Ain't That America - Indian Motorcycles

A MOTORCYCLE LEGEND RETURNS

The year 1999 was one filled with milestones. It marked the end of a decade, century and, depending on your view, the millennium. It was also the year I exchanged coasts, leaving my native Massachusetts for Southern California. I also turned fifty, which brought with it the realization that I will never be a rock star, Julia Roberts is not likely to return my calls and I will never be referred to as a child prodigy. No matter, because there was one other milestone in 1999 that brought everything back into perspective for me: Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, Indian motorcycles returned to the American motorcycling scene.

The timing could not have been better.

A few years ago, my two best friends and I started an annual tradition where we set aside a week from our families and go off together to discover a new part of the country on motorcycles. It usually means flying to our starting point, renting motorcycles, then spending the entire week riding and exploring. This quickly became known to us as the "Tres Hombres Tour." To my mind, there is no finer vacation.

Riding To The Beat
Of A Different Drum

Last year, however, the plan varied somewhat: My friend Dean in Massachusetts was in the market for a "big cruiser bike" and, whereas we had chosen to tour the California coast for our annual adventure, he decided to make the purchase of the new bike part of the trip. Because I now live in California, he asked me to help him locate several custom bike builders in the area that might be able to have the bike of his dreams waiting for him when he arrived.

That search led me to the discovery that the decade-plus battles and lawsuits over who had the rights to build and sell Indian motorcycles was over and that the new Indian Motorcycle Company in Gilroy, California was about to reintroduce a limited edition of the brand's famed flagship, the "Chief." At that time, the only California dealer was Santa Rosa Vee Twin, about forty minutes north of San Francisco and some 550 plus miles from my home in San Diego. No other brand of motorcycle would have inspired me to make the trip, but this was Indian. A legendary name in motorcycling was about to emerge from a 46 year hiatus and I wasn't about to be satisfied merely reading about it. I had to be part of it.

I called the dealership and accepted their invitation to join them for the re-introduction of the new limited edition Chief. Arriving a day early, I met owner Don Blodgett in the parking lot. Don is one of those people you meet who has a unique ability to make you feel instantly accepted and comfortable. His quiet enthusiasm was as unpretentious and genuine as it was infectious. After inquiring about the trip from San Diego, Don smiled and said, "I think you'll find the trip was worth it. Come on inside . . . I want to show you something." He smiled like a young child about to reveal a secret to a best friend.

Walking into the showroom was one of those watershed moments you remember for the rest of your life. There, before me, were no less than a dozen brand new Ltd. Edition Indian Chiefs representing nearly every color combination offered. All were stunning, with their massive trademark front fender skirt. Just about anything that could be chromed already was. Now, I was the one who was like a child on Christmas morning.

"Go ahead, sit on one of them," Don invited. He didn't have to offer twice.

Spying a gorgeous two-tone black & red Chief, I quickly straddled the beast. The word deceiving came to mind. The bike looked huge. But sitting on it felt . . . well, incredibly right. The combination of a low seat height (a mere 24 inches) plus the stretched, raked front end made for a center of gravity low enough to make the bike look (and feel) much lighter than its 650 lbs. (dry weight). With a mere 29" inseam, seat height is a major concern for me. Yet on this huge motorcycle, my feet rested firmly on the ground and both knees were comfortably bent.

"Born To Be Wide"

When I grabbed the handlebars, I realized these are the widest bars in motorcycling covering nearly two separate zip codes. Don assured me "You'll be surprised how good they feel once you've driven the bike for a few hours." I wasn't going to be convinced that easily. I told him I drive a Harley Davidson Low Rider with the narrow "buckhorn" handlebars which are some of the narrowest made. Don just smiled. He knew something I didn't. However, I would soon be among the enlightened.

Don explained that they didn't plan on having test rides during the open house, but then added, "Since you're here a day early . . . " and tossed me the keys to his personal Chief. He knew what he was doing, letting me take his bike for a short ride. The "short ride," however, became longer and longer. Over a half-hour later, I returned, but only because I stopped to consider the penalty for "Grand Theft Legend."

The two things that impressed me the most during the test ride was how comfortable the wide handlebar position is and how deceivingly fast the bike is. While riding on the streets of Santa Rosa, I looked down at the speedometer expecting a speed somewhere in the vicinity of forty miles per hour. The gauge indicated sixty. Oh, did I mention the reason I was prompted to look down at the speedometer was because of the flashing lights on the police car behind me? The officer verified that the speedometer was not in error . . . but that my speeding was. Fortunately, he was impressed enough with the bike that the only thing he gave me ultimately was a warning and a hearty thumbs up.

During the open house the following day, I called Dean and told him his search was over. I had e-mailed him a half-dozen digital photographs I had taken of the bike the day before and he agreed. There was one unexpected twist to this: I decided I had to have one too.

Dean and I each made arrangements to take delivery of our new bikes right there in Santa Rosa in early August, just in time for our trip which would coincide with my 50th birthday. Dean would fly out from Massachusetts and I would drive up from San Diego on my Harley. The third member of our riding triad, Tim, would fly in from his home in Florida to ride my Low Rider. "Tres Hombres" would tour the California coastline as well as a few State and National Parks along the way back to my home in San Diego.

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