Issue 141 : June - July 2005
Riders Salute Simon
Winging It
Mile Munching Luxury
MAG Magistrate
Easter Egg Run
My Bike
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Riders Salute Simon
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My Bike
From the moment I rode down the Autostrada slip road and rolled the throttle open I knew I had to have this bike. Looking back over my shoulder I spotted a couple of powerful looking Mercedes gaining on me. Ordinarily I would have waited until they'd passed but feeling the huge engine tugging at its leash with a confident enthusiasm I'd never before experienced, I decided to go for it. The forward lunge as the long legged beast took off suggested a cable far ahead that was being reeled in by some awesome unseen fishing rod. I checked the mirror and saw the cars freeze and then fall backwards. I was still only in 4th and the needle had passed the 90mph mark. I glanced at the name on the tank, Harley- Davidson, are you quite sure? I'd only borrowed the bike at that time, my old Evo having finally thrown the towel in after 150,000 somewhat unevenly maintained miles during which extreme poverty had dictated a policy of patch it up and go for the last ten years of my tenancy. With the dawn of the twin cam, the huge leap from Shovelhead to Evo had clearly been followed by another quantum stride. I don't think the top speed is much different from the Evo, at around 115mph but that kind of velocity being pretty academic to me and never even explored, it is the enhanced torque and smoothness that really puts the twin cam above the Evo. Harley-Davidson make major engine changes with a frequency normally associated with volcanic eruptions and with a similar watershed kind of significance. The Evo certainly closed the dinosaur era of everything that went before it and the absurd cries of traditionalists bleating that it was 'not a real Harley' eventually faded away. With the twin cam, the cries were barely audible. To an outsider the engine probably looks unaltered, though the Dyna, with its angled shocks and re- worked frame, displays an atavistic resemblance to a Shovelhead lowrider, appearing more Americanesque after the European-styled FXR with its shorter triangulated frame. The gearbox, though still looking completely separate from the crankcase, is bolted to it so securely that the rigidity of unit construction is enjoyed without abandoning the aesthetic attraction of the old fashioned look. The Dyna is a basic, some would say, 'entry level'big twin, but Ithink that is an ill- deserved put down. At 1450cc it enjoys the biggest standard engine Harley-Davidson produce, which, without the extra lard of the softails and tourers, means more movement for the same grunt. Even people who snort derisively at Harleys tend to nod at the Dyna. It's so classic, so elemental, a massive shiny engine with a laced wheel at each end and a simple business like set of bars, no frills, no frippery, no lard. This bike comes as close to my ideal as anything off the production line with the exception of the Dyna lowrider which has a tank-mounted clock. I've got to get the clock off the bars, internalise the wiring and shift the indicators to the fork legs, apart from that I doubt if I'll change anything. To my eyes this machine is the essence of poetic symmetry. It sits right, it looks right, it goes right. There's no weather protection of course but the bars provide a choice of postures from an almost upright position to a slight hunch that makes inclemency a tad more bearable. Sitting on it, everything feels right for me. Even with my 28inch legs I can just about get both feet flat on the ground with the shocks on their softest setting which is where they stay unless negotiating long stretches of very bumpy roads. It doesn't feel like a big bike and is supremely manageable at all speeds. Handling is the best of any Harley I've ever ridden, the FXR included and the smoothness is something to marvel at. Returning to that first ride, I still knew I was riding a big vee twin, as the power came in great lungfulls rather than frantic pants, but everything was gentryfied by the substantially redesigned engine that has far fewer moving parts than its predecessor. As for the pistons, they had become huge cheeses reciprocating in wooden barrels lubricated with double cream. Like a gigantic bear the bike just powered forward with the certainty of a confident Grizzly, it's broad paws thudding into the turf, the claws gripping with out a trace of slip and catapulting me forward. In my mind I was undergoing a metamorphosis, so responsive was the throttle, so in tune with my appetites and ambition was that bike that I had become it, I was that bear. On that first ride back from Italy in 2002, the feeling of euphoria I experienced when negotiating mountain bends opened a new chapter in my motorcycling career. After slaloming my way through a hundred tight curves as if on the proverbial rails, I emerged through a tunnel on the Italian French border to look out upon an alpine scene of postcard perfection and was visited by an acute sense of privilege. I had been handed the world as a fantastic gift. At a twist of this magic throttle I could go anywhere in effortless style, I was riding in the air. Here was a supreme union of strength with magic - Conan the Barbarian meets the snowman. Six months later I was asked, 'are you going to buy that bike off us or what?' I thought about it for a nanosecond. In the three years that I've owned the bike it's covered 33,000 miles with just one problem, a starter bendix that went west and cost me about £300 to get fixed, including labour. Overall the bike instills great confidence. I recall a moment of reflection when riding down to Dover to catch a ferry to Calais. I had a 2400 mile round trip to the Austrian Tyrol ahead of me and my bags contained not so much as a screwdriver. Twenty years earlier, setting out for Israel on my Triumph chop I had a bag of tools and spare parts that weighed almost as much as the engine, how times and machines change. The finish seems to be standing up pretty well to the weather and it has been out in all sorts. I don't laugh at foul weather but the idea of putting the bike away as soon as the first salting of the winter ocurs has always struck me as ludicrous, mind you I don't own a car. I'm thinking it's about time to touch up a few little bits of paintwork like the engine rubber body and a spot here and there but I'm really nit picking. The chrome still shines up great and the ally polishes up beautifully if you put the time in with the elbow grease. Mutch |
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The editor introduces his own bike