Notes From the Hard Shoulder - James May [62]
For now, let us move forward 19 years to 1835, when another Harley, William, was born on Victoria Street on the outskirts of the ancient village. The house is no longer in existence – and probably wasn't much more than a hovel, anyway – but Bruce Frost, treasurer, membership secretary and 'family tree surgeon' of the society, knows roughly where it would have stood. He pauses in silent awe for a moment at the spot that links this quiet rural road with what I thought was an all-American legend.
You see, in 1860 William Harley emigrated to America, where, as well as fighting in the Civil War on the side of the Union, he fathered several children with Mary Smith. One of these, William Sylvester, born in 1880, was the co-founder of Harley-Davidson in 1903 and the engineering brains behind its motorcycles. So there you have it. Top Gear's Harley-Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport is not, after all, the product of the great American dream; it is the product of Fenland seed, a commodity that was hitherto thought to yield nothing more than turnips.
I didn't know any of this. Neither did anyone else until 1996, when the Littleport Society revealed the connection. So when the editor of Top Gear said, 'We want you to take the long-term Harley home,' I envisaged the endless expanse and warm sunshine of Wisconsin, USA. Thanks to the pesky meddling Bruce Frost and his Merrie Men, I got the vast expanse and leaden skies of East Anglia instead.
We've had the Harley for a year. Top Gear's Road-test bloke Tom Stewart has been using it on and off for commuting and has pronounced it perfectly usable around town, which is quite a compliment when you consider that he normally rides one of those annoying little scooters. The magazine's 'art' bloke Marcel rode it to a Superbikes race meeting but ended up feeling a bit of a chump. I'd never been for a proper cruise on it.
'You may find,' said Tom Stewart as he handed me the Harley's keys, 'that you actually end up liking it. I did.' But he forgot to remind me that the Glide's ignition works independently of its steering lock. I therefore inserted the key under the seat, fired up the 88 cubic inch (l,449cc) beast, rode around in a small circle in the Top Gear garage, stopped, turned off, removed the key, unlocked the steering, reinserted the key under the seat, restarted the engine and finally headed out for Littleport.
I'd also forgotten that our bike has the optional Screaming Jessie ... sorry, Screamin' Eagle exhaust pipes. When I pressed the starter, I thought one of the cylinder heads had blown off. The first firing stroke sounds like a pistol discharging next to your ear, after which the 60-degree V settles down to a more general exchange of small-arms fire and road drilling. For a few seconds after starting, a warning light proclaiming 'engine' illuminates on the speedo. It should really be prefixed with 'Don't worry, that's only the'.
The racket is, in my view, embarrassing and deeply anti-social, but I seem to be alone in thinking this. Everyone else in the TG office likes the noise, and even Bruce Frost, a non-rider but an admirer of Harleys, says, 'The noise is all part of the fun.' This is a strange attitude to adopt in a village that takes such a notoriously dim view of public disturbances.
In any case, the character of the Milwaukee lump is best appreciated through the arse, not the ears. The firing pulses are mercifully subdued through the bars and pegs, but through the seat of one's cowboy trousers an enjoyable relationship can be built up with the lazy torque characteristics, and one that renders the tachometer about as useful as the proverbial ashtray on a motorbike. The low-rev throb also seems to have a curative effect on minor aches and general early morning stiffness.
Then again, after an hour on the M11 I was convinced that I could wave goodbye to that other form of early morning stiffness as well, thanks to the sterilising frequency of the V-twin vibe. The Harley is not at its best on a motorway. The assault from the wind on the rider's partly reclined body is