I've always wanted a Harley. Who hasn’t at some time in their life? When my neighbour decided his finances would benefit from selling his 42000 mile, 1987 example I was first in line with three grands worth of fifty pound notes. This was 1989 and in the past two years I've added a pleasurable 19000 miles to the clock.
The bike was not standard. It featured several extensions to the American dream ticket. Included were free flowing pipes and air filter, uprated disc brakes, a headlamp capable of lighting the road up ahead on the darkest of nights and a comfy dual seat with a backrest to stop the nearest and dearest falling off the back, although there are times when I wished she'd do just that. The amount of nagging I had to endure when I sneaked the Harley into our hallway (the only way I could sleep sound at night, Harleys being prime meat for every known bike thief).
What the neighbour had forgotten to mention was that the antique primary drive chain was shot, at the limit of its adjustment, just waiting to rattle off its equally dead sprockets. I was relieved, really, that that was all the terminal noises were caused by. I had visions of matrimonial hell as I tore the whole motor down in the front room. With that fixed it was all sunshine and splendour.
The venerable V-twin has been around as long as any other motorcycle, and longer than most. Its antique credentials are shown in the way it delivers power. A lovely low rev punch that suggests you can drive off from zero revs in fourth - but don't try it, below 1500rpm there is a deal of harsh transmission graunching that makes like the back wheel is about to fall off.
From 40mph onwards in top it's just a matter of sitting back and rolling on the good old throttle for pit of the stomach, grin inducing momentum. Anything over about 6000 revs, though, produces a torrent of vibes as if the old girl has become hysterical at your most inconsiderate behaviour in pushing her so very hard.
I loaned the machine to a Japanese riding mate who came back white faced and all shook up. The motor seemed to shimmy in the frame... he later, when he had regained proper control of his vocal cords and stopped shaking, admitted he had held the throttle open in second and never backed off until he had crashed his way through the gearbox to top... apparently with 110mph on the clock the chassis develops a heavy death wish that he only survived by closing his eyes and praying. Needless to say, he deserved as much and I thereafter refused to speak to him for abusing my machine.
There is little point going rev crazy, the 883cc don't give enough go to get far past the ton and the bike only feels really right in the 50-70mph range [like a 125, then? 2018 Ed.], which is dead on for American cruising but diabolically slow if you ever need to get anywhere fast on the motorway. There seemed little point tuning the motor as the vibes get in the way.
Straight line stability is fine, it bounces around a bit on bumps but comes nowhere near underpant staining. Cornering is limited by ground clearance, pogo stick rear shocks and a tendency to run wide on the throttle and shake its head off it!
It prefers to be committed to a line in advance and to corner at a steady speed. Chuckability is hard work time but the chassis usually avoids any death rattles. The bike is most at home bopping down the narrower A roads at 65mph, with the gentle beat of the exhaust not quite lost in the wind. The tiny petrol tank limits range to about fifty miles, which can be hazardous out in the country. Fuel consumption was also antique in nature, fortunately, giving 60 to 70mpg on most trips. The engine didn't leak oil but burnt off enough to need a pint added every 175 miles.
The riding position, which put my elbows up around my ears, was strange at first but now makes a kind of sense... these high and wide bars give good manoeuvrability in town, all the more surprising as the beast weighs around 500lbs. The neighbour admitted he had fitted a front disc and caliper off a GSXR, which had enough power to twist the forks. Standard Harley brakes are a sick joke; one of the reasons they make the bike so hefty is that it has to survive writing off cars that get in the way!
Maintenance is not difficult, check the primary chain and give the bike a general going over. There are no camchains, thank god, the tappets have hydraulic adjusters that maintain their own clearances and the there is only a single carb which can be ignored. I changed the oil every 1500 miles and cursed at the drive chain which was dead meat in 4000 to 5000 miles. The clutches can slip as frequently if you use anything other than genuine Harley plates - don't ask me how I know!
Despite selling a few thousand a year, they are still rare enough to have pedestrians gawping in wonder and women begging for a ride. I park the Harley up in the town centre and all the plastic reptiles are completely ignored. The fact that when a Harley enters the High Street the very ground rumbles in horror must help [Hysterical laughter, more like. 2018 Ed.] I have gotten into the part, with ancient Brando leather jacket and a pair of mean shades.
It’s been said before that Harleys impose their will on riders and make them change their riding style. I used to ride around at ton plus speeds, feeding on the wail of an across the frame four, but now everything is much more sedate, laid back. I think I am a better person for it.
I was even able to take the few times the Harley broke down with equanimity. The first time, at 51000 miles, the electronic ignition unit packed in. The second, the damn primary chain snapped in half and rattled around for a few moments. The third, and latest (though probably not last) was when one of the cam lobes went soft and the pushrods ended up tangled to death.
Yep, a few problems, but the engine is still basically sound, still on its original bores and pistons and the gearbox has not been touched - its agricultural action has not become any worse, it really needs a complete redesign to get it, Japanese, knife through butter smooth but look how long BMWs have got away with poor gearboxes.
There are always minor problems to keep one involved, bulbs blowing, cables snapping, bolts undoing, etc. On a Japanese bike such problems would have been met with a few hefty hammer blows, I just couldn’t be bothered to fix or maintain it, the machine seemed so remote to me. The Harley is more like a dear friend than a dead piece of machinery, and like most friendships there are bits of the personality you abhor but put up with for the greater whole.
Because of the nature of the beast, they are usually not hard ridden and with a good finish they do hold their value well. Rusty exhausts or wheels are the first signs of neglect, and any owner who doesn’t polish his pride and joy at least once a day has to be viewed with suspicion. I often get up early to give my machine a going over even though I've usually cleaned and polished it before i go to sleep. You should hear the whining tone the wife uses to complain about that!
I could still sell mine for around three grand, although I'd rather chuck the wife, sell the house and go out on the road than do that. I'd stick with the 883cc one, any extra grunt the bigger Sportsters possess comes with increased vibration - if you want more speed you can always put in some hot cams in addition to loud exhausts and dumping the huge airfilter (at a cosmetic price, though). There is a huge array of accessories, some good, some pretty silly. Expect any well looked after bike to sport better lights, brakes, exhaust and dual seat (what kind of idiot would buy a Harley with a single seat?).
It's also a lot cheaper to go to the States on holiday and buy one over there, but remember the British government will cop 36% in taxes when you bring it back and are renown for ignoring the nice low value shown on the invoice you are clutching desperately in your hands.
I think you have to buy a Harley when you are ready for one. Many are disappointed when the performance doesn’t live up to the image, but I find the machine a great antidote to the frenzied pace of modern Japanese machinery - but then I'm nearer forty than thirty.
Jack Evans