Top fuel Harleys are insane. They wear a flack jacket in case the pistons decide to launch out the top of the engine.
That single-crankpin V-twin has “engineering compromise” written all over it.
And yet, just like the Porsche 911, its particular constellation of propulsive properties earned it supreme status with many admirers andor operators. Both platforms have diehard fans.
An excellent consequence of this popularity is that both platforms have been engineered aggressively and over decades to become genuinely good motors and vehicles without sacrificing the quirks that the enthusiasts so love.
I was deeply impressed with how generally good a motorcycle my ‘03 Super Glide was. Unlike my gateway Harley (‘87 Low Rider Sport, the final word awarded because two front brake discs, coun’em bishes) which had soul (which means acted weird and annoying, and then packed it in a lot) the tourer never needed a repair, just fairly cheap maintenance.
And to experience it taking a face bath in mud in a New Mexico thunderstorm, have like sixty pounds of bentonite hosed out of every imaginable place it might have packed into, hit the starter and wee wee wee ka-WHUMM bduh bduh bduh ... that was like heavy whoa.