Cheating

Cheating

Or, how to be everywhere at once when chasing the Cannonball Rally

PART OF ME WAS HESITANT TO CHASE the Cannonball on Victory’s flamboyant Vision. I imagined being scoffed at, or worse, rejected by the event’s hardcore-vintage faithful. Tarred and feathered? Stoned as a heretic? I didn’t entirely rule it out. The Vision’s styling is over the top. Impossible to go unnoticed. People love it or hate it, and I feared the worst. But there was a bigger issue: It’s everything the old bikes aren’t.

It was like bringing an F-16 fighter jet to a Civil War re-enactment. Inappropriate? Definitely. Effective? Absolutely. For 16 days, the hardcore Cannonballers on their ancient relics could only dream (and surely some of them did) of the bulletproof reliability and La-Z-Boy comfort I enjoyed on the Victory.

The presence of the futuristic Vision shed light on exactly why the pre-1916 Cannonball was such an amazing exploit. To cross the U.S. on a 1913 Excelsior, for example, you need months of preparation, a carefully chosen set of tools, tenacity, mechanical sympathy, comprehensive knowledge of carburetion, timing and primitive engine oiling systems, luck, spare parts, and a support vehicle, preferably with a metal lathe, driven by a buddy who’s a vintage motorcycle mechanic and a machinist. To cover the same distance on a Victory, all you need is a credit card and basic knowledge of how to work a gas pump. The contrast could not be more extreme. That’s probably why somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma, when I asked Cannonball competitor Frank Westfall what he thinks about those of us who sometimes ride modem bikes, he replied, and I paraphrase here, that we are all wussies. He has a point. Gas it and ride it—who can’t do that?

Most Cannonballers probably shared Frank’s opinion of the Vision. But many of the modern Harley riders we encountered along the way were genuinely curious. They want to know if they’re missing out on something. Imagine happily dating Mary Ann for 10 years and then one day Ginger shows up. Curious? Definitely. Interested? Maybe.

Over 4000-plus miles, I felt the Vision’s engine breaking in, getting smoother, freer, happier with every passing day. My comfort was complete. The riding position was perfect for my 6-foot-2 frame. No sore butt or aching back. The last mile of each day was as easy on my tush as the first. Didn’t add a drop of oil. One hundred percent worry-free riding. Very stable and planted, no surprises. It was even fun in the twisties, in a 900-pound-bike kind of way. Yes, I felt guilty as I passed old guys on 100-year-old machines, their magnetos getting soaked in the freezing rain while I had my seat and grip heaters on. But not guilty enough to switch them off.

I found myself wishing for some exhaust note. The Freedom 106 is a great engine, but when a twist of the throttle does little more for the ears than increase the drivetrain noise, an improvement is in order. Engine heat on the hottest (100-degree-plus) days can be oppressive, like sitting with your legs wrapped around a scorching potbelly stove. As happy as I was to have the carrying space the luggage bodywork is plastic and prone to rattling over bumps—especially the top case.

Long-distance motorcycle travel always demands light packing, and the Vision was no exception for me with all my camera gear and a laptop computer. Even with its relatively generous luggage space, I was forced to leave a few things behind, but lockable, waterproof storage is a real luxury on long trips. If you’re a wussy, that is.

Barry Hathaway