I have a childhood friend who has been a biker his entire life. He once told me about the allure of bikers with women and how just owning one was a guaranteed way to meet women. Women have offered him their phone numbers while waiting alongside him in their automobiles.
Why the appeal? There are many thoughts on this – the bad boy rebel image, freedom, excitement, and danger. Perhaps it is best summarized by a scene in Woody Allen’s film Play It Again, Sam. In the opening of the film, Allan’s wife, Nancy, bluntly tells Allan why she is leaving him:

Nancy: I don’t want any alimony. I just want out. I can’t stand the marriage. You’re no fun, you suffocate me. There’s no rapport and I don’t dig you physically.

Later, their parting words:
Nancy. I want a new life. I want to go discothecquing and skiing and to the beach. I want to drive through Europe on a motorcycle. All we ever do is see movies.
Allan. I write for a film magazine. Besides I happen to like movies.
Nancy. You like movies because you’re one of life’s great watchers. I’m not like that. I’m a doer. I want to participate. I want to laugh. We never laugh together.
Allan. How can you say that? I don’t know about you, but I’m constantly laughing – I chuckle, I giggle, I guffaw occasionally. Besides, why didn’t any of this come up when we were dating?
Nancy. Things were different – you were more aggressive.
Allan. Everybody is during courtship. It’s only natural. You try and impress the other person. You can’t expect me to keep up that level of charm. I’d have a heart attack.
Nancy. Goodbye, Allan. My lawyer will call your lawyer.
Allan. I don’t have a lawyer … have him call my doctor.

In another part of the film, Allan has a fantasy of his ex-wife riding with a biker through the countryside, stopping, and being thrown to the ground and made love to.
There you have it – the motorcycle as an icon for freedom and reckless abandon. The fantasy of women looking to escape the doldrums of relationships without fun or excitement. It became a private joke for a friend and myself – we often spoke of a particular woman fantasizing about going off with a man with a motorcycle.

Recently while walking on 8th Street in the Village, a friend and I encountered a very muscular, imposing man proudly displaying his bike and chatting with admiring onlookers. Although I have never been particularly attracted to the outlaw biker image, I can appreciate a fine machine. The owner, Louis, told us about the customization of his bike, including the signature blue LEDs elegantly strung throughout the bike, all hidden from view.
I delicately brought up the issue of straight pipes – the bane of New York City residents. He turned his bike on – the sound was deafening. When I asked about the issue of legality, he commented that he carried a badge. I have no idea if he was actually a police officer.

Some moments later, a very large woman appeared with a friend. There was lots of flirtatious banter between the woman and Louis. She asked if she could mount the bike. It was clear that this woman had no inhibitions whatsoever. It was a reenactment of Woody Allen’s fearful fantasy – a woman gone wild being lured to a man with a motorcycle. As I snapped a photo of her straddling the bike, she asked, feigning worry about what my camera may have caught, Do I have underwear on?