The History of grandpa’s Harley
1996- A turn for the worst
Grandpa had a stroke while working on the farm with my father. He was severely injured from the task at hand. He spent about two weeks in a comma and was never able to recover from his injuries. After his funeral, his motorcycle sat in the corner of the barn where it had for many years prior. The same question that so many people had asked grandpa was now asked to my dad, “Do you want to sell that bike of Duffy’s?” The answer, of course, was still no. Several years before he passed my grandfather told Ed that the bike was going to be Phil’s bike. The past 40+ years my grandfather had been telling people his motorcycle wasn’t for sale knowing they wanted to chop the bike, he always said it wouldn’t be chopped. It wasn’t until this day that dad knew my grandfather wanted that old motorcycle to be his. I am not exactly sure why grandpa said this. At the time I think my Dad had only ridden a motorcycle twice in his life. I believe the fact that grandpa had one son, my father, had something to do with it.
how the bike became one of the family
1952- The 
First Ride
Duffy, my grandfather purchased this bike on September 24, 1952. My Grandmother, Lois, was unsuspecting of his intent to purchase another motorcycle to replace the H-D 45 flathead that he laid down roughly two weeks prior. His first ride was straight to the hospital to check in on his wife and new born son. Phil, my father, was only one day old when Grandpa took his first ride.
1963- Kaput
One morning, while on his way to Tipton Tool and Die for work, Grandpa ran into a bit of bad luck when the motor in his bike seized. My father remembers the phone call grandpa made to the house looking for help. My grandmother, Lois and my father, Phil both went to see what they could do. Grandma, remembers Grandpa being stranded on US12 just before the Irish Hills Towers, while dad recalls the location to be on the last curve of Springvile highway before reaching US12. One thing is certain, it was the first time they had seen someone on a motorcycle being towed behind an old Buick.
One of the two locations shown in the December 2007 photos is where grandpas bike broke down. Dad recalls it happening on the last curve of Springvile Highway before US12 (Above) While Grandma believes it to have been on US12 just before the Irish Hills Towers Towers. (Right)
1963-1995 Rough Idling
During this 32 year period the motorcycle never moved under its own power. It was moved various times around the family farm, between the work shed that my great grandfather had built in 1937, to the corner of the big barn where it spent years sitting. People who new Grandpa would stop by the farm ask him if he wanted to sell his old bike. He’d always answer the same, “No it’s not for sale.” He always said it would never be chopped, knowing thats was their intentions with his bike he refused to sell it. So it just sat for 40+ years.
My grandfather had hopes of pulling it out of the barn, blowing off the dust, fixing the motor, and getting it on the road again. One location Grandpa may have considered to restore is bike was thought to be in the farms original granary (Right). Following its retirement from storing grain and seed, it had become a storehouse for raw metal and steel of sorts.
On different occasions, a couple gentleman offered to pay to fix the bike and get it running for grandpa to ride again. The stipulation being, after grandpas riding days were through, the bike would become their own. One man, Ed tried many times to get Grandpa to accept this offer. Ed, being a long time Harley rider wanted Grandpa’s bike very much. Ed wasn’t after the bike because it was an old valuable motorcycle, and not because he wanted to chop it. Ed had much better reasons for wanting to get it going for Grandpa. During the late 50’s and early 60’s Grandpa drove truck delivering processed honey for Hubbard Aprees. It was in this parking lot where my Grandfather allowed Ed to ride his ’48 Panhead. Ed hasn’t forgotten his quick trip around the parking lot, his first, ever, ride on a Harley-Davidson
The family discussed fixing up the bike and surprising Grandpa for Christmas or his birthday. Unfortunately, we never figured out how to sneak it out of the corner of the barn where it had been buried for so many years.
1997- A dark and stormy night.
I heard the phone rang while doing homework in my room, I quickly answered it thinking it was one of my high school friends. To my surprise it was my great aunt Mayola. She proceeded to tell me she could see flames coming from the farm and it looked like it could be the barn. Her and my great uncle, Dacel had lived next door to the family farm for years.
Like a bolt of lightning my father was in his truck and on his way there. Soon to follow were mother and I like a load clap of thunder. We could see huge flames filling the sky as we approached. The entire barn resembled a small log burning in a campfire. My great grandfather had ran a saw mill and much of the lumber he had cut, laid in that barn. That nice dry wood and the saw dust piled high around the table saw made for good fuel. The fire was so intense, if you were to see a photo of it today you wouldn’t be able to tell it had been pouring down rain for hours before the fire started.
We knew there was no saving the building, so my dad had our local volunteer firefighters do the best they could to save the vehicles and equipment in the surrounding areas. I remember standing there looking at the flames with my dad. He ran over to one of the fireman, Stan and pointed out the location that grandpas bike had been sitting. “Dump a bunch of water in that corner, maybe we can still try to save dad’s bike”, he told Stan. Chewing on his popsicle stick Stan quickly maneuvered himself in a position that he could hose down that area of the barn. I think Stan, as many of the fireman that night, wanted to help save that old bike, Stan was my dad’s next door neighbor growing up. He had memories of grandpa riding the motorcycle around town just as my dad did. I remember Stan yelling to my dad a little while later to come over there. Stan with his flashlight, directed us to look over at the corner of the barn. There it was, sitting outside in the pouring rain. The barn had fallen over and tossed the bike outside in the rain and away from some of the heat. I was having trouble finding it through the rain and the darkness , my dad pointed to where it was and said “Right there, see it?”. It took me a moment to make out the dark dingy object that resembled a motorcycle. This was the first time I had ever seen grandpas bike. Up until this point I had only heard of it through people asking Grandpa if he would sell it. For the longest time I didn’t know grandpa had a motorcycle. I was only 15 years old when this took place.
1997 - 2005- Patently Waiting
After the fire the bike was brought into my grandma’s garage were it sat for several years. Until one day, my dad and I had a peeked interest in looking at the damage caused by the fire. We quickly cleaned a place off on the floor in his shop, and with all our strength muscled the bike along the floor, into the shop and up upon an old metal milk crate. Here it continued to patently sit, waiting to be worked on.
2005-Present Day
Check out the Restoration Blog, to find out what work is currently being done on Grandpa’s Harley.
