Swop my superbike for a Harley? Maybe…

It’s a weird feeling when preconceptions you’ve had for years are totally destroyed in the space of a few minutes. Weird and very annoying because, like most people, I can’t stand being proved wrong.

I mean, I’ve hated Harley-Davidsons for ages, and for good reason – or so I thought. It wasn’t just blind prejudice born of ignorance, but the result of an experience I had a few years back when I had the misguided notion of asking a mate if I could have a go on his Fat Boy (that’s a type of Harley, by the way).

Twenty-five minutes later, battered by the wind and with my hands still vibrating at the same frequency as the bars, even though I was no longer holding on to them, I was begging him for my R6 back. Since then I’ve given Milwaukee iron a wider berth than the QEII.

When you get to a certain age, you know what you like and I’m a confirmed plastics-and-racing-crouch type of guy. So the moment I straddle the shiny new Harley V-Rod I know what I’m in for. And I’m not looking forward to it.

But it starts messing with my brain big time the moment I thumb the starter button and the engine bursts into life like any big V-twin, before settling down to a gentle thrum on idle. Hang about, that’s not right. Where’s the violent vibration? The jerky throb? The loud farty noise? The bits falling off?

Remarkably, it’s no lumpier than my co-rider Richard Fairbairn’s Aprilia RSV-R, sat next to me in the car park. Just to make sure my ears aren’t playing tricks, I give the throttle a couple of quick blips in neutral before we pull away, but it still purrs rather than roars and I’m a little disappointed not to set off any car alarms.

As the first bit of open road beckons I gun the bike in second. Jesus wept! I look in the mirror to see the bright yellow Aprilia disappearing behind me as Fairbairn gets taken unawares. The acceleration is phenomenal. I’m not sure if I should scream or laugh, but soon settle on the latter. The laugh gets louder as I drill the V-Rod through the gears before slamming the brakes on for a looming roundabout.

This thing feels good. Very good. My 996 in the garage back home is momentarily out of sight, out of mind. But before I can commit any further biking infidelity, I check the fuel gauge and notice the V-Rod is down to vapours and I have to pull in for petrol.

” That’s lovely, isn’t it? ” coos the girl behind the counter.

” Pardon? ” I reply, assuming she means the bright yellow RSV-R.

” The shiny one, ” comes the reply. ” Is it yours? ”

” Oh yes, ” I lie. ” It’s a Harley-Davidson. ”

” Oohh, ” she enthuses, obviously impressed. ” A Harley-Davidson… ”

While we hardcore sports bike fans often dismiss Harleys as things that would be better off ploughing fields, we forget they also boast one of the most recognisable brand names on the planet and are therefore one helluva pulling machine. The laydeez love it. Oh yes. To them, a Harley is a two-wheeled Ferrari.

The V-Rod does look good. It’s low and curvy, with a strangely tasteful mix of matt silver and blindingly shiny chrome. It’s like a slimmer, sexier, better-dressed version of those lumping great Hogs that haven’t had a change in wardrobe in the last few decades, like an Ohio farmer’s daughter who exchanges her jeans and checked shirt for a designer dress and suddenly finds she looks likes a movie star.

But what will real people think? More importantly, what will sports bike riders make of the V-Rod in the metal? A bike meet seems a sensible place to find out.

We’ve got 65 miles to go to The Waterman and The Eagle pubs in Warwickshire before the V-Rod makes its debut before the British pub-going public, with some great roads on the way. But it’s not the great handling, awesome brakes and stonking power that’s blowing me away. It’s the reaction of other riders. It ranges from long, long stares to violent braking to have a second glance, followed by a third and then a fourth.

And yes I did say great handling, awesome brakes and stonking power – three things I’ve never associated with Harleys in the past.

The brakes, in particular, are an improvement of massive proportions. I remember getting on that Fat Boy a few years ago and trying to keep up with a Suzuki GSX-R750 and a Yamaha R6 through Spanish mountain roads. It was downright scary, because the anchors were so poor. One misjudged corner and it would have been hasta la vista, Harley.

The V-Rod is totally different and hauls up efficiently however fast you’re going. It also goes around corners well thanks to more ground clearance than most of its tubbier relations. You can use your heels as lean indicators – as soon as they touch down you know there’s not much further to go.

The V-Rod is by no means a sports bike, but on the straight bits the only thing that stops you covering the Tarmac more quickly is the lack of wind protection – something my sports bike-honed head isn’t used to.

My sports bike-honed buttocks, meanwhile, are finding it hard to deal with the riding position. The combined effect of windblast, aching arms and riding with my feet out in front of me is starting to make me a bit uncomfy around the bum area. No amount of shuffling around gets rid of it – only a relaxing ciggie break allows me to continue.

We’re soon rolling up to The Waterman, one of the busiest pub meets in Britain. Before I’ve even shut the bike off I can see people are heading my way. The sidestand goes down and seconds later the V-Rod has disappeared amid a throng of people.

First up are a group of young lads who all turned up on scooters. And they love the thing.

” Is it fast? ” says one, wearing jeans and trainers and holding an old AGV lid that looks like it has been used for a football.

I tell him it will do a standing quarter-mile only a few seconds slower than a Suzuki GSX-R1000

” Sheeit! ”

Everyone seems impressed – even some of of the sports bike riders. They all want to know what its top speed is, whether it goes around corners and if it stops. I answer positively to all of them. The damndest thing is, the RSV-R is parked just yards away – and it’s getting ignored. Maybe if it was as new and previously unseen as the V-Rod it would get a similar level of attention. Maybe.

We kit up and head off to The Eagle, just a mile down the road. It’s a lovely summer night, but it’s still hard to believe two pubs so close to each other can attract so many bikes.

As we roll up to The Eagle it’s clear that it is a bit less regulated here. There are police around, but they’re keeping a discreet distance from the impromptu stunt show taking place. As we sit on the white line waiting to turn right into the car park a Suzuki Bandit streetfighter gets within inches of my left foot as he wheelies down the road.

Already I can see people pointing and grabbing their friends as the V-Rod sits there idling, its fan blowing hot air over my legs. I’ve never thought of myself as a poseur, but there’s something strangely satisfying about being the centre of attention. I momentarily allow my head to inflate and a smug smile to play upon my lips and, for a few self-satisfied seconds, I am Arnold Schwarzenegger, Neil Hodgson and Robbie Williams all rolled into one.

We head into the car park – only to find it packed to the verges with bikes and people. We inch our way through to an overflow field out the back. I haven’t even parked the bike before someone shouts at me: ” Where the bloody hell did you get that from. ”

I hurriedly explain that it’s not actually mine and that H-D has allowed MCN to borrow it for a couple of days. Seems the bloke has got one on order and I didn’t want him to think I’d queue-jumped him.

Requests to sit on it are coming thick and fast. Cruiser owners almost unbalance themselves and drop the thing after picking it up off the sidestand because they overestimate how comparatively little it weighs and give a massive tug on the bars.

One man, in a Harley T-shirt, is clearly not impressed. He’s covered in tattoos and scary hair so I’m not going to argue. He reaches inside his leather waistcoat and looks like he’s about to shoot me – but no, it’s his mobile phone. He asks for the V-Rod to be fired up. I hurriedly comply.

” Listen to this, mate! ” he says into the phone. He then holds the Nokia an inch from the end of the chrome exhaust and gets me to rev it a few times.

” That’s supposed to be a f**king Harley, that is! Sounds like a f**king hair-drier! ” is his only comment before he walks off in disgust.

It is pretty baffled-up, but nothing a set of Screamin’ Eagle slash-cuts wouldn’t sort out. Harley riders here are also quick to point out irritating little things they’d like to change – like the low-rent sidestand, the cheap plastic indicators and the naked swingarm mounting bolt in desperate need of a nice chrome cap. Typical Harley trick this, apparently. You spend a fortune on the bike, then another one upgrading to better-quality accessories.

Most of the sports bike riders here have read the first test of the V-Rod we ran in MCN a month ago and remain open-minded. The consensus seems to be that it looks great and is exactly the direction Harley should be heading in.

So would they swop their 996s, their CBR600s, their GSX-Rs, their R1s for one?

In reality, probably not. But it has made a lot of people think. And who knows, in a few years time, when they’re a bit older and fancy something slightly more sedate…

Me? Well, when home time comes, I’m more than happy to let Boylan, the photographer, ride the V-Rod back in exchange for his GSX-R750. Fairbairn, on the RSV-R, has no intention of parting with his yellow rocketship. According to Boylan, when he called his girlfriend to tell her he was bringing a Harley home she practically passed out with excitement.

Riding back on the perfectly-crafted Suzuki is enough to convince me where my heart lies. Give me plastics and racing crouches every time. If only the missus felt the same.