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I had heard some reports and saw a few pictures on the inter-
net of the 2013 running of ‘The Race Of Gentlemen’. It looked
like a hybrid of the Muroc Dry Lake races and pre-speedway
Daytona Beach. I was intrigued and when Butch mentioned
interest in going, we made the plan.
‘T.R.O.G.’, as the cool kids call it, is put on by The Oilers Car
Club and is held in the beachside resort town of Wildwood,
New Jersey. It is about as far away in the Southern end of the
state as you can get from our base in Mudville, CT. Wildwood
has stopped their clock in 1961 and likes it that way. Most
every business has a neon or flashing sign and that era is spit
shined and maintained throughout the town.
Butch and I rode down on the Thursday before the race and
checked into the Blue Palms Motel, complete with the requi-
site blue neon tree in the parking lot. Thursday night the town,
past tourist season, was abandoned except for motorheads
there for T.R.O.G.
An impromptu car show was held in a gravel lot across from
the Starlust Hotel, and remained the nerve center for the rest
of the weekend. Word is your machine had to be invited. Rac-
ers had to send in applications to make sure their car or bike
fit the pre-WWII style this event emulates.
Highboy roadsters on skinny 16”s and tank shift bikes were
the hot set up. You might think the dudes with the correct
machines would have that H.A.M.B./hipster attitude, not so
here in Wildwood. Pure vibes from everyone.
Friday afternoon was registration for competitors and that
is when we saw the energy these Oilers put into the event.
The biggest dynamo was a barefooted pirate named Mel
who seemed to be in charge of just about everything. Friday
night was a chopper show in the courtyard of our pal Andy
Wood’s motel. He was entered in the race with his boss’
1929 Harley-Davidson. We sat on his balcony and enjoyed
the sights of 100 bikes and the sounds of the bands.
Saturday morning was foggy, both in the skull and on the
beach. It was race day. Hand painted signs and wooden
pylons lined the eight mile course. With the grey sky, misty
fog and patina paint jobs, I felt I was in a black and white
newsreel from 1939. It was mind blowing.
For hours four banger Model A’s and Flathead coupes bat-
tled it out. Bikes dug into the wet sand, roosting the pretty
flag girl who jumped in the air for every start.
The tide was the deciding factor on when the races
stopped. Saturday night was a beach bonfire, where even
the mayor of Wildwood was pouring beers for the crowd.
That shows plenty of class.
Sunday morning was sunnier and more rapid racing. A guy
from The Alter Boys was even kind enough to let me ride
shotgun in “Sachem” for a blast down the beach.
Sadly we had to leave around noon for our 325 miles ride
home. I looked over my shoulder and listened to bikes roar
down the strand. I think this is the best event I have at-
tended in the past ten years. The motivation to get a ma-
chine for next year’s go is very strong. Great job by The
Oilers and the city of Wildwood.
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