The whole hog

This isn’t a bike, it’s an eye-opener, Pablo Chaterji finds out.

I have a confession to make — I’ve never really liked Harley-Davidsons. Someone with a keenly developed sense of perception once said “Don’t knock it till you try it.” Well, I laughed in the face of that wisdom when it came to these metal monsters, because I knocked away with gusto. Something about them didn’t quite strike the right chord — they seemed like exercises in excess, anachronisms in a flab-free world. They didn’t appear to go very fast. They seemed to be ridden principally by men of advanced years and protruding bellies, often with necks of a bright hue of red, and designed exclusively for countries with no corners in the road system. They sounded like an industrial accident on two wheels, and you could see the masonry around you shake if one passed by, so only heaven knew what the vibes were like on the bike itself. All told, it’s safe to say that I viewed H-Ds with a certain amount of suspicion. Then I rode one, and my world changed.

 

It all began when the Softail Heritage Classic was wheeled out for me at the H-D office in Gurgaon. I couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing at first — a motorcycle that was so wide everyone in the room almost had to leave to make space, and so long that it had already entered next week. I actually laughed out loud as I walked around the bike, my eyes widening at the sheer heft of the thing. Oh, and it was absolutely gorgeous. I’m a big fan of anything retro, and this bike exuded classic charm from every inch of its thunderous body — it looked straight out of the 1950s.

It had me as soon as it said “covered fenders, horseshoe tank and white-wall tyres”, but I was smitten by many other things as well. There was enough chrome on the bike to render me temporarily sightless, and a profusion of leather accoutrement, such as studded touring bags, tassels and a studded swathe on the tank, lent it the appropriate macho touch. The half-moon floorboards, oval brake pedal, chromed highway lamps and detachable Lexan windscreen further contributed to the bike’s old-world character, and the cherry on the cream was its Hardtail lines. Hardtails, of course, have no rear suspension apart from the levels of padding on the seat and your own derrière, but they look fantastic. This bike, thankfully, gives you the best of both worlds, with a longitudinally mounted twin rear suspension hidden away under the transmission. Rounded off by its raised handlebar, massive forks, chromed pipes and touring seats, this was a machine that just begged to be taken on a long ride — so I obliged.

But first I had to start it, which is a slightly involved process. There’s a huge, chromed switch on the tank that I had to turn on, with the key on my person. Then I waited for the fuel-injectors to prime themselves, and finally I thumbed the starter which, given the ape-hangers, was almost at the same height as my chest. There was a brief hesitation and then the massive, 1584cc, twin cam V-twin thundered to life, scaring law-abiding citizens and causing small animals to flee. I couldn’t help but grin as I blipped the throttle in a completely gratuitous manner, hearing the characteristic “braaaaap braaaaap braaaaap” of a Harley engine. The engine, one cylinder of which I was almost sitting on top of, sounded absurdly noisy, with a symphony of metallic noises emanating from it — any other powerplant this noisy would be immediately condemned. But there was a refreshing simplicity to it as well, something which you can only understand fully if you ride one. Pulling in the surprisingly light clutch, I engaged first gear, resulting in a noise like a golf club hitting an oil drum (this bike doesn’t do subtle), and I was off.

My first few minutes on the bike were a little confusing. The dramatic riding position — hands high, feet low, legs splayed, seated barely above the road surface — seemed completely wrong, but it was so comfortable that my brain took a few seconds to process the fact. By rights I should have keeled over within the first few feet; in reality, and in the middle of the worst traffic that Gurgaon could muster, the bike was rock steady and a cinch to control. The seat was the most comfortable one I’ve ever plonked myself in, and by the looks of it, a pillion would have had no reason to complain either. I was quite amazed by the ease with which I could manoeuvre the bike in stop-go traffic; I didn’t have to put my feet on the ground even at crawling speeds. All this was of course down to the bike’s sheer weight, its low centre of gravity and its rigid frame; all told, it was nice to know that I could ride the equivalent of an aircraft-carrier without fear.

You haven’t truly experienced torque on a bike till you’ve played with a 96 cubic-inch V-twin — it’s as simple as that. This engine puts out a fairly decent 65 bhp, but with almost 12 kgm of turning force at your disposal, combined with a long-legged 6-speed transmission, highway-cruising is redefined. As soon as I found an empty stretch of highway, I cracked open the throttle in 3rd gear and the hog simply reeled in the horizon; just like that, no fuss, easy as pie. The response from the engine was crisp all the way, with no flat spots and absolutely no tardiness from the drivetrain. Best of all, it felt very manageable and laid back; if I had treated the throttle like that on any Japanese superbike, in about three seconds I would have either been meeting my parents in the 1970s, or meeting my maker. With this Harley, the only way you can damage yourself is if it happens to topple over onto you in the parking lot.

Hitting this bike’s sweet spot is something you truly have to do first-hand; any descriptions I give you will not do it full justice. Chugging along at just over 100 kph, in top gear, with crisp winter air caressing my face, I felt like the king of the road; if I had been asked to ride till the end of the world, I’d have agreed in an instant. It was one of those basic, fundamental moments that, in retrospect, non-Harley people like me would never have understood without actually getting on one. The more I rode this bike, the more sheepish I felt about my prejudices; with each effortless surge accompanying a twist of the wrist, I fell more in love with it. As the miles went by, with the bike causing potholes to repair themselves in sheer fright (the ride quality is exceptional), leaning into corners gracefully and feeling more substantial than anything I’ve ever ridden, I was well and truly hooked.

Sure, there were downsides. No bike, regardless of its charm, should weigh as much as an apartment building. The turn switches, instead of being on the left, are located on both handles (one on each), which is annoying; the horn button is too high up as well. The fuel gauge is located so far down on the tank that you have to almost bend over to see it. In slow-moving traffic, the heat from the engine will cook your inner thighs to a nicety — and this was in winter, so summer should see some serious barbeques. Although the bike will hit about 160-odd kph, holding it at that speed for anything more than a few seconds isn’t advisable, because your head will likely vibrate clean off your shoulders. The single disc up front isn’t adequate. People will laugh at you for spending so much on a bike (one gentleman said very rude things about his sister when told it cost Rs 20 lakh). But you know what? I didn’t care. This bike was so much more than the sum of its parts; in a world obsessed with sushi and low-cal, it was unapologetically a double-cheeseburger with bacon and extra fries, and it was the tastiest meal I had had in a long while. H-D owners, I apologise for my coloured views — I get it now, and I want one.