A Wild Irish Girl on a motorcycle

I purchased this poster at the National Motorcycle Museum.

 Tucked away in the small town of Anamosa, Iowa, the National Motorcycle Museum was, until this month, an astonishingly vast and important collection of rare and splendid motorcycles, bicycles, memorabilia and art. 

The brainchild of collector and businessman John Parham, the museum was a jewel hidden in the cornfields. Its location was simultaneously intriguing and daunting. Away from the population centers it could never attract the kind of visitation a non-profit museum requires. 

Blogger Jorge Pullin visited, commenting that it was a three-plane nightmare that cost as much as a trip to Europe. 

The museum closed Sept. 4, 2023 and its remaining 300 motorcycles and 6,000 related but incredibly varied items were auctioned off Sept. 6-9. 

I only visited the museum once, wondering simultaneously what it and I were doing in a place as isolated as Anamosa, Iowa.

I was there with my wife, her brother and their mother on a mission to track down their family history. A stop at the motorcycle museum was a treat for me.

It was just too much to take in (watch the video to see what I mean).

But I did take away memories, a museum T-shirt, and a copy of a poster I spotted on the wall entitled "A Wild Irish Girl."

The brave girl depicted in the poster reminded me of the brave woman I married.

It's also a stirring image of a motorcycle at speed, evocative of early 20th Century models.

It's shown with an acetylene headlight, common on the very earliest motorcycles, but the gas tank is more rounded than on the early "flat tank" motorcycles.

Online references occasionally suggest that it illustrated the book "A Wild Irish Girl" by Elizabeth Thomasina Meade Smith, who wrote under the name L.T. Meade. (Note that the source refers to the book as "The Wild Irish Girl," but images of the book show that the title was "A Wild Irish Girl," as in my poster.)

However, that is a 1910 book, and photos of the book itself show a cover with a much more restrained portrait of a girl.

There is more than one version of the book cover online; could the girl on the motorcycle be from a later edition unknown to Google Image Search?

 I don't think so. Meade's book can be read online, and, while it is an amusing story of an attractive, independent, and stubborn 15-year-old girl, it does not contain the word "motorcycle." Or even "cycle." Or "moto."

Traffic is often referred to as including "motors," but this is obviously meant to mean automobiles. Patricia, the girl in question, and one of strong opinions, professes to "hate motors."

So, that's not it.

My copy of the poster shows no indication of an author's name (again suggesting it is not a book or magazine cover), or any artist's signature. 

L.T. Meade's book was written for young people. A more adult book, "The Wild Irish Girl," by Sydney Owenson, appeared in 1806. Politically controversial for promoting both Irish and female independence, it contained (of course, in 1806) no motorcycles.

So where did the image of the girl on the motorcycle originate? The only clue is the words "A Wild Irish Girl."

The phrase "wild Irish girl" has been around probably as long as Irish girls.

Mid-16th Century England denied citizenship to the people of the "wild Irish nation."

"The term would be appropriated by the Irish themselves in latter years, depriving it of its sting," one source notes.

There's no doubt the daring Irish girl on the motorcycle is depicted as an example of bravery. She appears to me to be fleeing, either in desperation or determination. Her goal is more important to her than the impending crash.

She's riding that motorcycle "like she stole it."

The museum's framed copy of the poster I have was to be auctioned off in company other posters of women motorcyclists, as Lot 366.

Mine is not for sale.

Royal Enfield sidecar outfit tops a wedding cake

Bride and groom ride a Royal Enfield sidecar outfit;
on a wedding cake.

It might seem odd to encounter a Royal Enfield motorcycle and sidecar on Etsy.com — the online mall for handmade items, vintage goods and crafts.

This striking "wedding cake topper" was spotted by my daughter Erin, a frequent Etsy shopper.

The specially crafted Royal Enfield outfit is the work of "Cindy," of Marshfield, Wis. Her Etsy store Enchanted You features a variety of specialty cake toppers, many of them including motorcycles.

This Royal Enfield appears to have been specially created for bride and groom Leigh and Ron in 2014, and features the happy couple and their pets. Enchanted You's price is $235.

"The price you see will include two pets or one child. However I can make it any way you would like," Cindy writes.

"I worked with polymer clay for 14 years now and really enjoy it. I love working with weddings and brides. As you can see I can make just about anything you are looking for. It would be my pleasure to make a personalized wedding cake topper for you that will become a treasured keepsake for years to come!"

The cake topper is five inches tall and weighs under a pound. I thought it was pretty unique.

But "please note," Erin added when she pointed it out to me: "There will be no vehicles on my wedding cake."

The man who made motorcycles look modern

It's the distinctive front end that sets this motorcycle apart.
(All images from Brooks Stevens Collection, Milwaukee Art Museum)

I don't consider my 1999 Royal Enfield Bullet stylish. To me, it looks like the dictionary definition of a motorcycle.

The traditional Harley-Davidson motorcycle strikes me the same way. It so obviously looks like a motorcycle should look that it's hard to believe someone "styled" it. Someone did. His name was Brooks Stevens.

Studebaker Wagonaire.

I learned this from the response to my post recalling the futuristic styling of vehicles and household appliances when I was a kid in the 1950s.

One rhubarb came from my friend, author Doug Kalajian.

"Any reason you didn't mention the obvious connection, Brooks Stevens?" he chided me.

Brooks Stevens, who died in 1995, was an industrial designer who shaped automobiles and household products — and, yes, motorcycles — during a career from 1935 to at least 1978.

Stevens designed the Studebaker Wagonaire car I used as an example in my post. It had a innovative sliding roof to increase cargo space.

Doug remembers Brooks Stevens best for the outlandish Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

Oscar Mayer Wienermobile.

As for motorcycles:

"He ... designed Harley-Davidson motorcycles including the 1949 Hydra-Glide Harley, one of his first, helping create the new suspension forks in the front, bucket headlight, and the streamline design. All Harleys since, including models in production now, are based on Stevens' body designs," according to Wikipedia.

Famed designer Craig Vetter wrote the story of Stevens' influence on the design of Harley-Davidsons in a Cycle World Magazine article in 2004.

Stevens worked in Wisconsin his whole career, so having the Milwaukee-based Harley-Davidson as a client is not a surprise.

The Milwaukee Art Musuem has a magnificent, searchable online archive of his products and designs. It is well worth browsing.

Harley-Davidson.

You'll be amazed at the breadth of goods he shaped. Children's tricycles and pedal cars! Steam irons! Lawn mowers!

My favorite example of Stevens' influence on life is his invention of the wide-mouthed peanut butter jar. He said he liked peanut butter (me too!) so much he was frustrated trying to get it out of the tall, narrow bottles it came in.

Stevens coined the term "planned obsolescence," which he thought was a good thing in a consumer-driven economy. If he were alive today he would be tearing up his own designs, making products look like tomorrow's tomorrow.

Personally, I'm satisfied to appreciate the wonderful vision of the future he gave us in the 1950s and '60s.

Replica motorcycle for the man who has everything

This replica motorcycle and biker chick are just the thing for the den.

In the 1950s, Royal Enfield motorcycles were sold in the United States badged as Indian motorcycles. This historical fact means that I'm continually looking at pictures of Indian motorcycles, trying to decide if they are really Royal Enfields beneath the nameplate.

This photo, from a CraigsList ad in Burlington, N.C., appears to show a replica of a genuine Indian motorcycle, not a Royal Enfield.

Note the full spats on the fenders, and the iconic Indian Chief ornament on the front fender. There are the full sweptback Indian handlebars and the cluster of headlamps typical of the Indian brand.

This is not a real motorcycle, of course, and that is not a real bathing beauty perched on the seat.

The seller says the complete thing is 20 inches long and 16 inches to the top of the girl's head. Wheels are rubber and the kickstand works.

Who would have created such a thing, and why? My only guess is that it was featured on a carnival ride.

"I really have no idea about any of it," the seller, Angie, told me. "I bought it at an auction just because I know that Indian motorcycle stuff is highly collectible. I haven't put a lot of effort into selling it yet."

The asking price is only $200.

As it sits, it is just the thing for my den — if I had a den.

Royal Enfield Constellation in the shed is a work of art

A Royal Enfield Constellation is the subject of "In The Shed," by Ian Cater.

Artist Ian Cater paints portraits of motorcycles from the era of the cafe racers: Triumphs, BSA Gold Stars, Tritons, Nortons and even a Brough Superior, shown with their intrepid riders. His inspiration was a visit to the "Ace Cafe Reunion Brighton Burn Up," held every year on the sea front in Brighton.

You can see his stirring artwork at this website,  Motorcycle Art UK.

Oddly, Ian never finished his first painting of a motorcycle, a 1962 Royal Enfield Constellation he found battered and forgotten. He wrote to share the story of "The Painting I Never Finished":

"I'm a kind of illustrator working in advertising and about eight years ago I started painting pictures of '50s/'60s British motorcycles in my spare moments, mainly because I'm quite big on nostalgia and retro stuff and also because seeing these lovely machines preserved and still rumbling around the roads of Britain reminds me of my youth in the late '60s and early '70s

"I wasn't much of a biker myself but both my brothers were and a lot of their friends. As you know, British motorcycle manufacturers were having a hard time back then and as many riders swapped their old BSAs, Nortons and Triumphs for shiny new Hondas and Yamahas, you could pick up an oil-stained '50s machine for peanuts.

"My brother Andy had a liking for BSA A7 and A10 sidecar combinations, which he'd buy from old blokes who were moving over to driving cars after years of gauntlets, oilskins and the wife moaning about the cold.

"He'd get them for as little as £15, strip them down, tune them up, ditch the sidecar body and replace it with a massive, wooden, flying-coffin toolbox for ballast. They were great fun on the road.

Showing a BSA who's boss, back in the day.

"To add some flavor of the period I've attached a photo of my brother Andy carrying out a bit of essential maintenance on an ancient, defenseless BSA A7. Note the plentiful oil top-up supplies — no need to change the oil, it never stuck around long enough.

"My other brother David, however, had decided to invest quite a bit more cash in a vastly superior set-up. To our amazement, he came home from a local dealer riding a 1962 Royal Enfield Constellation connected to a very sporty, bullet-nosed Watsonian sidecar, all in beautiful nick.

"It didn't stay beautiful for long though as, not used to riding this kind of set up and being overly optimistic about the gap between a parked car and an oncoming bus, he wrote off the car, the sidecar and nearly himself.

"The Enfield survived though and got converted to a solo, but soon ended up neglected, destined for years of storage in various lock-ups, an unlucky machine.

"He's still got it today and its grizzled, caged remains became the subject of my first attempt at painting a motorcycle. I never really finished it though; I hadn't got the style right. Eventually I'm going to do the right thing and paint another Enfield.

"I work with acrylic paints, which have similar characteristics to oils when not thinned, although the colors aren't so strong and they don't offer the same degree of opacity. However they dry quickly and are water solvent which is a big advantage.

"Yes, I work from photographs and yes, I shoot my own pictures, the exceptions being the MotoGP stuff; you need professional accreditation to get anywhere near those guys. I often use 'found' images to check details from different angles, just to check that what I'm looking at really is a breather tube and not a mudguard stay.

"Not that I'm mad keen on perfectly rendering every nut and bolt. I like to keep it roughish and energetic. Up close it can look a bit of a mess, but step back a few paces and everything's there." Check out his motorcycle art and other illustrations.

Motorcycle artwork captured the thrill of speed

In his recent post "Selling Speed" on The Vintagent blog, Paul d'Orleans writes that "the first motorcycle race started when the second motorcycle was built."

His article is a rich explanation of the speed-driven history of the motorcycle from its beginnings. It is  accompanied by examples of the wonderful motorcycle art and advertisements of each era.

d'Orleans explains that, by happy coincidence, some early cameras had shutters that exposed the shot from the bottom up. This meant that the bottom of a fast moving vehicle was photographed an instant before the top. By the time the shutter closed, forward motion had given the vehicle a distorted, forward-leaning look. Its round wheels now looked like ovals that seem to lunge forward.

Looking at these still photos, or the artwork they inspired, you just know the machine is going fast.

These images did more than just succeed in capturing speed. According to d'Orleans, the art ultimately began to influence the look of the motorcycles themselves. How else, in my opinion, to account for the popularity of "slopers" — motorcycles with their cylinders tilted forward toward the front wheel.

Rider, passenger, front cylinder and oval front wheel lean forward. Speed!

One of the illustrations he includes is my all-time favorite: R.C. Reyrolles' 1945 painting of a prototype HRD-Vincent Series B. Rapide.

I love the forward leaning picture of speed here (d'Orleans points out that the somewhat dandified rider's red scarf reveals the artist is French).

d'Orleans notes that the rider's "hot girlfriend" is the ultimate motorcycling accessory. Pretty pre-war passengers had been more demure. But nevermind the clinging (frightened?) blonde with the shapely legs. I wonder where I can get a pair of saddle shoes like his.

With apologies to the artist, I long ago modified his work in Photoshop (starting with a much lower resolution original) to emphasize the elements I find most interesting: speed, courage, fear and — OK — the blonde.

With apologies to the artist.