Ron Reminisces
by: Ron Minnick
ISRA#: 966

Time has a way of erasing memories, but I can still hear the tom-tom beats of a full-skirted Indian Chief echoing across our little valley.

In 1948, events were occurring that would forever direct a 12 year old country boy' s future. The sights and sounds of the "iron-horse" fascinated me, just as it does today. Indian and Harley-Davidson literature was treasured and worn thin from use. My Dad had owned a Harley Sport Twin in the 1920's and about this time the bug to ride again bit him, helped by my interest in motor cycles. We were great friends and spent much time together when he was not working and I was not in school.

Our first 2-wheel adventure was a well-used, Whizzer, motorbike. With its tiny 3-hp engine, belt-drive and coaster brake, it was better than peddling, but not by much. The best part of its brief stay was when a friend rode it to our house on a dark rainy night. Harry was noted as the town's joker and for his many tales of motorcycle riding ability, but he met his match that night. With it's feeble headlight glowing like a firefly, Harry was seen bent low over the handlebars, peering through his foggy glasses into the darkness and rain. With water splashing up from the road and pouring down from above, there was not a dry spot on the brave soul, and when he finally made it home, he looked like a drown rat. My Dad said it was worth the price of the Whizzer just to see him make the ride!

In the spring of 1949, my Dad started looking for a real motorcycle. We looked at the 125 Harley with it's rubber-band front suspension, but Harley dealers then, as now, were not easy to deal with.

A nearby Royal-Enfield and Triumph dealer, whose whole operation was housed in a 2-car garage, didn't have anything in stock to offer us. It's interesting that you can still buy a Royal-Enfield, now made in India that looks and performs like those of 50 years ago.

Because I had received literature on the new lightweight Indians, we went to Dave's Indian Cycle shop in Syracuse, NY. I still have memories of bright new blue, yellow and black Indian Arrow and Scouts, and the beautiful red full-skirted Indian Chief. Sharing the floor were Vincents with 150-mph speedometers and massive v-twin motors. There were glass counters filled with accessories and parts, with saddlebags and buddy-seats hanging on the walls. And the odors, the gasoline, the oil and the leather, with the doors open wide in the summer and closed against the snow in the winter, the cycle shops of that era had a unique and delicious smell lost in today's world.

On a cold, spring evening, Dave delivered to us a shiny new blue Indian Arrow. It was the most wonderful thing in the world! With a 4-speed foot-shift and a 220-cc single-cylinder motor, it gave me my first riding experience on a real motorcycle. It would do about 55 mph but for my Dad, who rode it back and forth to work, it soon became, "too slow." Looking back, I realize my Dad had Competitive Streak, as in later years he would come to own some speedy V-8 Studebakers and Plymouths.

In the fall of 1950, the Arrow was traded for a new black vertical twin, Indian Scout. This had much more power than the single and my Dad rode it for a number of years, adding chrome and accessories as time went by.

The Scout had some problems, but a new magneto and a British Amal carburetor greatly improved the performance. We also visited Endre's Indian in Utica. Small and cramped, it was down on Canal Street next to the shoe stores and dress shops. Motorcycles were lined along the inside wall, with barely room to walk between them. He sold Indians though, with some great looking Chiefs along the streets of Utica.

Back in the 1950's, many motorcycle owners parked their motorcycle in front of where they were employed or lived. Riders were proud of their steeds, and liked to show them off. Of course bike riders then were not always considered to be part of mainstream society, maybe it was because of our seemingly rebellious nature. In later years, Mr. Honda would change that attitude some, but even today, most people think we march to a different drumbeat.