“Just like the bobbers roaring around in 1948, the Forty-Eight has shortened mudguards, fat tyres, a tiny fuel tank, a lot of black and an engine that dominates its profile. It’s a good looker” All the fuss is over nothing, or at least as close to nothing as you can get. Nothing fancy. Nothing flash. Nothing extra. Nothing unnecessary. Nothing but the bike.
The quest to strip bikes back to the bones is strong these days, especially on the Sportster’s side of town where younger riders and urban confines define the parameters. It’s a reaction against lives that are cluttered these days: full of gadgets, commercial imperatives, bright lights, demands on your time, constant intrusions, never-ending connectedness. Sometimes you’ve got to jump on your bike, disappear behind your sunnies and…