Thread: MCADX Magazine Goes to Hell Searching for the Answer:What is it About Harleys?

“If you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand anyway.”


This Harley –Davidson advertising slogan has been so successful that it has easily made its way into our cultural vocabulary. I don’t know if the background assumption has more to do with the expectation of poor comprehension on the part of the hearer, or just the off-chance that the person explaining this ephemeral mystique might be less than articulate. Either way, I still want to ask; I still want to understand.

The slogan is supportive of the notion that there is something mythical, powerful, and exclusive going on here. You have only to gaze deeply into the chrome (Your eyes are getting very heavy…) and hand over a cache of cash to gain understanding.

So, after trying repeatedly to pry this closely-held information from some of my Hog-riding friends, I decided to take their nearly universal advice and go to Hell. Fortunately, that’s only about a 25 minute ride from my house. And yes, it freezes over every year.

Darwin Road leading westward into Hell. Does anyone else think this is funny?

I expected the road to be paved with good intentions, but like many county roads in our impoverished state, this one appears to be paved with indifference…


The Dam Site Inn is the cultural center of Hell, and it must have an unusually strong magnetic field, based on the amount of Milwaukee Iron it attracts. Or it could just be the waitresses.

As I rode in, taking care to park my VFR well away from the row of cruisers, I was slightly concerned that my quest for knowledge might cost me an ass-whooping… but the first person I met in Hell happened to be a reverend who had literally fallen into Hell from paradise, having been transferred from his Navy Chaplain posting in his native Hawaii.

Rev. Charles Smith brought a piece of his personal heaven with him from the island, though; his 2007 Ultra Glide. He was interested in my Roadcrafter suit, because he wants to ride every Michigan day that he can. A couple more suggestions: an electric vest and snow tires...

I struck up a conversation with him, and after he rode away, the conversation continued as other riders came and went. There were several brands of bikes in the parking lot, including various metric cruisers and a deliciously restored ’73 Triumph 650 Daytona; but most of the bikes that loped in and roared away were from The Motor Company.

The people I spoke with were invariably friendly and eager to discuss the merits of their bikes. I warmed them up with a couple of general questions before I asked them to reveal the location of the Grail. Here’s what I learned about these people and their HD experience:

They ride.
Some of the people I met may not put on a ton of miles, but when the weather is good, they tool around with them a lot on a local basis, enjoying social rides, HOG rallies, swap meets, a cruise down a river road, or a blast up the highway for dinner. The motorcycles definitely occupy a large place in their life, as well as their garages. Others I met put more than ten thousand miles on their bikes each year, often in the company of other buddies who ride the brand.

They fly the flag.
Not just the American flag, though without exception each rider cited the American origin of the bike as a key component in the mix of factors that ‘some people don’t get.’ Every single person I saw riding a Hog had H-D branded apparel on, and a couple had tattoos that they will take to their grave.

They are proud descendants.
Some are second or even third generation HD owners. A couple of them specifically mentioned bikes that their fathers owned, along with some satisfaction at the fact that at a distance, the profile of their own motorcycle looks much the same.

They personalize.
To my untrained eye, there was little difference between the bikes of the same model, but their owners were quick to point out the distinctions that, while subtle to me, represented a lot of investment of money and time – yes, and individuality- to them. These mods often included

Screaming Eagle performance enhancements, which varied from the pipe-chip-and breather “stage 1” to serious displacement and camshaft enhancements producing triple-digit HP and torque numbers that work very well in the straight-line environment that these bikes often inhabit.

Applications for comfort and convenience, including a hydraulically adjustable backrest on a Road Glide, highway bars, extra lights, and my favorite; “passenger shit for my wife."

Appearance modifications. You have to know what comes on the bikes stock to appreciate the amount of chrome, striping, powder coating, blacking, and other esthetic improvements people undertake. I don’t, but they do. One thing I am happy to report, the ‘fringe on the handlebar’ thing seems to have fallen out of favor a bit, at least in Hell. Still no evidence of carbon fiber, though.

Sound. Though factory Harley pipes are stunningly expensive, they are quite common, as are aggressive aftermarket systems. One guy was so angry when his dealer sold a set of lightly used pipes out from under him that he just got a 5/8” drill bit and a long extension and engineered his own. Months later, they were still blowing fiberglass over the county, and were just loud enough that he could still hear the stereo … perfection![BREAK=The answer to the age old question]


It was interesting: when I finally asked these riders what they found so special about Harley Davidson, to point out that indefinable 'something' that people without ownership experience can’t appreciate, they all began to extol the riding experience that we all love–the freedom of the open road, the ability to travel in an adventurous way anywhere, anytime, the wind blowing your face, being able to see and experience everything around you without an automobile's numbing sense of detachment, the friendships, the fun.

I pointed out that we all ride; but I was looking for an explanation about what was unique and fulfilling about Harley ownership in particular.

The more astute riders provided some interesting insight:

The Reverend came up with this gem: “It’s like a dog with his head out the window of a car – if you have to ask, you wouldn’t understand; it just feels good!”

The most partisan proponent of the bunch was a first-time Harley owner who had obviously saved, planned, fought and won the strategic marital battles necessary to achieve his dream. He spoke of Harley ownership as a key to belonging to something:

“I wouldn’t come into this parking lot on anything else …everybody I know rides one. If I were to ride into a rally on anything less, I’d feel like crawling under a rock!” His friend chimed in as they recited a now-familiar litany of advantages – “It has the look, the sound, the prestige…Harley is number one. It’s American. When you rumble in, it’s the bike that everyone looks at.” This guy had consumed the Kool-Aid and left the impression of his teeth on the chrome cup, but he bore no ill will toward anyone who rode a different brand, figuring “You’ll catch on eventually!”

Bobby was a 30- something guy who rode in on a beauty of a Springer Classic.

“It’s a comfortable bike for me. I like the look, the sound, the history, plus no one else has the Springer front end (which rides great and tracks well). It’s not fast, but I go slow so people can see me better!” He admitted that based on his participation on the HD forums, he thought for some die-hards, “It’s just the image of being a badass – there’s the ‘60s biker movie identification, though not all of those guys even rode Harleys; the one per centers, the Hell’s Angels, stuff like that.”

They explained and I didn’t understand. I think I do now.

It wasn’t easy for these riders to express the "gut level appeal for the bike,” but after listening to the interview tapes, I think the real answer was in their first response about the pleasures of motorcycling… I just wasn’t listening hard enough.

All of us go through life with an idealized sense of joy - who knows how it develops? For many of us, a significant aspect of fulfilling that joy can be realized in riding motorcycles, so we gravitate to the experience- and the specific machine- that most closely resembles that ideal.

For these folks, and for the majority of riders on this continent, that ideal consists of riding The American Motorcycle on a picturesque rural road, leaving behind a landscape awash in the sound and image of the rugged American individualist. It doesn’t matter that there are thousands of other individualists on the same road. It’s interior. It’s a dream. It’s close to the heart.

Who can be responsible for what they love? I can’t pretend not to understand this when I share the EXACT same attitude about American made, iconic guitars.

I’m done criticizing Harley owners - even though that may be difficult when I come up on a large group of them riding at a stately pace under a tunnel of trees on a lonely country road, while I'm blasting along seeking joy in my Isle of Mann ‘V-4 Victory’ ideal.

If that mumbo-jumbo doesn't answer it for you, here’s something inexpressible we can all understand. The picture below tells a story that may be the real answer to "What exactly is it about Harleys?"