Café Americano
Café Americano
LEANINGS
Peter Egan
THERE ARE, AS FAR AS I CAN TELL, ONLY two fixed rules in the universe: One is that pouring milk on your cereal will make the phone ring, and the other is that making any major purchase will trigger the immediate availability of something else you’ve always wanted.
Make a down payment on a home in the morning, and that afternoon you’ll see a local ad that says, “For Sale: Brough Superior SSI00 once owned by Lawrence of Arabia, minor front end damage; $3000 firm, or will trade for lawnmower.”
Pull into the driveway with a new car, and your next-door neighbor will wander over and ask if you are still interested in his Velocette Thruxton. Timing is everything.
My own recent plight was not quite that dramatic, but almost.
Last month, I took delivery of a new Honda CBR600F4, and the very next morning a 1977 Harley XLCR Café Racer showed up in the want ads. “6000 miles, all original,” it said.
Naturally, I’ve wanted one of these bikes for years-almost bought one new-but those I’ve seen for sale have always been in Texas or South Carolina, while I live in Wisconsin.
The committed buyer, of course, would go to Texas or South Carolina for a good bike, but I had never ridden an XLCR and wanted to try one before making that kind of pilgrimage. My strategy, then, was to wait for a bike to turn up in my own backyard. And here it was.
I went to look at the Harley on Saturday morning. A nice runner, well maintained, but also well used, with its share of nicks and scratches, priced near the upper end of the spectrum.
I rode the XLCR and found it surprisingly more comfortable and pleasant than legend had intimated, with wonderful gobs of midrange torque and locomotive-like clout in fourth (top) gear. Still, the owner was asking a fair amount of money for a bike needing cosmetic work. And tires. I told him I would have to think about it for a day.
Returning home, I opened up the morning paper and there was a second 1977 XLCR in the paper. This one had 10,000 miles on the clock, but was priced $2000 cheaper. It had been stored for the winter at a motorcycle repair shop belonging to my friend Bill Whisenant, and Bill said he’d done some light restoration work oh it. A very nice example, he said, “if you like noisy iron-barreled lOOOcc Sportster motors.” Luckily and irrationally I do. Operationally, they fall under the heading “crude but exciting,” and I like the way they look, so I went to see the bike.
A beautiful example indeed, cosmetically restored to almost showroom perfection. Nice paint, new brake lines and hydraulics, NOS shocks, redone wrinkle powdercoat on the cases, fresh Metzelers and drive chain. Dual and solo saddles. Original take-off Goodyear tires, shop manuals, etc. The whole kit.
I took it for a short ride into the hills north of Madison and everything worked perfectly (okay, the steering-head bearings were a tad loose). Steering was stable and neutral through fast sweepers, turn-in effortless. Seat and bars perfect for my long reach. Great exhaust note from the siamesed pipes. By the time I got back I was a goner. “This bike is me,” I mumbled, “apparently obtuse, yet clandestinely subtle. Only more so!”
I went straight to the bank, emptied out the dismal remains of my Perpetual Motorcycle Savings Account (est. 1963), and took a check to the owner, a very pleasant and knowledgeable fellow who produced $3500 worth of refurbishment receipts for the Harley.
“On to my next project,” he said. And then, upon signing over the title, wistfully reflected, “I wish, just once, I could buy a motorcycle from myself.”
I knew exactly what he meant. It’s rare to find a bike owned by someone who’s done everything you yourself would automatically do to fix it up. Sometimes we get lucky.
Since buying the black Café Racer, I’ve done three or four all-afternoon backroad rides and put about 1400 miles on it, having already changed its 60weight oil once (no filter!). That heavy, blackstrap oil is somehow symbolic of the whole bike, which, while relatively light (515 lb. wet) and very narrow, has a dense, heavy-duty mechanical feel. If the XLCR were a handgun, it would be a 1911 Colt .45 Automatic.
In any case, I enjoy riding the XLCR, and it has become my current daily rider.
One bonus aspect of the bike, I’ve discovered, is that everyone likes it. Sportbike riders, Harley guys, kids who have never seen one before. Another now-appreciated machine, like the 400F Honda, that sold poorly when it was new.
In 1977, the XLCR-whose design came from the pen and back-shop labors of Willie G. Davidson himself-was hailed as a beautiful design and an instant collector bike, but hardly anyone bought one. The XLCR was built only in 1977 and ’78, and only 3123 copies were made (mine is #59).
Harley buyers went for the more traditional and useable Super Glide, while cafe-racer types found faster and more sophisticated fare in bikes such as the BMW R90S, Kawasaki Z-l, Guzzi V7 Sport or Ducati 900SS. Solo seating didn’t help sell the XLCR, either, though Harley came out with an optional dual saddle and axle-mounted passenger pegs in 1978.
Strangely, none of this seems to matter now as much as it did then. If the Harley Café Racer was a little elemental and old-fashioned in 1977, its shortcomings gradually seem less important with the passage of time.
No one buys an XLCR these days as an only, all-purpose motorcycle. If we really want to go somewhere two-up, or to race the backroads solo, there are legions of newer bikes that are far better than any of the XLCR’s competition from 1977.
Take away those period comparisons, and all you have left is a charismatic vintage bike that is beautiful to look at and exciting to ride, even now.
Willie G’s Café Racer may have finally reached that magical age where a bike no longer needs to be better than some other venerable thing to justify itself. It only has to move the soul. O
