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By Troyce Walls
Day One.
We got to the track infield at about 1030 and the areas to set up near the International Horseshoe were already about full. There would have been plenty of space around the other side of the infield course, but we found a fair place near the Ôshoe since thatÕs where we were last year and weÕre hoping to provide some consistency.
All the bikes were unloaded and queued up along one of the infield drive paths so weÕd be visible. As usual, we were answering questions and responding to the ubiquitous, ŌI had one of them and I wish I never . . .Ķ statements immediately. Lots of folks start looking, pointing, and talking even while the bikes are still on the trailer. There was never a really good opportunity to arrange the bikes properly in the infield, as there was not adequate room nor time. We noticed that it was difficult for humans to walk between and around the bikes, so we vowed to do better the next time.
Day One was a fine time and it was what it's all about. I got hoarse from yelling about old J-bikes. If I had a dollar for every person that said, "Hey! I had one a them, and them, and it . . . .wish I'd never . . . " etc., I would have had, well, maybe about 75 bucks. Anyway it was everything it promised to be, and we had a blast that first day. Marty was sulking around moanin' about how they no Suzys nowhere, no Kwak triples, no two-strokes, so I looked up expecting to see something somewhere to prove him wrong.
The VJMC on the Daytona Infield
I did see a tricked H2 just a few feet away, but then silently starting noticing that with a 160 or so sweep of my eyes and by taking a couple of steps, I could see pretty much any type of Harley there is, several Indians, a whole bunch of fine little Hondas including a couple of painted tank three-speed C110s, a gaggle of Cushman Eagles, an MV "einscylindre" Paris-Dakar replica parked right next to a modern Laverda twin (from which a comely flaxen haired lass in very complementary leathers had just demounted, pulling her full face hat off and shaking her hair out with the sun streaking through like a TV commercial while she so elegantly slipped on her shades), a Vincent Comet and Rapide, an Africa Twin, a CBX with 1800 miles on the odo, several Indian Enfields and one real one, a Scott Flying Squirrel, a Triumph Hurricane, a Gilera 124 FL Especiale, a single side front fort Yam GTS (?), and the list just goes on and on, more special and normal and odd stuff that I could shake a stick at. In the background o BSA sleds and old tank shift HDs were backfiring and trumpeting around the International Horseshoe, a chambered Suzy GT750 burbled by behind me and an open reverse cone megged Norton Commando finally busts off after being kicked through twenty times then cleaned up with the sweetest melody, the announcer over the speakers up on the poles was trying to be louder than the whole cacophony, and it was all superlative, wondrous, and . . . . Bike Week at the track.
Day Two was almost a clone of Day Two, perfect weather, lots of bikes and people but not as many as Monday. Marty brought his beautiful Suzuki TC250, and it was a sight to behold. It took a cadre of Japanese visitors pouring over the bike like mites to point out the minor inconsistencies, ones that looked very stock to the rest of us. Marty, with his usual good demeanor, agreed that they were probably correct in their evaluation. A fine job, nonetheless, as good a J-bike restoration as IÕve seen. Doug Swick had his fine CYB Super Hawk there, and it would be difficult to pick between it and the TC. IÕd have to take Ôem both.
The DeLand Auction
On Wednesday, Paul Enz, Bob Quigg, and I went to DeLand to sign up early in order to get auction seats right up front and check out that scene. Again, perfect weather. I brought Fred HunterÕs CX650T up in my trailer for the auction. Fred had previously temporarily replaced the handlebars with a big steel beam for tie down capability, and take my word for it, itÕs not easy to leave the displaced bars/cable assembly alone while actually using the bar for steering while pushing around. A weird sensation. So we cruised all the first bikes submitted for the auction, and found the usual spectrum of perfect to shoddy examples. From Broughs, Tesis, and Indian Fours to a rough Sears 250, all standing proud, hoping for high dollar.
Quigg and I signed up for the auction and got seats on the front row, right in front of the viewing roll on/off stand. We bullshitted around with all the folks we ran into that we knew for a while (hours), then wandered outside and checked out the swap meet. Nothing there of interest to J-bikers, and really nothing much there at all. (Note: this is where the impending plan for a J-bike parts swap meet might glove in nicely). We went around front of the building and scoped out our display area for Thursday, then checked out the plethora of bikes in the field opposite. Harold M. was there on his BSA scrambler and went on the vintage ride that morning. A fellow from Miami went on the ride aboard one of the five Honda CB92s that we spotted during the week. Paul Enz talked to him for quite a while, and discovered that he had never heard of the VJMC even though heÕd owned the CB92 for 20 years! HeÕs a definite Sign-Up I think.
Billy Orazio's Honda Cubs. I got to ride the red one.
Day Four.
The weather was again splendid, about 60 deg F on the way to 75; The Maker was smiling on Bike Week. Making sure that nobody would get our spot and have to be kicked out, we arrived at the Edmunds Center in DeLand at about 0830. No reason to fear, the only persons there were ones with the big trucks/trailers unloading auction bikes. Quigg stretched out the VJMC banner, I went to Wal-Mart and bought a nice Coleman camping table to put the apps, sample newsletters, and raffle tickets on. Having remembered the ÔcumbersomenessÕ of the bike arrangement at the track, we arranged them so that they looked more like everyone had just driven up helter skelter and parked, but with an artful eye towards placement. It looked great, we got several nice complements on it, and even Jerry Woods admitted it looked good and suggested we come back again next year. We need more folks to show up though, because as you will see in the pics, there was too much grass and not enough vintage J-bikes.
It was a fine day, better than at the track. Because of where we were placed, we couldnÕt be missed, and the great old oaks gave us shade. As an aside, even though it was impossible to walk into the E. Center without seeing the display, some folks made it a point to look 180 out the other way, almost tripping over themselves to avoid seeming to notice any filthy J-bikes, not matter how clean they are. Happens every year, and is an amazing phenomenon to me. But thatÕs a very dead horse, and thereÕs no need to further pulverize it here.
Day Five.
We got to the E. Center a little later on Friday, based on the previous days experience. Again, we were set up right out front, and spent the entire day chatting with passers-by. One thing I noticed is that in addition to the by now expected interest by us aging Boomers, there were lots of folks, SOs in tow, walking all around the old sixties stuff and asking lots of questions. Many times it started, ŌHey, my [insert: uncle, dad, neighbor, etc.] has given me on of these and I was wondering . . . Ō Excellent.
The week seemed a blur late on Friday. I couldnÕt believe it already was almost over. This part of the year has become to me like Christmas was when I was a kid. I hear the HDs rumbling up I-95 from my house days before the Week, and it becomes almost palatable. The excitement is in the air, and I can feel it.
Day Six.
The Auction provided no greater thrills than usual, but it was still fun. Quigg bought a pretty nice CL125 twin, Marty an XS650, and me a Berlin motor scooter. Mine is definitely the ugliest of the three.
A great time was had by all, and we need to see more of you folks there next year. After all, IÕve a buddy in Japan that intends to show up, and if he can come that far . . .
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