The Hollywood Harleys

THE HOLLYWOOD HARLEYS

Where only custom will do, where price is no object

JON F. THOMPSON

A YEAR AND A HALF AGO, LOS ANGELES CLOTHING designer Carl Jones was occupied solely with the task of whipping beach-oriented sportswear out of his Surf Fetish factory and into the hands of eager buyers; he had forgotten his last ride on a motorcycle.

Today, though Jones remains in the rag trade, he's joined a growing company of West Coast stylists who have gone hog wild over the creation of custom Harleys. He's the man behind a bike boutique called Cycle Boyz ([2 1 3] 589-7995), which exists to design and sell some of the most outrageously styled, wildly expensive, limited-production custom motorcycles ever to roll on a Sunday cruise.

Jones, a one-time dirt rider, became a born-again biker last year after he went for a ride on a friend's Harley.

“Maybe it’s a masculine thing, maybe you feel like a tough guy, maybe it’s just the whole mystique, the image behind a Harley, maybe it's just having the wind in your face. Whatever it was, I had to have a Harley," he says.

So Jones found his way to the nearest dealership, laid his money down and began riding with his friends. But something put a nagging crimp in his riding enjoyment: “I noticed they'd all done things to their bikes—chrome, paint, things like that. Mine was stock. I really wanted a custom Harley.’’

So he returned to his dealer to make the necessary arrangements. The dealer, he says, asked for a hefty deposit and instructed him to check back for a progress report in about six months.

Six months? Hey, that’s 26 weeks, 180 days; not, to Jones’ way of thinking, a satisfactory response.

So he bought a second bike. He’d customize that one while he rode his first bike. But the custom work on the second bike required every bit of the suggested time frame, Jones says. He became impatient with the odious chore of being forced to ride a stocker, and this impatience merged with his designer’s instincts and became an idea. He decided to join forces with pals in the paint and metalworking business to build ready-right-now, no-two-alike, comeand-get-’em, custom Harley-Davidson motorcycles.

He’s built five so far, sold four, and has 15 more under construction. “They're customs you can go in and buy; you don’t have to wait. The engine work, the chrome, the paint, the upholstery—that's all done. We build exotic motorcycles you can’t find anywhere else. For anyone who wants this type motorcycle and who can afford it, it's available,” Jones says.

Ah, now we’re at the nut of the problem: those who can afford this type of motorcycle. Affordability isn't easy, except maybe for Hollywood high-rollers, in part because Jones contracts with XRV Performance Products of Los Angeles (See “XRV!,” Cycle World, January, 1989) to perform engine modifications; with Harley seat guru Bob LePera, also of Los Angeles, for custom upholstery; and with top-notch painter Jim Torre, of Glendale, California, for paint work.

The bottom line for the results of their work is that Cycle Boyz’ price leader, the 1940s Harley-replica HD SÍ6, shown here with its thick, rich, cobalt-and-cream paint, starts, without engine mods, at $25,000. And when finished with promotional chores, the Zebra, also shown here, will take up station on the floor of a trendy Los Angeles boutique, amid $500 shirts and $2000 jackets, wearing nothing but its stripes and a $44,500 price tag.

Such prices are perfectly reasonable, Jones figures, first because they’re attached to Harley-Davidsons, and second because of the custom artistry each bike displays. The bikes will sell, Jones believes, because, “Anything with the name Harley-Davidson on it sells like you won’t believe. No one understands what's really happening.”

But whatever it is that’s happening, Jones believes it isn't anything as simple as a trend. He says, “Harleys are like jeans, they'll always be around. Sure, these bikes are expensive, but they're worth it. They took a lot of time and a lot of effort to create. If someone was going to build one for themselves, by the time they were done they'd have spent that much or more. We're offering something immediate for about what it would cost them anyway. We're selling to the customer who doesn't have time to decide how he wants the headlights done, what kind of spokes he wants; he may not even know. We're selling to professional people who like motorcycles but who don't have time to research paint colors. We do it for them. It’s here, it's readv. If they don't like this one. mavbe thev'll like that one, or maybe they’ll choose from one of the concepts we’re working on. They can go to our Glendale facility and take their pick. If they like what they see, fine. If not, we'll show them sketches of what's being built next and maybe they'll choose from what’s in production,” Jones says.

Bikes in production or preproduction include a replica '40s police bike, something Jones calls the Surf Bike and a Harley with what he describes as “a Warhol-type paint job,” referring to the recently deceased pop artist.

Says Jones, "We just get all these ideas. We can't do them fast enough.”

And what if the bottom should fall out of the custom Harley market? What happens if nobody wants his creations?

Jones just laughs and says, "I'll own a few custom motorcycles. It won't be a bad thing. I'll put them in my garage and ride a different one of them every month.”

He thinks for a moment, then adds, "These are like works of art. People spend $ 100,000 to buy works of art to hang on their walls. Here’s a $40,000 motorcycle that will be worth more later. Maybe I'll put one in my living room and just look at it.”