T.R.O.G. 25, Wildwood, NJ
Beach Toys
A big sandbox, plenty of water, and old clunkers on two and four wheels — all pre-’47. Sounds worth a look, right? Said and done: TROG – The Race of Gentlemen.
The whole thing set out in 2012 to recreate the old times when motorized locomotion was nothing short of a death defying adventure, the pilots of these machines from hell were heroes and motorcycles were considered a lethal menace by the general public.
Our man to check out the proceedings was sucked into
this time warp on the short ride from the motel to the Jersey Girl Bar for a first acclimatising drink. Along the way, the historic vibes got stronger by the mile: the parking lot was littered with historic V8 flatheads and four bangers, OHV engines tolerated (some), everywhere there was unstrapping and unloading going on, the swap meet stalls were getting set up, and the first inline flatties got fired up to see if they were still working :)
With all this metal nostalgia going on it was just good to know that the cooling apparatus for the much welcome beer was 21st century, and the well chilled brew helped to ignite all kinds of "long time no see" talk, mixed with the latest gossip on the colours of plug wires and the eligibility of Speedy Shifters way into the balmy night.
Aarrgh, what’s that thrumming noise in the head next morning?
Is it last night’s beer, or are the first V8's being test run already? The by now well crowded area around the hotel has evolved into a boiling mixture of swap meet, impromptu pit area and last minute emergency repair zone. Between all the hot rods and race bikes, already wearing their race numbers, a wide sea of period engine blocks, dashboards, rev counters, headlights and whatnot were for sale, and awestruck punters were ambling around this low tech metal zoo. Speaking about zoos: the rare species of TROGlodytes had gathered on Friday night for their pre race drinks ritual in the Lazy Bass Bar. In front of which even Panhead chopper and Ironhead Harleys were allowed to park, though much too modern for next day’s event on the beach.
Saturday it’s gloves off (or rather on) for action.
Eligibility for the machinery is tight, and pilots and the discerning public are also encouraged to wear period dress as well. The spirit of the 40s is roaring back from the grave for a short weekend, and the whole beach is one rumbling, sputtering, coughing and screaming museum. As these here racing gentlemen know the form, everything goes down in a very gentlemanly fashion, only one gent, the great Atlantic, does whatever he pleases, and after six hours the tide has come in and the whole wide beach is covered with sea water again. Which isn’t all bad though: it’s time to party. The TROGlodytes keep on partying, until the caves go dark …
Ouch! What’s that?! Light?
Is it already Sunday? Is it low tide again? Are we racing? Yeah, that’s what we came here for anyway, so let’s give it another good go to defog the brains and unclog the mental carburetion. We were just in time for the finals and the prize giving, said farewell to this crazy time bubble and went home to start waiting for yet another TROG’n’Roll to come round next year.