How I Fell Head Over Heels for Harley
Just two short years ago, I had an epiphany. I had my own place, my own garage, and nobody could stop me from owning a motorcycle. I decided that I should stop thinking and start doing. I studied hard, took the test, and got my temporary permit before signing up for a safety course. In the month I had to prepare, I purchased a helmet, gloves, and a pair of Army surplus boots. And, of course, I stopped by the Harley-Davidson dealership again.
Once I had passed the course, I had my motorcycle endorsement, and it was time to start looking for a motorcycle of my own. I had a pretty tight budget of around $2,500, and being springtime, the deals were few and far between. I didn’t even consider Harley-Davidsons due to the cost, so I had my heart set on a classic Honda CB350 or a Yamaha TW200, the bike my parents said “no” to in high school (I still want one).
But I was striking out on those, too. My girlfriend was getting ready to move in, and so we decided to drive to the nearest IKEA, two and a half hours (and a state line) away to sort out our new sleeping arrangements. On a whim, I decided to check Craigslist. And there she was.
Nearly every possible surface of the bike was chromed and polished to a blinding sheen, and the wonderful teal and pearl white paint had depth and clarity unmatched by the likes of Lake Tahoe.
The listing–less than 45 minutes old–was simply titled “motorcycle” with an asking price of $2,500. The thumbnail image, however tiny, was unmistakable: a white peanut tank. I clicked it, and the full listing revealed what appeared to be a very clean and well cared-for 2000 Harley-Davidson XL883H Sportster. It was a Hugger model, which meant shorter forks, slammed rear shocks, and a 19″ front wheel instead of the 1200 Custom’s 21-incher. I dialed the seller as quickly as my trembling fingers could, and attempted to compose myself enough to leave a voicemail.
An agonizing two hours later, he called back, confirmed that it was still available, and agreed to a time to show the bike to me that weekend. After picking up our new assemble-it-yourself bed, we plugged his address into the GPS, and I went to look at my future Harley-Davidson.
When we pulled up, the bike was sitting outside, with some spares lined up on the brick steps next to it. I was a little disappointed, since I wanted to start the bike cold. After we introduced ourselves, the owner handed me the key. “I pushed it outside so you could get a better look, but it’s still cold.” Swinging my leg over the saddle, I surreptitiously touched the valve cover. It was cold, alright. Maybe I found an honest seller after all. He continued. “It needs some choke to get started, even when it’s warm. I bought a new choke cable and I was going to do new throttle and brake cables this year, but I got myself a new Screamin’ Eagle V-Rod instead.”
As he thumbed over his shoulder, I noticed the box of spares that contained the smaller spare parts, like the cables he mentioned. Beside the box was the owner’s manual and the factory workshop manual. I was feeling much better about this bike, and the guy selling it, every second.
While the bike had high mileage–a whopping 36,000, some of which had been racked up riding to Sturgis and back–the seller had fastidiously maintained the bike with OE filters and Mobil 1 oil throughout its entire life. The second the valve covers started leaking, he replaced the finicky paper gaskets and as a result the bike was bone dry. I had found perhaps the rarest Harley of all–one that didn’t leak.
There she was. The listing–less than 45 minutes old–was simply titled ‘motorcycle’ with an asking price of $2,500. The thumbnail image, however tiny, was unmistakable: a white peanut tank.
After going over the bike and its numerous installed accessories and spares–mostly touring accessories like luggage, a windshield, extra seats, and so on–I took my girlfriend aside and asked for her thoughts. Knowing full well that it looked like an “old man bike” in its current configuration, I asked for her opinion. I was surprised to hear “It looks like it’s in good shape and it comes with a lot of accessories!” With that, we struck a deal, and the Sportster was mine.
Once I got it home, it didn’t take long to start customizing the bike and making it my own. I became very familiar with my dealership’s parts counter, so much so that the sales staff knew better than to ask me about new bikes. “Paulo’s been worried sick, he hasn’t seen you all week,” they once joked.
That was almost two years ago, and while I still have a long way to go before my Sportster is the retro-flavored, Evel Knievel-inspired street tracker of my dreams, but every weekend brings me closer.
Photos: Cameron Vanderhorst for HD-Forums
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