Up and down the Dixie Highway motorcycles zipped or roared as the temps rose above freezing to tremble in the high forties and low fifties.
Stud muffins on their sport bikes popped wheelies like colts rearing up to box. Testosterone fumes mixed with the smoke from burning rubber.
The mating games begin.
Bundled up bikers hit the pavement on their gleaming Harley bikes - the thunder of the V-twin could be heard for miles before the bikes themselves came in view.
Is it spring yet?
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A Very Old Memory
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