Is service important?

I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like good service.  I certainly do.

I love walking into my favourite coffee shop and hearing them say, “The usual, Michael?”  I’ve been visiting the same music store for over 25 years.  They know me, they know what I like.  I enjoy walking into my Harley dealer and being greeted with a smile.

That’s why I was really surprised and disappointed with a bad experience with a Harley dealer while on holidays recently.

Harley-Davidson dealers each offer a range of “individually branded” t-shirts.  These are normal H-D shirts embellished with the dealer’s own unique design.  Some, like Hacienda Harley, in Scottsdale, Arizona, and Warr’s, in London, England, have really great designs with special artwork.  Others, like New York Harley-Davidson, are very basic indeed.  But we still collect them!

Earlier this year, we visited Rome, Italy for a holiday.  You can imagine how impressed my wife was that the most important thing for me was to get a t-shirt from the local dealer.  Not!!

Rome has two dealers – H-D Roma, and Forum H-D – within several blocks of each other, and soon after arriving, we headed to check them out.

The first, Forum H-D, didn’t even stock dealer-branded shirts.  “No Forum H-D back-prints” was the sign plastered round the store.  The chap in the store was pleasant, apologising and offering me other stuff – caps, patches and so on – but t-shirts it had to be, and I dispiritedly left the store, American Express card intact.

The second dealer, H-D Roma, ranks as probably one of the rudest stores I’ve ever visited.  I won’t bore you with all the details, but their stock was poor, and their attitude was far worse.  The woman staff member completely ignored us for 15 minutes, then went on to make it quite clear that I was an imposition on her day, and that she would prefer it if I just went away and stopped bothering her.

Funny way to run a business.

You may read this as simple whining about a bad shopping experience, and on the surface, you’d be right. 

But my point is this.  We all ride Harley-Davidsons because we choose to.  Harley-Davidson recognises this and their corporate marketing keeps giving us reasons to do so.  They tell us that we’re important.  They tell us we’re elite.  They tell us that we stand apart because we’ve chosen H-D.

They spend a lot of money doing that, and incidents like those above don’t help.  In these difficult times, Harley-Davidson should insist that people who represent them lift their game.  We want to be treated like someone who’s valued, someone who’s important.  They’ve told us we are, and the delivery should match the rhetoric. 

They’ve told me I’m special.  I’ve chosen to believe them.  Now I expect them to treat me that way.  Every time.

Women!

I’m a member of Harley Owners Group.  Each chapter has as number of Road Captains who organise and marshal rides.  We recently appointed a female Road Captain.

You know what I heard?

A couple of our members were heard to say they would never follow a woman, and suggested we were turning into a knitting club.

Now, the world of Harley-Davidson is traditionally a male domain – chrome, steel, leather, drinking, tattoos and swearing.  The real world, however, is changing and these days, women can do just about anything.

It’s been said that women can’t ride as well as men.  It’s been said that they can’t control their bikes as well as men.  It’s been said that women have no place at the front of a Harley.  Well, to those who say those things, I would suggest that you take a look at some of the guys riding Harleys.  V-Twin death-wishers with extra chrome.  Not all, but enough.

For my money, I welcome the increasing trend of women riding Harley-Davidsons.  One of my best friends, a woman, has a Fat Boy and a 1200 Sportster.  Another has a new Softail, and a 1959 FLH called Randall.  Yet others have gone through the long (three year) process of learning and riding small bikes on probation, and are now looking forward to soon gaining a full license and riding their own Harleys.

The female road captain I mentioned is one of the most capable and enthusiastic riders, of any gender, you could ever hope to meet.  Her rides are always well-planned and safe.  Unlike some, she’s never lost people on her rides – either by accident or simply by poor directions.

Women riders don't detract from my enjoyment of riding.  In fact, a bigger pool of riders offers even more opportunity to share the fun with others.

Bring it on!

Taking the cure

It’s not uncommon these days, at least in my part of the world, to hear about male depression.  In Australia, it’s known as the Black Dog and it's getting a lot of high-powered attention.

Depression is characterised by changes in mood, lack of motivation and generally not enjoying life, amongst other things. 

That’s how it was for me.  Just a general feeling that things weren’t very much fun.  Crappy moods.  Not enjoying things.  No fun to be around.

Like a lot of guys, I don’t/can’t/won't talk about it.

So, I got a Harley and everything was fixed.  Right?

Well, kind of, but not exactly.  The Harley was a circuit-breaker, something very different to anything in my life at that time.  It snapped me back to reality.

I still have bouts of depression from time to time, some of them bad.  When these happen now, the Harley gives me time to think.  Time to be on my own.  Not for me the addictive charms of an iPod with a playlist of my own (or someone else’s) choosing.  All quiet except for the wind and the soothing sound of a loud exhaust.  Not having to talk to anyone.  Nothing to break the spell of the zone, when the corners, the road, the throttle, even the other cars on the road, seem to fall into perfect harmony.  Stopping at the end of a particularly wonderful section and thinking, “How good was that?”

It’s not a cure, but it’s a fine start.

Not just any bike

Andy’s got an old Sportster.  “So what”, you might say.  Well, Andy’s Sportster is what I like to think of as a personalised bike.

Personalised?

Many today use the words customise and personalise interchangeably.  Even the dictionary says that they mean roughly the same thing.  

But to my mind, they are poles apart.  The two words describe much the same type of activities, but it's the thinking process that’s different.  There’s nothing wrong with either, and there’s a lot of grey area between the two.

These days, when auto companies (two and four wheels) are looking for a way to dredge every last sale out of a very competitive marketplace, it’s a simple matter to change a few parts, put on some chrome and paint, and call it a custom.

Based on the way the words are used these days, I’d like to throw my definitions up for consideration:

customise – add or change elements on a bike to make it very different from what might be ordinarily available on a showroom floor.

personalise – add or change elements on a bike to reflect your personality or special requirements

I believe that, more often than not, a customised bike reflects someone else’s, rather than the owner’s, idea of a bike.  Not always, but often.  

A classic example is the Harley-Davidson CVO (Custom Vehicle Operations) which is offered as a part of the range.  Limited edition, lots of chrome, bigger engine, go-fast bits, fancy paint – terrific looking bikes.  But, at the end of the day, it’s somebody else’s idea of a great bike. 

Back to Andy’s bike.  He did everything by hand.  Some for appearance.  Some for practicality.  Some because he didn’t have the money to do anything else.  End result is a bike that is uniquely his. 

Sometimes, personalisation only works for the person who carried it out.  My ’94 Fat Boy was personalised.  I did it piece by piece over a number of years, mainly through lack of money.  I’d done a lot of small things as money became available – mostly cosmetic except for a set of Vance & Hines Dual Radius pipes.  The bike was easily recognisable and extremely comfortable, for me anyway.

It was an emotional moment when I finally traded it for my new Road King.  And that is my point.  It’s easy to make a financial investment; that only takes money.  Somewhere along the line, personalising your bike becomes an emotional investment.

And that’s the difference!