Reader Larry Barnes shared this story with us about a dicey family holiday outing aboard his restored Chief sidecar outfit. Sure, Santa might be “the man” in December but in one Ohio farm town the people wanted to see more of a certain red Indian!

  In December I rode my “new” 1947 Indian Chief in the 40th Annual Dalton, OH, Christmas Festival Parade …with my lovely wife Debbie and our five-year old grandson Rider in the sidecar.
Maybe that statement sounds simple, but for me that sentence caps a lifetime of involvement with motorcycles, in particular Indian motorcycles. My Dad, Don Barnes, was an Indian dealer and professional motorcycle racer in Wooster, Ohio when I was born. But when Indian went out of business in 1953, he had to get a real job and sell out his entire inventory. Except one that is, his 1929 Indian 101 Scout race bike. That one still sits in my workshop, restored to its original street trim.
Over the past 60 years or so, I’ve experienced just about every type of motorcycle racing and street bike riding you can think of; and have owned bikes from a Sears Allstate moped to a Harley Ultra Classic and everything in between. 
These days I have three Indians in addition to Dad’s. I have a blue 1948 Chief, which is my favorite street ride, a red 1939 Sport Scout, which is my former flat track racer, and most recently a red and white 1947 Indian Chief that I bought from Gordon Zemrock, a high school buddy. That’s the one now hooked up to the sidecar.
When I bought Zemrock’s ’39 I took it straight to Steve Benson of Ace Classic Cycles in Shreve, OH, my sole bike-builder and race-tuner for the past 20 years. 
Benson is the ultimate “forensic mechanic.” We met back in the 1990’s at Honda Hills racetrack while I was unsuccessfully trying to kick start my Bultaco Astro prior to a heat. Steve had it running in two kicks and he’s been an “enabler” ever since.
The decision was made to leave the nice red and white paint job on the Chief and paint the sidecar to match it. So the sidecar tub and fender went off to Dave Arney, the excellent painter at Dragonfly Customs. Dave referred me to his friend Steve Conrad to do the upholstery work.
Meanwhile back at Ace, we decided to install an electric starter. I know, that’s not something a real Indian aficionado would tolerate, but for me it’s essential. And it just so happens that Kiwi Mike Tomas builds an electric starter kit for the Indian Chief. A phone call and a credit card number to Kiwi got one coming.
Now before anyone thinks it’s easy to find and build an Indian, here are the two questions you can never ask a bike builder or a collector of antique motorcycles:  One, “How long will it take?” And two, “How much will it cost?”  
Time is measured in years, not months, and dollars are measured in thousands, not hundreds. And there are dang few good vintage motorcycle mechanics like Steve Benson out there. If you’re smart enough to be one or lucky enough to know one, I bet they’ve got all the work they want.
So about a year and a few thousand dollars later, I was about to operate my first sidecar outfit. I pulled on my helmet, headed out the driveway, and that’s where the first “holy cow” was uttered. You’ve really got to pull with one arm and push with the other to make these things turn. And while turning left is not so bad, turning right takes real strength. And you’ve got to think about what you’re doing the whole way into the curve, it’s total concentration with both hands on the bars. Other sidecar drivers tell me I’ll get the hang of it, but for now it’s all business for me.
Now about this parade…
The nearby town of Dalton’s 40th Annual Christmas Parade included the Dalton High School marching band, fire trucks, big farm tractors, trotting horses and all of the previous Festival queens. Everyone waits for Santa to come along at the very end. It’s a big affair out here in farm country!
Now I figured this new Indian and matching sidecar were just about perfect for the parade - and there was only one turn. What could go wrong? In fact, it was gonna be so easy, I asked my wife Debbie and grandson Rider to dress up like Santa’s elves and ride in the sidecar.
That morning it was 32 degrees and spitting snow. At the first oompah-pah from the band, Deb and Rider climbed into the sidecar. The bike fired right up, I pushed in the clutch and we rolled onto the street. 
The parade route was right up Main Street. And when I say “up” I mean a slight incline all the way to the town square then a sharp right toward the high school. So Deb and Rider began making those goofy parade waves to the crowd as we crawled along.
That lasted about 200 feet till the bike lurched to a stop. I shifted into neutral and restarted. I tried to shift into first and all I heard was a grinding transmission. What? A whole year of preparation, thousands of dollars, and we only get 200 feet?
One float passed us, then another. I pushed down on the foot clutch and pressed the starter button again. This time the bike inched forward but the motor wouldn’t start. Dang! It’s the clutch!
Then a couple big guys stepped out of the crowd and offered to give us a push. We got rolling forward again…for another 100 feet. When we got too close to the marching band I had to slow down and when I pushed down on the clutch the bike stalled.
So we sat there as a group of horses trotted by. Then the Queen’s Float. Then an antique John Deere tractor. All the while cameras were flashing, Deb and Rider were waving, and the crowd was going wild over the Indian. 
Everybody was happy, but me. I was feeling pretty stupid. Any experienced Indian rider would know that a slow parade pace doesn’t work for an antique foot clutch, especially not with 500 pounds of sidecar and passengers and an uphill grade. What was I thinking? 
About that time Santa himself walked by and gave us a dirty look. Our stalled Indian menagerie was stealing the show. After he passed by, another group of spectators volunteered to push, the bike started up, and we took off - at a more manageable speed. As we got close to Santa again, I took him on the outside.  Ain’t no Santa gonna beat me and our Indian to the finish line!
Deb and Rider were still waving to the crowd. We roared up the hill, turned around and went back down the parade route. Rider never stopped waving and Deb thinks we did four laps. (I don’t remember because I was kinda busy.) And the crowd went wild!
After completing our “parade laps,” we parked right in front of the high school where we dismounted to a crowd of back slappers…and the local police department. Somehow I don’t think we’ll be invited back next year…
But the moral of this story is that everybody needs a lasting passion. Something that you (and maybe only you) enjoy, even though it may be totally weird, expensive or even a bit dangerous. And whatever that passion may be, it might take years to find. Or maybe it’s been there all along and comes out the older you get. For me, that’s been motorcycles and this parade was one of the most enjoyable times of my life.