Thrills and Cash for Motorcyclists: 1932 Class B Hill Climb Racing
In May 1932, Theodore Hodgdon laid out a pretty clean proposition for a rider with a stock 45 cubic inch motorcycle: strip the bike, gear it for the hill, put your weight forward, keep your feet on the boards, and go after the cash. The piece was called Thrills and Cash for Motorcyclists, and it came from a moment when amateur motorcycle competition was being sold as a practical weekend sport, not just a professional show.
Hodgdon was not writing about a factory-only game. He was talking to the ordinary owner who already had a 45, or who could buy one, and wanted to try a sanctioned hill climb without first becoming a professional racer. The promise was simple: a rider could spend his spare Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays chasing prize money on a machine that still started life as a stock motorcycle.
The numbers in the article make the pitch clear. Hodgdon wrote that the year before had seen 60 race meets in the United States, along with 160 hill climb contests and 150 motorcycle polo matches. In 1932, amateur Class B riders could accept cash in hill climbs. Many events offered $300 to $400 in total prize money, and larger sectional or national championship climbs could run as high as $1,600, split among the first five places.
Class B Racing and the 45 Cubic Inch Motorcycle
Hodgdon described Class B hill climbing as a place for 45 cubic inch pocket-valve machines, naming the Indian Scout “45” as the plain example. He also noted that 30.50 cubic inch overhead-valve motorcycles could be entered if they were catalogued by the manufacturer. That goes straight to the mechanical side of the story. The Class B rider was not being told to build a one-off factory monster. He was being told to start with a motorcycle that the rules recognized as a stock machine.
The American Motorcycle Association rules, as Hodgdon explained them, required promoters to schedule an event for Class B riders on those stock 45 cubic inch pocket-valve motors. That opened the door for the rider who wanted a taste of competition without owning the kind of special machine seen at the rougher and older professional climbs. It also made the setup work more interesting. The article was not just about horsepower. It was about where the horsepower went, how much weight the bike carried, where the rider sat, and whether the rear wheel could claw its way up the hill.
Hill climbs had already been part of American motorcycle competition for years, from early climbs at places like Carnegie to later local and regional contests all over the country. Hodgdon’s 1932 angle was the amateur door. The professional stars and factory specials still had their place, but the magazine reader with a 45 could see a path into the sport. The same local-race-meet logic later showed up at field meets such as Crater Camp, even when the terrain and machines changed.
Making a Stock 45 Work on the Hill
Hodgdon gave five basic steps for turning a stock 45 into a hill climber. The first was an overhaul and a little period hot-rodding: raise the compression, install alloy pistons, and “soup up” the motor for more power. That was the obvious part, but he did not stop there.
The second step was friction. Wheels had to roll easily. The transmission, chain, and sprockets had to line up and run free. A hill climb is short, but it is not kind. If the drivetrain is wasting power, the rider feels it right where the hill gets steep.
The third step was weight. Hodgdon wanted the unnecessary road equipment off the motorcycle. Headlights, tool boxes, front mudguards, and extra fittings were dead weight once the bike was being used for a climb instead of road work. The idea was not show polish. It was fewer pounds going uphill.
The fourth step was rider position. The saddle, handlebars, and footboards needed to put the rider’s weight well forward. Anyone who has watched an old hill climb photo knows why. On a steep face, the motorcycle wants to rear up. Hodgdon’s answer was to build the rider’s position around balance before the run ever started.
The fifth step was traction and gearing. Hodgdon called for a skid chain on the rear wheel and a much lower overall ratio than road use. On the Indian Scout “45,” he gave about 70 teeth on the rear sprocket as an example. He wanted the bike geared to pull in high gear rather than wasting power through low or second. A normal road job might run around 5 to 1; the hill climber might be around 13 to 1, with the final choice adjusted through 13, 14, or 15 tooth engine or transmission sprockets depending on the hill.
How Hodgdon Wanted the Bike Ridden
The riding advice is as useful as the mechanical advice because it shows how these stripped-down 45s were expected to be used. Hodgdon told the rider to practice on a short, steep hill, preferably smooth hard ground without rocks. That could be a pasture or a sand pit, but the point was to learn the machine before entering a contest.
The start had to be square. Hodgdon wanted the motorcycle pointed straight at the intended line, the engine fully warm, and the carburetion clean enough to take full throttle without spitting or skipping. Then the rider was to open the throttle and let the clutch in smoothly but firmly. The run started before the hill. A crooked start or a cold, coughing motor could ruin the climb before the rear tire had a chance to bite.
Once on the hill, the rider had to manage the front wheel. If it started to come up, the answer was to move forward, not paddle along with both boots. Hodgdon was blunt about that. Feet belonged on the footboards. If a rider stuck his feet out to save balance or drift back onto the course, he was not really riding the hill in the sense needed to win.
That line fits the whole article. Hodgdon was selling Class B competition as accessible, but he was not saying it was casual. The machine had to be prepared. The rider had to practice. The climb had to be attacked straight, clean, and under power.
Prize Money in a Depression-Year Sport
The cash angle was not decoration. In 1932, prize money had real pull. A $300 or $400 purse at a local hill climb was enough to get attention, and a $1,600 purse at a larger championship climb was serious money for a weekend event. Hodgdon’s headline worked because it joined two things that were easy to understand: speed and payment.
That is where the stock-based class earned its keep. If the only way into a paying hill climb was to own an expensive special, the amateur field would stay small. If a rider could start with a common 45 cubic inch motorcycle, remove weight, change gearing, fit a skid chain, and do careful motor work, the sport suddenly looked reachable.
The same stock-versus-special line shows up across vintage racing. Factory machines and special builds had their own appeal, from overhead-valve hillclimb hardware to later one-purpose race bikes, but Class B gave the magazine reader a different kind of invitation. The rider did not have to start with the fastest motorcycle in the country. He had to make his own motorcycle pull cleanly, hook up, and stay pointed at the top.
The Safety Language Belongs to 1932
The part that reads sharpest now is Hodgdon’s treatment of danger. He wrote that hill climb riders took spills when the hill was too steep or the ground too rough, but he compared the fall to a toss in a boys’ football scrimmage. He also stated that the sport’s records showed no serious injuries in hill climbing and argued that the danger was not as large as football.
That was the period voice of the article. It was confident, promotional, and built around the idea that a spectacular-looking spill did not automatically mean a bad injury. It also matched the way the piece tried to bring amateurs in: the hill looked wild, but the right machine and the right rider could make it manageable.
A Practical Hill Climb Recipe
The best part of Thrills and Cash for Motorcyclists is that Hodgdon does not treat hill climbing as magic. He breaks the job down the way a practical racer would. Make more power. Waste less of it. Take weight off. Move the rider forward. Gear the motorcycle for the hill. Put a chain on the rear tire. Practice the start. Keep your feet up. Ride the machine instead of dragging yourself up the course.
That puts the whole 1932 hill climb scene in plain view. Amateur racing, ordinary 45 cubic inch motorcycles, and Depression-era prize money all met in one place. From the fence line, the hill climb looked like a stunt. From the saddle, it was a mechanical problem with a rider attached to it.
Read from the rider’s side of the handlebars, the headline is more than a sales pitch. It is 1932 motorcycle competition in a tight little package: a Scout “45” or another stock 45, a local hill, a weekend’s work, a little prize money, and a hard run at the top.