Have you ever heard the adage “you can’t not communicate?” Whether cruising around highways on a Harley or ambling over speed traps on a Vespa, a bike tells others a story about its owner. You may be wondering – what does your bike say about you? We take a tongue-in-cheek look…
A Harley Davidson
When you watched the final episode of Sons of Anarchy, you shed a few tears. Not that you were crying or anything. You just got something caught in your eye, you swear. You blasted some heavy metal afterward. You call yourself a “bikie.” You probably aren’t, but you’ll pound anyone who doesn’t agree. Read more about how to get best Harley Davidson finance.
It’s not a Harley. It’s true British engineering, innit? Triumphs are better in every conceivable way. Better than what, you might ask. Well, it doesn’t matter what! Don’t mind that oil dripping out everywhere. It’s just overflowing with awesomeness. People say you have an inferiority complex. They may be right.
You feel the need for speed, especially when you get it served up in straight lines. That unique shape means you let your artistic imagination run wild, customising the paint job. Until you get it perfect. (You never, ever do.)
The Yamaha is the centrepiece in your garage. It’s shiny, it’s bold, and it’s dangerous. It’s probably not even registered. Hey, at least you have something to show people during half time at the footy.
BMW C 650 GT
Darling, Europe is the birthplace of royalty – your bike is as aristocratic as you are. You park it next to your Mercedes and your Bentley. You use it for zipping around vineyards and degustations. You would never don leather unless a guy called “Armani” designed it.
When others are pumping iron at the gym, they’re wondering who on Earth watches the Moto GP on the tele. They don’t have to wonder; they’re wondering about you. You know exactly what’s going on, cite stats going back to the dawn of time and even take off work to catch international races. There’s 99% chance you have yellow, fraying posters of your Ducati up in your shed.
The guy tearing up the old motorbike haunts when the Moto GP is on. There’s no one around, don’t you know?
You live in an inner city flat (with 7 other people), take frequent “gap years” from your Russian literature degree and simply “cannot function” without your cold drip organic latte after wrenching yourself out of bed around 2pm. You haven’t crashed your Vespa during Instagramming a graffiti covered wall. Yet.