Walk a mile in their shoes.....

It’s easy to find drivers, and riders, who can give you a horror story about their treatment at the hands of the police.

Some would have you believe that police see it as their life’s work to make life hard for drivers, to issue tickets at every possible opportunity, and to act as road vigilantes, using every trick in the book to target drivers who “have done nothing wrong”.

And there ARE police like that.  I’ve met a couple myself.

But let’s be fair.  In my part of the world, the overwhelming majority of police are honest, hard-working people with a thankless job.

For every police officer who views writing tickets as a game where he who writes the most wins, there’s a thousand who can’t believe the stupid, dangerous things people do on the road.

It’s a stressful job.  I know cops who’ve had cars driven straight at them.  I know of at least two incidents in my home state where cops have been killed – one run down deliberately, and one shot while doing traffic duty.  I know plenty of others who have been injured so severely that they have been forced to retire.

Pity the cop who’s first on the scene and is confronted with a car travelling so fast it broke into four pieces on impact. 

Or how about the one called to an accident where a poor biker has gone off the edge of the road, and down into the gully, with a likely fractured spine? 

Or how about the one who attends an accident where a biker has been decapitated by the tray of a container truck?

Need I go on?

As a bike rider, I prefer to think that these guys are in a position to help us.  We’re vulnerable to the stupid things car drivers do.  I know I’ve been hassled by cars on the road, and occasionally, nearly been run down by idiots.  It helps to view one of the roles of police as keeping the morons under control.

Every time I’ve got a traffic ticket from the cops it’s been for speeding – and I was guilty. (Oops!)  The cop has been polite and, in a few cases, has actually written the ticket down for a lower speed – meaning a lower penalty.

I do need to declare that I have a lot to do with police professionally.  You'd be surprised how many ride, and you'd be even more surprised by how many ride Harleys!

So next time you get pulled up by a cop on the road, try to remember that they’ve got a pretty ordinary job.  Try a little respect – it can’t hurt.  You’d better believe that all cops apply what they refer to as an attitude test.  It exists!  If your attitude is bad, that’s exactly what you’ll get back.

Those warnings don't apply to me, do they?

Lately, I've been thinking about how, as motorcyclists, we're vulnerable to lots of things beyond our control.

Most of us ride around as if we're immortal and the "Ride Carefully" warnings don't apply to us.  Recently, a couple of things have happened to shake that attitude a little.

Firstly, I ran into a guy at my local Harley shop and, as you do, we started talking bikes.  Turns out he was a member of a HOG chapter just south of where I live. He was using a walking stick, so I asked him about it.

He told me that, after a long riding career with no incidents, he'd recently had an accident where a car came straight through an intersection and centre-punched him.  His bike was completely written off and, were it not for the skill of the doctors, so was he!  The body trauma and internal injuries were massive.  His arm was torn completely off but the doctors were able to reattach it.  He's got major scarring on his torso and one leg is longer than the other.

He attributes the whole accident to the fact that he wasn't wearing his lucky helmet!

That same month, one of our guys went off the edge of the road and 3 metres (10 feet) down an embankment during an extended club ride.  No-one can figure how it happened.  We checked and double-checked the road and the corner where it occurred.  The road surface was even, with no potholes or corrugations.   The camber was nice and even.  The approach had good visibility.  In fact, as he was at the back of the line, the whole chapter had gone through the same corner in the minutes before he went off.  He can't remember the details of the accident, and so can't throw any light on it.

The jury is still out on the long-term extent of his injuries.  The doctors and nurses are, by all accounts, doing a great job, but nobody's making predictions. 

Both these incidents got me thinking how it could happen to any of us, at any time.  An unexpected road surface change, a miscalculation of the speed into a corner, a car disputing your right to be on the road.  These, or a thousand other factors, could throw you from your bike, ending your riding career for a while, or forever.

I'm not suggesting that we stop riding, or ride so cautiously that there's no fun in it.  Really, I believe that it's just as dangerous to ride TOO carefully.  Doing that can throw you out of rhythm, losing your line and balance, potentially causing the very accident you sought to avoid. 

What I am saying is that, as Warren Zevon said, you should enjoy every sandwich.  We can't know what's going to happen tomorrow.  Give thanks (to whoever you believe in) for what you have.

And look out for your mates.

What is it about Harleys, anyway?

I had a revelation the other day.  Not everyone likes Harley-Davidsons.  There, I've said it!

Shocking as it may seem, it's true - for a whole lot of reasons.

Over the years, I've heard lots of negative comments about Harleys.  Comments about handling, price, speed, brakes, technology or even their appearance!  I once overheard two guys on anonymous-looking Japanese bikes describe Harleys as "spanner attractors".  Never mind that the truth these days is generally pretty different. 

Harleys DO handle pretty well.  You don't see a lot of Harleys wedged under the Armco on a corner because the rider has tried to go round it at double the posted speed.  They DO stop.  These days, Harleys are very well equipped for braking with double discs, ABS, new frames, and so on. As for technology, you've only got to look at the V-Rod, designed with help from Porsche engineers to take on and beat the crotch rockets.

As far as price goes, surely value is a very subjective thing.  Many people are quite happy to buy cheap, nondescript clothes at their local discount supermarket. Others, though, prefer to buy particular brands for reasons of style, fit or durability, and they are prepared to pay a premium for that.  The same applies to Harleys.  Sure, a Japanese bike is cheaper - stands to reason, really.

I once had a guy say to me, "I don't need a Harley.  I haven't got a boat big enough for an anchor that size".  Of course, the guy was a real estate developer who went bankrupt six weeks later.  Karma.

When all is said and done, none of those things really matter.  The real joy in owning and riding a Harley is in the intangibles.

Like style.  Once you get past all the advertising guff that the ponytail guy churns out, the reality is that Harley-Davidson is consistently stylish.  They've managed that almost-impossible trick of evoking the past without looking old-fashioned or out of date.

Like people knowing and loving Harleys.  It's one of the best-known brands on the planet.  If you tour on your bike, you will have had the old guy come up to you and start reminiscing about the old days.  When you ride on the highway, kids wave at you from the back seat of their parents' car.  The guy in my local fish and chip shop says, "You ride a Harley?  That's my dream."  I just can't imagine someone saying that about a Suzuki.

Like the sound - that rumble as a bunch of Harleys approaches, and the Doppler-like effect as you hear the echo long after they pass by.

But the thing I love most of all about Harleys is the brotherhood.  The 1-percenter clubs have it in spades, but they're not alone in the desire to belong, to share experiences.

Harleys ride together.  In wet weather, you will often see other bikes struggling through the rain, cold, wet and alone.  You'll see Harleys in the rain, too.  Cold and wet, but not alone.  They're still riding with friends.  Sure, the lone biker escaping society on the highways is not a myth, but they are the exception, rather than the rule.

If you see more than three bikes together on the road, the odds are pretty good that they're Harleys.  Where the group size is 10 or more, it's almost certain that they're on Milwaukee iron.  To my mind, there's nothing more enjoyable than riding your Harley with your mates, sharing those "How good was that?" moments - from the meeting point, where we repeat the ritual of welcome and inclusion, to the Thor-like roar as a bunch of throaty v-twins screams into life, to the sheer joie de vivre of owning the road.  I love it!! 

You know, it's just possible that those who profess to dislike Harleys just haven't ridden one.

Senses working overtime

Have you ever thought about how much motorcycle riding is a very sensual affair?  Our enjoyment (and safety!) means that we bring our five senses constantly into play as we use and enjoy our bikes.

Even the way we describe our rides reflects its physicality.  Feeling the wind in our faces.  The sensation of the road through our handlebars.  Being at one with our bike.

Occasionally, there’s even a spirituality in riding that comes from and surpasses your senses.  Often, when a ride really comes together, you end up in a zone where your subconscious mind looks after the routine elements of riding, leaving your mind free to wander.  When this happens, your heightened senses make you one with the landscape, leaving intense images, sounds and smells seared into your brain. 

If you’ve ridden for a while, you’ve had rides like that.  For me, it was an 18-day jaunt to Uluru, Alice Springs and the Australian Outback – a sublime ride to places I’d never been before.  New roads, new sensations. 

Like Burra, the point where we started to cross the line into the Outback and a first exposure to the space that is the essence of Australia.  A landscape flat in every direction, with no major landform to break the impression.  Space like that can cause anyone to wax a bit poetic and I was awed by what unfolded each new mile.

Like a pure blue sky with a few scattered fluffy clouds that looked as though they had been placed there purely for effect.  An effect so perfect that it seemed as though the sky had been painted in by some enthusiastic artist.

Like a flat horizon in every direction.  A sense of isolation, of "nothing here".

Like the Hay Plain, where a low to the ground haze gradually transformed into a solid cloud of hopping, flying, squishing locusts. 

Like roadkill, where massive roadtrains had left kangaroos on the side of the road in varying stages of decomposition.  Certainly makes for a variety of scents, as heightened senses discerned a difference between each one.

Like the ancient grandeur of Uluru, it’s calm serenity rudely shattered by the thunder of thousands of Harley-Davidsons.  An eerie juxtaposition of the modern and the timeless.

The thought repeatedly came to me as I was riding that we are extremely lucky riding Harley-Davidsons, especially in Australia.  We’re blessed with exceptional scenic beauty of a type not often seen anywhere else in the world.  Maybe touring on a Harley is not for everyone.  But, on two wheels, we experience parts of the country in a way that most people never could.  We’re in it, and every sense is engaged.

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.