If you’re looking for an old bike museum, look no further. Bill’s Old Bike Barn Museum is the collection of all collections!
Welcome to Billville, a collection of collections
Any motorcycle museum that includes “turn where you see the dinosaurs” in its directions should grab your attention, and in the case of Bill’s Old Bike Barn your undivided attention is warranted.
Bill’s Old Bike Barn is literally a hidden treasure. You can’t see it from the highway; you have to spot the dinosaurs (just like the directions say), turn, and then head uphill. You’ll go by a couple of bison (no kidding) and a Harley fuel tank tower, and there it is. Bill’s Old Bike Barn looks deceptively small from the outside; inside, you could spend weeks and not see everything.

Bill grew up right where I met him: Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania. He started working at age 11 on the family farm and never stopped. Bill is 83 now (he doesn’t look or act like it). In his earlier days Bill served in the U.S. Army and then he worked for Chrysler building Plymouths and Dodges in Delaware. After two years with Chrysler it was back to Bloomsburg and a job with the local Harley dealer. It was a good deal; Bill became a factory-certified Harley technician. When I asked Bill his last name he told me: Morris, just like the cigarettes (I didn’t get it until later, and then I couldn’t stop laughing). Above all else, Bill is a collector and a people person with a wry sense of humor. His collection is beyond words and photographs; you really need to see it.

Bill purchased his first collectible motorcycle for $20, a 1928 single-cylinder Harley, but he quickly realized the best way to acquire collectibles and saleable parts was to buy out other businesses. When Harley entered troubled times in the 1970s, Bill purchased the assets of 28 dealerships in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware, and in an international reach, the Netherlands, Belgium, and South Africa. Bill tells of a recurring theme: A dealer would ask $600,000 for his inventory, Bill would offer a quarter of that, the dealer would decline, and then a few months later Bill would get the call: Was the $150,000 offer still good? It was; Bill knew his business. His approach was to sell parts and motorcycles via mail order. Bill became one of the largest Harley parts and Harleyana sources in the world. All the while, he kept the collectible motorcycles and parts that caught his interest.
But why collect motorcycles?
People collect for different reasons. Some are completists; they collect to own every variation of an item ever made. Others have a theme guiding their collecting. Still others are loyalists; they collect everything associated with a particular marque. Some collect to revive memories, acquiring items that bring back better times. And people collect different things. As I surveyed the expansive and overwhelming contents of Bill’s Old Bike Barn, I wondered: What drives Bill’s desire to collect? I asked the question, but I’ll wait until the end of this story to share the answer. Hold the thought.

Back to Bill: In 1969 Hollywood was on an outlaw motorcycle kick (The Wild Angels, Easy Rider and other moto flicks). Bill wanted a chopper and a builder in California advertised that if you had five old hogs to trade, they would build a California custom for you. Bill asked if he sent 18 old Harleys, could he get a California chopper and some cash? Yes, the choppermeisters answered, so Bill shipped the old Harleys to California and waited. And waited. And waited. He finally went to California and found a rundown chopper shop big on promises but short on ability. Bill hung around for 60 days, bought a pickup, and took a partially completed bike back to Pennsylvania. “I figured if those clowns could make custom motorcycles, I could, too,” Bill explained. The motorcycle Bill hauled back to Bloomsburg needed wiring, wheels, and more, but that was simple stuff to a factory-trained tech like Bill. Bill’s Custom Cycles emerged, and Bill’s talents as a custom builder, a collector, and a businessman took center stage.
From Harleys to Guzzis at Bill’s Old Bike Barn Museum

Around the same time, Bill became a Moto Guzzi dealer (one of the first in the United States) and he still loves the Italian motorcycles. Moto Guzzi approached Bill, he rented a gas station, and just like that, he was a Moto Guzzi dealer (he held the franchise from 1970 to 1975). “It was a match made in heaven,” Bill said, “I had no money and Moto Guzzi had no bikes.”

While acquiring the inventories of failing shops, Bill built a massive collection of Harley signs. That led to a lawsuit, with Bill in Harley’s crosshairs (Harley didn’t want anyone displaying “authorized Harley-Davidson dealer” signs if they weren’t). The lawsuit turned out to be a good thing. Bill settled the suit by opening a second building (the origin of Bill’s Old Bike Barn) where he could display the Harley signs but not sell Harley products. “That made the lawyers happy,” Bill explained. It is only a short walk up the hill from Bill’s Custom Cycles to Bill’s Old Bike Barn, but it satisfied Harley’s legal beagles.
You enter Bill’s Old Bike Barn into a massive room with motorcycles, motorcycle gear, motorcycle engines, airplanes, a carousel ride and more. The collection of 200 motorcycles is eclectic, and within the collection, the pieces vary widely. Bill is not just a Harley guy or an Indian guy (or just a motorcycle guy, for that matter); he likes anything interesting. I was lucky. As an emissary of Motorcycle Classics magazine, I had a personal tour by Bill. The large main hall includes fully restored motorcycles, motorcycles in unrestored original condition, custom motorcycles, scooters, mini-bikes, trikes and more. The U.S., Japan, Germany, Italy, France and England are well represented. There are motorcycles from the very early 1900s and all eras that followed. One that caught my eye was an original, unrestored Honda SL350 with only 4,000 miles on the odometer (it’s one I always wanted, and I stared at it so intensely I might have worn away some of the paint). There are fascinating Harley engine displays, including a gold-plated Knucklehead engine (as in real gold). “Never could sell it,” Bill said, but I sensed no regret in his comment. Signs abound. Parts and accessories are neatly woven into the collection. Every inch contains a new surprise, but the biggest surprise was that the main hall was just the introduction. Much more was ahead.

Bill led me to what he refers to as Guzziland, another large hall with Moto Guzzis, military motorcycles and more. We know Moto Guzzis as sporting motorcycles, but back in the day Moto Guzzi made motorcycles for the Italian Army. Bill has a few and these, along with other military motorcycles, more Moto Guzzis, and Bill’s favorite motorcycle are displayed here. There’s a huge OD green military cargo parachute that umbrellas the militaria nicely.

A Harley WL 45, the iconic World War II American military motorcycle (with scabbard and Tommy gun) is displayed among various munitions. The War Department told Harley and Indian to build 500cc V-twins and to stop selling other motorcycles during World War II. Harley told the Army if they wanted motorcycles, it was going to be the 750 flathead (and there was no way they would stop making other motorcycles). Indian saluted and executed (they did as they were told). Harley thrived after the war; Indian declared bankruptcy in 1952 (see “Military Mission: Indian Model 741,” ). A Wehrmacht BMW and its sidecar are nearby. There’s a 1946 500cc single-cylinder Moto Guzzi Alce (it means elk in Italian), Italy’s military motorcycle. You wouldn’t think a motorcycle would be notable for its sidestand, but that’s the first thing I noticed about the Alce (if you’ve ever parked a motorcycle in soft sand, you’ll get it). The collection includes an MT 500, a later military motorcycle born of Harley’s 1987 Armstrong-CCM acquisition. It’s a 500cc Rotax-powered bike Harley thought the Army would buy, but the Army had no interest in gasoline-powered vehicles. Harley abandoned the effort (that’s the bad news); the good news is the MT 500 became instantly collectible and Bill has one.

Moving on
Bill’s military motorcycle collection doesn’t end there (in fact, it gets quirkier). Bill has two motorcycle halftracks. One is the German Kettenkrad, a tracked vehicle with a motorcycle front end; the other is the Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico. The Kettenkrad was a 1939 Nazi project designed by NSU Werke AG. NSU built 8,345 Kettenkrads; production stopped at the end of World War II and then resumed for agricultural applications through 1948. The Kettenkrad is complicated; it steers with the handlebars and front wheel, but once steering inputs exceed a certain angle, differential track speeds kick in. The Kettenkrad tops out at 44mph, it has a 4-cylinder, 36-horsepower, water-cooled Opel engine, and it weighs 3,440 pounds. But if you think the Kettenkrad is complex, consider the Moto Guzzi Mulo Meccanico. Built for the Italian Army (its official designation was the Autoveicolo Da Montagna, or mountain vehicle), Bill explained that it was designed for hauling supplies over Alpine peaks. The Italians wanted something modern to replace the donkeys they had been using (hence the unofficial name, the Mulo Meccanico). The Italian Army’s specifications were staggeringly complex. The Mulo had to be able to adjust the rear track on the fly to suit narrow trail conditions. The front end had a single-sided fork, a driven front wheel (it can climb a vertical surface), a steering wheel, and shafts, gears, and U-joints buried in a sea of complexity. The Mulo had to haul 1,100 pounds and meet a specified 50mph top speed. The Italian Army ordered 500 Mulos and deliveries started in 1961, but by 1963 (after making only 200 machines) the Italians realized actual donkeys were a better deal. The Mulo’s complexity ran smack into that age-old engineering axiom, KISS (Keep It Simple, Signore).

Bill has other Moto Guzzis on display in this area, including a stunningly bright red Falcone (it is pronounced fowl-cone-ay), a beautiful black Ambassador, and even a ’70s-styled Guzzi chopper (don’t forget that Bill built custom bikes). One of the more unique machines is a 1961 Guzzi dump truck. Bill kept it in its original unrestored condition for years and used it to haul manure on his farm. Bill cleaned up the Guzzi truck, customized it with a show-worthy paint job, and then realized he had made it too pretty to use for, well, hauling manure around the farm.

By this point (and having seen only a portion of the collection), I asked Bill which motorcycle was his favorite. I expected to hear something bar-and-shield based on the many drop-dead-gorgeous vintage Harleys, or maybe an Indian, but I had guessed wrong. Think Nuremberg (as in Germany), but not BMW. Bill’s answer surprised me with its quickness and a palpable uptick in an already-high energy level. “It’s my Zündapp,” he said, leading me to an unrestored but tuxedo-elegant 1952 KS601. “I bought it with only 2,600 kilometers,” he said, “and it’s the smoothest motorcycle I’ve ever owned.” Zündapp started in 1917 making munitions. The name combines the German words zünder and apparatebau (igniter and apparatus), the two components of a bomb. When World War I ended, Germany could no longer make bombs and Zündapp had a choice: Shut down or find another line of work. They went with motorcycles. Zündapp first made 2-strokes; by 1933 they made 4-stroke boxer twins. Called K models in a nod to their shaft drive (kardan means shaft in German), 1951 brought the KS601 with a tubular steel frame, telescopic forks, and Zündapp’s 592cc overhead valve twin. Zündapp built fewer than a thousand KS601s and Bill’s is one of them. I could have spent more time examining the Zündapp; it is 100% original, one year younger than me, and the only KS601 I’ve ever seen. Bill’s Zündapp exudes a magnificent patina and wears its age well. Wherever Bill rides it, he has the only one.
Billville: Bill’s Old Bike Barn Museum

After seeing the main hall, the military motorcycles, and the Guzzis, I commented on the extent of Bill’s collection. Bill smiled. “You haven’t seen the interesting stuff yet.” He was right; we were only getting started. I had stumbled into a more advanced collection than any I had ever seen. Actually, it would be inaccurate to call what I found in Bill’s Old Bike Barn a collection. I realized when assembling this story that what Bill created is not a mere collection; it is a collection of collections. Bill’s Old Bike Barn might have started as a motorcycle collection, but it goes way beyond that. Anybody can collect and display motorcycles. In the course of curating a collection, advanced collectors, the guys who go exponential and become collectors of collections, amass all kinds of things. Then the question becomes: How do you display it?

Bill had the answer: Billville. If your name is Bill and you have a collection of collections, start your own town and display each collection in different storefronts and offices, and call it all Billville. You can have streets on which the shops are located, and you can park cool motorcycles in front of the shops. The streets in Billville are lined with something better than gold: Vintage motorcycles and Bill’s collection of collections. The collections are hypnotic in their appeal. People see the shops and what’s in them and they want to add to the collection, so they contribute more things you can exhibit. The shops grow and the town of Billville thrives. Sense a pattern here? And, of course, Billville includes the motorcycles, motorcycle engines, and everything-associated-with-motorcycles collections. Bill led, I followed, and my jaw dropped with each turn and every stop in Billville. It’s brilliant.

“Take a look at the camera shop,” Bill said, but my eyes were fixed on the vintage Ariel parked in front and the Velocette next to it (per capita vintage motorcycle ownership in Billville is off the charts). Billville is huge, the streets are long, the shops are amazing, and the collections are dreamlike. I asked Bill if he was into photography. “Nah, I just had a few cameras to show. Folks see that and they come back a week later with a bag of old cameras. There’s more than 6,000 cameras in the collection now.” Pick a collectible item, and there’s a Billville shop housing a collection for it. Into Coca-Cola memorabilia? There’s a shop for it, with an Aermacchi and a Harley Topper parked in front. Billville has its own police department (with vintage police motorcycles and police collectibles inside). A crew of local fireman visited and asked if they donated their vintage Mack fire engine, would Bill create a Billville fire department? They did, Bill did, “and then I had to make a fire bike,” Bill said, “after all, this is a motorcycle museum.” Vintage bicycles, dolls, toys, Elvis collectibles, phones, a post office, a restaurant, a vintage dentist’s office, and much more. Bill’s place is like peeling an onion; each layer reveals another story or three. Everything in this Pennsylvania pleasure palace is visually arresting. I was a kid in a candy shop. I want to return.

If you’re looking for a worthy destination and an experience like no other, Bill’s Old Bike Barn should be at the top of your list. I’d allow a full day for the visit, maybe with a break for lunch (Bill suggested the nearby Scoreboard restaurant; it was excellent). Bill’s Old Bike Barn may well be one of Pennsylvania’s best kept secrets.

Back to the question I posed earlier in this story: What makes Bill collect? When I asked, Bill smiled, lowered his gaze, and answered softly. “I like to see peoples’ reactions,” he said. That being the case, I think Bill must have really enjoyed our visit. We sure did. MC
Bill’s Old Bike Barn 7145 Columbia Blvd Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania 17815 (570) 759-7030