Yes, as a matter of fact, it is like riding a tractor.
“Well, uhm,” I said nervously. “Would it be, uhm, alright if I were to, uhm, sit on the Iron 883 over there?”
At the A484 I brought the bike easily up to 65 mph and shouted above the roar: “I’m on a fucking Harley!”
I felt giddy and excited. I was laughing and whooping. It occurred to me that this bike was adhering to Lucky’s first rule of motorcycles, which is that it should put a huge smile on your face. This thing was making me grin so big it hurt my face.
What I loved:
I loved the pull of the bike. I can’t think of any better way to describe it; I felt I was hooked to some sort of industrial device that was aggressively dragging me from one place to the other. With Aliona, speed and movement are more fluid –– you think about being in a place and you are just there –– but with this terrible wonderful machine the movement was felt. There was no doubting I was on a machine. I was sitting on an engine.
It reminded me of an old drunkard I used to know in Minnesota who worked in construction. As a party trick he would pull down a large, industrial plastic barrel from his pickup truck. He would light a stick of dynamite, set the barrel over it, then sit on the barrel. When the dynamite exploded it would send him 10-15 feet into the air and he would laugh with the full of him. This is what I felt. I was on that dynamite barrel.
I loved, too, the machine’s distribution of weight. Although the 883 is a good 100 lbs. heavier than my CBF600SA, that weight is lower to the ground, meaning the bike felt just a little more steady. Possibly not as nimble, but more solid. Within just a few minutes of being on the bike I felt at home enough to filter through traffic.
Indeed, the whole experience felt intuitive and natural to me. It felt right. In fairness, I suspect this may have a lot to do with the fact that in the United States I always chose pickup trucks as my mode of transportation. I prefer, it seems, a rougher, more industrial ride. Though, I have to point out that the seat on the 883 is markedly comfier than the one on my Honda.
I loved the constant drone of the engine, and the way it shuddered and growled when at stops. It reminded me of the 1969 Ford F250 I drove in high school. And indeed I felt a deep awareness of the fact that a Harley was the sort of machine that could help me get a girl.
“Jenn would really dig this,” I thought.
What I didn’t love:
With all of the above said, I have to admit that I don’t think it very likely you’ll see me cruising around on an XL 883L SuperLow. It is an incredible machine, but, it turns out, not quite my kind of machine. First of all, it felt cramped. I am 6-foot-1 and the SuperLow was clearly not designed with me in mind. It is targeted at shorter riders. I kept trying to push the seat back, trying to give myself a little more legroom. On the afternoon of the test ride there was pain in my left knee that I think may have come from being cramped up on the bike.
Additionally, there was some lower back pain that I think may also have originated with the 883. A major issue I had with the bike was: How to sit on it? Slightly slouched forward? Slightly leaned back? I wasn’t sure. No posture felt exactly right. Thanks to getting lost while out on the ride, I spent a solid hour on the 883, and toward the end of the experience some of the initial lustre had worn off.
To that end, I can’t imagine myself being able to tolerate particularly long rides on this bike. It would cause me physical pain, and I wonder if perhaps the constant roar and shudder of the engine might get on one’s nerves after a while. Perhaps not. Perhaps it would just become part of the experience. Hard to say.
Perhaps, too, suffering all that wind would become acceptable –– after I had developed strong forearms. As is, however, the 883 wasn’t terribly pleasant at high speeds. I found myself hanging onto the bike with almost the same level of strength I’d need to hang from a chin-up bar. In motorcycle training, I had ridden naked bikes but for some reason the wind on this machine was considerably worse. Again, this may be an ergonomics thing because I was the wrong size for the bike. And, obviously, Harley-Davidson sells windscreens.
One thing Harley-Davidson does not sell, however, is a particularly good solution for the heat that comes off the engine. I was wearing high-quality motorcycle trousers and the temperature was no more than 20C (68F) but heat was pouring into my leg as I rode. I’d be a little concerned about riding such a bike in anything other than British weather. That said, the air-cooled engine did make that strangely therapeutic “tink-tink-tink” noise of cooling when I stopped to take pictures.
Overall:
As I say, by and large I was enamoured with this machine. I felt instantly an understanding of why some people hold such a strong allegiance to them. But I felt I could understand, too, why some people are equally critical. It is a motorcycling experience that spurs an emotional response: if you like the Harley-Davidson riding experience, you’re probably going to really like it; conversely, if you don’t like it, you may really not like it. For my own part, I really liked it.
The Harley-Davidson 883 answers a number of questions to the affirmative –– Would it fit in my garden? Yes. Does it put a huge grin on my face? Definitely. –– but I’m a little uncertain on the last of the questions I’d ask of any new bike: Is it better than my current motorcycle?
Comparing the Harley-Davidson XL 883L SuperLow and the Honda CBF600SA is, admittedly, a pretty apples-and-oranges exercise. The wind protection, antilock brakes, good gas mileage, more dashboard information, additional horsepower and lower asking price make my Honda appealing, though I’ll admit that the emotional draw of the Harley-Davidson is considerably greater. Based on my budget and needs I think that if given the choice I might just stick with the Honda. Maybe. But maybe not…
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