What made the dream worse is that no one rode the crazy looking machines. They all just stood around and looked at the bikes and themselves. No one talked…they all just had blank stares. There was no food vendors, beer tents or music at this rally. It was boring except for the outlandish motorcycles and clothing.
After an hour or so, I was really wanting to get out of there and go find some action. Then it hit me like a hammer to the forehead – I wasn’t in Heaven; I was in Hell for making fun of bikes other that Harleys and clothes other than leather.
Let this be a lesson to all you young guns still living – it takes all kinds of riders and bikes to make up the riding world!
I’m just saying,