It didn’t matter about the subject, or whether it was about sports cars, motorcycles or philosophies on life, I always found journalist and author Peter Egan’s words to be at once witty, insightful, thought-provoking and endearing. I’d (figuratively) traveled with him in a ’63 Caddy in search of the Blues Highway, realized that I wasn’t the only one bent on one day owning a BMW R90S, and laughed so hard at the literary confirmation that classic vehicles tend to cluster in groups of 10 or more at some stage in their lives.
A few years ago, I discovered that there were only a few degrees of separation between Peter and me. I decided to see if, thanks to mutual friend connections, we could meet.
On the trip to Egan’s homestead in Wisconsin, I had mixed emotions. Clearly it would be terrific just to meet him, but would it be exhilarating or disappointing? The legend had grown in my own mind, but reality can be a tough taskmaster. I needn’t have worried. It was oh so much better than I could have possibly imagined as he greeted us in his driveway on a cool, sunny morning.
The country lane bisected the property between the 1878 farmhouse and the circa 1990 workshop. Dressed in jeans that were vaguely reminiscent of my own, Egan offered a big, firm, handshake. Soon we did what I hoped we could do and set about sharing stories, experiences, and the joy of doing interesting things.
It turns out that the shared interests go well beyond motorbikes and sports cars. He is an aviation buff and a pilot, who has a new memoir about flying a Piper Cub. It turns out that we could have a long discussion about Pipers, Stearman biplanes, P-51 Mustangs, and the jewel-like Merlin engines that made them go. His office is a collection of books and memorabilia collected over the decades. Books are thoughtfully organized by subject area: BMW, Porsche, Triumph, Ferrari, Ducati. The ceiling sports a P-40. A B-17 Flying Fortress hides on a top shelf. Any of that kit would have been right at home in my own space, so we had a good laugh about all of it.
He’s also a talented musician with a terrific collection of instruments and titles. We talked at length about the blues and our respective appreciation for the talents of the Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin, and the black blues musicians who inspired them many decades ago. Robert Johnson, Willie Dixon, and Muddy Waters all factor into the mix. I am more able to appreciate music than play it, but I recognized the artful beauty of the guitar collection. And I appreciated that I have found another person who owns more than one turntable. Those old LPs will never go out of style.
This was a chance meeting with someone who experienced many, many things in life and had the insight to write it down for us to share. The conversations were more nuanced, more complex, and richer in every possible way, than I could have initially imagined.
After draining the coffee mugs, we headed to the shop. He’s driven a wide array of things over the years, and the bookend vehicles today say a lot about him. In perfect British Racing Green this includes a relatively modern Jag and a lovely Mazda Miata, very different vehicles but with a clear eye toward driving pleasure and reliability. No need for excess power when you know how to drive them.
He went on to share that he figured that the perfect vehicle for him to own one day, again, would be an MGB. He worked on them for years before becoming a journalist, he figures there isn’t anything about them that he couldn’t fix now, and they are simply fun to drive. Like a Miata with questionable electrics, I imagined.
He shared more stories about some of his trips, and we laughed at some of my recollections from reading his work over the years. One story that I particularly liked related to landing the Piper Cub in a small town in Texas, then realizing that there was no good way to get from the operations shack to dinner. The woman running the place tossed the keys to her personal Chevy Caprice to him and his wife, Barb, and asked them to just bring it back in the morning with some gas in the tank. Her name? Can’t make this stuff up. It was Rose Bud.
In 1981, Peter wrote an article about attending the “Battle of the Twins” race at Daytona, which remains an epic read about the BMW, Moto Guzzi, Ducati, Harley-Davidson, and related kit that made up that race. My father’s Moto Guzzi Le Mans, which sits in my garage today, was in that race. Another small world moment.
Which led us to a discussion of his own collection of motorcycles, each of which fits a very specific and useful purpose. He has a relatively new Triumph Bonneville, which is a great machine for spirited riding in the farm country of The Badger State. Plenty of power, sharp handling, good looks, and with all the electrical demons from the 20th century now permanently exorcised. Great machine.
Then we turned to his Royal Enfield adventure bike. He noted that if he could only have one, this might well be it. It can go anywhere, has enough power to be entertaining, is easy to work on, and inexpensive to buy. A small electrical glitch on the relatively low-tech Enfield led to a discussion the pros and cons of modern technology.
On our way out of Milwaukee that morning, the cellular connection with Verizon inexplicably went down. Without the GPS, there was almost no chance we would find his farm. It came back a bit later which saved the trip. Ironically, I noted, if we’d been on a Beemer, I wouldn’t have had GPS in the first place but instead would have been relying on written directions and maps. Magellan, the man, would have recognized the approach. It turns out Peter feels the same way, foregoing modern communication technology when riding. The point of motorcycling may well be to escape from all the modern conveniences rather than being held captive by them. Getting lost, so one can get found again, may well be half the fun.
My favorite thing in his shop was a gray smoke 1984 BMW R100RS. He owned it for a long time and took some great trips on it before selling it to a friend. It eventually sat in the back of a barn and became a nesting ground for mice and target for birds practicing dive bombing runs. He bought it back and returned it to top running condition. Plenty of patina from her first 107k miles, but that just adds to the story and presence of the Bavarian beauty.
We realized we probably could have spent the entire day kicking tires, telling stories, and drawing new meanings from shared connections. He is sharp, plain spoken, and extremely clear when talking about issues of substance. Perhaps a little like Harry Truman in his clarity, even when his expressions let humor shine through.
Every shop has memorabilia, and Egan’s is epic. This includes a framed copy of the first Road & Track magazine he purchased in 1962, complete with an autographed picture of Phil Hill on the cover.
I hoped Egan would be willing to sign one of his books that I’ve been toting around for decades, and he graciously agreed to do so. He then smiled and asked me to sign one of the articles in a BMW club magazine that I’d written a while back about Daytona experiences. I laughed, then found myself sitting at the desk where so many issues of Leanings, Side Glances, and the upcoming book “Landings,” had been formulated. It was a moment to be savored, and the autographed book is something to be cherished.
In anticipation of this trip, I reread a compendium of Egan’s work over the years. Ironically, on the second reading, I realized that much of what he shared I had experienced in a parallel universe. He waxes poetically at time spent at places like Elkhart Lake and Riverside, while we were enjoying Watkins Glen and Virginia International Raceway.
He shared experiences of owning and frequently not driving an array of British sports cars and offered a heartfelt eulogy for Donald Healey on his passing in 1988. That made me remember, for the first time in decades, that sunny Pennsylvania afternoon in 1966 when my cousin Tim arrived home with his recently purchased Austin Healey 100. The handsome white convertible expired in a plume of smoke at the end of the lane which led to the family farmhouse. He enlisted a tractor and a clan’s worth of cousins to nurse the Healey to what would become her near-final resting ground. To the best of my knowledge, it never moved again under its own power. But it sure looked great from the barn loft.
Much like that long-anticipated vacation, this moment passed far too quickly. One day, very soon, I hope we get to do this again. We have an invitation to return to Wisconsin, and they have an open invite to join us in North Carolina. I have a picture of myself sitting in his office chair. Better than that would be a shot of him astride my trusty, and still GPS-less, R100RS. It is always good to have something to look forward to, of course. And the best ride is always going to be the next one.
In fact, Egan offered to take me on a tour of the area in Wisconsin on our next visit to explore the scenery and the cheese options, and he has the exact same offer should he have the urge to visit us for a look at the beauty of our area and the chance to experience some mighty fine pork product options. So very many ways to enjoy life on a Beemer.
