Hog Heaven
Hog Heaven
A bevy of bikes amongst, umm, a pride of pigs?
WENDY F. BLACK
LET'S BE HONEST. A pig farm in rural Kansas is the last place you'd expect to find a vintage motorcycle collection, much less a particularly praiseworthy one. In fact, it’s almost impossible to imagine pristinely restored Vincents, MV Agustas and Ducatis in an environment where swine are bred. But for pig farmer and motorcycle collector extraordinaire Dale Keesecker, this scenario is not only not odd, it is downright normal. Keesecker is a friendly sort,
and recently celebrated his 60th birthday. He has short, salt n-pepper hair and a ruddy, outdoorsy complexion. When he speaks, each word seems deliberately chosen and every sen tence well-thought-out. Until the conversation turns to pigs or motorcycles, that is, and then the cadence picks up dramatically and his phrases all but tumble out.
“I was 16 or 17 when I first got involved with the Future Farmers of America, and I liked pigs,” he explains of his livelihood. Under the direction of the club, Keesecker received two pigs to care for, with the understanding that he would give the pigs’ litters to the FFA. To make a long story short, Keesecker’s two little piggies turned out to be the humble beginnings of what is now a multimillion-dollar operation producing more than 30,000 pigs per year. “Our county is the number one for swine production in Kansas,” he says proudly.
Keesecker is as interested in bikes as he is in pigs. In fact, his fascination
with motorcycles is a family thing. “My dad had a Harley and an Indian before he married my mom,” he says. “I used to listen to the stories when he and his cronies got to talkin’.”
Keesecker can further trace his attraction to things motorized. He recalls being 7 years old when progress finally made its way to his parents’ farm. “Up ’til then the washing machine had been powered by a Briggs & Stratton motor,” he recalls. “When we got electricity, I got that old motor and put it on my bicycle. It would run about 40 mph, which is kind of spooky on an old country road." The jury-rigged cycle aside, young Keesecker's first real bike was a Puch 125 that he purchased at the tender age of 14, with the proceeds from a lucrative job (50 cents an hour) at the local supermarket. Once Keesecker began raising pigs, however, his finances improved, as did his daily riders-an AJS, then a Triumph.
Although Keesecker has been riding for lo these 45 years, his knack for bike collection and restoration is more recent. “I had a 1969 or ’70 CB750 Honda, and it was just sitting in the garage,” he says. “Pretty soon, something else was also sitting there. Then, there were all kinds of neat old bikes laying around.”
Better to actually do something with them, he decided. The one that finally inspired him to begin tinkering was a mid-1960s BMW R50/2. Fifteen years later, his collection encompasses approximately 40 original or restored motorcycles, and another 15 or so await their respective turn in the shop.
It’s apparent that Keesecker has a pretty penny invested in his garage, but he’s reticent to discuss exact figures.
“I’ve got some stuff that’s not cheap,” he deadpans.
The bikes themselves are housed in two separate buildings, and restorations are done in another facility. The backdrop, and perhaps inspiration, for Keesecker’s collection is a 3000acre plot of gently rolling hills and forest. Creeks and rivers snake through the property, while the wooded areas are alive with bobcats, whitetail deer, pheasant and quail.
Being surrounded by all this natural
beauty only aids in Keesecker’s restorations. “I like taking something really ragged and ratty that was once beautiful, and making it that way again,” he says.
It seems he’s been successful in his efforts. There are 11 gleaming Ducatis, one of which is a Mike Hailwood Replica, and 12 stately looking Vincents, plus MV Agustas, Velocettes, BSAs and a lone Bimota.
Although it’s obvious that Keesecker goes with a decidedly European flow, his collection is not without several Japanese examples: more specifically, four Hondas.
They range in year and model, from a 1959 CB92 Benly Super Sport 125 to a 1981 CBX.
“Certain bikes appeal to me,” admits Keesecker, “like Italian models, Multis, VTwins, Singles-I guess I like all of them.
And mostly, I just restore what I like. But MV Agustas, Ducatis and Vincents are my three favorite brands.”
If Keesecker is vague about singling out his favorite manufacturer, then he is positively wishy-washy when it comes to choosing just one motorcycle. Only after several minutes of hemming and hawing does he come up with two faves: The first is the 1949 Egli Vincent displayed at the Guggenheim’s “Art of the Motorcycle” exhibit (museum bigwigs requested additional bikes, but Keesecker would relinquish only the Egli).
The elegant, silver cafe-racer is held in such high esteem by its owner because of its unique appearance and
personality. “It’s got so much heart,” he insists. “It has such a big engine in a little frame. It’s fun to look at, fun to listen to, fun to ride.”
The other motorcycle with the key to Keesecker’s heart is his 1977 MV Agusta 850SS. He explains, “It’s so Italian, and the company has such a racing pedigree and history. And there’s the sound; it’s so wonderful to hear all the gears whining in the engine. And red is my favorite color.” And then there’s the Norvin, which Keesecker describes as the most frustrating project he’s ever attempted. A Norton Featherbed frame laden with a Vincent Rapide engine, the Norvin is decked out with more than a few Keeseckerisms, thus the frustration factor. For example, he painstakingly fabricated the stainless-steel shifters, footrests, even the exhaust system.
“When you’re restoring a (stock) bike, you can get parts somewhere, and there’s a certain way to put the bike back together,” he says. “On the Norvin, we were on our own. We’d work hour after hour after hour. And then at the end of a week, I’d wonder what we'd been doing for seven whole days.”
Becoming so completely immersed in any project must certainly take its toll on Keesecker’s family and professional life, right? Not at all. “I like my life the way it is,” he asserts. “I do the agricultural stuff, and when I get bored, I can do some bike stuff.”
Furthermore, Lila, his wife of 33 years, has this to say about her husband’s extracurricular activities: “It’s better than a pool hall.”
Good thing, too, because Keesecker sees no end in sight for collecting and restoring old bikes. “There are several Vincents to do yet, and a couple more specials to keep us busy for quite some time,” he muses. “I got some neat old Honda stuff, and some neat old Ducati stuff...”
Keesecker’s voice trails off. He’s distracted, possibly contemplating future restorations. He seems to be envisioning some hybrid special that will occupy his thoughts-not to mention his days and nights-during the cold winter months. Considering his current collection, we can hardly wait for spring. □
