Over here in Old Europe we have two main species of HD riders:
1. your doo-ragged bad-*** accountant or orthodontist who mutates into a family man on Monday and drives a "sensible" car. :dntknw: Their Hogs are serviced and farkled at enormous expense at the dealership. These folks have been known to lose whole limbs trying to use a 14mm wrench on a rearview mirror. Often times they venture to put on stickers from rallies they never attended and they still f*ck it up.
2. your true-blue Euro-Hell's Angel on an immaculate vintage Harley you could eat breakfast off. They wear all the authentic grungy garments, sport real tattoos and there's no telling what they do for a living. They look the part to the point of being completely incongruous against a European backdrop, much like a Stetson-wearing dude would be on the beach at Capri.
Both species live in a parallel dimension and have little contact with the rest of the biker-folk.
They rarely engage in roll-on contests with metric bikes because they're not addicted to pain. Even a T-Max maxi-scooter beats them hollow. They wear helmets because it's the law but of course they wouldn't be seen dead in a full-face or (God forbid) a flip-up.
They're a small minority here and when they pull up at a traffic signal nexto to a family minivan, the occupants lock their doors. But they are entirely harmless and threatened with extinction.
Many have neck and spine ailments often aggravated by us FJR folks
whooshing by real close at triple-digit speeds
as they trundle down the slab at 50 mph trying to look stoic and ultra-cool. :coolsmiley:
Stef