Blast from the Past: A Tale of Two Crockers

 
 
This is a story of motorcycle sibling rivalry that went down a few years ago and now is worth retelling as 2013 winds down, the tale told by Glen Bator of Bator International. Case in point, two 1939 Crocker Big Tank V-twins, consecutively numbered 106 and 107. They even have names: The Black Bike and The Red Bike. And that in itself is an indication of the fork in the well-bent road taken by these two cult classics. 
 
As the reigning Holy Grails of the current vintage motorcycling feeding frenzy, Crockers continue to set auction records. For example, a trio of Crockers up on the Bonhams auction block broke the existing world record for the brand in August 2012 when a 1937 and a 1940 both sold for $302,000 each at the Quail Lodge sale. Back in 2006 Steve McQueen’s 1937 Crocker “Hemi-Head” went for $276,500.For the price of a nice island off Costa Rica, collectors are pistol whipping each other to own one of the bikes built by a maverick American designer/entrepreneur by the name of Albert Crocker.
 
Al, an Indian dealer in late 1920s Los Angeles, ventured into building his own machines with the aid of one Paul Bigsby, a talented engineer/designer. They produced some successful single cylinder speedway bikes, then launched their unique vision of a V-twin in 1936. Using aluminum components and a stout engine design, the bikes epitomized power to weight performance, Crocker fans extolling the bike’s virtues as far exceeding those of their contemporaries, including the Harley-Davidson.
 
The first of twin, a 45 cubic inch 1000cc hemi-headed version produced 40 HP in a machine that tipped the scales at 480 lb. Features included its two pushrods sharing a common tube and a transmission as an integral part of the frame. Claimed top speed was 110 mph. The 1930s price tag was $500-500+ depending on options, a hefty sum in those days.
 
The last batch of Crockers, now using a further improved non-hemi head design, was produced in 1940 as WWII sucked up precious materials. Compounding the problem was simple economics; Crocker was losing money on each bike he built. A few were made from “seconds” parts before the company ceased to exist. Perhaps 50-60 were built, the number in dispute. Not their current value however.
 
With Crocker motorcycles fetching astronomical sums it’s no wonder that people will wander the world in pursuit of these rare and charismatic machines. So intense is the desire to own a Crocker that one intrepid Australian of our acquaintance had himself ‘coptered into the jungles of New Guinea because of a “rumor” that a Crocker purportedly owned by a U.S. naval serviceman had been left on the island during WWII. After traipsing around the bug and beast invested landscape, he did come upon rusted wartime relics but no Crocker. However in a true Indiana Jones fashion, he literally just reached the safety of the awaiting rescue helicopter with machete swinging locals giving chase. In other words the people who hanker after Crockers for their unique character are often characters themselves.
 
The Black Bike 
 
Fortunately for all involved the Crocker “Black Bike” seen here was “relocated” from far more congenial climes by Glenn Bator of Bator International, a major mover and shaker in the world of vintage, classic and antique motorcycles, who after long and persistent efforts, not to mention bagfuls of U.S. dollars, brought it home from its decades long “vacation” in Italy. Bator himself calls bucolic Ojai, CA home and headquarters and from there launched his mission that would first take him to England then to the Continent and down the boot of Italy.
 
Reaching Milan, the next city along the route to The Holy Grail of Motorcycles, he met up with Massimo Zavaglia, the restorer of the Crocker, an artisan of the highest caliber. In the company of Massimo and his wife Maria Luisa who translated for the group they toured several bike collections including Massimo’s own treasure trove of vintage iron. 
 
 
Finally the moment arrived, the focal point of the entire expedition. Bator would have his first up close and personal look at the Crocker and speak with the bike’s owner Luccano Lanfranchi who happens to be a high ranking Italian politician.
 
I’ve known about this Crocker, a 1939 Big Tank, for some two years via a friend of mine in England. Even back then it was big money.
 
As to its history, the Crocker, serial #107, had been in Italy for about 20 years, but during that time the engine had been yanked and sent back to the states where Ernie Skelton, a Crocker guru in SoCal, rebuilt it. The owner, Mr. Lanfranchi then commissioned Massimo to restore it for him in Italy. The Italian painters who painted it were bonafide artists, the owner himself a well-known art collector. After a period of two and a half years and 1400 hours of restoration, the bike was returned to Mr. Lanfranchi, who was so moved by the quality of the work that he reportedly bent over and kissed the gas tank, and exclaimed that it was “an absolute work of art…an absolutely fluid, perfect restoration.
 
Says Glenn, “When these bikes went through the roof recently it became more economically feasible to consider buying it. So I decided to go to Italy to take a look and see if I would be bringing it home. It would be my first look beyond some photos. I had to make a decision, a big decision of the Crocker kind. But even with six figures, I had a gut feeling.” 
 
 
Now here’s where all those Godfather movies start merging with the images. Arriving at the location where the Crocker was stored, Bator and his friends found them themselves at a cul de sac flanked by four massive buildings each with six monumental garage doors. 
 
Suddenly one slid open and standing there is huge Italian guy. The guy definitely has the bodyguard persona going. He turns and begins wheeling out the Crocker into a 40 x 40 brick courtyard with these buildings looming over us. I’d seen photos of the bike and thought I knew what to expect. But it was beyond any picture. When I looked it over, the workmanship was on par with the world class, upper echelon level of restoration. Stunning. Phenomenal.”
 
 
Someone handed me a phone and it was the bike’s owner, Mr. Lanfranchi who happened to be in Switzerland. We talked about the bike and he gave me a bit of the history. And then I learned that whoever buys the bike, the money is being donated to charity, very nice on his part.  Bottom line, it was a done deal as soon as I saw the bike, but I also knew they weren’t going to negotiate, so I stepped up large. Big money but worth every lire, make that euro. The deal was struck and I now owned a Crocker, at least until someone stepped up a bit larger.
 
 
As a postscript, the next morning Bator visited the Numero Uno Milan Harley-Davidson dealership for which he is restoring four bikes back in California.
 
Then we proceeded to run out of gas on the Autostrada which was a lot of fun. But we did make to the airport and a flight back to England with one last stopover, this time at the famous Ace Café for a final good-bye, our nine days gone literally in a flash. And at the end of it all, a Crocker was returning home to the U.S.A.
 
The Red Bike
 
 We’ve all heard the proverbial “bike in the barn” story but this one goes under “bike in the basement. As Glenn tells it, he gets a call from a fellow who works for a utilities company in Ft. Collins, CO. For several years he’s been reading an elderly gentleman’s meter and now that person wished to sell some old motorcycles moldering away in his basement. The helpful utilities guy sees one of Bator’s ads and rings him up.
 
Says Bator, over the phone he begins listing the bikes…“an Ariel Square Four, ok, nice…next? I’ve got a Harley XA…okay, nice bike…next? There’s an Ariel basket case…ok, parts…next?  Then he says, oh, then we got a Crocker.”
 
At that point my ears stand up. He says “It’s in some English frame but I don’t know too much about it, but I can send some pictures of the bikes in the basement.
 
So a few days later, I get the photos, but no Crocker. Turns out he says the battery in his camera went dead. So I ask him to try again and send some photos of the engine number.
 
 
When those photos arrived, I really dug the bike and thought it was cool, then I noticed the engine number. What the…? It was only one number off the Black Bike’s serial number,#106, a consecutive bike. What chances of that happening? It was almost a little spooky. I could not believe it.
 
When he logged into the Crocker Registry Bator learned that #106 was listed as unknown, missing in action. In effect, he had unearthed a long lost Crocker, the sibling to one he had just purchased from Italy, and filled in a gap in the somewhat foggy history of the marque. (By the way, that Crocker we mentioned posted on eBay…it happens to be #108!)
 
Returning to the examination of the Red Bike, word was that the original owner  had several Crockers back in the day, but with this incarnation he started out with just a motor  bought out of California back in the early ‘50s, perhaps after the bike had been crashed.” 
 
Says Bator, “It’s a 1939 61 cubic inch Big Twin the guy had stuffed into a pre-war hardtail Triumph frame. It’s also got the Triumph front end as well as the four-speed transmission but was fitted with an Ariel gas tank. The frame was from a single cylinder bike so the engine cradle was quite small.  It was a loop frame from which he cut out the loop and then built three engine mounting plates, cut the downtube and ran the plates below the deck and then keystoned the frame to get that larger V-Twin motor to fit.  It was quite a neat design idea and something I had not seen before. He built it apparently to go racing. I fired it up and rode it. It smokes like a banshee probably because it’s been sitting forever. Maybe dropped a ring. But it felt like it had all the power in the world and since it’s set up in a shorter frame, it handled real well.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
Since these photos were snapped, the two Crockers have gone to new homes. Yes, the search continues…in the hopes that out there, somewhere, are Crocker yet to be found. Bottom line, the Crocker mystique, along with the depth of the pockets needed to own one, only deepens with each passing day.
 
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