In April 1947 one very pregnant woman (my mom) flew from South America to the USA.. So I would be born an American citizen. Then when I was about 6 weeks old she returned to her husband and home. (My family later emigrated to N.J. in 1951.)
The conveyance for these voyages were early postwar airliners powered by large air-cooled radial piston engines. The leg over the Caribbean was flown by a Lockheed Constellation; stateside, it was most likely Douglas DC-4. In flight, these craft filled the cabin -- and my mother's womb -- with a sweet , syncopated and mellifluous cacaphony from amazingly complex, reciprocating and well-maintained machines -- the four engines out on the wings.
These neo and post natal aural memories had their effect. As a young boy I was fascinated by, and drawn to, aircraft, especially airliners with these magnificent engines. At Nantucket in the summer, my Uncle would drive me and brother Eddie to the airport just to watch and hear them come and go for hours. I would avidly devour magazines like Air Progress.I built little plastic models. I collected Dinky Toy airplanes.
Even today when I -- very rarely -- encounter one of these now-antique marvels, some special indescribable feeling comes over me, akin to something like religion or love or rapt infatuation.
At some point in my youth, I heard a motorcycle for the first time. It was a big loud raucous Harley or Indian, long before sedate quiet Hondas or their ilk. The sound stopped me in my tracks. It was almost like those airliner engines, for the motorcycle engines were, in effect, miniature versions. Later on I also discovered that motorcycles, like aircraft, banked when they turned. I began to be aware of motorcycles. In New York State we lived on US Route 202 and big packs of them would often ride by, sounding like a monstrous airliner. I was hooked.
By 1965 a recent high school grad is envious of his friend's neat little single cylinder motorbikes. They range in size from Honda 90 to a Jawa 125. His parents won't buy him one. But they say he can buy one himself if he earns the money. He works two jobs for most of the summer of '65. And determined to outsize his friends' bikes, he starts searching for the biggest one $125 can buy.
That odyssey lands him one August night in the basement of Corey's Cycle, Upper Saddle River, NJ. What confronts him is a $125 not-running motorcycle with twin cylinders and not 90, 200, not 300, but 452 cc of displacement. Sold. Turns out, it was a rare Zundapp Citation. Only about 200 were ever sold. Far fewer exist today.
Eventually this youth discovers the rarity he has adopted, finds even rarer parts, and rebuilds it. In his travels he quickly learns that if he encounters another rare example of Citation in disrepair, do not quibble and purchase it promptly as a parts source. That Fall, he finds a wrecked Citation at the Sports Spot in Wayne , N. J. and buys it for-- you guessed it -- another $125.
That was the launch of my motorcycle thing. I went on to build some, collect some and photography many. I focused on rare vintage and custom built machines. As I aged I rode less. My interest was always lay more in the machinery itself than the riding experience.
There was then a long hiatus (i. e, during my marriage -- because my wife hated bikes and also my five liter Mustang ). This ended when I took the course in life entitled Divorce 101: wife serves papers, husband goes and buys new motorcycle with commingled funds.
So in mid 2009, this bike, an Excelsior Henderson, arrived from Tennessee and the next day I rode it to Berlin center and back. It was a monster compared to bikes of the old days. It weighed almost twice as much, had electric start and you definitely felt like a passenger, not the pilot in command.
The last bike I rode, in 2015, was the 1120 Musket. It's old school, about 380 pounds, kickstart and insanely fast. I was pretty sick, but that didn't stop me. Since then I have stopped riding. The big C means I can't lift weight anymore (nephro's strict orders) so I really no longer trust my physical riding abilities.
But I sure still build motorcycles. The impatient one downstairs was waiting not for a ride. But for me to put heavy duty clutch springs in it. I just got them from Germany. And today what arrived was the elusive and rare Doppelzündung Zylinderkopf I had been trying to find for months and months. This is for the next bike after the one downstairs. That will be number 12.
After that, no #13 is in the cards. I am superstitious. I have another project instead. An antique truck (1939 Ford) with. ..you guessed it ....a 1953 radial aircraft engine. It's in a friend's barn . Half done. Waiting.
Mad Scientist
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