Photography by William Edgar
Great Garages: The Wheels of Time
April 1, 2006
Next, I find myself spirited into a Pebble Beach front-running Duesenberg
LeBaron Special Phaeton, arriving at a movie premiere in the 1930s, searchlights
sweeping the clouds, fans crying for autographs. In another reverie, the ’07
Grand Prix car, which “Willie K” Vanderbilt commissioned Renault to produce,
hurls me and my riding mechanic at an unheard-of 85 mph.; function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
Otis Chandler’s muscle car collection was once legendary. “I have a few
legitimate muscle cars left,” Chandler says. “My tastes change through the
years.” Despite his fluctuating preferences, Chandler considers all cars
timeless creations. “Cars are works of beauty, moving sculpture. I’m an art
collector.” (Click image to enlarge); function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
Granted, this art does not hang on a wall, though each vehicle is framed in
the context of its past. The two-seat 1913 Pope-Hartford roadster–striking in
its livery of orange and black with wood-spoked wheels–is the only remaining
6-cylinder Model 29 in existence. Next to that, the 1911 Simplex double-chain
drive touring car is one of only four in the world. Lozier’s ghostly gray 1909
Briarcliff model has survived the battery of Glidden Tours and two
transcontinental Great American Races. In the realm of antique luxury touring
cars, so high on 27-inch wheels, the 1911 Mercedes 38/70 is powered by a
gargantuan 9.8-liter 4-cylinder engine. This German example, its passengers in
frocks and flying feathers, might have graced the avenues of Berlin and Paris
when Nijinsky still danced. (Click image to enlarge); function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
The later cars, the classics, evoke more reckless lives that dash through
pages of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, presenting incongruous counterpoint to
the financial throes of the Great Depression. What is more extravagant than the
rake of a massive ’31 Duesenberg or the kingly air of Packard’s ’34
Dietrich-bodied coupe? Or, say, the lush richness of the ’30 Stutz Speedster
Phaeton’s red leather cockpit, where its driver is guaranteed 100 mph from the
dual overhead camshaft inline eight? Or again, Pierce-Arrow’s 1933 convertible
sedan, a V-12 of spectacular horsepower, so exceptional that only four were ever
made? Cadillac, Marmon, Lincoln. Like Garbo and Lombard, Gable and Astaire, they
are jewels from an era of loss and deficit. (Click image to enlarge)
On the museum’s mezzanine, motorcycles, like birds nesting above boulevards,
stand on two–occasionally three–wheels. As I ascend the stairs to this motorized
aviary, what steals my attention is a white, rubber-tired Strap Tank
Harley-Davidson of such pristine beauty in fit and finish that I hardly notice
its lovely leather belt drive. Two hundred of these were manufactured in 1907,
the same year that dirigibles raced in the James Gordon Bennett cup from St.
Louis to Asbury Park on the Jersey shore, and Theodore Roosevelt’s Great White
Fleet of battlewagons steamed the seven seas. Motorcycles were coming into
their own on city streets and some of our less ruinous rural roads. Among these
newborn machines were the Flying Merkel, the Marvel Curtiss, and others from
Indian, Flanders, Thor, and Alligator. Numerous examples of the finest American
and foreign-made motorcycles reside here.; function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
Mercer’s Raceabout could reach 100 mph. Ralph de Palma was victorious in one at the 1912 Santa Monica Road Races. (Click image to
enlarge)
“As I get older,” says Chandler, “and as much as I love the cars of the ’30s,
I’m more and more turning to the pre-1916 motorcycles that I never was around
for.”
Chandler rode on a Harley-Davidson Knucklehead as his sole means of
transportation while he was a student at Stanford University. An earlier model
of Chandler’s dearly loved school ride, a 61-inch 1936 Model E Knucklehead, is
prominently displayed under a mezzanine spotlight against Keith Collins’
tapestry depicting bygone days of board-track racing. Nearby, a “Small Tank” ’39
Crocker, which once belonged to Bill Harrah, gleams under the lights. And who
can help but take at least part of that notorious ride with T.E. Lawrence while
standing here before a Brough Superior? In so many ways, the Vintage Museum
envelops its guests and makes the experience memorable.
“Life doesn’t stop,” Chandler tells me, “it keeps going.” He smiles at the
sentiment, but he means it–he believes in zeal, lives for it. “Be involved!” he
says. “Get a passion!”
It’s still raining when I say goodnight to Chandler and his wife, Bettina.
The day has spanned decades. I’ve traveled to hundreds of places on as many cars
and motorcycles from this Vintage Museum of Transportation and Wildlife. I’ll
hold its essence for months to come–until I find myself back to ponder the art
in going places.
Chandler Wheels Enterprises
805.486.5929
www.chandlerwheels.com/autos
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