Riding high in the U.S.A.

But it's not until you've travelled through the wide open spaces of the U.S.A that you realise just how massive the country is.

Before our ten-day touring trip of California and Nevada on a giant Harley-Davidson, I had never quite understood why all Americans had such a love affair for the marque.

Let's face it, when it comes to touring bikes, there are a myriad of Japanese and European bikes that would leave the lumbering U.S machines in their wake.

Now, I've come to respect the bubbling American beast.

I picked up the hire bike, an Electra Glide Classic - you know, the ones the Californian Highway patrolmen ride - in Los Angeles.

My first impression was that it was incredibly wobbly at slow speeds, had a cluncky gearchange and, even with that massive 1340cc air-cooled V-twin, it felt underpowered.

With nine days travelling ahead of us, my saddlemate and I decided to return to the hotel to pack the panniers and be off. Thankfully, we were travelling light.

Even though the hard panniers were lockable and completely watertight (we put them through more than an average test later in our trip), they were not over-large or easily removed from the bike. The giant top box, which doubles as the black rest to the pillion's armchair, was a godsend.

One tip when travelling - always leave enough space so you can lock away your helmets and wander away with hands free.

Even while we were trying to find our way back from the EagleRider motorcycle rental centre in downtown LA - the big mistake was trying to do it without a map - I soon realised that there were few bends in the roads, just crossroads.

There's a clue here, I thought, Harleys have never been built for fast cornering.

The next day, after breaking free from the confines of LA, we fought our way up a storm-lashed Interstate 15, a four-lane motorway.

It was then that I began to thank heaven that we had a 1,200lb bike beneath us as we struggled against the evil ridged surface, and very often a wall of standing water. The huge front fairing and screen kept the worst of the stinging spray off us. It was my leaking boots that let me down.

Having only travelled the roads of America on the silver screen, I was convinced that everywhere the speed limit was 55mph - not so, silly me.

Although the restrictions do vary, most Interstates, or motorways, allow 75mph.

During our all-day ride to Las Vegas on arrow-straight roads, which go from horizon to horizon through the Mojave Desert, the steady throb of the engine as it kept to about 2,500 revs and the speed limit, began to impress me. It was all so relaxed.

Where on most other cruisers, the aches would soon start to set in, the bum goes numb - no such thing here.

The Harley's seats were sumptuous, both front and back. Legs never seemed to get tired, as it was easy to move your feet around on the unique running boards.

The suspension, made up of a rectangular swing arm at the back and air-adjustable front forks, soaked up any jarring from the monotonous road ridges.

In fact, the telescopic forks also boast an electro-pneumatic anti-dive system, which worked incredibly well. Having said that, I can't recall ever having to put the front twin 11in discs to the test.

American roads just don't seem to require instant stopping. Most of the slowing down, as I recall, consisted of closing the throttle and letting the lump do the work.

Pulling away, the power is amazingly smooth - partly thanks to the belt final drive.

As you can imagine, there is just oodles of torque, so changing those lorry-like gears is very often optional. Something to do if you're feeling bored.

As our trip took us through Death Valley, the hottest and lowest point below sea level in the United States, the bike's solid, steady, dependable, I'll-get-you-there-with-ease feeling began to grow. That's quite comforting, when there is nothing - and I mean nothing - alive around you for as far as you can see.

Although the bike boasted a radio and cassette player with controls at your thumbs, the sound of the engine was enough for me, quietly purring through twin-chromed catalytic converters.

Let's face it, you mustn't relax too much.

There are certain things to keep an eye on - like the fuel gauge. The tank holds five gallons and despite 40 to 50mph, petrol stations on the desert roads only ever seemed to loom out of the heat haze as the needle hovered towards empty.

Even though we found civilization again with the small towns amid the Inyo National Forest, it wasn't long before the bike proved itself again.

This time blizzards hit us as we traversed the 9,000ft high passes of the Sierra Nevada mountains. That feeling of sheer dependability was a real comfort as the snow began to lay.

But on our final run, dropping down towards Jackson, San Andreas and through the wine-producing counties to Modesto, the weather began to improve again and our waterproofs could be stowed away as our goal, San Francisco, came into sight.

By now the big old beast was becoming a friend; a best mate.

It felt a little sad handing it back, a bit like giving your faithful dog to a new owner.

But then, it wouldn't be fair, would it. A bike like that just wouldn't be happy cramped up on the twisty, turny, traffic-choked streets of Britain.

No, it's far kinder to leave it where it's happy - out in the wide open spaces. Simon's fly-ride holiday facts SIMON'S ten-day fly-ride holiday was booked through Destination USA, 41-45 Goswell Road, London. Telephone: 0171 253 2000. The cost for ten days: £1,449 for the rider, £399 for the pillion. The cost covers: flights, eight-day bike rental, preparation fee, drop-off fee, insurance, sales tax, nine Liberty Hotel vouchers, pillion fee.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.