Rugged Individualist
When you mention “Hollywood” and “motorcyclist” in the same sentence, it usually implies one of two kinds of actor: Either someone who played a motorcycle gang member in a B-rate flick, or someone who used a motorcycle in their muy macho cologne ad. Rarely is it a “true enthusiast”. Even rarer in the sphere of Tinsel Town is it to find a true “red, white, and blue” patriot who’s unapologetic about exercising his First Amendment right of “Freedom of Speech.”
If you try to recall the real motorcycle-riding heroes of our silver screen past, the names Steve McQueen, Lee Marvin, Keenan Wynn, Charles Bronson and, of course, Malcolm Smith spring immediately to mind. Yeah, yeah there were a lot more motorcycle-riding actors than that, but the icons were icons for a reason. They were genuine, unintimidated real riders. Unfortunately, that is no longer the norm.
Another thing that has faded from the motorcyclist landscape is “individualism.” We have become much more tribal. As a result, we dress, look and talk like our other tribe members. Harley guys wear the smallest black helmet they can find and black T-shirts from some obscure dealership. Motocross guys wear sunglasses made by goggle companies and T-shirts made by MX-gear companies. Gold Wing riders (God love ‘em) wear cargo pants and tank tops year-round. It seems we have lost the essential elements of “rugged” and “individual” somewhere in motorcycling’s evolutionary process.
That was my firmly held belief until I sat down for a chat with the enigma that is Barry Van Dyke. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who your family is when you have a name like Van Dyke in Hollywood. Dick Van Dyke has been a household name around the world for over sixty years. As single-digit-age kids, my brother and I used to emulate the living room prat fall that opened Dick’s sitcom. Throw in a myriad of big hit movies and it becomes easy to understand why the Van Dyke brand was so well known. I am glad to report Dick is still going strong in his 90’s!
His famous Dad was only a small part of my interest in getting together with Barry Van Dyke. The primary reason was his frequent Facebook posts about world affairs. Here is a guy I thought, that comes from Hollywood royalty and he is a motorcycle guy. That’s cool. He is slinging his (educated) opinion out there for God and everyone to read. That is really cool.
Putting your opinions on the internet is easy when you are a 48-year-old gamer who lives in his grandmother’s basement. To do it as a well-known actor is another thing altogether. Barry Van Dyke is “high profile” and acts like voicing his opinion is somehow his right! That takes intestinal fortitude and that was at the center of my interest. The fact that he is a genuine, unintimidated, real rider makes him an old school Hollywood hero. I had to meet this guy. I had been trying to for quite a while but, with our schedules, and life getting in the way, it took a long time to schedule a sit-down. Finally happened.
The Rock Store on Mulholland Drive is a famous motorcycle hang out, high above the urban chaos that is Los Angeles. Turns out Barry lives close by, so the stars aligned on this sunny, fall day to meet. Growing up with a famous Dad, his own acting career and the role motorcycles have played in that journey, were all on the table and, in typical Barry Van Dyke style, he was an open book. To start with, he showed up on a Triumph. Not an old one, but a damned nice modern version that has obviously been personalized by someone who knows what they are doing. No brand is more synonymous with Hollywood than Triumph. Noted.
M: Great to finally meet you and thanks for taking the time.
bBVD (OK that is a little funny): Glad to do it.
M: Let’s jump in at the deep end. How did you become infatuated with motorcycles living in Hollywood in the 1960s?
BVD: We didn’t live in Hollywood. My Dad wanted us to have as normal a life as possible, so we lived in Encino, a suburb in the LA area. My Dad’s friend needed to store a Honda Trail 90, and it ended up in our garage. When my Dad wasn’t home, we would ride it up and down the driveway. That was the spark of it all for me. It wasn’t long before the driveway wasn’t enough, and we would cruise up and down the road in front of the house. Then we went farther and farther. Soon we were out on Ventura Blvd. Traffic wasn’t what it is today, so we were relatively safe and having a great time.
M: Was your Dad a motorcycle enthusiast?
BVD: Not at all. He didn’t hate them. He just wasn’t into riding.
M: How did he deal with your desire and interest in riding?
BVD: He rented a couple of Hondas from the shop near our house and took the family to the Palm Springs area for a weekend of riding in the desert. He even rode a little himself.
M: Did he then go out and buy you and your brother Chris a couple of bikes after that?
BVD: Not hardly. He thought that outing would get it out of our system. But it had the opposite effect.
M: When did he finally buy you a bike?
BVD: He never did. I had to wait until I was out of high school to buy one myself.
M: So what did you buy?
BVD: I bought a Honda 305 Scrambler.
M: They were good bikes for the day.
BVD: I wanted a Triumph, but they were financially out of reach at that point.
M: So, did you dive straight into acting after high school?
BVD: No, that was a slow process. I had to work as an extra for quite a while and take acting lessons. I was fortunate to study with Jeff Corey, who was quite well-known back then. I also had to get some acting gigs, other than being an extra, to get an agency to represent me. It was not an overnight success story.
M: When I was doing my research for this interview, I looked over your IMbD/Wikipedia pages and was surprised how many shows you were on. Heck, you were on Hazel in 1961! I loved that show.
BVD: I was a part of the Pop Warner football team that was playing in one of the scenes. Not a big part, but it was a beginning.
M: You also worked with your Dad, right?
BVD: I was on the original Dick Van Dyke Show in 1962, as well as the New Dick Van Dyke Show in the early 70s and then, Van Dyke and Company in ’76. The longest we worked together was Diagnosis Murder, which ran from 1993 to 2001.
M: That was with your Dad. But on your own you had a long list of shows that everyone remembers, like Mork and Mindy, Eight Is Enough, Love Boat, Casino, Galactica 1980, Remington Steele, Dukes of Hazzard, The A team and more. That’s a bunch.
BVD: It is when you say it that way.
M: So back to bikes. Were you riding then?
BVD: Yes, but I had to put my career first So it was when I could and where I could.
M: It seems that I recall you liking to ride and race in the desert?
BVD: I was fortunate enough to meet Rick Sieman (aka Super Hunky) of Dirt Bike magazine. I loved riding in the dirt and eventually started racing desert events. Rick was way into desert racing and became an activist when the BLM started shutting down the land. He recruited me for a protest ride out by Barstow one Thanksgiving that I will never forget.
M: Do tell.
BVD: The BLM was flexing its muscles with land closures and announced that they were going to close down the area that was used to run the Barstow to Vegas desert race. They were only going to shut it down for one day, to screw with the dirt bike guys. That was all it took for Super Hunky and Louis McKey, aka the “Phantom Duck of the Desert”, to throw together a group of friends to “stick it to the man.” He announced this act of civil disobedience to the press and everyone else. The news show “Hard Copy” even picked it up. There were news vans, cop cars, helicopters, Earth First protesters, dirt bike supporters and lots more. It turned into a big face-off between the groups. All I remember is hearing Super Hunky saying, “Let’s go!” Then he and the other guys took off down the trails that were designated as closed. I didn’t even have my helmet on when they lit out. I scrambled to get going, and as I was trying to catch up, I could hear the police helicopter overhead telling me to stop, or I would be arrested. I kept going until I caught up to Hunky, who was nonchalantly refueling at a gas station. We were surrounded by cops and BLM dudes who ultimately arrested us. To make matters worse they confiscated our bikes. It was all over the news, and yes, they mentioned Dick Van Dyke’s son was involved.
M: What was worse, getting arrested or having your Dad find out?
BVD: He wanted to make sure I was OK, but in general he thought it was funny.
M: So how much time did you spend in the “big house?”
BVD: Ironically, the way it ended up was the CHP, Police, Sheriff Department. and BLM all played “Hot Potato” when it came to putting us in jail. No one had the jurisdiction or the desire to do all the paperwork that went with booking us into custody. So ultimately, they let us go. We did have to appear in Federal court, but the judge saw right through the prejudicial manner in which they closed down the land just to mess with the dirt bike crowd. We got off with paying a fine. No “big house” for us.
M: There were a ton of places to ride and race all over Southern California in the 60s and 70s. Does any one place stand out for you?
BVD: The Hopetown Grand Prix was pretty special. It was run on a ranch property they used to shoot western movies on. It was originally called Corriganville until Bob Hope bought it and changed the name to Hopetown. Thousands of spectators and all the best racers would show up. Europeans like Joel Robert, Torsten Hallman and Roger DeCoster even came one year, so it always had that “big race” feel.
M: I remember it well. As kids we would stand down at the mud hole and watch the mayhem. We would also get covered but that was all part of the Hopetown experience.
BVD: Exactly. I was there one year at the water hole with my friends and some guy on a Rickman Triumph got stuck in the middle of that muddy mess. He tried and tried to get the bike to restart. But you know how Lucas electrics are, when they’re done, they’re done!
M: Lucas ignitions are notorious for failing when the relative humidity goes over 5%! Much less in a huge mud hole. Back then lots of bikes had adverse reactions to water so why did that Rickman stand out in your memory?
BVD: Well, the rider got so pissed off that he leaned the bike up against a tree next to the mud hole and stomped off. I assumed he went for help or new spark plugs or something but what he showed up with really surprised me.
M: I am thinking a 25-foot rope and a pick-up truck?
BVD: Nope. Turned out he was more done than the Lucas ignition. He put a cardboard “For Sale” sign on it.
M: For those who might not be aware, a Rickman Triumph in the late 60’s was the Rolls Royce of dirt bikes. Exotic, and two to three times the cost of a typical European or Japanese bike. Definitely not a jewel you leave in a mud hole with a cardboard sign.
BVD: Exactly, but I knew what it was and I knew what an opportunity it was. I scrambled to raise the $800 asking price before he came to his senses. Eight hundred dollars back then was a bunch of money and I certainly didn’t have it, so I borrowed every dollar I could. Most of which came from my girlfriend Mary, who will be my wife of 50 years next May.
M: Is this your “One That Got Away” story? If so, I can see why it has stuck with you all these years.
BVD: It could have ended up that way, but it didn’t.
M: Wait, let me guess. Someone else bought it? He came to his senses? It became the victim of quicksand?
BVD: Nope. I still have the Rickman, and more importantly, Mary, to this today.
M: Wow, I didn’t see that coming! Well played. Do you ride the Rickman?
BVD: No. It hasn’t run in years. But I have no desire to sell it.
M: You know I am a bit of Rickman fan? I have several and consider Don and Derek Rickman dear friends. Motobilia and I would really enjoy helping you bring that bike back to life.
BVD: Hmmm. That is an intriguing and generous offer. It would be nice to hear it run again…
M: I would be remiss if I didn’t talk to you about your outspoken views on our country and our world. I hesitate to call them political views because I see your statements as more of a commentary on our country and its place in the world. Lots of folks have opinions, but most are parroting things they heard on legacy media or having an emotional reaction to a logical issue. I have paid a considerable amount of attention to your comments and find them to be much more fact-based than partisan rhetoric. In my book, you are more like this generation’s Will Rogers, than a right-wing zealot. Regardless, I think it takes a certain level of courage to speak your mind in a community where your opinion is solidly in the minority.
BVD: I love our country and feel a responsibility to express myself and my concerns for our place in the world and the direction we are headed. It is harder to stay silent than it is to speak up. If the truth offends some folks, it is still the truth. We need to talk to each other as Americans, not as separate groups. If we could just do that one thing, the country and the world would be a better place.
M: Well said sir. Thanks for taking the time and give some serious thought to the Rickman Resurrection.
BVD: Oh, I will. Thanks to everyone at Motobilia.
