Uh oh, I’ve crossed the line. Boy, am I gonna get my ass kicked now. I stated the opinion that everyone else is thinking but is too afraid actually to voice at least openly in public. And the last thing you want to do is belittle the thing to which these irrefutable enthusiasts attach their identity because if you insult the motorcycle, you insult the person driving it. And that’s a surefire way to get stuck in the gut by a Hell’s Angel, Altamont style.

Hey, Harley rider, I get it. You want people to think you’re a lion in the jungle, that your ear-curdling roar induces tingles of hair-raising fear. And that you just don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. Which is ironic. Because it would appear that you care very much about what everyone thinks, otherwise your motor would be muffled. Intent on convincing us that you’re unconventional, a rebel, unique, fringe, anti-establishment. It’s just that it’s hard to be persuaded when the company you fiercely endorse has a spreadsheet of over 5 billion dollars in revenue last year.

Now, motorcycles are cool. And if it’s not raining, they make an exciting form of transportation. It’s liberating when the Sativa-soaked sun shines on your face with the unbridled summer wind sweeping your body while you harness a stout speed machine. And what do I care if your favorite pastime is standing around inspecting one another’s spokes like dogs sniffing their buddy’s backside?

To each his own.

But could you turn down the volume a little? It’s irritating when your conversation is jolted by a passing DC-10 on the street, that’s all.

Note:  This never applies to a lady on a Harley. Chicks on bikes are always awesome no matter what and have a license to crank their volume any time they feel overcome with the need to express themselves.