White Line Fever

By Keith May
(Originally appeared in Cycle World magazine)  


Call me romantic, but there’s nothing sweeter than an empty highway snaking through rural farm-country. And on Superbowl Sunday, I was determined to find one all to myself. While the majority of Western Civilization was glued to the tube sucking back Miller Lite and Polish sausage, I was in search of something even more elusive than truth in advertising. The Open Road.

Too much grape-juice the night before causes a late start and it’s 1:00 before I hit Interstate 5 from Orange County. A monotonous hour of six-lane concrete transports me conveniently to Oceanside and scenic Highway 76. Another half hour of suburbia and the road finally opens up in Fallbrook. And so does my throttle.

Long, sweeping, high-speed curves river through orchards, fruit stands and Indian reservations. Traffic is light and it soon gets even better. Mesa Grande Road is a short detour through pastures of heaven. With no one in front, or behind, I enjoy a brief taste of nirvana on this hidden route. But keep your eyes open for free-roaming livestock and blind curves. You won’t see either coming. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I roll into Julian at 4:30. It should be halftime by now and I wonder who’s exposing themselves on national television. Skipped lunch and it was time for dinner, but the sun has begun it’s descent behind local mountains and day is fast becoming night. Mission accomplished, I fueled the Bobber and headed north-by-northwest.

The Harley’s been chugging along non-stop for five hours now with no complaints. The proven, but thirsty 1450cc twin-cam V-twin hums along in perfect tune and minimal vibration. Stock, two-barrel pipes broadcast patented rumble at neighborly decibels.

Added rake, stretched bars and wide gearing make hidden apexes a tedious affair, but 634lb. bike is thankfully stable and responsive. Soft Dunlops track well the rider’s input. The ultra-low, deep-dish saddle provides support and comfort, but there’s no wiggle-room and none required. Your ass is planted securely and the reach to throttle feels surprisingly natural. Large diameter grips and light, but beefy levers are easy on the wrist. Mirrors provide excellent rear and peripheral vision. It’s as though The Motor Company had used my own body as a jig. But then, I’ve always liked Dynas.

When I returned to the Five, day had become night and coastal fog was rolling in. The Superbowl was long over and I battened down the hatches and merged into traffic. After seven hours in the saddle. I was tired, but remained surprisingly comfortable. No cramps, back-pain or carpel-tunnel. Perhaps it was just euphoria of the hunt.