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Posted by Sean_Q_ on August 10, 2008, 3:06 pm
When I was still in school I got a 2nd hand, bright red Honda S90
like this: http://www.joesvcycle.com/Pictures/Picture%20645.jpg
This had to be the funnest toy of my whole childhood. It was not much
heavier than a bicycle. And it was magical. You didn't have to pedal!
You could just sit there, twist the grip and -- marvelous to relate --
it would bear you away effortlessly at amazing speeds to the muted roar
of its single cylinder.
Not only that, it would go up hills and against the stiff Prairie wind
that I had fought against so often on my bicycle. And if all those
wonders weren't enough, it even had a headlight to go riding after dark,
without some spring-loaded generator rolling against your tire
making it harder to pedal. Just think of it -- riding at night.
The thing gave me the most wondrous sense of freedom. And fun.
I used to look down at the speedometer and the headlight and
watch the road disappearing under the front fender and groove
on the feeling of riding.
"It's not a big motorcycle,
Just a groovy little motor bike" --"Little Honda" by Brian Wilson
I took it up mountains, along irrigation canals (drained in winter),
on frozen rivers, through forests, down into the dinosaur badlands,
all over the place. My friends thought it was cool, too. One of them
who rode it said it made him feel as though he was flying (like a bird).
Of course my proud plumage would droop a little whenever a big Harley
went by. My little bike may have been groovy, but the look and sound
of a "big" (for those days) 74 cubic inch V-twin commanded real respect.
The rider often assumed a lofty pose and hardly ever condescended
to even notice a lowly Honda.
Somehow I knew that a Harley was the Ultimate Ride.
This was not because I'd ever ridden one and knew first hand how
it felt, but because it was the Prevailing Wisdom. Everyone said so,
therefore it must be true. I would dutifully echo this "truth"
in any conversation that included the sacred mantra "Harley Davidson".
It never occurred to me to verify this by checking it out for myself.
That would have been unthinkable. A kind of heresy to even consider it;
like Galileo trying by experiment to test Aristotle's dictum
on the speed of falling objects. In Orwell's _1984_ it would have been
"thoughtcrime", which the mind was trained to reject if a unorthodox
thought even began taking shape.
In the event, six American presidents and two impeachment attempts
were to go by before I even so much as sat on a Harley... but
in the meantime I had slowly come to the resolution that sometime
in my lifetime I'd have at least one, to really savor the experience.
And, having learned a little about distinguishing between facts and
preconceptions, to find out how much it really delivered on its promise.
I can't think why this was so important, but somehow it was.
When I first demo'd one, an Ultra Classic, I knew right away it was
right for me. And this was after trying out a VTX1800, a Vulcan 2000
and a few other big-bore metric cruisers (all of which were superior
to Harley in various ways).
The question is, was this preference for Harley because of my earlier
conditioning or because of some truly special and unique quality
inherent to the Milwaukee iron? Maybe some of both; I can't really tell.
The seller worked for a car dealership which also acquired insurance
write-offs. This bike had been laid down at speed and had considerable
rash, but seemed ok otherwise. It was also customized with lots of
extra farkles and a Screamin' Eagle Stage III upgrade. Seeing that
I came alone and brought my van, he let me test drive it.
I got on, planting my feet firmly at the sides. Sure is massive,
I thought, bringing it off the side stand. I looked around at all
the gauges and controls. Heavy-duty; none of the usual flimsy
Japanese plastic. He turned the ignition switch, waited for
the red light to time out and told me to punch the starter button.
Oof oof wow oof oof wow KA-BLATT POTATO POTATO POTATO....
I'm finally on a Harley, I thought. At last. This is the Real Thing.
It was an awesome feeling. I couldn't have been more impressed
if the US Navy had offered me a chance at the helm of the _Nimitz_.
The rubber shock mounted motor shook in an assertive but pleasing way,
and the exhaust rumble reminded me of the _Memphis Belle's_ engines
warming up for a bombing mission. The barely muffled piston-driven sound
of World War II.
I pressed the shifter pedal and it klunked into 1st. Solid.
Everything about the bike felt solid. I found the clutch pressure point,
rolled on some throttle and eased off up the street.
For a big bike, handling was surprisingly easy from the moment
it started rolling. And the unforgettable sound and feel of pulsing
low-end torque as I pulled away. I'd once test driven a 1928
single banger John Deere, and this had the same feeling. I felt right
at home, a feeling of something new and yet familiar.
I got to the stop sign and turned onto the main street. Just then
another Harley rider went by in the opposite direction and gave me
a wave.
Actually it was more like a salute. If the deal needed sealing,
that sealed it. I was now a person of some respect, a Hawg Rider.
I was Someone.
Now it may be argued that the mere fact of owning one doesn't enhance
a person's stature. A nerd on a Harley is still a nerd.
But I disagree. If even a total Walter Mitty type* starts pursuing his
fantasies in the Real World something important happens. He may learn
something about his own character; he may even enjoy himself.
If he wants to ride around Suburbia thinking he's the Road Warrior
that's his business as long as he acts responsibly, and who's
to say him nay?
Anyway, whatever, I proudly returned the bike to the seller's house.
To be sure, we went through all the usual motions; I had the bike
checked out at an indie shop, etc. But I couldn't help feeling as though
my whole past life had been merely a preliminary phase preparatory
to riding a Harley. If a mere machine can do that, it's gotta be
something special.
Three years (and some money spent) later, I still ride the same bike,
and I still like the sound and feeling of its tractor-like low end
torque as I pull away from a stop and the roar of the motor in full song
through the staggered duals cruising along the freeway.
And sometimes while riding it I start wondering why I still want
a British roadster such as a Bonneville when I've already got
a good road bike.
You may talk about your Yamaha
And sing of Sue-zoo-key
But an Ultra Classic Harley is
The touring bike for me...!
ps. When I read this article to my S/O her only comment was,
"It must be a Guy Thing."
* See James Thurber's brilliant (and most famous) short story,
"The Secret Life of Walter Mitty", available at various sites,
including this one: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/6821/thurber.html
Wikipedia commentary at:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Secret_Life_of_Walter_Mitty
Sean_Q_
'99 FLHTCUI
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