Photo by Gail Albert-Halaban
|
Hog Wild for Harley
By Elinor Nauen, July-August 2003
They were born to be wild—over 50 years ago. Meet the new generation of Harley fanatics
|
The ear can detect the distinct "potato-potato-potato" lope of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle miles away. The sound is so recognizable that the company tried to trademark it a few years ago. As the Harley thunders closer, few of us can feel the deep shudder of its V-Twin engine without thinking, at some level, that these machines lend a unique definition to the word "cool."
Harleys storm all the senses. A cruiser may have chrome as blinding as a mirror in the sun, paint schemes in heart-stopping neon colors, and a "chopped" frame as stretched as Wilt Chamberlain. Speed, black leather, and roaring vibrations combine to radiate sexuality—as much for the onlooker as for the rider straddling 700 pounds of shiny metal. Even saying the name is enough to bring visions of leather jackets and open asphalt: Harley, a sinuous whip of wind, rolls down the highway free as an eagle; Davidson, square and solid, holds firm as the company has for a century.
"You've got the leather, a big engine, a throaty motorcycle between your legs, all that power," says Roger Weidenbach, 56, a devoted Harley rider who lives with his wife, Joyce, in Omaha, Nebraska. "It makes you look wild. You can't be a pussycat and ride a hog."
As Harley-Davidson celebrates its 100th anniversary this year, sales to older riders are hitting record numbers. The company shipped 234,461 Harley-Davidson motorcycles in 2001, with more than half of the buyers age 45 or older. That volume increased to 263,653 bikes in 2002. One reason older riders are driving Harley sales: They're the ones with the cash. Many of Harley's 26 models come with price tags topping $20,000, and the bikes are so popular in some places that used bikes command higher prices than new models.
Another motivation? Making good on a dream long deferred. "Many baby boomers feel a strong nostalgia for Harley-Davidson motorcycles and the rebellious freedom the bikes represented during their youth," explains James F. Smith, professor of American Studies at Penn State Abington. "For some, it's a nostalgia for something they never experienced—they might be thinking, I didn't do this in 1968, and I'm going to do it now while I still have the chance."
Weidenbach followed this long road to Harleydom. He loved motorcycles as a kid, and the romantic notion of becoming a Harley rider lingered in the back of his mind for decades. But it seemed too dangerous and irresponsible to pursue while raising a family. In his 50s, a realization hit: If he ever wanted to ride a hog, the time was now. He bought his first Harley at 53.
"Motorcycling is an expensive sport, and we couldn't do it till our kids were gone," explains Weidenbach, who runs a transportation brokerage firm. "Now we're both hooked," he beams. "We can't get enough of it. It's like trying to be 20 again," he says half-seriously, pointing out his new Harley tattoo, his second. "We're trying to stay out of the rocking chair."
The desperado image is unquestionably part of the Harley allure. Sure, the head-to-toe leather serves a safety purpose: If you wipe out, you don't want to be riding on asphalt in denim or corduroy. But it's hard to wear a studded leather vest and Kaiser helmet without giving off the not-so-subtle suggestion that, even though you're a cardiologist or a school social worker, you are still one bad individual. Maybe you once kicked butt in every bar from here to Hollister. Who's to say?
Pop culture helped create this image. Who doesn't remember Easy Rider, which in 1969, at the height of antiestablishment ferocity, had Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper on Harleys, thumbing their noses at straight society? More notoriously, lurid accounts of biker drug busts and gangbangs—and the infamous incident in 1969 when a member of the Hells Angels killed a man at a Rolling Stones concert in Altamont, California—fixed the outlaw perception in the public imagination.
Gaining admittance to an exclusive club is also a carrot for those eyeing Harleys. Buying one lets you join the Harley Owners Group (H.O.G.), which was launched in 1983 and now has more than 750,000 members worldwide. The 670 U.S. chapters organize daily rides and frequent charity events.
Harley riders also gather for national convergences several times a year. The two best-known annual rallies, in Sturgis, South Dakota, and Daytona, Florida, draw hundreds of thousands from every corner of the world to swap stories and ogle each other's bikes. "It's overwhelming," says Weidenbach, who has made the scene in Sturgis several times. "The roads are clogged for miles, and the place is full of topless women, wild bikes, and wild people. It's Mardi Gras for bikers."
It's not hard to see why, to the uninitiated, becoming a Harley rider can look like a particularly severe midlife crisis. How many people would spend a big chunk of their retirement savings to do something that requires risking your life on a 700-pound machine, swallowing bugs, and, frankly, looking ridiculous to many of your peers? Are these closet rebels who still yearn to be mad, bad, and dangerous at 50, 60, or 70?
They've heard all these questions for years. Ask any of the riders to explain just what they find so alluring about Harley-Davidsons, and, whether they're a rookie or lifer, they'll likely dismiss your attempt with one phrase: "If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."
Press a little harder, and they might explain that until you try it for yourself, you can't appreciate that there's nothing comparable to enjoying a nice day driving a vehicle that accelerates faster and maneuvers better than virtually anything on four wheels. With no windows or metal around you, riding for no other reason than to feel the joy of speed, letting the bike choose the adventure, you're wide-open to the wind, to every subtle smell and change in temperature. The torque pulls you down the road like a roller coaster.
"I've been to places in a car and then those same exact places on a bike," says Pauline Picone, 62, a retired office manager and director of the Brooklyn H.O.G. chapter, who began riding a Harley at age 50. "On a bike, you become one with your environment. It's an experience in sight, sound, and smell. You drive in things rather than through them as in a car. I love the sheer freedom of it."
Something else outsiders often miss is that the fondness riders have for Harley-Davidsons isn't just about motorcycles. Many riders know the company's history. They know it was founded in the beer-and-bratwurst town of Milwaukee in 1903 by William S. Harley and Arthur Davidson, both in their early twenties. Most enthusiasts know the 1936 Knucklehead bike (Harleys have nicknames based on the shape of the engine's cylinder head or rocker covers—Panhead, Shovelhead, Flathead) was the basis of models for decades. They also know Harley almost went under in the 1980s because of a mediocre product and Japanese competition. The bikes of those years leaked oil and were likely to leave riders stranded on the highway—an adversity that only strengthened the brotherhood of riders, strangely enough.
Above all, they admire that it's made in the U.S.A. "Harley is built by American workers for American motorcycle riders," says Bill Grad, 48, rider and metal worker from Sandusky, Ohio. This patriotism is a key reason why Harley riders have such loyalty for the company. "Harley-Davidson means two words to riders: stubborn endurance," says Penn State's Smith. "The company has endured through good and bad times, and was kept alive by American loyalty."
What's more, the cultural image of the motorcycle rider meshes well with the idea of "the rugged, macho, self-reliant American," he says.
The love affair doesn't always bloom overnight, however. When Dave Ballard of Ellsworth, Maine, brought home his first Harley-Davidson four years ago, at age 60, his wife, Linda, wanted no part of it. "She said, 'If you think at my age I'm gonna dress in leather and park my behind on a Harley, you're out of your mind!' " Ballard says. "But once I could ride well enough to not scare her, she got on, and she started liking it. At first I had to give her a reason to go for a ride, like going to see our daughter. Now she'll ride anytime. She refers to it as 'our' motorcyle."
Most Americans do.
Elinor Nauen is the editor of Ladies, Start Your Engines: Women Writers on Cars and the Road.
|
