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Gear Review: 55 Collection Hard Jacket

Product: 55 Collection Hard Jacket Made in: Barcelona Cost: €480 (US $510)
It’s likely you’ve never heard of 55 Collection; the Barcelona-based leather goods company is relatively small and has only been on the scene for a few years. So, allow me to introduce you to a company that’s making some of the best-looking and unique motorcycle jackets out there at the moment.

Adopting the “non serviam” nonconformist attitude that seems to run through a lot of Spain’s motorcycling culture (check out the crazy/beautiful custom works of El Solitario MC, for example), 55 Collection’s jackets may split opinion because of the company’s willingness to make jackets that are fashionable – that is to say, jackets that have a strong fashion element. The old dudes will decry hipsterism or some such thing. And indeed, I’ll admit that when company founder Aitor Gonzalez offered me a chance to try out one of his jackets I naturally defaulted to the most conservative of his offeri…

The great Harley-Honda dilemma

A group of Harley enthusiasts smash up a Honda.
No doubt the Honda still ran afterward... 
"Sounds to me the CBF600 has everything you want in a bike except for the image you seem to be looking for."

That's a comment from Steve Johnson in response to a previous post about reconsidering my opinion of the Harley-Davidson Sportster. It's always interesting when someone is able to do that: when they're able to deliver an absolute truth in a single sentence. When they're able to get at something about you faster and more directly than you could.

Because, yeah, what he said is pretty much dead on.

The other night, I found myself riding along the motorway in the clear quiet of late evening. It was the middle of the week, the moon was out, and I had the road pretty much all to myself –– to the extent I was able to relax a little, to expand my thoughts beyond the constant spinning of: "What's in front of me? What's behind me? What's beside me? How's the road surface? How fast am I going? What's in front of me? What's behind me? What's beside me? How's the road surface? How fast am I going? What's in front of me? What's behind me? What's beside me? How's the road surface? How fast am I going?"

I was able to look up at the vastness of the night sky, take in the gentleness of my Honda's 6,000-rpm thrum, appreciate the constant steady feel of the motorway, and so on. I was able to enjoy motorcycling on that very basic, "natural" level. And in that moment I looked down at the glowing dashboard of my bike and said with melancholy: "There's absolutely nothing wrong with you."

It was a statement made with a feeling of sadness because, even as I'll sit here and acknowledge that the bike I have is, technically, the bike I want, I'll also tell you that I am actively plotting to get rid of it. There's no reason to get rid of it. On paper, it ticks all my boxes. It can do all the things I want it to do, and it can do them well. But it lacks that something, that whatever it is, that je ne sais quoi.

I thought about this as I sped along the cold and empty M4: the dichotomy in my thinking about motorcycles. Ask me what I want in a motorcycle and I will usually end up describing something like the Honda CBF600 SA –– the bike I have. But if you change the wording of the question slightly and ask not, "What do you want in a bike?", but instead, "Which bike do you want?", then mention of the CBF600 and its ilk (such as the Yamaha XJ6 or Suzuki SV650S) will completely disappear.

This, I decided, is the Great Harley-Honda Dilemma. The battle between heart and mind, between art and reason, between style and substance. And it is a dilemma I find myself incapable of resolving. It is a dilemma that extends across every brand of motorcycle (would I prefer a Yamaha or a Moto Guzzi?), but that I think is best represented in the differences between those two massive brands sharing the eighth letter of the alphabet.

The Honda NT700V Snoozeville Deauville
A great machine, but not likely to help you score.
We're painting in broad strokes here, of course. But overall, Honda machines occupy that left side of the brain. They are machines –– things that do. And in the case of Honda, things that do quite well. A particularly keen long-time reader of this blog might have noticed that I no longer refer to my bike as "Aliona." It was a too-exotic name that just didn't fit. The CBF600 is a piece of machinery. It is an object of function with wheels and gears and metal and plastic and rubber. It sits without sentience in my garden until I make it do something. It is a large chunk of invariant mass, and nothing more.

In truth, the exact same is true of a Harley-Davidson. But it doesn't feel that way. A Harley-Davidson has a certain intangible something, or an idea of something –– a spirit. You may not like that spirit. You may think that spirit is one of corporate nonsense. But most people agree that there is something there, as if there is an extra, magical ingredient in the paint: an aura to which a rider can connect on varying degrees, depending on desire to connect.

That's a big part of what Harley-Davidson sells: story. Triumph and Indian do the same thing –– the mystique of "authenticity." Even when that "authentic" and "classic" American or British machine was manufactured last week in India.

I have a relative who fixes clocks for a living. People come to him with little boxes of gears and springs that are in some cases hundreds of years old and he returns them to working order. The other day he was telling me about how each of these clocks have a personality of sorts.

"I don't mean that you carry on conversations with them or any such thing," he said. "But it's as if they carry a residue of experiences. You get the same thing with old watchmaker's tools. Bits will have been worn away by human hands and in some inexplicable way you can feel the story of those hands."

This past weekend was the first time I had met this relative. He is the husband of the daughter of the wife of the uncle of my wife; it generally requires a very large family gathering to run across a relative so extrinsic. But my wife had been keen for us to meet because he, too, is a motorcycle enthusiast. Able to list off an alphabet soup of sport bikes he has ridden and crashed, he grew far more poetic in talking about the 1995 Harley-Davidson Low Rider that he had ridden from England down through France across the Pyrenees into Spain and back.

The New Harley-Davidson Low Rider
The brakes should be a little better now.
That Harley had a front brake that was "useless" in the rain and a rear brake that was "either on or off, no in between," but he loved it. That bike was more than a machine, it was a symbiotic narrative device telling a story about the rider, who was at the same time helping to write the story.

I sound like I should be working in H-D's marketing team, don't I? But there's a certain truth of it. That kind of motorcycle is one that is easier to make "your own." You see it in just the options available for customisation. The ways in which you can change the look of such a bike are practically limitless. For example, let's say I give in to my desire to buy a Sportster and thereafter decide that I, too, want to ride to the mountains of Spain. A quick look at shows me some 54 different types of saddlebag to suit the Harley-Davidson XL1200.

Whereas there is just one universal saddlebag option for bikes like my CBF600. On a side note, Viking Bags recently sent me a set of those AXE saddlebags for my bike and I plan to use them on my trip to the Lake District next month. I'll do a full review of the bags thereafter.

Also, temporarily sticking with the whole saddlebag theme and the idea that the multifariousness of bags somehow equates to the dynamism of a bike's character, it's worth noting that Honda sells far more cruiser models in the United States than here in Her Majesty's United Kingdom and the corresponding luggage options for those cruisers are equally diverse.

And I suppose that speaks to a possible response to all this ethereal Harley blather suggesting that Hondas are without personality and spirit and story. First of all, there are many different types of Honda; perhaps I've just not encountered the ones that are true storytellers.

Or maybe Hondas simply tell a different story. Imagine two motorcyclists pulling up to a set of traffic lights: one is astride a brand new Harley-Davidson Road King Classic, the other is sitting on a brand new Honda F6B. Be honest with yourself: if you were told that one of those riders was an advanced riding instructor, which one would you say is which?

The Honda "spirit", I feel, is one of efficiency –– of having all the right tools in the right order. True professionalism. And I'll admit that appeals to me as much as the "Being your own person (in a very corporate way)" message of Harley-Davidson. I look at a bike like the new CTX1300 and I think: "That's the guy I want to be. I want to be riding around on my CTX, wearing all the right gear and always prepared with Leatherman tools and multi-use lubricants. I want people to look at me and think: 'That guy really knows his stuff.'"

There's something appealing about that. About being Mr. Prepared. Mr. Efficient. Mr. Johnny On the Spot. I like having anti-lock brakes. I like having wind protection and lots of backlit dials on a dashboard. But then, there's also something appealing about the guy on a rumbling machine, not really knowing or caring where he's headed. The Great Harley-Honda Dilemma. Which story do I want to tell?

And do I really need any specific bike to tell it?


  1. My dear motorrad obsessed friend. I've found over time people who assigns personalities to motorcycles. Mainly because they identify with the culture that produced those motorcycles. The American culture produced HD, and their cowboy, outlaw, freedom-seeker image.
    Brits produced a myriad of heritage laden, racing roots, and plain awesome motorcycles. All looking to be fast. Good heritage. Good image.
    Italians produce machinery that is just sexy to see. That's what they do.
    Germans strive to be the most technologically advance. That's what they do.
    Asians, most to the point Japanese, were early stereotyped as copy cats. Copying the awesomeness of other cultures... and the perception that their machinery is devoid of soul.
    I've been reading a lot of Soichiro Honda. The more I read about his relentless and sheer determination to be the best and to excel, the more I like Hondas. They are almost unbreakable. They cannot be stopped. They are reliable and efficient.
    About a year ago I rode a Honda CB550F '78. It left me breathless. That machine has soul. Against all odds, it has survived all this years and just keeps on running flawlessly. I had to buy it, and I did. I didn't know at the time that some people called "hipsters" really like that machine. I just loved it at first sight.
    If you spend time reading a bit about the culture that produced your motorcycle, you will find that it has soul, personality, determination and awesomeness aplenty.
    Cheers and congratulations on your Honda. Make it your own.

  2. Chris,

    At the end of the day you have to follow your heart. I'm sure you could technically think of a million reasons why the Honda is right for you...that's your head trying to convince your heart it knows best. But if you follow your head, you will always have a desire for what could have been...your heart will ache. Follow your heart and never look back. :-)

    Good luck,

    Live Free. Ride Hard. Be Happy...Follow Your Heart!

  3. Chris,
    Image, in my opinion, is rather meaningless. Once one seemingly violate societal rules and become outcast, one looks to define oneself from within. The old saying, "It is none of my business what others think of me" is my motto.
    My father, as you well know, rode only Harleys and belonged to an MC. He ridiculed riders of foreign made bikes and made sport of them. He carried rice in his picket, put a handful on the ground under their bike and proclaimed, "Your bike is leaking."
    I also heard him rave about the amazing skill of dirt bike riders often. He envied them deeply and intimated to me he could never ride so well.
    My husband, as you well know, rides a Honda. He is very attached to Blackbird and whispers to her soul silently, just as she does to his. He too, admires other riders and their skills, mostly his old friend Bro Brian, who rides a 2005 Harley UltraClassic. When Steve, Bro Brian and Mike Mo all rode into some snow and icy roads, only Bro Brian stayed upright, even turning around in the snow to come help Steve & Mike back up again.
    I understand the passion of both my father and my hubs. They really aren't all that different. Neither would try to tell you what to buy, nor be any more or less impressed by you based on your brand of motorcycle.
    Because image doesn't mean a thing.

  4. Fascinating. My son has loaned me his Star Raider while deployed. My previous bike was a Honda Shadow. I figure since the Raider out Harley's a Harley with a V-twin at 1.9 litres, bigger than some cars I've had, I will not only get a chance to experience that image, but on a bike much more reliable and powerful than the actual HD. I must admit cruising at low rpms at 80 mph and then being able to gun it up to over 100 in less than two seconds with a lot more to go is a rush. I thought I was going to buy one of my own. The image gets old, the brain takes over. I'm getting a Honda NM4.


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