Last night I decided to go down to the New Jersey Hudson River waterfront to watch the New York City skyline light up as the sunset. It was the most perfect evening to take photographs. The city skyline was crystal clear, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was moderate. The ensuing light display that nature and the concrete and glass jungle created did not disappoint.
I love Harleys or, as they are affectionately called, Hogs. The reason I love them is not what you are probably thinking. I like quiet so I am not a fan of that trademark raspy, rumbling voice of theirs. In fact, I find it particularly obnoxious and so find myself covering my ears whenever they breeze past me . Nor do I yearn to feel the freedom of riding down country backroads with 500 plus pounds of steel between my legs and the wind in my face. No. I love Harley Davidsons because they are a slice of pure Americana and have their own place as an art form indigenous to the United States. Whether you are a motorcycle lover or not, you have to admire the detail, the passion, and the craftsmanship that go into making each Hog as unique as the rider that mounts it. They can be downright stunning. I found one such Harley at a small antique car show in a small town in New Jersey just begging to be photographed.