That only true bikers ride Harleys is pure hogwash

[totalmotorcycle]

That only true bikers ride Harleys is pure hogwash
Tuesday, December 5, 2006 - By Mike Seate - Pittsburg TRIBUNE-REVIEW - pittsburghlive.com



The rain was coming down in a steady torrent, causing water to seep into tiny holes in my riding leathers. Each time an 18-wheeler passed, my helmet's visor misted over while hydroplaning caused my motorcycle's front wheel to experience an unnerving shimmy.

At a stoplight, I promised myself a tall glass of something single malt at the end of this cold, hair-raising motorcycle ride. But just as I shifted gears to resume my journey, I spotted a guy in a pickup truck waving to me with his middle finger.

Across his back window was a massive Harley-Davidson motorcycles logo, which he pointed to repeatedly. As my bike drew alongside his truck, he shouted, "Buy a Harley, you freak!"

Instead of being insulted, I actually managed to laugh.

How did motorcycling become so cockeyed that a person commuting in lousy weather on a bike can be derided by someone who considers himself more of a biker because he rides to work in a Harley pickup truck?

Ah, but apparently, the ride itself is not the question. My friend with the giant decal is one of millions of fashion-conscious bikers who are more concerned with looking cool on sunny weekends than actually putting their tires where their mouths are.

This phenomenon started back in the early 1990s, when Harleys began appearing in hip fashion magazines, movies and TV shows. Suddenly, people who wouldn't ride a Schwinn were buying leather chaps, growing facial hair and playing biker on the weekends.

And instead of riding motorbikes for travel, adventure or great fuel economy, these folks bought motorcycles for the same reason the girls on "Sex and the City" adore Manolo Blahnik shoes: they're expensive, cool and everybody notices them.

As a result, you can now buy Harley-Davidson T-shirts, cookie jars, shot glasses and hundreds of other items in factory-sponsored stores that don't even sell actual motorcycles.

Because of this, I seldom bother to ride my motorcycles on the weekends as the roads are clogged with leather-clad poseurs, all revving their unmuffled exhausts for attention. On weekdays, the roads are again mine to explore as these Brandos-in-training have parked their Hogs in favor of the family car.

Not to wax self-righteous here. If people want to use their motorcycles to play weekend biker, be my guest.

But when it's cold and raining outside, I'd bet that owning a fashionable motorcycle pales to braving the elements and actually riding one.


Mike Seate is a staff writer for the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review