Well, maybe that's a bit on the melodramatic side for a motorcycle. I've taken a lot of heat over my bike selection. You see, after years of riding around on bikes that would barely contain two people and a bandana, it was time to get something that fit my needs and not my ego. I marched straight down to the local H-D dealer and reviewed the big touring machines. The helpful salesman gave me a once-over and immediately pointed me towards the Softail and Dyna lines. I patiently explained I was there to buy a bagger. His response was similar to what I'd expect teaching theology to a Great Dane. Thus began the global distrust of my motorcycle preferences.

Several "are you sures" later I had ordered a brand spankin' new Electra Glide Standard. Chest-pounding proud of my new purchase, I returned to work to announce my enlisting in the secret brotherhood of the cheese state motorcycle. Instead of the back slapping congratulations I was anticipating, I received more blank stares and questions regarding the possibly of my having some sort of brain injury. Keep in mind I work at Performance Machine and "industry" people are always tough on one-another. Folks working in the inner sanctums of the business know more, see more and have usually ridden more then the general public. This also makes them a bit cynical and more than a little opinionated. According to my coworkers I was now the proud owner of a Geezer Glide, and that would be fine if I was over 50, but I'm not even 40 yet. Then again, these are the same people who firmly believe gauges, mirrors and rear suspension are not a necessity. I stuck to my proverbial guns.

A few weeks later my two-wheeled, lazy boy arrived in all its splendid glory. Eight hundred pounds of asphalt eating motorcycle, and it was all mine! A couple of part numbers would have to be immediately swapped out. The first component that hit the trash bin, was the stock windshield. Apparently, everyone in Milwaukee is under 5' 10" tall. I, on the other hand, am a skosh bigger. Instead of wind protection, the stock windshield provided me with horribly distorted vision and brain jarring, helmet buffeting. Blind and dizzy does not a good rider, make.

The H-D catalog is chocked full of options to correct this oversight, and a stubby "wind deflector" soon took the place of the wicked Plexiglas. The next part to see the circular file was the OEM seat. I believe this pad is the sole reason these bikes have such a tainted reputation. The entire Electra Glide line is endowed with quite possibly the biggest, most frightening motorcycle seats ever made. The good and caring people at Corbin understood my dilemma and supplied a more appropriate throne. The next obstacle would be the California tainted mufflers. I was sure my bike didn't have to sound like a lawnmower and would be just fine without catalytic converters. A set of Vance & Hines slip-ons did the job.

Obviously, working at Performance Machine instills one with a certain distaste for stock wheels and brakes. I had a good idea, which brake systems I would use. Big ol' 13-inch rotors and massive 6-piston differential calipers would do the stopping up front and the new 4-piston differential system would reside in the back. I had even decided that all the Performance Machine parts would be chrome (I hate to polish), except for the rear brake. Mostly hidden from view, the rear system would get an easier to maintain black ano finish. Wheel selection was still unresolved, though. I knew I'd step up to 18-inch hoops, but could not settle on a design.

I happily trundled to work each day, lunch resting comfortably in my saddlebag and an enormous smile on my face. The big bike sat patiently in front of the Performance Machine building as I went about my job. Miles ticked over on the trusty odometer and several oil changes had come and gone. Even the Electra Glide naysayers began to see the wisdom in my purchase. About two months into ownership, things turned a bit ugly. I was summoned into the office of one of the Performance Machine honchos and asked to take a seat. Figuring I must have done something wrong, I was stunned when the topic turned out to be my bike. Evidently I had procrastinated a bit too long on my wheel decision and the sight of my stock ride was starting to get bothersome. Like I said, this place is a tough room.

As luck would have it, the Hustler wheels were just coming out of production and as soon as I layed eyes on one these elegant, multispoked beauties, my decision was made. The 13-inch full floating disc matches the wheel so perfectly, it's as if the rotor band is floating in space. Mine are 18 x 3.5-inch and now have over 15,000 miles on them.

These days, I take long rides and comfortably commute to work, while my industry brethren toil over their "customs". I see them eyeing my bike, but they'll never admit they actually like it. Sir Francis Bacon may have been right in his assessment of excellent beauty having some strangeness in its proportions, but it is beauty nonetheless.

Back to Performance Machine....

Back to the Bike Barn....