  Bill tells of a recurring theme:  A dealer would ask $600,000 for their inventory, Bill would offer a quarter of that amount, the dealer would decline the offer, and then came the call a few months later asking if Bill’s $150,000 offer was still good.  It was, of course.  Bill knew his business.

Bill loves sidecars. At one point, he bought a European dealer’s entire stock of 60 sidecars and brought them back to Pennsylvania. He sold them all quickly.
Wow. Just wow. Get used to that word. You’ll use it a lot at Bill’s Old Bike Barn.
Would you pay $200 for a used Panhead back in the day? Bill did. I was going to offer him what he paid, but thought better of it.

Bill’s business model was to sell the parts and complete motorcycles from his constantly growing and profitable inventory.  He sold via mail order and became one of the largest sources of Harley parts and Harleyana in the world.   All the while, he kept the collectible motorcycles and parts that caught his interest, and he built custom bikes.

Bill has a way with the ladies. On this road trip, we hit Gettysburg, Hershey, the Flight 93 National Memorial in Shanksville, the Jersey shore, and more. But all the girls wanted to talk about was Bill.

While acquiring the inventories of motorcycle shops and dealers going under, Bill built a massive collection of Harley signs.  That lead to a lawsuit with Harley as the plaintiff and Bill in their crosshairs…Harley didn’t want anyone displaying “authorized Harley-Davidson dealer” signs if they weren’t, you know, an authorized Harley dealer.  Bill eventually settled the suit by opening a second building (the origin of Bill’s Old Bike Barn) where he could display the signs but not sell Harley products.  “That made the lawyers happy,” Bill explained.  It was only a short walk up the hill behind Bill’s Custom Cycles, but it satisfied Harley’s legal beagles.

Bill loves motorcycle signs, so much so that Harley sued him for displaying them a few decades ago.  The lawsuit was a good thing: It was the catalyst for Bill’s Old Bike Barn.

Around the same time, Bill became a Moto Guzzi dealer (one of the very first in the United States) and he still has a love for the Italian motorcycles.  Moto Guzzi was just entering the United States and they approached Bill.  He rented a gas station and just like that, voilà, Bill was a Moto Guzzi dealer (he held the franchise from 1970 to 1975).  As Bill explains it, it was a match made in Heaven:  He had no money and Moto Guzzi had almost no bikes.  The bikes would come in via air one at a time to Teterboro, New Jersey (a two and a half hour road trip from Bloomsburg).

A beautiful Guzzi Ambassador. These things sound more like a Harley than a Harley did. They are beautiful motorcycles. I always wanted one.

Like many people, Bill loved the look and the sound of those early 1970s Guzzis (they sounded a lot like Harley-Davidsons, with a wonderful lopey potato potato exhaust note).

California chopper chic meets Mandello del Laurio.
Paint themes that were all the rage back in the day. Think Dennis Hopper Does Italy.

As a custom bike builder Bill knew a blank palette when he saw one, and he rebuilt an early Guzzi police bike as a 1970s chopper.  It’s on display in Bill’s Old Bike Barn.  In fact, Bill has an entire room he calls Guzziland, but I’m getting ahead of myself.  Guzziland will be the focus of a near-term future ExNotes blog.

Stay tuned, my friends.  Bill’s Old Bike Barn is a fun story.  I’m having a lot of fun writing it.


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More museums?  You bet!


Bill’s Old Bike Barn is at 7145 Columbia Boulevard in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania.  Trust me:  You need to see this.

Hershey, Pennsylvania

There’s an old saying:  The difference between success and failure is this:   A failure is a person who stays down.   A success is a person who refuses to stay down. By that measure, Milton Hershey certainly was a success.  His first two attempts at candy companies did not end well.  Hershey made it big on the third attempt, though, and his company became an American icon.  This blog is a story about the town that bears his name and a great Pennsylvania destination:  Hershey, Pennsylvania.

The man and the legend:  Milton Hershey.  This is a mural as you take the ride into the chocolate “factory.”

I’m not a chocoholic, but I love Hershey, Pennsylvania and the story of the Hershey company.  One man had an idea about a new candy, and he worked tirelessly to build the candy company that bears his name.  As he was doing so, he built a town designed to be a better place for his employees.  I’d say he succeeded on all counts.

Signs lining the highway into Hershey. Note the iconic street lights.

I first visited Hershey back in the 1960s.  My Dad was a world-class trap shooter and our traveling was nearly always related to a shoot someplace in the northeastern United States.  Pennsylvania, New York, Maryland, Ohio, New Hampshire, and more.  Mom, my sister, and I would visit nearby attractions, and the town of Hershey was one of them.  Two things stood out in my mind:  The streetlights were styled like Hershey’s kisses, and the entire town smelled like chocolate.

A sidewalk grate in Hershey.

The streetlights hadn’t changed (they were still the same Hershey’s kisses), but I was surprised when we arrived:  I couldn’t smell the chocolate I remembered.  My aunt lives near Hershey and she told me that changes daily.  It’s a function of what the Hershey plant is doing that day, the wind, and maybe a few other factors.   We missed the chocoholic aroma (which was the bad news), but it still occurs sometimes (that’s the good news).  I’m guessing tighter emissions requirements might be playing a role here, too.

There are several things to see and do in Hershey, but the factory tour I remembered as a kid is no more (more on that in a second).  There are things to do in Hershey, starting with just walking around the town and taking in its beauty.  There are also Hershey attractions, including the Hershey Museum and the current Hershey factory tour.   We hit the Hershey Museum first.

Inside the Hershey Museum. It’s a real museum (unlike the factory tour, which I’ll get to in a minute), with equipment from the early days of Milton Hershey’s work and excellent exhibits.
One of the exhibit areas inside the Hershey Museum.

I had seen the large Hershey smokestacks on the way into town and I wanted to get a photo.  While my wife and sister were taking in the Hershey Museum, I left a bit early and walked up the street to get a better photo of the smokestacks.

One of the better photos, I think, from our Hershey visit. The weather was perfect.

Next up was the factory tour.  I thought I remembered the factory tour from my visit in the 1960s, but I either remembered it wrong or I was projecting what I wanted into a memory that had dropped a few digits over the decades.  I thought we would see the actual Hershey factory.  That’s what I wanted.  I’m a manufacturing guy, and I’ll never pass on any opportunity to get into a manufacturing facility.  But the factory tour I remembered as a kid had been replaced by a theme park ride.  The Hershey factory tour involved getting into little cars that were pulled along a track and going through a dumbed-down Disney-like version of what the real factory looks like.   I suppose Hershey has to protect its proprietary process technology, but still, I was hoping for an engineering text and what I got was a Saturday morning cartoon.

Upon entering the factory tour building, you have to first go through what has to be the world’s largest candy store.  And yeah, we bought some candy.  It’s not like we needed it. But we were there.  When in Rome…you know the rest.

If you have a sweet tooth, Hershey’s candy store is the place you want to be.
At the entrance to the Hershey factory tour.
You go through the Hershey factory tour on an amusement park like ride in these little cars. It was fun.
Modern manufacturing methods, dumbed down to the lowest common denominator. Still, it was fun.

Not surprisingly, after you exit the factory tour little cars, you go through the candy store again.  Wow, there sure was a lot of candy.  I saw varieties of currently-available Hershey’s candies I’d never seen before.  It was not a total bust:  I had my Nikon and the displays were more than colorful.

It all looks good. I was mentally converting each treat to time on the treadmill.

Hershey’s owns Reese’s.  Reese was a guy who worked for Hershey, and then started his own company.  Then Hershey’s bought Reese’s.  There are Reeses peanut butter cups with peanut butter.  There are Reese’s peanut butter cups with peanut butter and potato chips.  There are Reese’s peanut butter cups with peanut butter and pretzels.  There are Reese’s peanut butter cups with peanut butter and marshmallows.  There are Reese’s peanut butter cups with peanut butter and, well, you get the idea.

Candy, as far as the eye can see.
More candy.  More calories.
And more.  More calories.  More mandatory time on the treadmill.

You might be surprised to hear this, but I gained a few pounds on this trip.  As soon as I finish this blog, I’m headed to the gym where I’ll spend quality time on the treadmill.  I need it.


The best kept secret in Hershey?  For starters, there are Pennsylvania’s back roads.  If you get off the freeways, just about any country road makes for a magnificent ride.  I rode many of these roads more than 50 years ago when I was stationed at Indiantown Gap Military Reservation, which is not too far away from Hershey.  I rode a 750 Honda Four in those days, and the roads are as magnificent today as they were then.  Folks, let me tell you: Pennsylvania is a motorcycling paradise.

Here’s another hidden gem:  If you want a world-class dinner (I’m talking fine dining raised to an exponent), there’s a restaurant called “What If” tucked away in Hershey.  It’s in the basement of a Howard Johnson motel, and if you don’t look for it, you won’t see it.  Trust me, it’s awesome.  I didn’t grab any food photos and that’s okay:  It’s my excuse for making plans to return some day.  But that’s in the future.  For now, it’s more time on the treadmill, and lots of it.


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Bill’s Old Bike Barn…a first peek

Stop what you’re doing.  Get off the Internet (and for sure, get off Facebook and the other moronic “social media” time wasters).  Start planning a trip to Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania.  You need to see Bill’s Old Bike Barn. The riding is fabulous in rural Pennsylvania and with Bill’s as a destination, the ride is even better. You can thank me now or you can thank me later, but you will thank me.

Any motorcycle museum that includes in its directions “turn where you see the dinosaurs” should grab your attention.  In the case of Bill’s Old Bike Barn, your undivided attention is warranted.  To say I was blown away would be an understatement of immense proportions.  To cut to the chase, I’ve never seen anything like Bill’s, and I know for damn sure I’ve never met a man like Bill.  That’s Bill artistically framed by Milwaukee iron in the photo above, and yeah, I shot that picture.  I’m proud of it.  It hints at the dimensions of the man and what he’s created out there in Pennsylvania.

During our interview I asked Bill his last name and he told me:  Morris, just like the cigarettes.  I didn’t get it until later, and then I couldn’t stop laughing.  If you don’t get it immediately, you will.  Bill has that kind of slingshot wit.  I love the guy and his collection.  You will, too.

Above all else, Bill is two things: A collector, and a people person.  The extent if his collection…well, I can’t describe it.  You need to see it.  You’ll get just a hint here in the ExNotes series of blogs we’re doing.  When you visit the place, you’ll feel like you owe me.  When you meet Bill, you’ll know you’ve made a friend.  A most interesting friend.

Up above, that’s the building that houses Bill’s collection.  You can’t really see it from the highway.  You have to look for the dinosaurs (just like the directions say), turn, and then head uphill.  You’ll go by the bison, some other cool items, and more.  The building looks deceptively small from the outside.  Inside…you could spend weeks and not see all of what’s in there.

You can learn about Bill’s Old Bike Barn on his website, but we’re going to give you more here on ExNotes.  We’re going to do it over the span of several blogs over the next few weeks, and in an upcoming article in a major moto mag.  Ever watched and enjoyed American Pickers?  Trust me on this (and trust me on everything else, for that matter): Bill Morris puts American Pickers to shame.  You and I have never seen anything like what’s in Bill’s Old Bike Barn.

I’m excited about what I’ve seen and what I’m going to be sharing with you.  I’ll do my best to bring it to life in print and in the photos, but it won’t be enough.  You really need to visit Bill’s Old Bike Barn.


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Coming up…more good stuff!

We’ve got a bunch of cool stuff coming your way in the next few weeks.

I’m working on a detailed tutorial on how to time a revolver…it’s my beloved Model 60.  It seems the more things go south on that old war horse, the more I love it.  This time, the revolver went out of time (that means it’s firing with the chambers misaligned with the barrel), and the way to correct that is by fitting a new hand.  That’s the piece you see in the big photo above, showing the well-worn 60-year-old original hand on the left and a new one on the right (the hand is the part that advances the cylinder for each shot).  Good times.  Did I mention I love that gun?

I’ll be on a bunch of secret missions in the next few months.  I’m visiting Janus Motorcycles in the next few weeks and I’m going to ride their new Halcyon 450.  You may remember I rode with the Janus guys in Baja three years ago (wow, those three years went by quickly).  The Janus trip was a hoot and I was blown away by the quality of these small motorcycles.

I’ll be in Gettysburg soon…four score and seven years ago, and you know the rest.  Gettysburg was the turning point, and the bloodiest battle of the Civil War.  I’m looking forward to the photo ops, and you’ll see the Nikon’s output right here.

And another:  Hershey, Pennsylvania…an entire town blanketed in the aroma of good chocolate, streetlights that look like Hershey kisses, calories galore, and tasty treats.  That will be a sweet ride!

Folks love listicles.  There are a dozen or so reasons why a Timex is as good as a Rolex.  That one will generate a few comments, and we’ll be bringing them to you here.

How about the Indianapolis Motor Speedway?  You’ll see it right here on ExNotes.  Good stuff.  Yep, we’ll be there, too.

Bill’s Bike Barn…yet another vintage moto museum.  Never heard of it?  Well, you will!

More gun stuff?  Absolutely.  Fine walnut and blue steel.  I’ve got a cool story about the most beautiful stock I’ve ever seen on an absolutely incredible .257 Weatherby Magnum Ruger No. 1.

Look for a follow up on the Shoei helmet Gresh wears these days…it’s in the mix, too.

A road trip to New Mexico, and that means a visit with Joe 1 (or is he Joe 2?) and another video or two.  Gresh has a bunch of motorcycles.  Maybe I’ll borrow one and he and I will go for a ride.  Who knows?

And more rides on my effervescent and exciting Enfield, one of the best bargains in biking (we’ll have a listicle coming up bargain bikes, too).  Now that the left-leaning evil time suck (i.e., Facebook) is in the rear view mirror, I have lots more time.  I’m doing what the Good Lord intended, and that’s riding my motorcycle and writing about it.

Stay tuned.

New Boot Day

Life is full of tiny, traumatic incidents. Each day we are met with hundreds of micro-decisions that demand little of our attention yet matter enough to require a few seconds of our time. New Boot Day is not one of these decisions.

I was going to the Harbor Freight in Alamogordo to pick up one of their welding carts that was on sale for $34. Or maybe was it a closeout? Inventory reduction? Anyway, I try not to leave the house in my bathrobe and slippers so I put on my day clothes and boots for the excursion. That’s when it hit me. My boots were looking pretty bad.

I’ve been wearing Rossi boots for about 8 years now. They are super comfortable right out of the box. Style-wise the Rossi boots are no great shakes but who wears boots for style? If the Rossi’s can be said to have a flaw that flaw is that they last forever. The damn things simply never wear out. Since they still work as boots you never know when to call them done.

Today though, the Rossi’s looked pretty tattered. The soles were still firmly attached and the uppers were all in one piece, it’s just that the overall boot looked like something you’d see worn by the unfortunate men in one of those grainy photos of a depression-era food line. I began to be self-conscious about my foot wear: will the clerk at Harbor Freight take a look at my beat up boots and decide to call security?

I’m hard on boots. My shuffling pace, the lazy-feet constantly tripping over rocks and thresholds and my need to crawl around on the ground to do the things I like to do all tend to shorten the life of boots qua Gresh. Popular, well-known brands of leather work-boots will last about 6 months on me.

Conversely, I hate to get rid of a pair of boots unless they are utterly destroyed. Part of it is my natural thriftiness and part of is my deep-seated feeling that I don’t really deserve a new pair of boots. What have I done to warrant new boots? There are many, many people who work much harder than me and these people do not get new boots…ever. I feel like such a fraud wearing new boots. Who do I think I’m fooling?

Then there’s the distress caused by having to witness my brand new boots get scuffed up. One time I had new boots on and the first day I tripped over a sharp piece of rebar, the rebar put a 1-inch long slice on the toe of my new boot. It nearly killed me. Not the trip: the slice. I find my movements inhibited with new boots on. I can’t do my thing and worry about the finish on my boots at the same time.

After much anxiety and teeth gnashing new boots become old boots and my world can settle down. Everything is in order, I can pull on my boots and go about my daily business, be it motorcycle riding or concrete placement, without a second thought. I’m free and loose with old boots.

But not today. Today I have on new boots and every step I take in them is a toxic cocktail of fear and self-loathing. I will step high, always watching for obstacles that could mar the beautiful ebony leather of my new boots. I will bend at the knees. I will stand soles down and I will wish I could leave my new boots safe in their shoebox forever.