DAYS OF THUNDER
Harley-Davidson’s 115th anniversary cornucopia in Prague was a paean to motorcycling’s oldest cult’s long-standing assertion of individual liberty
AUTUMN, 1989. A TEN-YEAR-OLD IN a small cantonment town in central India, watches, fascinated, as a military dispatch rider rides off into the distance, dried leaves rising up in spirals in his wake. There was only one good road leading out of that town back then but it was enough: it led to Delhi, on to the Himalayas, and to the rest of the world. To a child—his world not yet circumscribed by those counselling prudence in place of wings—that road led to magical places in the Amazon Basin and God knows where else. And a motorcycle was his way out of there.
It doesn’t seem maudlin to recall childhood memories when writing about a motorcycle company that’s old enough to claim the allowance of freedom on two wheels as its prerogative. The association between motorcycling and individuality is almost definitive, but Harley-Davidson was probably was the first to vocalise it. Call it the benefit of being over a century old; in autumn 2018, the American marque turned 115 years old, and decided to throw a big party. The road, this time, led to Prague.
On a gorgeous crimson dawn— early-morning light splashing off the Vitava River, and illuminating the red-tiled roofs of this Baroque city so emblematic of the Renaissance—visitors moseying about on the historic Charles Bridge gazed north, mystified by the low hum originating in the distance. While they watched, an interminable convoy of 67,000 motorcycles, carrying over a 100,000 riders from all over the world, crossed over to the Old City. With this victory lap began three days of cornucopia where the visiting army encamped at
Holesovice Exhibition Grounds for a celebration of riding as a way of life replete with all the elements that Harley-Davidson rallies are known for—rides, food and wine, live music concerts, custom bike displays, Muay Thai bouts, and stunt competitions. Those who believe that a motorcycle can’t sing on the streets of a city should have come to Prague.
On the second day, you watch from the sidelines as a series of Muay Thai bouts get underway. A grizzled vet in his trademark motorcycle jacket sits with his young son watching bloody-nosed fighters trading blows, and then hugging each other when the bell rings. It’s an old-fashioned rite of passage into manhood for the boy.
On the final evening of the rally, a popular rock band—The Hives—take the stage and the riders congregate for one last hurrah. The irony is impossible to miss: the classic image of a lone rider on a Harley-Davidson isn’t really true anymore. Harley riders, in fact, share a kinship that is unique in the world of motorcycling: preferring to ride in groups, forming clubs, and hanging out together. H-D Motorcycles are important for their unabashedly analogue appeal—uncomplicated but not simplistic, rough-hewn and imperfectly authentic.
You slip out and into town. You’re not really into rock anymore. As the concert plays, you sit in a pub in the Old Town, with newly-minted friends, quaffing the Czech Republic’s finest brew and watching a football tie. You’ve found your herd.