IRON HORSE.
Sunday, May 27, 2007 at 07:54PM 
You just don’t see young brothers on Harleys. Sure you may see some older brothers - like, in their 40’s and 50’s - on a Harley but it’s a rare sight to see. If a young brother is going to be on any kind of motorcycle it’s going to be a sport bike - a crotch rocket like a Ninja or a GSX-R . It’s an unsaid rule that Harleys, hogs, are for rednecks while the crotch rockets are designated for the hip hop brothers.
I owned a 1983 Honda Nighthawk 550S when I was 18 years old. At 18 it was more than fast enough for my limited experience. It was a very smooth riding bike but somehow, especially as I became a more confident rider, I sensed that there was something missing. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it at the time but I had many thrills on the interstate passing cars at 120 mph. It was like the speeder bike scene from ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ - zig zagging between cars knowing that one wrong move meant I would either slide helplessly down the highway, attached the the motorcycle, as the asphalt slowly grinded away at my flesh down to the bone or bounce off of a car or a guard rail into a ditch - snapping my neck upon impact. Of all the times I raced up and down the highway at 120 to 140 mph and came home without a scratch - the one time I had a real accident was while riding at 30 mph through downtown on my way to the library. An old man in a cab made a left turn in front of me.
I was shocked that he would make a left turn in front of me knowing I had the right of way. I instinctively locked my brakes and slid right into the front of the cab as he proceeded to complete his left turn. The whole time while this accident is happening - my body flying through the air - I notice that this guy is still driving along like nothing had happened. While flipping helplessly into the air like a poorly thrown Frisbee my body is in the upside down position as I see my motorcycle bounce off of the front bumper of the cab perfectly in the upright position as if it was being carried by a crane and fly about 15 feet through the air. Just as the bike is about to make contact with the pavement everything temporarily turns black as my head crashes against the cobblestone curb. I could hear different parts of my body making contact with the sidewalk as I rolled to a stop. Somehow I rolled upright where I was almost seated Indian style. “Don’t move, kid, you could be seriously injured!!” Someone screamed as I quickly regained consciousness. I saw my mangled bike laying on it’s side like a horse that had been put down - gasoline and motor oil streaming down the driveway.
I was so full of rage I stood up and set my eyes on the bastard in the cab. “Stay down, kid!” The same guy screamed. “Wait until the fire department gets here!” I stood straight up and began walking toward the cab but I was surrounded by too many people. They crowded around me and disoriented me even more as I was already dizzy from being thrown over 30 feet into the air. “I saw everything that happened!!” Someone yelled. “That guy should have watched where he was going!!” Someone else yelled. I took my helmet off to see the damage done from crashing into the curb. There was a short but deep gash that ripped into the fire engine red paint of my Shoei helmet. I looked over where my head hit the curb - three bricks had been crushed in half with one being completely dislodged from the curb.
The fire engine showed up and the guys riding on the back jumped off and rushed to my aide. “Where are you hurt?” One of the firemen asks. “Nowhere.” I grunted as I tried to spot the cab driver in the crowd. “Are you sure?” The fireman asks again. “Yeah.” i said. “Okay now. If we leave and it turns out you’re really hurt we aren’t coming back.” The fireman says with an angry look on his face like he was going to chop me down with an axe if I told him to leave. My left boot began feeling tighter and tighter - as if someone wss blowing up my foot with a helium tank. I ignored the pain because I wanted to strangle that old guy that destroyed my bike. My head started spinning and my lower right leg started to throb like a chimming church bell - I fell to the ground just as the firemen started to board the fire engine. “He needs help!” Someone screamed. The firemen grabbed me before I hit the ground and layed me on my back. “Where are you hurting?” The same fireman asked. “Left…leg” I said in an incredible agony. The fireman cut my boot off and my jeans up to my thigh. “It isn’t broken but I’ll put your leg in an air splint anyway.” He says.
To make a long story short, I sued the cab company for a few thousand dollars and bought myself a Volkswagen Scirrocco - so begins the era of ‘Fast and Furious’ before the movie was even thought of but that’s another story. All that happened over 17 years ago. It’s 2007, I’m 35 years old, and using what was to be a vacation at the beach for an opportunity to open my eyes to the world of Harley Davidson. My Oldest sister begged me to go on a family trip to Destin, Florida for a few days and try out one of the new condos - The Mediterranean. Oh sure it was a posh little place - state of the art entertainment center with speakers in every room and Bahamian decor throughout. The condo was soundproof through and through. I woke up every morning to a panoramic view of the ocean that was flawless from sun up to sun down but that’s not why I’m here. I spotted a scooter rental shop down the road as we drove in. There were four Harleys sitting amongst a handful of little sesame street-colored scooters close to the road where everyone driving by could easily spot.
After unpacking we lounged around the condo while mom cooked one of her world class seafood dishes for dinner. I couldn’t’ stand being pinned up anymore so I slipped out of the condo and took a walk down the sidewalk. You guessed it - I ended up at the scooter rental shop. I had already spotted the bike I wanted to ride as I walked into the rental office. “Can I help ya?” The rough-looking guy behind the counter said. He looked like he had just stumbled off of a raggedy old pirate ship that had been out to sea for twenty years. “Yeah” I said with a cocky grin as I pointed over at the dusty old black bike. “I want to rent that bike right there.” The rental guy looked at me like I told him to lasso me a dragonfly and tie a saddle to it. “What’s the name of that bike?” The old guy grinned and became animated like one of those robot fortune teller booths at a state fair. “That’s a Night Train.” He said as if he was in a poker game and about to call my bluff. “Lot’s of guys like the Wide Glide over there and the Fat boy because it has a shield on it and it’s a more comfortable ride. I’m thinking to myself this guy is pegging me for a pussy. “I don’t give a damn about a smooth ride.” I told the old man as I chuckled. “If I wanted a smooth ride I’d rent a car.” I told him as I kept my eyes fixated on the Night Train.
This Night Train is a hellified bike. It looked like it had been ridden - the seat was torn in two places and the engine was dull and rusty like it had been sand blasted by thousands of miles of open road up and down the coast. “This is an older bike” The rental guy says as pushes the bike out of the line-up of other bikes. “You gotta hold the choke open till’ she warms up.” The bike slowly growls to life after several attempts to crank it. As beat up and uncared for as this bike looked the ruggedness of it just made me want to ride it that much more. “The other bikes are newer and fuel injected.” The old man says as the engine of the Night Train loped and thumped like some kind of mythological beast that had been chained to a post at the bottom of a pit in Croatia. I could just look at the other three bikes and tell I wouldn’t’ get half the character out of them as with the Night Train. “For fifty bucks more you won’t have to bring it back until tomorrow afternoon.” I couldn’t think straight. It was as if that 18-year-old kid that was left on the street corner with a demolished motorcycle ripped out through my chest - leaving the uninhabited shell of a 35-year-old man standing there, blowing away in the wind like a sand dune. I signed the paperwork, bought myself a pair of those 70’s style sunglasses, mounted the bike and roared off down the road.
I was elated, shocked, surprised, afraid, and adrenalized all at once. Never in my life did I think a V-twin motorcycle could thump out so much torque! I had to push this bike just to see what this Harley mystique was all about. I fish tailed through 1st and 2nd gear like it had a bicycle tire for a rear wheel. It grunted and pulled through each gear all the way up to 5th like each gear was 1st. Just gobs and gobs of torque coming from this V-twin when I didn’t even get half the punch from my inline four Honda Nighthawk. The powerband was long and strong no matter what rpm or what gear I was in. It wasn’t until around the 100mph mark that the power started fading away but only a little. It was a slight effort to get up to 120mph but then again the wind blast from riding without a helmet kind of dampened my senses. DAMN!! I’m riding without a helmet!! There is no helmet law in the state of Florida. After about an hour of riding up and down the strip next to the beach I was hooked, lost in the realm of Harley Davidson. I’ve ridden many bikes in the 17 years since my accident - they were all Japanese bikes but none of them had the feel and character of this bike.
It didn’t really feel like a bike - it felt like riding a truck. The foot pegs were farther, the handle bars wide and straight and the wide gas tank had my legs flared out whereas on a Japanese bike I felt enclosed and compacted. I have to admit this bike would not be all that comfortable on a long trip after having to adjust to the foot pegs and the wide legged sitting position. Hell, compared to a Japanese bike I had to manhandle this Harley Davidson Night Train. I constantly had to readjust the mirrors as the vibration of the engine knocked them out of whack . The clutch was stiff and shifting through each gear was like trying to lift a bucket of water with your big toe. I road this bike from Destin almost to Pensacola and back. I could have ridden all the way to Pensacola but riding in a constant headwind and only being about 63 degrees outside and wearing a t-shirt forced me to turn around. When I woke up the next morning after my failed attempt to ride to Pensacola I couldn’t move. My legs were locked in the bowed position, the arches of my feet were throbbing, and my forearms were burning like acid was flowing through my veins. In two days I managed to clock about 200 miles on this glorious bike. By the time I was ready to turn it in to the rental guy I had completely erased any thought of anything on two wheels that was Japanese.
Reader Comments (2)
Yeah Harleys
I rode a couple of Harleys in between my rice burners I purchased. I never cared much for the rocket type Japanese bike, I always had crusier styled Kawasaki's. I rented a Dyno Glide Harley it was sweet!, Later I rented a Fat boy, I hated it felt like a driving a tank.
Right now I have a Maxum it is ok, I wanted a street bike at the time and the price and mileage was right. I still favor Kawasakis However as I look to my retirement yrs down the road and the move to Japan I would really love to take a Harley with me.A custom sporter would be nice, bigger tank, and a sport shield, better seat.
On the other end of the spectrum, the BMW bikes are sweet!! However they lack the soul of the Harley, ...the sound is a guy thing for sure.
I have heard though that some women really like to ride a Harley something to do with the vibration while sitting :-) I dated one Filipina who it was her dream to ride one.
For real a man's bike the Harley's and given your taste in body builder women I can see you would really like to have to man handle an old Harley hahahahah.
This brings me to an idea:...