The following is the complete text of a road test that was published, in significantly abridged form, in American Iron magazine.

1998 Harley-Davidson FLHTCUI Ultra Classic Electra Glide



Harley-Davidson's ultimate touring machine — the overlong name of which is generally abridged to "Ultra" by owner and aspirant alike — enters its tenth year of production looking very much as it did when it debuted as a 1989 model. Indeed, a casual observer, unschooled in the ways of The Motor Company, might easily guess that our test bike differed from its ancestors only in minor details. From distinctive fork-mounted batwing fairing to beer box (or, as it's officially known, King Tour Pak) the Ultra's appearance has changed little over the course of its production run. From a traditionalist's standpoint, this is a very good thing: Harleys should look like Harleys, and the Ultra's basic shapes combine to make it one of the most instantly recognizable motorcycles on the road.

Fortunately, while its appearance evokes the past, the Ultra's technology — basic engine design excepted — is firmly rooted in the present. The 1998 Ultra benefits from a continuous series of upgrades and modifications, to the point where virtually nothing but the aforementioned basic engine design is carried over from the original 1989 model.

The Ultra is built on the same FL platform that serves as the basis for the Road King, Electra Glide Standard, Electra Glide Classic, and new-for-98 Road Glide. The FL frame and suspension were redesigned for the 1997 model year, the result of which were a smoother ride, more precise handling, and lower seat height. In 1996 the batwing got a new dashboard, and was itself redesigned to vastly simplify removal and reinstallation. That year also saw the introduction of new, smoother handlebar controls, with the horn button finally moved outboard of the headlight dimmer switch. The 1995 Ultra was available in a limited-edition commemorating the 30th anniversary of the Electra-Glide nameplate. The present model's standard sequential port electronic fuel injection made its first appearance on that edition. In 1993 the oil tank and battery were repositioned, so that they no longer encroached on the right saddlebag's space. At the same time, the saddlebag lids were attached to the bags. (The previous fully-removable lids had a tendency to fly off at speed, if their owners weren't careful about proper latching techniques.) These are no means the only changes made to the Ultra prior to the 1998 model year; rather, they're cited to indicate the evolutionary nature of the bike.

For 1998, the Ultra edges closer to the millennium with a new nine-plate clutch intended to combine greater durability and reliability, and which yields a 20 percent reduction in lever effort. The exhaust system is now hydro-formed using a process similar to that employed by GM to manufacture the Corvette chassis. The result is a more uniform wall thickness, and fewer welds. Of far greater importance to anyone who has suffered with an earlier Ultra's audio/electronics package is the news that the entire system has been scrapped. In its place is an all-new, highly integrated audio/intercom/CB system that places all of the electronics within the fairing, and which delivers twice the power — 40 watts — to each of the four speakers. The cruise control, too, has been upgraded, and now includes a self-diagnostic system and self-adjusting control cable.

In order to place my impressions of the new Ultra in the proper perspective, you should know that: a) my own 1998 Ultra is scheduled to arrive this Spring; and b) my current ride is a 1990 Ultra that's been both wonderful and very, very awful during the four years I've owned it. Just to throw a wild card into the deck, for six months during those same four years I also owned a 1993 Honda Gold Wing Aspencade. Does item "a" indicate a prejudice in favor of the Ultra? In one sense, yes, but bear in mind that the "very, very awful" experiences alluded to in item "b" make me a fairly severe critic. Indeed, had I uncovered any significant flaws — or, more to the point — any areas where known problems hadn't been addressed to my satisfaction — I would have canceled my order in a New York minute and kept the older bike. As for the temporary presence of a Gold Wing in the Drucker fleet, let me say this: the GL1500 is an astonishingly competent machine. My experience with it established benchmarks against which to judge certain aspects of the new Ultra's design and performance.

I picked up the Ultra at Harley-Davidson's York, Pennsylvania factory late on the Friday afternoon before Biketoberfest. It was a two-tone model, Sinister Blue Pearl and Platinum Silver, and even under overcast skies the quality of the paint job was obviously superb. The company's huge investment a few years ago in a new paint facility has paid off in a big way. The blue surfaces looked to be a foot thick, while the silver portions had the appearance of crushed diamond pavé under clearcoat. The effect was stunning, as well it should be: two-tone models cost $450 more than either of the two monochrome editions (Sinister Blue Pearl or Lazer Red Pearl), and $750 more than Ultras sprayed basic Vivid Black.

The Ultra is equipped with fitted soft luggage for the saddlebags and Tour Pak. The enormous Tour Pak swallowed up all of my clothing and incidentals with ease. This left the saddlebags free for an extensive collection of foul-weather gear, a "shorty" helmet for use in Florida, a dozen audio cassettes, and various tools and other what-if items. While loading the right bag I noticed the pair of conveniently-located Schrader valves used to add air to the front and rear suspensions. Moving the front valve from its former location at the end of the left handlebar is a particularly welcome change (albeit one that was made last year). Since the stock grips — plain black rubber — are about as butt-ugly as grips can possibly be, their replacement is almost mandatory. In the past, the air valve's presence drastically limited the field to a very few; now, there are dozens, if not hundreds, from which to choose.

Thanks to its fuel injection, the Ultra isn't equipped with the choke (or enricher) we've all come to rely on over the years. The starting drill is very simple: turn the ignition switch to the "on" position, and thumb the "kill switch" to "run." As the electric fuel pump pressurizes the system, the engine light in the speedometer comes on to indicate that the system is running its self-diagnostic program. When the light goes out — a matter of a few seconds — a touch of the starter button quickly brings the engine to life, with its idle automatically set to compensate for both ambient and engine temperatures. The temptation, at this point, was to ride off immediately and had I done so the fuel injection would have cooperated. This would have done the engine a disservice: the different metals used in the EVO engine expand at different rates as they heat up. Placing too much stress on the engine while it's cold can deform the cylinder bases, and result in the dreaded cylinder base gasket leakage. Granted, a long succession of new gasket designs has, over the years, reduced the likelihood of this happening. Still, I let the engine idle for a minute or two, and familiarized myself with the sound system before setting off on my journey to the sun.

The plan was to meet two friends, and ride with them to Daytona Beach via the Skyline Drive, Blue Ridge Parkway, and whatever Interstates were required. The first stage of the journey, on Friday afternoon, was a 175 mile jaunt to the initial rendezvous. Pounding along Pennsylvania's frost-heaved, pothole-pocked Interstates, I appreciated the smooth ride afforded by the new frame and suspension. I'd recently ridden the same roads on my own bike, and took much more of a beating. By virtue of its basic design, the engine itself vibrates like a jackhammer. However, the isolation mounting system prevents this vibration from reaching the rider in any physical sense. What's left is a kind of reassuring, distant awareness that something serious is going on, that it's propelling the bike forward, and that it's nothing about which to be concerned. Owners of older models, used to hearing a great deal of internal thrashing from their engines and transmissions, will be amazed at how little — none, really — the newer models exhibit. The factory switched to close-cut gears a couple of years ago, in order to pass the EPA's drive-by noise level tests. The idea was to reduce the rest of the noise in order to keep the exhaust as loud as possible. That goal notwithstanding, the Ultra's exhaust, while retaining the Harley-Davidson character, isn't likely to offend a soul.

The air temperature, as reported by the dash-mounted gauge, was fifty degrees, which could have made for a chilly ride. However, the batwing, wind deflectors, and engine guard-mounted lowers reduced the wind blast to a comfortable zephyr. From the standpoint of wind protection, and bearing in mind the wide temperature range a rider is likely to encounter, I'd have to say that the Ultra's as good as it gets. By comparison, the Gold Wing's huge frame-mounted fairing sucks the cold air right into the rider's back, while the windshield creates a tremendous amount of turbulence around the head. During the summer riding season, too, the Ultra excels by allowing the lowers to be removed. The Wing rider, by contrast, is "protected" by the same fairing all year long.

I've long been a fan of the Ultra's riding position: feet planted firmly on good-sized floorboards, handlebars positioned to allow an upright posture, and a seat that's easily the best Harley produces. At just a shade over five-ten, I'm able to flat-foot my '90, so the lower seat height of the new model wasn't an issue in that regard. I did, however, notice that by varying my posture slightly I could choose to look either through or over the standard windshield. On the older bike, I have to slouch to get behind the shield. (It occurs to me, at this point, to wonder why those who might be more comfortable with a different height windshield aren't able to order the bike that way from the factory. The amount of stuff many of us have to throw away, and purchase anew, just to get the bike to fit and run the way we want, is simply unconscionable.) Starting with a full tank, I was able to run the first 175 miles non-stop. Heavy traffic at the beginning of the ride brought the elapsed time to about three-and-half hours, at the end of which I felt no fatigue whatever.

It was during this first leg that I discovered how well the cruise control worked. Once the dash-mounted toggle is switched on, pulling backwards on the thumb-lever instantly invokes the cruise mode. There's no perceptible delay, and no slack at all. (On my '90, the speed tends to drop 5mph between the time I set the cruise, and the time it actually takes control of the throttle.) Pressing forward on the same control invokes the resume function, which accelerates the bike to the previously set cruising speed. The controls conform to automotive convention in incorporating a coast mode into the set position, and an accelerate mode into the resume position.

Our Skyline Drive/Blue Ridge Parkway plans were laid to waste by the weather. When we entered the Drive early Sunday morning, it was 33 degrees and raining. Both of my companions were riding 1997 Road Kings, but despite their lesser level of protection against the elements the consensus was to press on. We did, and five minutes later ran into a wall of fog. What was to have been an invigorating, stimulating ride down one of our nation's best motorcycle roads turned into an enervating low-speed parade, with four-way flashers flashing and unlit oncoming cars appearing out of the fog as from the imagination of Stephen King. After nearly two hours, during which we rode less than thirty miles, we reached the first opportunity to leave the Drive in favor of lower, less foggy ground.

An hour later found us checking into a dandy hotel in Staunton, Virginia, where I made some notes about the less attractive aspect of the Ultra's weather protection. Specifically, if you ride an Ultra — or any batwing model — in the rain, your face (or face shield, if you're clever enough to have a full-face helmet) will get wet. The batwing's peculiar aerodynamics allow water to collect on various inner surfaces, and then to blow upwards, along the front of the gas tank, directly into the rider's face. This is true with my '90, and it hasn't changed for 1998.

To this point, traffic and/or weather had kept me from getting a feel for the fuelie's power. It pulled nicely through the gears, and felt strong at moderate speeds, but I still hadn't dropped the hammer, so to speak. On Monday, with clear skies and light traffic, we headed down I81 and I was finally able to do some roll-ons and other seat-of-the-pants performance testing. The '90 Ultra to which my particular seat is calibrated has been modified to the extent of an SE air cleaner and appropriate carb jetting, an Andrews EV27 cam, and Harley Touring exhaust system. That combination delivers enough power to cruise comfortably at extra-legal speeds, with enough of a reserve for downshift-free passing and hill climbing. I also compared the test Ultra with the 97 Road Kings of my companions. One was a carbureted model whose modifications were limited to an SE air cleaner, rejetting, and Kerker pipes. The other was a fuelie that had been fitted with a Vance & Hines FuelPak, Andrews EV13 cam, and SuperTrapp slip-on mufflers. Obviously, the modified fuelie Road King was capable of walking away from the stock Ultra at will, but comparisons aside, the Ultra's power level was adequate. It exhibited reasonably spirited off-the-line acceleration, and fifth-gear roll-ons demonstrated a satisfying urgency in the 50-70 and 60-80mph ranges.

To test the engine's flexibility, I idled down to 30mph — 1200rpm — in fifth gear and then rolled on the throttle, slowly at first, and then, once the revs reached 1700, full on. The bike didn't so much as hiccup, but simply gathered speed. As someone whose guiding principle has often been "too much of anything is just enough" it's quite probable that I will eventually install some go-fast parts on my own Ultra. But the performance of the stock bike is such that I won't feel compelled to do so immediately upon taking delivery.

The Ultra's five-speed transmission is shifted using a dual lever heel-toe linkage that some riders never warm up to. Rather than upshift with the heel, they nudge the toe lever upwards. For me, the deliberate heel-toe method is very much in keeping with the FL's overall feel. Authoritative stabs at the levers were rewarded with satisfying thunks that left no doubt as to whether the shifts had been completed.

The new clutch engages smoothly, over a forgivingly large range of the lever's travel. I can't address the 20 percent claim, but there's no doubt that the '98 clutch lever requires less effort than that of the '97. Neutral is accessed from first gear, and was especially easy to find on this bike. (The trick, I've found, is to simultaneously blip the throttle, slightly engage the clutch, and tap downward on the heel lever. I'd venture to say that most folks who have difficulty finding neutral need to have their clutch adjusted.) It's worth mentioning, while on the subject of the shift levers, that the angle of both — and hence their distance from the floorboard — may be adjusted. So, too, may the height of the floorboards, although lowering them from the as-delivered highest position is likely to result in some serious scraping on all but the mildest corners.

As long as the subject of corners has come up, I might as well comment on the Ultra's handling. Newcomers to the FL platform are always astonished at how easy the bike is to handle at low speeds, and in tight quarters. They're also impressed with its "look, ma, no hands" stability on the highway. What they often overlook is how nimble this behemoth can be when pressed in the twisties. Our route to Daytona didn't give me much of an opportunity to carve the corners, but once down there I took the bike around the Ormond Scenic Loop, which encompasses what might be the only genuine curves in the entire state. The Dunlop D402 tires — chosen for grip rather than long life — dig in very nicely, and the bike responds beautifully to light, but decisive steering inputs. The Ultra is no Buell S3T, but it rewards the spirited rider with surprisingly responsive moves.

I hardly spent a moment on the Ultra without taking advantage of the wonderful new sound system. One of the design goals was to allow a rider in a full face helmet to be able to make the music too loud at 70mph. This goal, and many more, were achieved. The system sounds very good with a full face helmet on, and simply wonderful when a shorty helmet is worn, exposing the ears to the speakers' full output. Volume, bass, treble, and front/back balance are adjusted using the same handlebar-mounted thumb lever. Pressing it inward cycles its function, while the dash-mounted LCD display indicates what's being adjusted, and by how much. A similar switch on the right handlebar selects fast forward or rewind in tape mode, and tunes up or down when the radio is playing. Both the radio and tape player have seek and scan modes, and the radio retains the earlier model's NOAA weather band. If radio and tape don't provide enough of a selection, a portable CD player may be plugged into a mini-jack on the radio's front panel.

With a single exception, the sound system operated flawlessly. While pulling into a gas station early in the journey, I tapped the power button and the tape continued to play and all of the audio controls went dead. At the same time, the LCD panel displayed an ever-moving series of ones and zeroes. I stopped the bike, and switched off and restarted the engine. The stereo's operation returned to normal, and stayed that way for the remainder of the trip.

The sound system draws quite a bit of power from the electrical system, as do the twin 30-watt passing lamps that I kept burning most of the time. I was therefore truly thrilled to see that the volt meter never dropped below 13 volts. Even at idle, with the stereo blasting, the brakes on, and the turn signals signaling, the needle didn't as much as twitch. My '90, on the other hand, doesn't have enough juice at idle with the brakes on to activate the turn signals or blow the horn — and that's with the stereo and passing lamps turned off. It's gratifying to note that Harley-Davidson has finally come to terms with the mid-sixties technology required to achieve a fully-functioning electrical system.

Is the 1998 Ultra without flaws? Alas, no. Aside from the aforementioned rain-in-the-face aerodynamic quirk, there's the question of heat. When the outside temperature reached 65 I began to notice a significant amount of the stuff rising from behind the engine, and exiting under my right thigh. I first noticed this phenomenon in Sturgis, during a brief ride on a stock '97 fuelie Road King. Switching between that bike and my own made it clear that anecdotal reports of the fuel injected engine's tendency to run hot had some basis in fact. The '98 threw off enough heat to be vaguely uncomfortable at 75 degrees, even when the bike was moving at a good clip. Sitting in traffic when the mercury hit 85, it approached the threshold of pain.

I would be also be remiss in failing to mention the moisture that fogged two of the four minor gauges after riding through some serious rain. And for heaven's sake, why does Harley persist in installing short-stalk mirrors half of whose area displays the rider's own arms. I've got the company's own long-stalk mirrors on my own Ultra, and they make all the difference in the world. Finally, I must note that the ignition lock — a known problem area for the past couple of years — was beginning to show signs of impending failure. This is a part that desperately needs to be redesigned, for it's capable of stranding an otherwise functional motorcycle.

Those cavils aside, the Ultra is a wonderful bike. Over the course of 1,684 miles, in temperatures ranging from 33 to 90 degrees, it never failed to operate perfectly. Under sunny skies, or through frog-choking rain, the Ultra soldiered on without a complaint, delivering as much as 50 (and never fewer than 45 miles per gallon) all the while. It might not be the prettiest bike in the Harley-Davidson lineup, or the fastest, or the best handling. But for getting you, a passenger, and a shipload of gear in comfort from point A to point B — no matter how far apart those points are, and what kind of roads connect them — I can't envision a better choice.