My local Ducati dealer is Riders. I think that they do a Harley at all of their branches. So, if I visit for bits you will see more Harleys than Ducatis - well, at least as many. I don't get Harleys as I cannot see their appeal. What am I missing? OK, I was doing the vacuuming and was bored. Any excuse to put the inevitable off!
Ah, Thanks for clearing that up. How do you know what is tattooed on their arse? I don't need/want to know that, actually...
Over rated, over priced, under engineered piece of scrap. Yes I did own one once and No I have no idea why I bought it
A scratch itched 30 years ago with a Sportster The lifestyle a little too full of acid and beans on toast for my liking Fun for a while but the smell of patchouli & sweaty leathers gets a bit tiring in the end Great if you want to go everywhere in a gang and polish chrome a lot Nothing against them
Nah... I had free use of Harleys on the Mexican Caribe coast. Didn't use them then. Only time I rode one was as a "Road captain" or guide to hep out my mate who owned the hire shop. F**king awful to ride, numb hands, numb ass, ringing ears. Cumbersome heavy albeit shiny lumps. My car was superior in every way as was my Yamaha '88 FZ600 & Honda NX650.
A Honda 90 in the garage of the villa will be most appreciated. It will probably need a full service due to the inordinate amount of kms I would put on it with trips from Antibes to Juan Les Pins, perhaps a concert in Frejus, an afternoon at Pampelonne plage, even a run around les Gorges de Loup & Eze. Le cote d'azur toujours!
I was a runaway when I arrived at Antibes the first summer. Slept rough on the beach. When the police (rarely) came the Parc Vaugrenier was nearby. After a month or so, I was collecting bottles off the beach making £50 for two hours work 40 years ago. £300 a week in hand was a fair amount of money, so since I was a rich bourgeoise "rost boeuf" I moved to the campsite.
I was coerced into riding my mates Fat bob/boy/whatever. I think I made all of about two miles and 50 penced it around the roundabout and came home. And all the trinkets. Skulls for nuts and lucky bells....sissy bars....tooled leather. And old guys from Airdrie with a bandana pretending to be ‘Merkins’. I’ll stop there.
I'm trying to think of something really witty to put down but I can't....looks shit. I don't care if it's good enough for Barry sheene to ride I'd rather walk...seriously...
