FROZEN IN TIME - by Bill Hysell

It started with a Honda 50 – a step-through frame, 200 mpg, a top speed of 45 mph, three speeds and no clutch. This was my introduction to motorcycling in the sixties. My generation had no preconceived notions about motorcycles or bikers. Rather than being subjected to Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones, we had “You meet the nicest people on a Honda”. Bikes for us were just cool and fun, and, I suppose, rebellious without a significant change in lifestyle. Then we grew up and moved on. But not all of us.

I own a 1993 Suzuki GSX 1100G, a great road bike. This spring I thought about buying a new bike for “around town”. After looking at numerous new models I was somehow not moved and this puzzled me. Then, one day while searching for motorcycle related topics online, I came across the Vintage Japanese Motorcycle Club. Looking through the online issue I realized that I had a memory of or history with many of the machines. This was the source of my lack of passion with the new bikes. High tech, nice looking, but they didn’t speak to me like the vintage bikes.

I finally bought a 1985 Honda Nighthawk 650 in need of some TLC and the world of vintage bikes opened up for me. While looking for information about my “new” bike I came across an ad for Vintage Motorcycle Days at Mid-Ohio Raceway
in Lexington, Ohio. I bought tickets for my brother and me and continued to work on the Honda. I read that there was a swap meet, auction, vintage races and other activities planned for the Vintage weekend. I would have been happy to find a fork brace for the Nighthawk. I soon realized I had set that bar too low!

I drove for eight hours to get to Mid-Ohio. Two hours through torrential downpours that caused my car to hydroplane at anything above fifty. Finally I met my brother at our motel and had a brief foreshadowing of what was to come. We were walking around the parking lot that evening and looking at some of the bikes that had arrived. I was impressed by how far some of these folks had come as well as the machines. I struck up a conversation with a guy my age (almost everyone was my age this weekend) and he told me he had arrived the day before. He lives on Long Island, but had been on the road for several weeks traveling through the South. He was a veteran of Vintage Motorcycle Days and talking with him made me even more excited about the event.

Sometimes our memories are triggered by hearing a song or seeing a person who looks like someone we used to know. Vintage Motorcycle Days was like that, but on a multi-sensory level. The first thing I noticed was not the smell of rural country air that I grew up with, but rather the unmistakable fragrance of two stroke engines and the distinctive cackle they produce. Then, I started to notice the bikes themselves. The first bike to catch my attention was a Honda 160. I had a buddy who owned a bike like that when we were in high school. Then I spied a 1975 DT 400 Yamaha. I owned one like that. And so it went all weekend. There were so many memories about not only the bikes, but also friends and acquaintances who had owned them. I saw every bike I ever owned and many more that I would like to own. Hondas, Suzuki X-6 Hustlers, Yamaha 650’s, and Honda Ascots as well as many other makes and models. I told my wife I was coming back next year with more money and a truck.

The other thing that impressed me as I relived the weekend during my drive back to New York was the people. I have taught at a community college for the past twenty-five years and have come to witness various fads and trends come and go. The thing that struck me about the folks at the Vintage Motorcycle Days was the lack of ego. It was all about the bikes. Guys were happy to share tips as well as rueful experiences in rebuilding their individual treasures. At the motel each night you could talk with complete strangers about bikes and memories as if you shared a common history. And, it dawned on me, we do. Each bike represents something in its owner’s life and I am sure there are as many stories as there are machines. Still, we all share a love for these bikes and the times they represent. I laughed as I thought of the image that some people have of motorcyclists as being loud and unruly. The motel was quiet each night as we retired early in order to be at the track when the gates opened the next morning. So much for those rowdy bikers.

I saw many unique sights during the weekend including my brother shaking hands with Giacomo Agostini who served as Grand Marshall for the event and some of the most beautiful machinery anywhere. But what I left with was a sense of belonging and pride at sharing a passion for preserving a part of our heritage that is very important to so many people like myself. I am thrilled to be a member of the Vintage Japanese Motorcycle Club and look forward toward meeting other like- minded individuals.

For many guys my age, this is a time to look back with sadness or regret at things they didn’t do. I think that an interest in vintage bikes provides not a means of escape from the present, but creates an appreciation and sense of gratitude for having the opportunity to reunite the past with the present and meet people with a similar interest. And so, as I registered for the drawing at the MV Augusta display, when I saw the line that asked for my age I did not hesitate. I proudly wrote “vintage”.