Time for a Cape Town Summer Harley-day

Reclining on the back of 'Fat Boy' heading out of South Africa’s winelands towards the Cape coast, one of my unfulfilled desires was coming true. I was sitting astride a throbbing 1340cc's of gleaming Harley Davidson and felt every bit the biker's moll.

'Super Glide' and 'Low Rider' went ahead cutting a swathe in the Saturday morning traffic and 'Electroglide' cruised weightily behind. Cars pulled aside at the thunderous rumblings of four Harleys and drivers stared with open desire (I would like to think at me but I might have been mistaken). As we revved into a volcanic frenzy at the traffic lights no-one even contemplated trying to race us past the line.

Ours was a perfect Harleyday warmed by early summer sunshine and a sensual feeling of freedom. The simple pleasure of travelling unconfined made us appreciate the potency of Frangipani blossom and even fishy smells in salty sea air. Cruising in convoy we travelled the smooth winding cliff-top road around False Bay with Cape Hangclip in front and the infamous Cape Point just visible in the glinting distance. Photo opportunities were spectacular and even whales and dolphins made an appearance in the glossy green waters.

Drivers Smiled and Let us Through With Unusual Courtesy

I thought a gaggle of leather clad, silver studded bikers might elicit fear and loathing from the strolling crowd at the Hermanus Whale Festival, but in contrast we received unconcealed adulation. People whistled and waved, drivers hooted and children ran alongside laughing and calling, while pedestrians simply stopped and stared. Most exceptional of all was the unusual courtesy from car drivers who smiled in good humour and let us through. I began to enjoy all the attention and waved from my steely mount like the Queen from her coach and horses.

My companion in the hot seat - a motor cross rider in his youth - was somewhat sceptical about the power and mystic attributed to Harley Davidson riders, but was converted before morning coffee. 'Girls just seem to love a man on a Harley,' he acquiesced and like a magnet, pretty women seemed drawn to the gleaming bikes. They then asked the kind of questions designed to send testosterone levels soaring; 'Can I touch it?' 'May I sit on it?' ‘Will you take me for a ride?' and 'What can I hold on to?'