The meaning of riding.
There's a quiet that lives somewhere past mile fifty, where the noise of being a husband, a father, a worker falls off the back of the bike, and for the first time all week, the man riding finally hears himself again.
The world gets smaller. The shoulders drop. The grip loosens.
Out past the last town, the bike and the body and the breath all start moving as one thing.
And somewhere in there — between one mile marker and the next — a man remembers exactly who he is.
That's the ride we believe in. That's the ride we'd never want a man to lose.
— Matt Hardiggan, Founder
That's why I built hexrider
rides were getting shorter.
I’ve been riding for thirty-eight years. Sportsters in my twenties. Baggers ever since.
Somewhere along the way, the rides got shorter. Not because I wanted them shorter. Because every cushion I tried — foam, gel, air, sheepskin — got me to about mile 60 and quit. Three thousand dollars of “solutions” stacked in the corner of my garage, and I was still pulling over before I wanted to.
The equipment was quitting before I was. So I built something that wouldn’t.
What we wouldn’t settle for.
- We weren’t going to launch a cushion that changed how the bike feels.
- We weren’t going to launch one that gave out at mile 60 like all the others.
- And we weren’t going to launch one until we knew it could go the distance.
So we tested it for 28,000 miles before we sold a single one. Texas summers. Montana cold. Three different bikes. Three Iron Butt SaddleSores.
Mile 28,001 was the day Hexrider went on sale. Not a day before.
