2013 Cuba - Màs Revoluciones

Paul, our man for the really old clunkers made between the beginnings of the Milwaukee tractor works and the end of WW2 gets to tell us about his travels to the socialist museum island. Since over 20 years he‘s been regularly seeing his personal man in Havana.

Sergio Morales is the name, and old Harleys are his life and blood. Having said that, there are no late model Harleys on the island, the last one was imported in l96O. So the latest Harley plying Havana‘s rutted streets with Cuban plates is a Panhead.

It didn‘t take long to persuade us. The bikes in question were quickly chosen: We pick a 1947 Knucklehead with a Flathead Power motor from our garage, and a mostly stock 1948 Panhead.

To import two vintage American motorcycles for just two weeks into a country that hasn‘t imported American motorcycles since 1960 is a veritable challenge for the ladies and gentlemen of Cuba customs.

Back in Havana we are greeted by two motorcycles, freshly cleared by Cuban customs. Next is a couple of hours well spent at tech inspection. It‘s an amazing experience for someone aquainted with German TÜV to watch those ingeniously maintained vehicles being presented with full confidence. No matter how seemingly haphazard they look, they usually get a thumbs up.

After this almost ball-breaking success we want to leave the city. Not that they have less potholes out there but the air should be a lot cleaner.

Freeways in Cuba have their own charms. Few cars, many potholes. Room enough for our bikes and Ernesto‘s panhead.

The hard shoulder is decorated with vendors, spectators and a group of travelers, obviously waiting for the bus we passed 3 miles down the road, changing a wheel. Soon the first wayside bar beckons. We slow down by a tobbacco plantation, and order some Hamburguesas. When we ask for „Ketsup“, the guy behind the bar starts to laugh. He has „Ketsup“ sure enough, but for so many of us? A weeks ration is in danger of being wiped out. We get the drift that the stuff is a real luxury here, and use it only sparingly.

The way home to Havana gives us a reality check. Peasants driving ox carts loaded sky high with sugar cane, vintage US cars being kept going by the ingenuity of their owners and somechewing gum, and a Knucklehead that decides to quit firing on all cylinders. In the end, it packs up completely.

We‘re determined to get to the bottom of the misfiring cylinder. So we make Sergio‘s workshop our temporary home. It‘s just a garage, with his living quarters on the roof. Working in Sergio‘s place means working in the street. The odd passer by stops to have a look, the neighbours give their well founded opinions, Harlistas drop in.

Blessed island, away from the mad world. Unspoilt, friendly, happy people. All they know of the glittering West is from music videos. We feel safe, even liked. When uniforms come into play, everything gets slightly unreal, paranoia sets in, there‘s a great wariness of the dreaded counterrevolution. But, you know, it‘s the same all over the world with uniforms.

¡QUE CUBA VIBRE! This latest idea of ours vibrated like a healthy mix of rum, Coca-Cola and lime juice. Let's go meet Paul's old Harlista friends. In Havana. Let’s go for a ride together, do some wrenching, if absolutely necessary. Let’s burn the days. We bring two W&W Harleys: The dual carb ’47 Knucklehead and the rigid ’48 Panhead.
The plan is to do some easy miles to meet Cuba's Harlistas first. Our Milwaukee tractors carry us deep into the tobacco growing country until the road just stops on a picture postcard caribbean beach. We cruise the setting sun on Malecon and greet the falling dusk in the Floridita bar, one of Ernest Hemingways favourite watering places.
The street in front of Sergio's becomes our home. We drink coffee, we chat, we do some wrenching, and there’s beer. What’s the point of bikes running like clockwork? Were not those days with Sergio the better life? Let's drink another Cuba libre to that. Oh, and go easy on the Coke. A squirt of lime juice is all it takes. ¡Vamonos!