In my mind, Harley-Davidson motorcycles are motorized music in motion. Their muscular, deep-throated, all-American, guts-and-glory roar brings tears to my eyes. Their sensuous sound thrills me, as does that of any powerful machine. Many times, I have let myself be hypnotized by the steady, staccato rhythm of huge diesel engines, effortlessly driving lengthy center pivot irrigation systems, pumping life-giving water over my father’s Mississippi Delta cotton fields. Once this love of machines and the music they make got my pals and me in a ton of teenage trouble.
