Gullwings, Speedsters, and the like are all holy grails when it comes to automotive barn finds, but one of the ultimate finds in the two-wheeled world is the Vincent. Vincents were fast and few were made, so when they do show up, people tend to get a little excited. This story is about one man’s discovery of one of these British bikes and it first appeared in the appropriately named book, The Vincent in the Barn. Subscribe to email updates for a chance to win a free copy, or purchase your own from Motorbooks or Amazon. We hope you enjoy the tale and please be sure to send in your own find stories because one is going to make it into Tom’s next book!

Lanny Hyde had ridden old British bikes for years. He lived in Northern California, but he’d travel down to Southern California frequently to ride his BSA or Norton relics in all-British rides. “I’d leave my bikes at my parents’ house where I grew up,” said the retired salesman.

One day a neighbor, Warren, who lived across the street from his parents’ house, wandered over to talk to Hyde’s mother, who was working outside. “I see your son rides old British bikes,” said Warren. “My mother told him, ‘Yes, he lives up north, but he keeps them here in our garage,’” said Hyde. “‘Well, tell him I have an old Vincent stored in my garage across the street.’ My mother called me right away.”

This chance conversation occurred in 1982. The next time Hyde traveled to his parent’s house he walked across the street to meet Warren. “He told me he had a Vincent back in the barn, really a shed, but that it was all covered with plywood and junk, and he wasn’t too interested in cleaning it off just to let me see it,” said Hyde. “I don’t own it,” said Warren. “It belongs to a friend who left it here in 1960.”

Apparently Warren’s friend rode it into the shed and parked it. For the next couple of years, he kept the license plates renewed, but eventually that ended, and the Vincent was all but forgotten and went into long-term hibernation.

Warren was also reluctant to reveal the owner’s name. “It took me about six months for him to tell me who this guy was,” said Hyde. “But ultimately he told me his name was Cliff and where he lived. So I decided to pay Cliff a visit.”

Hyde stopped in front of the house and walked up to the front door. There was a screen door and a wood door. “I knocked and he opened the door,” said Hyde. “He only opened the wood door and said, ‘What do you want?’ I told him through the screen door that my mom and dad lived across the street from Warren, and that I understood there was a Vincent in the shed.”

Then Hyde popped the question: “I wondered if you might be interested in selling it?”

“No!” and he closed the door. “And that was the end of it,” said Hyde.

But as luck would have it, Hyde was transferred to Southern California, not far from where Cliff lived. “Because he lived on my way home from work, I’d stop and see him once in a while,” he said. Cliff was a machinist by trade and specialized in machining gun barrels and other critical materials. “If the garage door was open, I’d stop and talk to him and never mention the Vincent,” he said. Hyde is nothing if not patient because these visits continued for several years.

Finally, one day in 1988, Hyde gathered up his courage and asked Cliff the same question he had asked six years earlier. “You know, Cliff, I’m still interested in that Vincent,” said Hyde. “What’s it going to take for me to buy it?”

“What’s it worth?” asked Cliff. Hyde had still never even seen the bike because his parents’ neighbor Warren was reluctant to unearth the potentially rare cycle. “I told him I didn’t know what it was worth, but I would be glad to take a friend over to take a look at it and he’ll tell you what it is worth,” said Hyde. “You just give me the authorization and I’ll take care of it.”

When Warren finally uncovered the Vincent, they discovered the bike in pretty rough shape. It had been stored in an open shed and it was covered with sheets of plywood and cardboard. “You couldn’t even see it,” he said. “When we finally pulled everything off to see what was there, the handlebars were actually green with corrosion.” It was in sad shape. “It was missing a few pieces, but the basic bike was all there,” said Hyde.

The first thing Hyde noticed was that it was missing the correct front fender. It was also missing the correct horn, taillight, and toolbox.

The bike turned out to be a Touring Rapide model, which was Vincent’s standard road-going model equipped with deeply valenced steel fenders. “The most popular Vincent is, of course, the Black Shadow, which was built for both road and track use,” said Hyde. “Then there was the Black Lightning, which was strictly for the track.”

He made Cliff an offer and the bike changed hands after a nearly three decade hibernation.

“The Rapide had a beautiful valanced front fender,” said Hyde, who feels that is the reason the original was missing. “Most of the Touring Rapides were turned into sport bikes, so alloy or stainless fenders were often substituted. Owners would get rid of the heavy looking valanced fenders, so now, of course, guys restoring these bikes are looking for those original fenders. And they are really hard to find.”

The incorrect front fender on Hyde’s Vincent was an aftermarket unit, but luckily he was able to find one from an ad in Hemmings Motor News. “There was a tiny ad for Vincent parts,” said Hyde. “So I called and asked the man if he had a front fender for a 1952 Rapide, and he said, ‘I think so, but you’ll have to call me back in a few days because I have to go up into the barn to find it.’ I called him back in three days, and he had the fender. The paint was pretty poor, but at least it was straight and didn’t have any dents.”

He secured a toolbox, a horn, and an original taillight through the Vincent Club.

Hyde brought his Vincent to restorer Gabe Malloy of Grass Valley, California, for a complete rebuild, but interestingly the bike hasn’t been started since its completion nearly a decade ago.

A wise man once said that the only way to prevent a British motorcycle from leaking is to not put oil in it, so after the rebuild it has never had fuel or lubricants installed other than assembly fluids. Curiously, Hyde has no intention of ever riding his showpiece.

“I’ve wanted one of these so long, and it has been restored to such a high level, that today it sits in a special foyer off my living room,” he said. “I have other bikes to ride.”

It has come a long way from having corroded green handlebars in an open shed.