Surveying his collection of about 60 early American motorcycles, Jim Dennie can point to the singular bike that jump-started his passion as a collector, though at the time he acquired the ride—a 1917 Harley-Davidson twin-cylinder 3-speed Model F—Dennie had no notion that he someday would be the owner of an extensive assemblage of rare, early American street and race bikes.

When Dennie purchased that 1917 Harley, in 1976, he was still fresh into his educational journey through the history of early American motorcycles, and he was a novice when it came to rebuilding them. But that didn’t deter him from scooping up the Harley when it crossed his path. Dennie owned one other motorcycle at that time, a 1952 Harley-Davidson Panhead. When he acquired that bike a year or two before, it had been converted into a chopper, but Dennie hated how it handled, and after riding it for a year he went about converting it back to its stock form. "I still liked it because it was a Harley, but it wasn’t for me," he says.

So Dennie, who had grown up as a machinist and a welder, spent $150 for all the necessary parts and set out to convert his ’52 Harley back to its original state. "The more stock I made it, the fewer problems I had, and the more I enjoyed it," he recalls. "Suddenly, it was a new motorcycle."

That accomplishment and the knowledge that he could reassemble a bike, even without a blueprint to follow, led to his defining Harley experience. Examining all the parts of that 1917 Harley strewn across the floor of a rickety barn, Dennie did not see years of headaches, frustration, and hassles, but instead, a complete, operable motorcycle. "I had this thing all together in my head," he says. "I could just see that it was cool. Inside, I was jumping up and down."

The challenge was buying it. Outside the barn, the bike’s owner, whom Dennie had pegged as a picker—a person who would buy out the contents of a barn or garage and attempt to make a profit on any valuable commodity found—sat nonchalantly on an overturned water bucket as Dennie looked over the disassembled motorcycle. He wanted $500 for it, but Dennie didn’t have that much. He was only making $1.65 an hour working as a machinist and a welder, but he knew that the bike was special and he felt that he had to have it. "Dennie offered $250 and became the proud owner of a box of parts for a 1917 Harley-Davidson twin-cylinder. With all the parts loaded into his Pontiac Sunbird and the Harley’s frame sticking out the back, Dennie set out on the hour-long drive home, consumed by the thought that he should have started the negotiations at a lower price. He also mulled over the fact that he now had a pile of stuff and not the first clue of how to put it together. Still, he knew what it would look like once he figured that out. "I can see something and envision what it’s going to look like when I’m done," Dennie says, "and that’s what might get me into trouble."

If there was any literature in the mid-1970s that outlined how to build vintage American motorcycles from the early 20th century, Dennie wasn’t aware of it. Instead, he was left to his own devices, which required finding old sales pamphlets and networking with other antique motorcycle enthusiasts in his area. "Eventually and slowly, the thing came together," Dennie says, "but it was over a period of three or four years before I got it all done and could ride it."

Humble Beginnings
The three-plus decades that Dennie has devoted to the acquisition, rebuilding, and restoration of classic (and rare) American motorcycles are filled with stories that rival that of his 1917 Harley. He has wandered into dimly lit townie bars to seek out owners and inquire about purchases, which is how he found his 1931 Harley VL. As a 20-year-old, he learned—through experimental approaches—the intricacies of bikes that don’t have circulating oil systems but operate instead through a constant loss system. On one such occasion, Dennie filled his garage with thick plumes of white billowing smoke and frantically rushed for a fire extinguisher, believing he had set one of his newly acquired motorcycles on fire. "I didn’t go to mechanic school," he says, "so this [the rebuilding and mechanical tuning] was all trial and error."

Dennie’s love affair with the motorcycle took root in the early 1960s when, as a 7- or 8-year-old, he occasionally would get rides around the neighborhood on a Cushman motor scooter that belonged to a friend’s father. His preference for American motorcycles developed a few years later when, as a teenager, he watched and listened to the roar of Harley-Davidsons—mostly choppers during that era—as they passed his house. That growing obsession with Harleys soon convinced him to trade his 1961 Corvette with a fickle engine for the 1952 Harley-Davidson Panhead that he returned to factory stock. "People probably think I’m nuts," he says of his decision to trade away that car, "but that was my starting point into American bikes. I never bought a foreign bike after that. There’s no one in my family who was into motorcycles, so I don’t know where I got it, but when I got it, it hit pretty hard. I can’t get enough; I think about them all the time."

His collection of early American machines is now spread out over a variety of places. About half of his bikes are on display in a showroom attached to his home in upstate New York, but some of his prized two-wheeled possessions are exhibited in museums around the country. "I always went after stuff that was a little unusual. That’s what tripped my trigger," he says. "I liked the stuff that was a little obscure and a little odd. I wanted the stuff that nobody else had."

Uncovering The Obscure
In 1915, Harley-Davidson, Indian, and Excelsior were the most prominent American motorcycle manufacturers, but there were plenty of other players—some regional, some national. According to Dennie, as many as 200 different American motorcycle brands are thought to have existed at one time, and before the big three established the most successful and proven designs, every brand created bikes that were unique and, in some cases, revolutionary. "Back in the day, everyone had their own ideas as to why you should buy one bike over the others," Dennie says. "A lot of the companies made their own motors and made all their parts. All of that intrigued me. There was so much exotic stuff out there."

Dennie has exceptional and rare models from those major brands, including two 1916 Harley-Davidson twin pocket-valve factory racers and a 1911 Indian 8-valve Big Base factory racer—a motorcycle that the late actor Steve McQueen attempted to buy from its previous owner, prior to Dennie’s acquisition of it. But of equal significance to Dennie are the more obscure brands and unusual models that he’s added to his collection over the years. And because Dennie established himself as a collector of the obscure and the unusual, acquaintances often would alert him to the existence of something unusual, which is how many of his rare bikes made it into his collection.

One such bike, a 1915 Militaire, was brought to his attention in 1985 by the owner of a motorcycle shop outside Buffalo, N.Y., which was where the Militaire Auto Co. had been based from 1911 until 1917. Boasting wooden-spoke wheels made of ash, a driveshaft, and an inline 4-cylinder, 3-speed engine with reverse, the bike had all the requisite features to spark Dennie’s interest. "It was just so odd and unique, and I realized that I had to have it," he says.

Being an unassembled barn find, the bike required significant work, and Dennie soon realized it was missing a fair amount of parts. In his quest to build the bike with as many original pieces as possible, Dennie went to the source—a dilapidated barn held up by bowed two-by-fours. After six or seven hours digging through the barn, Dennie came out with buckets of parts, some that belonged to the Militaire and others that did not. "I grabbed anything I could that looked like it could be something special," he says, remembering his concern that the barn could collapse while he was in it. "You have to take a chance. I need to see what’s around the next corner, because you never know what you’ll find."

A Collector’s Spirit
As a collector, Dennie takes an approach that may not be unheard of, but it certainly isn’t the norm. While many collectors would look at a fading, rusty bike from the early 20th century and immediately set about stripping it and returning it to its original factory condition, if the motorcycle has retained any significant amount of its original paint, Dennie doesn’t touch it. "You can restore them 100 times," he says of vintage motorcycles, "but they’re original only once."

However, that does not mean that Dennie is a stickler for all-original components. Sure, he’ll tell you that any original part is better than one that he has to make himself; but considering the era of the bikes that he’s collecting and, in particular, his emphasis on brands and models that had limited production runs when they were new, Dennie knows that it would be a miracle to find a bike that was 100 percent original today. He’s currently machining a chain guard and a few other small parts for a 1915 Pope, one of the first street bikes with an overhead valve, and he can understand when other collectors are forced to do that type of work under similar conditions. But his stance on the matter changes when machined parts dominate a bike. "It’s when they reproduce the whole thing and there’s nothing remotely original about it, that’s when it gets a little funky to me," he says.

Owning such rare motorcycles as a 1909 Torpedo, a 1909 Armac, a 1904 twin-cylinder Orient, and a 1905 Nelk—complete with a liquid-cooled, overhead-valve engine and a working clutch—Dennie conceivably could sit back and bask in the glow of a collection that would be hard to duplicate. But he’s always searching for the next great addition. "There are so many bikes to collect," he says. "I’ll never collect all I want; there’s just too much of it. But I don’t just buy an old motorcycle because it’s an old motorcycle. I’ve passed up some great bikes in my life because they didn’t really do it for me, even though they were rare. It has to trip my trigger."

Dennie also won’t sell a bike, unless doing so will help him to acquire something that he believes will enhance his collection. However, despite all the years that he’s invested in vintage American motorcycles, Dennie can consider a day when his position might change. "I’m only 55," he says, "but I don’t want to die with all these bikes in my collection. As I get older, it would be nice to see [my bikes in the hands of] some guys that would want a bike for more than just a reason to want to make a buck."

A Bold New World
As much as Dennie was—and still is—attracted to early American motorcycles for their mechanical ingenuity and for the glimpses into a bygone era that they provide, he continues to collect and remains passionate about them for the personal connections that they promote with like-minded enthusiasts. And he’s not alone. Christina Main, who has been Dennie’s significant other for almost 20 years, was not much of a motorcycle person prior to meeting him. But passion, as Main has discovered, is contagious. "He’s opened up a whole new way of looking at things," she says. "Because motorcycles are his life, they’ve become my life, and it’s revolved around the motorcycles, and the people involved, and the history. And if you had asked me 20 years ago if I’d be enjoying his passion, I would’ve said no."

But she is. "Many of the people that we’ve met … we’ve learned about their passion and the story of the bike," Main continues, "and then you come to appreciate the bike for its personality and the people and history behind it. It’s much more than a motorcycle."

Could Dennie imagine doing anything else with his life? Probably not. And when asked just how significantly his passion for motorcycles has shaped his life, his answer is short and sweet and telling: "It’s been a real good ride for me."

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