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I used to live on a road that was popular with bike clubs. You knew spring was really here when the first lot cruised past the house. I always loved it, they were great people.
How great? One day I'm broke down on a remote stretch of that road with no houses in sight, hood up trying to figure out whether it's a dead spark plug or something worse. Next thing I know two dozen bikes purr by and suddenly pull over en masse. Harleys, leather, beards, chains, the whole shebang. I should have been terrified (small female-type person, two dozen burly bearded men, do the math), but I wasn't. Because they got my car going again and a couple of 'em followed me home just to make sure I got there, then took off with a wave.
It was a beautiful day.
Amen. The gas station I worked at was about half mile away from the Harley store. If/when a biker was there, and I got the willies about a weirdo in my store, I could always ask the biker to stay for a bit. Happily obliged. I even hitched a ride on a bike once..they didn't go fast enough for me!!!
Sweet good people.
In my heart, in my soul, I'm a woman for rock & roll. She's as fast as slugs on barbituates.
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