Countless has the Harley man rolled up to a hapless soul on an asian atrocity cycle at a stop. Even though they have run astray in their unpatriotic motorcle purchase he turns to acknowledge the rider as fellow American.
Yet to a manling they won't look, won't turn their fiberglass entombed head in his direction, pretending they don't know he's there. But what they don't know is that from great distance a Harley man's superior roadcraft has already brought him a view of their fulmer face eye port's dreading recognition of him in their mirrors.
But it's too late, they freeze, their deepest fear is becoming reality, a Harley man is pulling alongside. Their shoulders slouch in recognition, they halt the wheezy throttle blipping of their tinkertoy engine. Yet never have they left from the line first, preferring to hold the inferior position to the next stop. A stop short, as not to come into the proximity of the Harley man and his machine.
Many more times than not they have already beat a hasty left or right retreat with visions of the Harley man's leather boot kicking their asian atrocity cycle into the ditch, they have heard the rumors of such righteous acts before. Of no less concern is the fear that the thundering shockwaves from Milwaukee's finest iron will damage their third world pot metal and plastic atrocity cycle.
In the end they know. They know the order of motormen and motorcycle. And they know their place in it.
Highwayman
Yet to a manling they won't look, won't turn their fiberglass entombed head in his direction, pretending they don't know he's there. But what they don't know is that from great distance a Harley man's superior roadcraft has already brought him a view of their fulmer face eye port's dreading recognition of him in their mirrors.
But it's too late, they freeze, their deepest fear is becoming reality, a Harley man is pulling alongside. Their shoulders slouch in recognition, they halt the wheezy throttle blipping of their tinkertoy engine. Yet never have they left from the line first, preferring to hold the inferior position to the next stop. A stop short, as not to come into the proximity of the Harley man and his machine.
Many more times than not they have already beat a hasty left or right retreat with visions of the Harley man's leather boot kicking their asian atrocity cycle into the ditch, they have heard the rumors of such righteous acts before. Of no less concern is the fear that the thundering shockwaves from Milwaukee's finest iron will damage their third world pot metal and plastic atrocity cycle.
In the end they know. They know the order of motormen and motorcycle. And they know their place in it.
Highwayman
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