LONGTIME ENTHUSIASTS RECOUNT THEIR HARLEY BEGINNINGS
Writtn by Chris Callahan
Fall/Winter '93 Enthusiast

If you've ever been haunted by the sound of a lonely, far-off train whistle or been tempted to wanderlust by diesel fumes and the gruff truck-stop idle of a Cummins-engined 18-wheeler, then you'll understand.

It's the same kind of excitement that grabs longtime Harley-Davidson riders

Henry Patterson and Vivian Faison when they hear the loping, uneven cadence of a 45-inch Flathead.

Both Patterson, a Colorado native who lives in Topeka, Kan., and Mrs. Faison, from Albany, Ga., have 60 years of open-road memories to draw from starting aboard Harley 45s.

"Actually, my first motorcycle was a 1928 21-inch single," recalls Patterson, owner of Harley-Davidson Sales and Service in Topeka. "That was 1930. I really thought I had something. We did real well for about six weeks, until an automobile decided it shouldn't let me pass through an intersection successfully."

While this put an abrupt halt to wanderlust possibilities, Patterson's interest never wavered. Late in 1933, he bought a 45-inch "basket case" for $65. He relished the restoration despite the amount of work required to make the bike roadworthy. The engine needed new rollers and pistons as well as a trip to the local machine shop for a rebore.

Patterson laughs, "Back then, the cylinders had to be 0.005 smaller at the top than at the bottom so that they would stay straight when they got hot." A contemporary maroon and copper paint job with the newest tank decal make the old 45 look like the "new" Harleys. Just the ticket to stir visions of new places and people, far from his home in the Rockies.

The Chicago World's Fair of 1933 beckoned. Called 'A Celebration of a Century of Progress," the exposition was in its second year. So in 1934, Patterson left Grand Junction, Colo., for Chicago, to visit an uncle. First stop - Denver - an overnight with a friend. Like all novice tourers, Patterson got more than he bargained for.

"The roads were all gravel and full of chuckholes," he said. 'Before I reached Denver, the bike quit. Between the bad roads and the shaking of the machine, a battery bar had broken. I managed to squeeze it back together with pliers." The makeshift repair got him to Denver, where he had the bar reset and soldered into place.

By the time he made Omaha, Neb. the battery quit for good. He hitched a ride into town to buy a new battery. The shop owner treated him to a ride on a brand new Harley on the way back to his stranded 45. "It was an impressive ride, real smooth in comparison," Patterson said.

Back in the saddle, northeast-bound to Chicago, his 45 found the rhythm of the road. A few days later, Patterson hooked up with his uncle. While his uncle worked, he explored the exposition. The fair was enjoyable, but getting around Chicago was something else. 'The cars would race from stoplight to stoplight. My little 45, with its weak clutch, had a hard time keeping out of their way."

With Milwaukee a mere day's ride to the north, Patterson left Chicago and rode straight to 3700 Juneau Avenue. "I went in, told them who I was, where I was from and that I would like a tour." He was led to a waiting room containing all sorts of Harley-Davidson brochures, posters and promotional gear, including pre-paid Harley postcards - a convenient way to write home and share the romance of the open road with friends.

The tour was impromptu, but thorough. Sixty years later, Patterson recalls the huge turret lathes and milling machines, blind ladies sorting various-sized rollers by hand and the "million dollar toolroom" of extra tooling to keep the big presses, lathes and mills going.

At tour's end, he got the biggest surprise of all: His basket-case 45 had been cleaned up, tuned up and topped up with a full tank of Harley oil. He swears that the machine ran just a little better, a little smoother back to Chicago.

At age 83, he spends more time on the golf course than in the saddle. But he still makes the daily trip into his award-winning Harley dealership in Topeka. His son took over as general manager; his grandson is the sales manager. "Coming around keeps me young," Patterson explains. "But I leave most of the business to them it's a young people's sport."

As for future plans, he'd like to do a 60-year anniversary tour of the factory in Milwaukee - this time a little more leisurely, more in-depth. "So much has changed since 1934, but people seem to enjoy motorcycling now as much as ever and the roads are a whole lot better."