In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

3 The Early Years “There’s almost a hundred years of history here. Someone’s got to tell it.” My husband’s been riding motorcycles almost all his life. But after he returned from Vietnam, it became a serious, if quiet, passion. Through a long, busy, messy, and moving life filled with kids and work, his love of bikes endured. During Harley’s lean and terrible years, he rode Hondas. In his youth, like so many other American men, he had fallen in love with Harleys but never quite got the money to buy one. After the war, with some bucks in his belt, he went to the shops to compare bikes. As an adult, he had not fallen sufficiently under Harley’s sway to buy one. He didn’t want to endure the long roadside breakdowns, the constant wrenching, and the endless oil leaks. Ken loved Harleys, but he kept on buying Hondas. In the winter of 1990, all this changed. We had been visiting in Santa Cruz where our friend Bill Shaw had just bought a Mazda Miata. “Great car, Bill!” I yelled as Bill grinned at us from the front seat of his little sports coupe. “Great car, Bill!” echoed Ken as he examined the new Miata. Bill just kept grinning. “Great car?” I asked his wife, Carolyn Martin Shaw. “No comment,” was her reply, “but Bill’s really happy with it.” Ken looked interested but not impressed. “Want one?” I asked in a light, but I really don’t think so, voice. Ken’s response was a surprise. “No, I don’t want a sports car, I want a bike! A big bike!” Next day he went down to the Honda shop and rode away on a Shadow. Ken had ridden a lot of Hondas. But this time, when he rode the Shadow home, he carried an issue of the Harley magazine American Iron under his arm. 19 History and Structure Ken bought a Honda but for the next four months he read about Harleys. He read the magazines and the papers and the trade reports. He rode a Shadow but lusted after a Harley. At that time, I could see no difference between a Honda and a Harley. But Ken could. The yearnings of youth returned and he started hanging out at Harley shops. He wore a deep path between our home and the Dudley Perkins Company, our local Harley dealership. But there were no new bikes available. To his shock, everyone else also wanted a Harley. “You’ll have to wait a year for delivery” was the dealer’s response. Being new to the Harley world, I could not believe that Ken would not be able to get his bike. I called every Harley shop within one hundred miles of San Francisco . They all said the same thing. “Want a Harley? Wait a year.” He couldn’t wait. He had been waiting all his life. He wanted his Harley, and he wanted it now! So I stretched my anthropological skills, learned some bike vocabulary, and started making phone calls. I called all over the state of California and far into Arizona and Nevada. There were two, just two, new Harleys to be had. Both were Low Riders and both were available in California. Two lone bikes not yet spoken for! And at the same dealership! Within minutes, both these bikes had Ken’s name on them. The shop was in Rosemead, in Southern California , and the owner was willing to take Ken’s Shadow in trade. Ken could buy either Low Rider. His choice. A good business deal. Good for the dealer, good for us. Ken would ride down on his Shadow, open his wallet, and ride home on the Harley of his choice. It was the Fourth of July when Ken rode the four hundred miles to Rosemead. Fourth of July and everyone was celebrating , not traveling. With concern, I called Bob Laidlaw, the Rosemead Harley-Davidson dealer. I asked about motels along the way. Bob wouldn’t hear of it. And that’s when Ken and I both learned that things really are different on a Harley. Bob insisted that Ken stay at his home and share Fourth of July dinner with his family. The next day, they would go together to the shop. I was impressed. Bob Laidlaw was inviting a stranger to his home. On trust, he was offering Ken his house, hearth, and hospitality. Eight hundred miles and two...

Share