There is a problem developing.

When I wrote Hello Lowrider, I had just bought the Harley and was still pretending this was simply going to be a motorcycle.

You know.

Something sensible.
Something I'd ride occasionally. (LOL, whatever 🤣)
Maybe pop out for a coffee.
Perhaps take it for a nice Sunday ride.

Then came Ride Forever, where I discovered two fairly important things:

I was properly getting my riding mojo back.
And the Low Rider was considerably more capable in the corners than a big lump of black paint and chrome had any right to be.

So obviously the sensible next step was to leave it completely standard and simply enjoy it.

Yeah.

That lasted well.

But first...

To the Mount!

This weekend I pointed the Harley towards Mount Maunganui.

No course.

No instructor following me.

No one analysing my corner entry.

No sports-bike riders forcing me to maintain the reputation of Milwaukee's finest agricultural machinery.

Just me, the Low Rider and a road disappearing in front of us.

Exactly what motorcycles are for.

By now something has definitely changed compared with those first few rides.

I'm not consciously thinking about riding the bike all the time anymore.

I'm just riding it.

The Low Rider has stopped feeling like a 300-ish kilogram collection of expensive Harley-Davidson parts that I've been entrusted with and really don't want to drop.

It feels like my bike.

And that makes an enormous difference.

The Milwaukee-Eight does its usual thing.
No drama.
No frantic revving.
Just that lazy:

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

...followed by a very satisfying shove towards the horizon.

And there is something extremely pleasing about arriving somewhere, walking away from the bike, then inevitably turning around for another look.

I assume everyone does this.

If not, I'm prepared to accept that I may have a problem.

Black paint.
Chrome.
Red tank stripe.
A little bit of luggage.
And the wonderfully unnecessary PW.NZ plate hanging off the back.

Yep.

Still dorky.
Still love it.

The long way home

Coming home, I headed through Scotsman Valley Road.
Because once you get back into motorcycles, Google Maps stops being a navigation tool and becomes more of a suggestion.

The fastest route?
Boring.

The most efficient route?
Who cares?

The road with more corners?
NOW we're talking YEAH BABY, YEAH.

And Scotsman Valley Road was an absolute hoot.

This is where all that stuff from the Ride Forever Gold course starts quietly paying off.
Look farther ahead.
Relax.
Don't fight the bike.
Set the line.
Be smooth.

And most importantly, remember that smooth doesn't mean slow.

The big Harley just settles into it.

Tip it in.
Look through.
Feed the throttle back in.

THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Next corner. Repeat.

There are moments when you suddenly realise you're not trying to do any of it anymore.

You're just flowing along with the road.

That's the bit I'd missed.
That's the bit that makes motorcycles make absolutely no financial, practical or meteorological sense...

...and yet makes perfect sense anyway.

Take perfectly good bits off it

Today the Harley went in for its first proper dose of:

“It doesn't actually need this, but...”

A dangerous sentence.

Possibly the most expensive sentence in motorcycling.

The first target was the handlebars.

These were the factory bars.

Nothing particularly wrong with them.
They worked.
They were comfortable enough, albeit a little far away for a short lad like me.

They successfully performed the important handlebar functions of giving me somewhere to put my hands and preventing the front wheel from making independent decisions.

But...

They were a little...
sensible.
And apparently we're not doing sensible anymore.

Twelve inches, because size apparently matters

So the factory bars have now been replaced with 12-inch ape hangers.

Ohhhhh yes.
That's better.

They completely change the front of the bike.

The factory setup looked like a Low Rider.
The new setup looks like a Low Rider that has started hanging around with questionable people.

From the seat the difference is even bigger.

The bars now rise up beautifully either side of the instruments and put the controls right out where they belong.

It's still not some ridiculous shoulder-dislocating 20-inch ape-hanger setup.

I don't need to look like I'm surrendering to the police every time I ride down the road.

But 12 inches?

Yep.
That works.

It gives the bike that proper Harley silhouette without wandering too far into cartoon territory.

And, importantly, I think it just looks cool as fuck.

There.
I said it.

And while we're spending money...

Of course you can't just install the bars.

Oh no.

Because once you change one shiny thing on a Harley, all the other shiny things immediately begin looking inadequate.

It's some sort of chrome-based peer pressure.

So the new bars also got a set of Willie G grips.

Black and chrome, with that classic Willie G detail sitting right where your hands go.

Subtle enough not to scream at you.

Shiny enough to make me reach for a microfibre cloth approximately six seconds after touching them.
Perfect.

Then somebody apparently decided that my feet shouldn't feel left out.
So the rider pegs were next.

And because apparently the passenger deserves equal access to unnecessary shiny Harley-Davidson accessories:

Matching Willie G passenger pegs too.

This is how it happens.

Nobody walks into a Harley shop and says:

“Hello. I'd like to systematically replace perfectly functional components with slightly shinier components until I have no money.”

It happens gradually.

One innocent accessory at a time.
“Maybe some handlebars.”
“Well, I'll need grips...”
“Those pegs would match...”

And suddenly you're standing in the garage admiring a tiny piece of chrome you've paid actual money for.

And you're delighted about it.

But what does it sound like?

Photos are all very well.
Chrome looks lovely.
The black paint photographs beautifully.
The red stripe pops.

But a fairly significant part of owning this thing cannot be photographed.
Because the Low Rider doesn't just sit there looking pretty.
It sounds like a Harley should sound.

So turn the volume up.

Preferably while someone nearby is trying to have a serious conversation.

The exhaust sound of my Harley FXLR while idling:

That idle.

❤️

There's something wonderfully antisocial about a big V-twin just sitting there going:

potato... potato... potato...

Okay, it's a Milwaukee-Eight, so perhaps it's a somewhat more sophisticated potato now.

An organically sourced, fuel-injected potato.

But still.
That's the noise.
That's a big part of the whole thing.

The transformation continues

So in the space of a few weeks we've gone from:

“I bought a Harley!”
to:
“I went for my first proper ride!”
to:
“Hey, apparently I can still ride!”
to:
“Sports-bike riders had to work to keep up!”
to:
“I've now started modifying the bloody thing.”

That escalated exactly as everyone including me probably expected.

The funny thing is, none of these changes are about turning it into some completely different motorcycle.

I like the Low Rider.
That's why I bought it.

I don't want to transform it beyond recognition.
I just want to slowly make it mine.

A little more attitude.
A little more black.
A little more chrome.
A little less factory.

And apparently...

twelve inches more handlebar. 😏

The next important job is obvious.

I need to get back out there and properly test the new setup.

For scientific purposes..... Obviously.
It would be irresponsible not to.
There are riding positions to evaluate.
Corners to investigate.
Probably a coffee somewhere that urgently requires my presence.
And there is almost certainly a perfectly good direct route home that needs to be completely ignored.

The Harley rabbit hole is officially open.

I'm going in.

FUCK YEAH. 🤘