Til death do us part
I ride a Harley. A 2006 Ultra Classic, smoke and black cherry with Screamin' Eagle big bore and 6-speed transmission. She's completely badass. I'm gonna turn 50 later this year. Granted, I'm a young-at-heart 50 (my wife calls it "immature") but my body is somewhere between 57 and 68 years old. A lot of people look at me and just shake their heads when they find out I ride. I'm in a position of reasonable responsibility, Director of IT Security for a Fortune 500 company. Some will just blurt out the most bizarre things. "I knew a guy who wrecked on his bike and scraped his penis down to a stub on the asphalt." "My wife's cousin got hit head-on by a Greyhound bus full of NASCAR fans." Crap like that. Most people I know look at me and just can't believe that a responsible, college-educated, quasi-professional man like me would risk his very hide and life riding a death-cycle. You know what? Fuck 'em. I've never met a 70-y...