Sexing your hog

Howdy! Grab a chair an’ a beer! Ya know, there’s one subject that I try to stay away from whenever I can, but it’s come to the point where we’re gonna’ have to have “The Talk.” That’s right; the subject is sex! At one time or another, we’ve all called the loves of our lives “she,” or “her” but you rarely hear anybody call a scooter “him.” Why is that? You could say “because it’s sexy, graceful, and beautiful to behold,” but just like people, puppies an’ penguins, there are several ways to tell if your bike’s really a “him” or a “her” that don’t involve turnin’ it upside down.

First, look for behavioral patterns. When ya’ take it out to play, an’ it develops an “owie,” does it let ya get it home even though it’s hurt, or does it just quit playin’ an’ pout? Take, for example, the time you stagger… Uh, I mean strode purposefully out of your favorite waterin’ hole, put your kickstand up, then forgot an’ leaned your bike over to put your helmet on with the kickstand up. Yeah, that time. Did your bike start right up when your friends caught their breath after 10 minutes of hysterical laughter an’ helped you pick it up, or did it refuse to start as punishment for your stupidity? In the former case, it’s undoubtedly a male. Even when beaten up by a friend, the male still wants to play. The female, however, feels insulted, an’ refuses to play until given expensive gifts like the foot peg an’ shifter you scratched up.

The older bikes are a lot easier to identify, because they’re not as civilized as their newer brothers and sisters. If you come out in the mornin’ an’ there’s a puddle directly under that ol’ Shovel, chances are it’s a female. If it waits till you’re in the saddle an’ you feel hot oil squirt down your leg an’ across your boot, it’s definitely a male.

OK… Let’s hit the road. You strap a large duffle bag on the back an’ head down the freeway. At about 70, some inexplicable force shakes your bungee straps off, an’ all your worldly possessions do a double backflip into rush-hour traffic. After you pick up what’s left of your shavin’ kit, a smashed can of deodorant an’ the only pair of tire-tracked skivvies still identifiable, you’ve got to ask yourself a question: Was it just an accident, or was it your “mistress” askin’ if that bag made her rear end look fat?

Another way to identify the sex of a bike is when ya walk into the showroom an’ one bike seems to take an interest in you right from the start. It’s like you can hear her whisper, “Hey, big boy, over here! Yeah, you with the big cheesy grin. Come take me home with you!”

She knows she has to snag you early, because they all look good by closin’ time.

The first thing she wants is jewelry, so you head for the big rack of chrome accessories she subtly points you toward, an’ pick out some high-dollar bling for your new love. Now you’d think this would satisfy her, but you soon learn that just like human females, the female Harley instinctively knows when it’s payday, and always develops a “condition” that’ll stop you from ridin’ until another expensive part is purchased an’ installed. Once again, this usually happens on a monthly schedule, and sometimes more often if two or more are parked in close proximity.

The male Harley, on the other hand, doesn’t really care about chrome goodies, preferring good quality tires an’ performance-enhancin’ drugs like high-octane gas and the occasional sip of nitrous. A good, hard ride is all it wants. You can also forget to clean the male Harley for months at a time without it throwin’ a snit-fit and leavin’ you on the side of the road. The male Harley is always ready to play, and if you don’t feel like ridin’, he will gladly go ridin’ with whoever pushes his button, although the latter characteristic is also true of certain female bikes, so it’s never a clear indication. You have to trust your instincts here, an’ hope you don’t get an unpleasant surprise after a night of hard ridin’.

Paint is also a good rule of thumb to determine your bike’s sex. Basic black is pretty much unisex, but if you have to tell your friends, “It’s not pink, it’s ‘Desert Rose’,” your hog is showin’ definite female DNA. Bright colors are found on male and female bikes, but any hint of lace pattern, gold or silver leaf curlicues or heart graphics, an’ it’s definitely a chickie-poo.

Over the years, I’ve seen a lot of bikes undergo sex change operations, with their owners changin’ paint, pipes, seats, mirrors an’ other identifyin’ characteristics, but no matter what color ya paint that pink FXR you bought, you have to change its outlook on life. Start by not washin’ it for a month or two, an’ see what happens. An’ watch the floor for puddles. Even if she never leaked a drop, she may start every time you want to ride if she’s unhappy.

Well, I hope I’ve cleared up some confusion about sex for ya, so get your wallet out, an’ buy her somethin’ nice.