My husband grew up with the same childlike anticipation for his annual tradition. He can still recall the smell of 50 weight oil, metal, exhaust and sweet, sweet patina from attending antique swap meets with his dad. My husband can proudly say that in all of his glorious years on this Earth, he has YET to miss Wauseon, OH in July. Within a month of dating, I recognized and swallowed down the pill that I was never going to be his first love. I am a perpetual mistress to two wheels, a V-twin, and when he’s riding high, four cylinders. And I love it.
I was blessed with the privilege of embracing the antique motorcycle world and welcoming it into my life with stories of my husband urinating in the same sleeping bag as his father, sleeping under a truck with watchful eyes on a 1936 Knucklehead. He says he was three…my guess is he was 13 and wanted a rise out of the crew.