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The first Sunday in May and October are dates that are marked with special significance on the fading calendars in the garages of thousands of Midwestern riders. For over 16 years, beginning in 1987, these anniversaries served as the unofficial beginning and end of our weather-abbreviated motorcycling season, and called the faithful from hundreds of miles away to White Oak Township, Michigan, whether in rain, flurries, or occasionally, sunshine.
Single riders and small packs inevitably formed up with groups of many others as they approached the site; rolling, thundering waves converging toward the goal of their Pilgrimage: to park their bikes amidst the cognoscenti on the hallowed grounds of Suzi Greenway’s farm, anointed by seeping Castrol and spilled lager of many past gatherings.
 
Twice a year they came, arrayed from every variety of motorcycle addiction: Knee Draggers and Wing Nuts, long distance machines and trailer queens, Knuckleheads, Panheads, Oilheads and Airheads. Vintage punters mixed with roadrashed stunters, Connies and Bonnies, Stretchers and Smokers, Busas, BSAs, Bimotas and BMWs. There were VFRs, V-Rods, V-Stroms, Vincents and Velocettes scattered amid dozens of Ducatis and multiple MV Agustas. And always in a reserved position of distinction, a startling number of Nortons, serving as the honor guard of the President of the International Norton Owners Club, one Suzi Greenway.
 
Suzi’s parties always provided unique sights and sounds. In the spring we were sure to get our first look at the newest motorcycles in the real world, to hear the sweet mechanical melody they produced and listen to the proud owners developing their lore. There were always running examples of rare, historic bikes usually seen only in museums or books. Best of all, these wildly varying examples were parked cheek by jowl, customs and classics, FXRs, GSXRs and their owners peacefully coexisting, if only for the day, because our hostess wanted it that way.
 
Invitation was by word of mouth, and the description was nearly identical in all cases: “All kinds of bikes, all kinds of riders, and everybody gets along.” When you met a rider who would appreciate that experience, you told them, and once they came they were converts.
We’ve always known this is how we should behave together, but unless someone shows the way, we tend to retreat to our comfortable corner of the sport. Suzi is uniquely qualified to lead in this direction. Her lifelong commitment to motorcycling is complete; this is a woman whose first husband gave her a BSA 175 Bantam as an engagement ring. For a young American living in England in the seventies, admiring the Norton, Triumph and Velocette clubs and the freedom and camaraderie they exhibited, this was a taste of freedom that literally changed her life. She lives by her oft repeated mantra: “When you’re motorcycling, you’re not one breed against another. If we're not a cohesive group, we will be legislated out of existence. In the end it’s not what you ride, it’s who you are.”
 
I asked Suzi where she developed the leadership to spearhead these events, which ran so counter to the parochial, ultra-segmented bike subcultures that abound in our sport:
Suzi Greenway-Haenggi (Suzi): “I wasn’t trying to lead anything. I started my big parties as a protest against my Township because they wouldn’t let me have a Motorcycle Bed and Breakfast. I needed the money, and it seemed the thing to do, so people travelling through on motorcycles would have a place where they would be especially welcome; but I lost (that political battle). So I decided to stick it to ‘em – with peace. In a Gandhi-like protest, I said ‘let me show you who motorcyclists truly are. I’m going to have family reunions… and my family is all on motorcycles!’”
“It started in a local park with about 90 people, and three years later, it was up to about 400. In six years, about a thousand came. By the late 90’s, we estimated 4000 bikes would come through in a day, from as far away as Virginia, Quebec, Ontario, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Wisconsin. But mostly it was people from all over Michigan.” 
MCADX: Who were the first people to come?
Suzi: “My Norton buddies came, and the Ducati club. I started out with the idea that it was going to be this all European, all British, Italian thing… no Japanese bikes, no Harleys..”
MCADX: Oh, you had rules? So much for Gandhi!
Suzi: “My friends had the rules, I didn’t have a clue! But then I started dating a guy on a sport bike, and I told his friends, ‘You have to come to my party!’ And that was it: I let the sport bike people in.”
MCADX: There went the neighborhood. Were there ever conflicts?
Suzi: “Never. That’s when I started the premise that this was the United Nations of Motorcycling and everybody had to get along. In all those years, we never had a problem between the motorcyclists."
 
"The only time we had a problem was a neighbor. He got drunk and started driving up and down the road, waiting for someone to get in his way. When no one did, he drove into the crowd, injuring one guy and smashing three bikes. When the police came, he drank a beer in their presence, so the breathalyzer wasn’t valid.”
MCADX: There must have been a couple hundred witnesses.
Suzi: "There were about a thousand witnesses, but I was still blamed. The local newspaper headlines said, ‘Biker Party Wreaks Havoc on Cooper Road.’ I asked 50 people to write a letter to the local Township, the Police, and the local paper – and to ask 50 more people to do the same. They all got thousands of letters. I had a hearing in the local town hall, and the undersheriff defended me. He said that If I contained most of the people on my property, they couldn’t tell me ‘no.’'
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