Field of (wet) Dreams

Field of (Wet) Dreams

Soaking up the ambiance at one of the East's big classic motorcycle gatherings

OKAY, CHILLY LATE-MAY SQUALLS are supposed to happen in the U.K. and Europe; in the States, not! But if D. Edwards & Co. can endure a splish-splash in California wine country, we of the Other Coast might at least fill our boot-cleats with a little Maryland mud while browsing old two-wheelers.

Inclemency aside, year two of British & European Classic Motorcycle Day, held at Butler’s Orchard in Gaithersburg, still pulled more than 900 loyalists, mostly from along the Atlantic seaboard, with a soupcon of Ohioans and New Englanders.

Terry Parker, president of organizers Classic Bike Day, Inc., was awed by the numbers who made the soggy pilgrimage. He’d sat out a near-typhoon the previous night, morose over the prospects. “We were worried,” Parker confides. “But the vendors and the people kept coming.”

Meantime, local classic-bike clubs contributed plenty; Parker singles out the Nation’s Capital Norton Owners. “They give us full participation,” he says. “They’re very organized.”

Quite. As wobbly male board members pondered cancellation in the early a.m., sturdy Norton women braced ’em up with cold looks, hot coffee and donuts. In the end, spectators, entrants and vendors, all tired of cabin fever, simply wanted to get on with spring, cruddy weather notwithstanding. So what if every Concours d’Elegance bike shared the same handicap? “Yep, they all were dirty!” Parker laughed. “But even in the rain, those people were bringin’ ’em out. Amazing.” In all, 101 gorgeous stormers posed wetly for the delectation of onlookers and the judges’ scrutiny.

Among the amazements was John Illenye’s riveting 1913 Lea Francis. Worldwide, only six of the sidecar outfits remain. And New Yorker Illenye rides his-no matter the exposed valve springs and total-loss cylinder oiling! Illenye also entertained the troops, sliding heartily over slick grass on his Waiting, museum-quality 1917 British Dispatch Riders’ Triumph.

Maybe the most astounding sight, though, was expatriot Englishman Kenneth Askey and his equally dauntless granddaughter riding in on a monstrous sidehacked Gold Wing that was pulling...steady now...an open trailer with Askey’s 1933 BSA Blue Star chocked in! They’d whirred down from Albany, New York, in the rain, bless ’em.

So, to the quintessential query: Why give up a hard-earned Sunday at home to ride to these chilly moors-or to push that 100-point machine through the muck? Blair Chapman, whose ’68 Norton Commando took second-inclass, echoes many with his comments: “They’re fun, they’re not plastic, they’re rebuildable, you can keep ’em forever.”

He was speaking of Nortons, but the outlook applies equally to any of the sporty old Ducatis, Guzzis, BMWs, Triton café-bikes and the others glowing like wraiths in the moist Fog of Ages. Simply put: It’s love of the breed.

There was a lot to see and hear on these verdant hillocks, and for a 10 spot, huge bang for the buck. Newly inspired, Terry Parker foresees as many as 3500 celebrants next time around. That would make the East Coast

Stay tuned. David C. Walsh