For long, the distinctive exhaust note of the iconic bike was like a distant drum for the enthusiasts in this country. Although I am no bike enthusiast, even I had heard about the Harley-Davidson (HD), supposed to be the ultimate vehicle for lovers of the two-wheeler.
Of course, I had seen these heavy machines in the iconic non-conformist film of the 60s, Easy Rider, and sometimes on travel shows on TV where groups of burley guys to match the machines seemed to be forever zooming across the American countryside. Not my cup of tea, so I didn’t bother to find out that today, most of the HD owners are regular, family men — and yes, with deep pockets.
Thus, it was totally unexpected that a ride on the Harley Davidson was on the cards during a tour of Australia in 2007. I was determined not to join my friends on this beast to whiz past the streets of Melbourne. However, I went along to the city’s Federation Square where the Harley Davidson ‘chauffeurs’ were waiting for us. Then the guys who were to ferry us on this one-hour ride appeared. They were dressed for the occasion, or perhaps HD aficionados dress like this anyway. After all, they belong to a ‘brand community’. Of the three from the ‘HD Chauffeur Ride’ one had long braids and wore a patch-worked jacket. Another had cropped hair but was in a very colourful gear. Their shoes were spectacular. For a better word, I settled for ‘macho.’
My assigned escort assured, “Don’t be afraid, I’ll drive slowly.” He looked a bit crestfallen as I shook my head with a ‘no’. Something like a challenge surfaced inside me: Why not? I could always boast back home (and make some jealous) that I had ridden the Harley!
So I put on all the necessary gear and hopped on to be a pillion rider. At first, it was a bit scary. The ride was quite comfortable. Perhaps because the machine is so huge, the bumps ordinary motor bikes or scooters (at least in my experience) entail was not there at all. Anyway, by now I was enjoying the ride hugely, roaring past the bridges, old localities, university etc. my chauffeur friend pointed out. At last when we reached the destination, the Melbourne Cricket Club ground, I asked “Is it over?” He retorted good-naturedly, “That’s the problem with passengers. At first they don’t want to take the ride, and at the end they don’t want to get down!” Touche!