Barber

Vintage Fest

2026

Barber Vintage Fest 2026

by ERIC KRAFT

Hurricane Isaias, questionable judgment, and the motorcycle that got away

Early October is the time every year when my old buddies and I all meet up in Alabama for our annual pilgrimage to the Barber Vintage Festival. This year, we arrived at Barber Motorsports Park just before lunchtime on Thursday, October 8th, despite increasingly dire warnings of a potential direct hit from fast-growing Hurricane Isaias. No matter. We had already paid the exorbitant rates for rooms at the Hampton Inn directly across from the entrance to Barber, and besides, we’re from Florida. We’ve seen hurricanes before. How bad could a little tropical storm be once it got tired of blowing over palm trees and decided to head inland?

There was no way a silly little hurricane was going to interfere with our weekend of motorcycle racing, swap meet bargains, and questionable financial decisions.

Besides, although the racing and the Swap Meet don’t officially get underway until Friday, there are already bikes practicing on the track and most vendors have already set up their displays. And everyone knows that the best (or worst) swap meet deals are to be found on Thursday. The early bird gets the worm, as they say. Or, in my case, the early bird gets another motorcycle that he doesn’t need and has absolutely no intention of explaining to his wife.

Security is also considerably more relaxed on Thursday afternoon, which allows one to ride (carefully, of course) through the swap meet aisles on one’s pit bike. This is an important consideration. Walking an entire swap meet is hard work, and you don’t want to wear yourself out before you’ve had a chance to spend several thousand dollars.

Thursday’s weather was absolutely perfect, and I had brought a couple of bikes to Barber. My trusty pit bike, a fully restored 1971 Hodaka 100B+, and “The Beast,” a street-legal 1970 Rickman Metisse powered by a 750cc (punched-out) Yamaha XS650 engine with open exhausts. The latter is not exactly subtle transportation, but it does have the advantage of announcing my arrival ten minutes before I actually get there.

Most importantly, I had several thousand dollars in cold, hard cash burning a hole in my pocket and plenty of room in the trailer for a third motorcycle.

The mission was simple: Find a bike that either (A) I had always wanted, (B) I didn’t know I had always wanted until I saw it, or (C) was sufficiently cool that I could tell my wife I’d owned it for years when she eventually discovered it in the shop.

The last category is particularly important. Timing is everything in motorcycle collecting. Ideally, a new acquisition should be allowed to age in a dark corner of the shop for several months before being formally introduced to your much more financially responsible spouse. That way, it looks less like a recent purchase and more like an old friend who has finally decided to come out of hiding.

So, off I went, prowling up and down the swap meet aisles on my trusty Hodie, keeping my eyes peeled for that special motorcycle that would somehow justify the entire trip.

There were plenty of possibilities. A very rare VanTech-framed Honda Super 90 with leading-link forks caught my eye. There was a rather dangerous-looking Benelli Volcano 180cc two-stroke minibike, which appeared to have been designed by someone who thought the world needed a tiny motorcycle with about zero regard for personal safety.

There was also a somewhat crusty Norton Commando project available for silly-cheap money, a strange little 80cc two-stroke Honda twin race-bike project, and three or four Yamaha Trailmaster 80s and 100s in various stages of restoration, disrepair, or what their owners optimistically described as “just needs a good carb cleaning.”

All were tempting for different reasons. Some were rare, some were unusual, and some were simply cheap enough to make bad judgment seem financially responsible.

But I was holding out for the PERFECT addition to my collection. After all, I had brought cash, an empty trailer space, and a complete lack of adult supervision. There was no reason to settle.

And so, incredibly, I bought absolutely nothing on Thursday.

I did, however, enjoy wandering around the swap meet, admiring the motorcycles, and watching a little practice on the spectacular Barber road course. It was a great afternoon, although I suspect the vendors were beginning to wonder about the old dude on the little Hodaka who kept riding past, but never bought anything.

Meanwhile, we received the latest weather update that afternoon. The forecast was now predicting TERRIBLE tropical storm conditions beginning Friday evening and lasting through Saturday afternoon.

At dinner Thursday evening the conversation naturally turned to contingency plans. We decided to enjoy Friday as much as possible, attend the annual “Motorcycles by Moonlight” gala at the Barber Museum Friday evening, and then probably head for home early Saturday morning before Mother Nature decided to demonstrate what a Category Whatever hurricane could do to a bunch of motorcyclists and their expensive toys.

This turned out to be exactly what we did.

Friday was overcast and breezy, but the rain held off until about 7 PM. That gave us plenty of time for more swap meet wandering, riding around on our pit bikes, watching practice, enjoying the Fan Zone, and having a little lunch.

I also entered The Beast in the Vintage Japanese Motorcycle Club’s “Sweet Sounds of Japanese Horsepower” event.

Now, technically, the Rickman Metisse is British. But the big lump in the middle is 100% Yamaha, so I figured that ought to count for something. Fortunately, the organizers agreed. Apparently, they were willing to overlook the British ancestry as long as there was enough Japanese horsepower involved.

And there certainly was.

The Beast even managed to take second place in the twin-cylinder class, finishing just behind an RD400 whose unmuffled expansion chambers were producing a sound that was an impressive display of two-stroke horsepower and a serious auditory assault. I was sitting next to him and my ears are still ringing

I like to think I actually won the Four-Stroke Twins class, but apparently that class doesn’t officially exist. Some people just don’t appreciate a good technicality.

Friday evening’s Gala was truly amazing. There were wonderful tributes to George Barber, the founder of the Museum and Collection, who passed away in February at the age of 85. His vision and generosity have given us one of the greatest motorcycle museums in the world, and it was a privilege to be there to celebrate his legacy.

I even managed to get a seat at the Yamaha table, right up front. It’s all about who you know, I guess. Or possibly who you can convince that your old Yamaha-powered British motorcycle qualifies as a Japanese motorcycle.

I didn’t buy anything at the silent auction, although I did spend some time wandering around the Museum. I’ve probably visited the Barber Museum 25 times over the years, and somehow, every single visit reveals something I hadn’t noticed before. This year’s exhibits included a terrific tribute to 100 years of Ducati and another celebrating 40 years of the Suzuki GSX-R. It’s a remarkable place, and I never get tired of visiting.

Unfortunately, the evening also brought the announcement that all racing, the swap meet, and other events at Barber would be suspended until at least late Saturday afternoon due to the approaching storm. That pretty much settled things.

There was no point hanging around a rain-soaked racetrack, waiting for a hurricane to pass, especially when the best part of the weekend was already behind us. So, I got up early Saturday morning, braved the windy, wet conditions, loaded everything up, and headed south.

And that, dear readers, is how I returned home from Barber Vintage Fest 2026 with exactly the same motorcycles I had brought with me.

No rare VanTech Honda. No Benelli Volcano. No Norton Commando. No obscure Honda twin racer. Not even a Yamaha Trailmaster.

Just two motorcycles, an empty trailer space, and several thousand dollars that somehow managed to survive an entire weekend surrounded by some of the most tempting motorcycle bargains in the country. I suppose I should consider that a successful exercise in financial restraint.

Although, looking back, I can’t help thinking that the real tragedy of Hurricane Isaias wasn’t the rain, the wind, or the cancellation of Saturday’s events. It was that the storm forced me to leave before I could make another lap through the swap meet.