Another Weirdo Seeks the Magnet

This morning The Pony and I were right on schedule during our trip to school. We take a winding two-lane blacktop route past the lake, over the tracks, down a long curvy hill, over some more tracks, past the shooting range, over the river, and through a residential neighborhood.

We caught up with a slow green SUV between the tracks. By the time we crossed the river bridge, a line of four cars had piled up behind us. The slow green SUV actually started scooting along at 40 mph in a 30 mph zone, going up the long gentle hill though the neighborhood. I kept an eye on the traffic behind me. You never know. Like this morning.

A guy on a motorcycle came flying out from behind all those cars. He must have been going 65 or 70 mph. VROOM! VROOM! VROOM! He made sure all of us six cars knew of his displeasure as he blew past us. He wasn't quite straddling a crotch rocket, but neither was his hog a Harley Davidson tricycle. It was really more of an off-road kind of bike.

Let the record show that this guy was not your typical motorcycle rider. He was a bit rotund. No leathers for him. He was wearing a shirt and light jacket that flapped in the wind. His tail-wind, one might term it. Because it flapped his shirt and jacket, leaving nothing to the imagination about his tail. As he passed, I was treated to the sight of his enormous fish-belly-white buttocks jouncing jollily under the overcast sky. His sans-a-belt slacks, after sans-a-belts ceased to be cool, did little to impede the unencumbered buttocks. Where are the police when you need them?

Somebody should have thrown the book at him, with the understanding that it might become wedged in his canyon-like crack and never be seen again.