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Wild Motorcycle Tales

Here's a great story from edeee2. Got your own story? Send it to me.

Spook and his Motorcycle Graveyard

This story is an unforgettable-character type of story. Anyone in SW Ohio will probably have known or heard of a man named Spook. He was in the Trotwood area.

I met Spook in the very early years of the '60s. Spook was a tall very thin man with years of riding motorcycles under his butt. His hair was thin but usually was sticking up. He usually had several days growth of beard. He got his nickname honestly. At times he was a spooky looking guy. Spook ran a motorcycle graveyard.

I needed a cable for my Triumph and didn't have enough $$$ for a new one. A school buddy took me up to Spook's to get a cable -- one at a price I could afford.

Spook had five or six small little-house-style buildings. Later I was told they were defense cabins. He had 10-12 busses that he stored bikes and parts in. He had complete bikes that appeared to have nothing wrong with them. I saw many Indians, Hendersons, Britt bikes, Aerials, and Vincents. At this time these were just old bikes.

I learned early when going to get parts, always take a pack of smokes with me. Spook liked to smoke but for some reason he never seemed to have any. Cigarettes got good deals started.

My riding buddies and I got new and used parts from Spook for many years. He always tried to make us feel like we were getting the best of him. At times he was grumpy but was always decent to me (I had cigarettes).

One cold snowy winter day, an older guy I rode with called me and wanted me to ride up to Spook's with him to get parts for a chopper he was building. He and Spook knew each other by first name. He always referred to me as "hey you".

My buddy came to my house to get me. He came in and pulled out a 1/2 pint whiskey bottle from his pocket. It had maybe one good sip in it. He asked if I had any hard booze. We went to my stash and started to pour a little of everything I had into that 1/2 pint bottle. He shook the bottle and took a drink. Then he got a look of Dammmmmmmmmn! He handed it to me. I took a drink and immediately used every word of profanity I knew. It tasted awful. Kerosene would have tasted better.

We got to Spook's. I had smokes and my buddy left the bottle of "trade whiskey" showing in his pocket. We talked parts, smoked, then Spook saw the bottle. He tells us that a drink will help us get a better deal. He takes a drink and makes one of the most awful faces I had ever seen. Told us that was the nastiest stuff he had ever tasted. We both took a drink and told him we thought it was good. When I took a drink I put my tongue over the end of the bottle so all I tasted was what got on the end of my tongue. As we talked, Spook says maybe that stuff will taste better if I have another drink. He drinks, we drink, he smokes my smokes, and we smoke. Talk, smoke, drink, and tell tales of the wimmens. We left the bottle of "trade whiskey" with him and my part-pack of cigarettes. We got a good deal on parts and went home.

As the years went on, Spook joined the sky riders. He left his business to his nephew. The business is still there today. All the good parts for the old bikes are long gone. No HD stuff, no Indian stuff. I have no idea what happened to all of these golden parts. Today it is mostly metric stuff. When I ask about old HD and Indian parts, all I hear is: "Ain't got none!"

If Spook were alive today and still had the stash of parts, to us bikers his wealth would rival Donald Trump's. Rest in peace Spook. You're not forgotten. -- edeee2

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