My First Barn Find

Story and photos by Edward Kunath

In the summer of 1991, I had my first real job and real money. Pre-internet, I would regularly scour print ads for interesting old vehicles, gas pumps, etc. In the 90s, the word “picker” had not been invented. Chasing down antique vehicles as a hobby was not considered cool. One weekend a local swap sheet had a tiny ad that read ‘1957 Carmen [sic] Ghia’: being a longtime VW fan, I literally ran out of the house, sped to the nearest cash machine and withdraw the maximum amount. The ad brought me to a house on the outskirts of town, and a soft-spoken grandmother answered the door: Mrs.H. was happy to show me the car out back. She was full of stories; Mr. and Mrs.H were the original homeowners in the area, back when it was ‘country’. Over the years, as suburbia encroached, they sold off perimeter lots but kept the center lot for themselves. Down the hill, around a fence and all the way back, stood a corrugated tin shed, a barn, several antique tractors, and a few 30s & 40s trucks. Unlike a junkyard, all vehicles and equipment were organized into tidy rows, facing the same direction, and evenly spaced. My kind of guy.

The Karmann Ghia was buried in a shed. We made a deal, but that still meant getting the car out of the shed: every day I’d clear a few obstacles away, and prepared the car for the move. Everything on the property was accessible, except for a padlocked barn, which stoked my curiosity.  My dad came with me to help, and during that week he asked if Mrs.H had any old fishing gear or guns. Mrs.H said she still had her grandfather’s shotgun, and took us down to the mysterious locked barn to show us. The door had not been opened in ages and was stuck in the dirt, but it opened just far enough so we could see the derelict gun…and more. It had that smell found only in long-dormant barns with old vehicles in them – equal parts petroleum and wood.

In the blackness I could make out the front wheel of a motorcycle, but mysteriously, it was chest- high. Behind it sat an original paint model-T pickup. It took a while to get the door open. The gun looked rough, but I bought it for my dad in hopes of making a lamp out of it, and asked about the big motorcycle sitting on top of an oil drum. At this time I was not a motorcyclist, and Harley-Davidsons were not on my radar. And for Mrs.H, it was just another one of her husband’s mechanical curiosities. Even though 42 years had passed, Mrs.H clearly remembered how her husband came to own the 1947 Harley-Davidson UL. A friend named Tom was the first owner, a WWII veteran, and in 1947 he bought a new car and a new motorcycle. Around 1949, unable to keep up with payments, Mr. H paid off his car in exchange for the motorcycle. Mr. O was not a motorcycle guy, so what did they do with the bike?  He used it to ride his children and other neighborhood kids around their acreage for fun – joy rides for kids.  The bike was put away around 1955, and the last time it had been used was for week in 1965 when relatives came out to Iowa from California, and wanted a ride. Since then it had been sitting in the barn, on top of the oil drum where I found it.

Mrs.H claimed that over the years, Mr.H had replaced the engine oil in each vehicle. He would then turn over the engines twice a year with a battery. Later I drained the oil out of both vehicles I bought from them and it was perfect.  Eventually, Mrs.H contracted an auction house to clear out the property, and the Harley was included. It took a few days to convince Mrs.H to pull the Harley out of the auction; she was a good negotiator. In those days I had no way to determine its market value. It was purely an impulse purchase. Technically it was a ‘barn-find’, but neither the phrase nor the idea existed in 1991, at least to me. When people found out how much I paid, they said it was too much for a motorcycle so old, and I was embarrassed. For the next five years, I hid it in my grandfather’s garage. In 1996 my grandfather passed on and the bike had to be moved. An acquaintance who was deeply into vintage Harley-Davidsons saw it and pointed out every period aftermarket part it had. He convinced me that I should not be ashamed of its old dusty appearance (“patina” was not yet in common use) and should just ride it.

That first year of riding was a challenge. Most of my motorcycle experience was on my dad’s Honda CB125. The Honda and the Harley occupied two separate universes: the Honda was an appliance, happy and willing to do your bidding. The Harley required your attention and respect. Spark advance is controlled with the left hand grip. The old timers said there were two rules of starting: retard the timing and never let your leg get ‘straight.’ Once, I forgot about the timing, ended up with a numb foot and considered myself fortunate. Failure to heed both pieces of advice could cause one to do a nose dive over the handlebars. The clutch took some time to master, as it has no spring return  – luckily it’s not a ‘suicide’ clutch that does have a spring. The foot clutch was the source of my only accident, that happened at 2mph, with my feet on the ground desperately trying to hold the bike back. Things came to a stop when the front tire hit the middle of a lilac bush. The Harley and I were immersed in fragrant foliage, engine still chugging away. No harm done, except to my ego.

With my job in the Merchant Marine, I was out of the country most of the year, so I didn’t ride the bike much. Most people commented they thought it deserved to be restored.  The 1990s saw the beginnings of collector Ferrari prices surpassing all expectations, and vehicle collecting was becoming mainstream. Body-off, better-than-new restorations were becoming the norm over traditional “mechanical” restorations. I felt considerable pressure at the time to restore the Harley, and though I wish it could be said that I see into the future, mostly I refused to restore it because I simply liked it exactly as it was. It had character.

Peter Egan’s writing was of considerable consolation. And I’m not just saying this because I once peppered him with questions when I caught him alone at a racetrack. Peter once wrote:
“I went to high school with guys who, when they got all dressed up…slicked their hair up with some highly reflective oil product, and tended to wear suits of hard fabric with sharp creases, sometimes with a kind of greenish aurora-borealis luminescence about them…They enjoyed going through life with polished, shiny things, reflecting light on all those about them…
Others among us (I suppose I fell into this group) seemed drawn toward clothing, cars, and possessions that absorbed light to some extent, or at least contained a high contrast between glossy and obscure surfaces. Dressed for the dance, we showed up in slightly tweedy fabrics- usually in some color that seemed to be celebrating the annual peat harvest…”
Peter Egan, ‘Wooden Boats’, Road & Track, August 1991.

That did it. The Harley stays like it is. In the late 90s I met a girl who I really wanted to impress; she had moved from New Zealand to my little town in Iowa. In that place and time, even a girl from Wisconsin seemed exotic. Out came the Harley. The Kiwi girl got a job downtown on the third floor of an old brick building. This was our routine: At 5pm I would ride the Harley to her office, stop in front of the building and rev the engine. She waved to me from the third story open window, like Maria in West Side Story, to express her appreciation for open pipes.
In the fall of 1998 we rode that old beast in matching vintage WWII ‘Ike’ jackets. To use a NZ expression, I thought I was the “cat’s pajamas”.  Not sure this was true, but this was the best life I could manage at the time. She married me, so maybe the Harley worked some magic.

According the the Early Karmann Ghia Registry, Mrs.H sold me the 23rd-oldest-known Karmann Ghia in the world. Twenty-eight years later, I still have the car, the Belgian double shotgun, the motorcycle and the girl. Thank you, Mrs.H.

Current State of the 1947 Harley-Davidson UL

It’s embarrassing to admit that during my entire ownership, I’ve ridden the UL on its original 1950s tires. You can see from the original photos the distinctive balding pattern on the rear Firestone. By the 2000s, an older and far more prudent motorcycle friend had strongly encouraged me on more than one occasion, using words well known to sailors, to change the tires or stop riding it. From then on I rode it only for short distances and at low speeds. Sometimes I’d take it out for our local, weekly Harley block party. The owner is a keen motorcyclist and offered me two irresistible lures: a parking spot directly in front of the band to show it off and free beer.

Vehicle Details
● The hood ornament on the front fender, as best as I can determine, is from a 1949 Buick.
● The exhaust pipe is open, contains no baffling. My best guess is that Tom, the original owner,
made it.
● When I first purchased it, the butterfly valve at the end of the exhaust pipe was a mystery to me. My grandfather, born in 1914, knew immediately what it was. When closed, the engine warms up more quickly. In the past 33 years I have taken pains to make as few changes as possible. The photos from 1955 confirm the current condition. Here’s what has changed:
● The tires were re-tubed.The oil tank and lines were removed for internal cleaning.
● A section of exhaust pipe on the rear cylinder had a hole. The exhaust covering was very carefully unwrapped. A new section of pipe was locally made in mild steel. The original covering was wound back into place. Repair is now invisible.
● Period Saddlebags have been added. The chrome bag mounting plates are original to the bike.
● The Linkert carb was removed and thoroughly cleaned in a commercial ultrasonic cleaner. A
Rubber Ducky float was installed along with a complete and correct carb rebuild kit from linkertcarbs.com. The ultrasonic cleaner, while effective, over-cleaned the carb exterior. Since then, the brass has gained patina and looks correct.