Rivals

RIVALS

How Harley vs. Indian went from fight to fun

ALLAN GIRDLER

POWERING DOWN THE RAMP, I saw a big Twin in the fast lane, so I eased over and came up on the right rear. First thing in view was a sprung hub, then a distributor in the vee of the cylinders, then a quarter elliptic spring. “Shades of Springfield,” I exclaimed, “it’s an Indian Chief!”

The rider was a big guy, all hair and denim, riding in the classic million-mile slouch. He looked at my Sportster with its orange-and-black, Team Harley paint, low bars, racing seat and rider with color-matched helmet.

We grinned and gave each other the high sign.

There was a time we wouldn’t have done that, or if we had and been caught by other Indian and Harley guys, we’d have had the patches ripped off our jackets. There was a time when if “Harley” and “Indian” appeared in the same sentence, there was always a “versus” between them.

The how and why of this fiercest feud in motorcycling has been lost in time. But probably the rivalry began because when motorcycling was invented at the turn of the century, loyalty was a virtue. The home team was the Home Team and all Mudville did weep when mighty Casey struck out. Plus, motorcycling was the sport of daring young men, and young men have always liked to choose up sides and compete.

Both factories had racing teams in the Teens, with emblems and uniforms and colors, and it surely was natural for the teams and the fans to both identify with the brand they’d picked and to cast aspersions on the upstart trying to snatch away the honor rightfully due their brand. It was that way in baseball, more so in college football, so it was only natural that Harley and Indian became rivals and even had cheerleaders at the track.

Then things got rough. There’s some dispute here. The men who raced during the 1930s recall—well, Harley riders do—that the fighting was fierce but mostly fair on the track and then they’d all party together. Parallel to that, there are stories that packs of Harley racers would box in a lone Indian man so the other Harley riders could win. And that does seem to have happened.

This was the time of economic depression, too, which made things worse in that there were fewer than 100,000 motorcycles registered in the U.S. and a dealer could count annual sales on one hand. If a prospect bought from you, he didn’t buy from me, period. That could create resentment, fair or not.

A psychologist would find another factor. In the Teens and Twenties, there were scores of makes and models of American motorcycles. In the Thirties, they’d dwindled to basically two brands, Harley and Indian, and mostly two models, the big V-Twins and the smaller V-Twins. Oh sure, Harley listed some Singles and Indian had an inline-Four, but mostly it was big or small, Harley or Indian. People are odd. If there are no differences, we invent them just to prove that we made the right choice, and the closer things are to each other, the harder we work to tell them apart. Best guess here is that the rivalry heated up during the Thirties in large degree because Harley and Indian were so much alike, and so alone together.

At least the rough stuff didn't begin at the top. Rather, according to historian Harry Sucher, executives from the two firms met in secret during the Thirties to set prices and policies. And when rival clubs got into fights and damaged the image of the sport, the AMA, funded by the factories then, dispatched their top man, in a sidecar rig, to make peace. (No, the record doesn’t say which brand supplied the rig. Sorry.)

The sporting contest does seem to have been marred by petty incidents and spite, as in the Harley shop closing rather than sell oil to an Indian rider. And both sides have tales of epic contests in which their man was faster than the braggart on the other brand. Partisans still will claim, for example, the Indian Scout was faster than the Harley 45, and detractors insist that the Indian Four was weak in the back barrels.

Time changed, and so did the contest. Sticks and stones became quips. The fights were battles of wit and words. Rollie Free, best known as the man in the bathing suit at Bonneville, told the Harley man who wanted a “gentleman’s bet” that Harleys and gentlemen couldn’t co-exist. Sammy Pierce, who was Mr. Indian for a generation, painted his trash barrels Harley Orange and Black.

And there were jokes:

Know why some Indians are painted green?

So when the Harleys ride up, the Indians can hide in the grass.

Know what Harleys and hound dogs have in common?

They both like to ride in the back of trucks.

Why’d the rivals mellow out? Psychology again. The imports arrived from the East and the West and posed more of a threat to both domestic brands than either had ever been to the other. Then, Indian, beset with financial problems, lost the war and the make went out of production, the doors of its Springfield, Massachussets, factory shut tight in 1953.

Punchline here is, Indian won most of the battles, in that by most unbiased accounts, it was a betterrepresented motorcycle. There’s a human preference for the underdog, and the guys who picked Indian paid more attention, and worked harder at it, than the other guys did.

Thus, everybody who’s ever thrown engineer boot over saddle knows:

You'll never wear out the Indian Scout

Or its brother, the Indian Chief They're built like rocks to take hard knocks

It's the Harleys that cause the grief

Alternately, the best-known couplet in the sport:

Harley, Harley Made of tin Ride it out Push it in

Not that the Harley camp took such tongue lashings in good humor. Armando Magri, the racing kid who became a Harley dealer, is credited with this comeback, still quoted on occasion:

Want some grieß Buy an Indian Chief Want some more?

Get an Indian Four

The rivalry is history. The spirit still lives.

Allan Girdler, a former Editor oƒ Cycle World and a long-time Harley-Davidson enthusiast, has written two books on American motorcycles. Illustrated Harley-Davidson Buyer’s Guide and Harley Racers, with two more books in the works.