I think Harley-Davidson's engineer, as well as three of its press people, told me no less than eight times "Whatever you do, don't put your feet down." Before the demonstration occurred, while the engineer was demonstrating the obstacle course, with each successive rider hopping onto the new Softail, and twice as I was walking up to the bike.
Why they were doing it was that the Motor Co.'s engineering team had fitted this specific new Softail with a set of outriggers. These are essentially adult training wheels without the wheel components and, if you accidentally do what you've always done and put your foot down when coming to a stop or when you feel the bike tipping over, you're liable to break your leg.
It was a tad intimidating.
All right, all right, I was straight up nervous. And I was already nervous as the reason why we were riding this particular Softail was to feel Harley-Davidson's new traction control system in action while giving it the beans as we hit a big-ole patch of sand in a corner. The bike would yaw, but return control back to the rider. Or so Harley said. That probably doesn't sound PTSD-inducing for a lot of you, but it does once you learn I hit sand in a very similar manner nearly a decade ago and ended up rag-dolling across a cliff wall and finding my way to a hospital with a broken shoulder, bruised spine and lung, and minus some overall height. Yeah, as soon as I heard the conceit, my shoulder began hurting and I instinctively started rubbing it. And then there was the constant reminder of "Don't put your foot down."
I can assure you that, despite my normal "I'll go first" nature, I wasn't the guinea pig on this particular occasion.
I watched a handful of others go ahead of me, including the engineer who did it without the outriggers to show the true yaw, but all of whom lacked the fear that was mounting within. And they seemed to get on fairly well. Getting going and then stopping, apparently, were the hardest parts of the whole setup, as the motorcycle didn't have a kick stand, nor could you put your foot down when coming to a stop. That meant to get the bike on its way, you essentially had to ride the outrigger and stand the bike up with some counter steer, and then just fall over with your feet on the pegs to stop.
The latter of which caused everyone to giggle, as it was just the silliest of sights.
But for everyone's part, they got along just fine. They were able to kick the bike up, generally keep it off the outrigger pucks while going through the turn—you had almost no lean angle due to them—and punched their way, kicking out the back tire, inducing a bunch of yaw, and not crashing. In fact, had the sand trap not been there, and the exercise not designed to showcase Harley's TCS, it would've been probably fun to see who could scrape the least and in the smallest turning circle.
We weren't there for that, though, and soon it was my turn.
I'll say this, I've done a lot of weird things in my life. I've piloted a bunch of weird machines in my career, too. This felt the strangest. Just sitting in the outrigged Softail was weird, as you do indeed sit in it. It's almost like climbing into a cockpit or some single-seat racer, as you have bars alongside you.
"Don't put your feet down," I was reminded again before cranking the big V-twin motor. And with my feet firmly on the pegs, I turned it over, gave it a smidgeon of throttle, counter-steered, and I was up.
It was surprisingly easy for how much the bike weighs, and doing it on my first try. I did immediately find the opposite side outrigger puck as I over-corrected my lean, but once I felt it out a bit, I was doing the loop without the sound of "SCRTTTHCHCHCCHHH" being transmitted out into the world.
Harley's engineer told us to do a sighting in lap or two before we started testing out the limits of the different riding modes on the Softail, which allowed me the chance to really feel out the setup. It's amazing how little lean angle you get with the outriggers, even though it looks like a lot when it's static. But the whole thing makes you really think about slow-speed maneuvering, throttle and brake inputs, as well as turning the handlebars. Normally, you just lean some more. But you literally couldn't with the outriggers. And that was kinda cool.
After my two laps, I put the bike into Rain mode, which was the most aggressive traction setup, and went over the sand. I'll be very upfront, I chickened the hell out of my first run. The high-side was still at the forefront of my mind and wasn't something I was looking to repeat. And even my second go-around, as well as my third in Road mode, couldn't likely been more agro on the throttle to really show me what Harley had engineered. I only really felt the system kick in once I finally got to Sport and it let more yaw upon giving it the beans.
But even then, my fellow riders did better slides.
What's funny about that is I'll slide a motorcycle without the outriggers whenever I feel like it. I (allegedly) did it riding the new Harley-Davidson Softail Lowrider ST the following day. Yet, the outriggers made the whole experience feel like I was less in control in that particular area. I don't know, but I'd love to try and do better again, though my PTSD would likely rear its head once again.
Stopping, however, proved hysterical, just as everyone else had shown. You slow to a crawl, then until you're about to tip over, and you just...tip over onto the pucks with a resounding "Thump" onto the concrete. I laughed pretty hard as it was just such a weird experience, especially as I kept my feet on the pegs. It's almost like when you do a belly flop or fall backwards into snow. You're just along for the ride.
Overall, I got a taste of Harley's new traction control (albeit limited by my own fear) and got to play with a machine I'd never tried. And, yeah, it was weird. But a fun weird with just a hint of danger, though I was assured everything was perfectly safe.
Apart from the outriggers possibly breaking my leg had I put a foot down.
