Middle aged Motorcycle Man

It happens every year when the sun comes up and the winter is no more...it is not the spring equinox or the sunbirds going north for the winter. It is the attack of the middle aged motorcycle man. Every year you hope, nay you pray that this year the crop of fresh recruits or old riders will think better of their decision and just stay home. But they won't. They will come out in groups or just ride alone. Shirts are optional, helmets are frowned upon. It is the beauty pageant for men having a mid-life crisis.When the sports car just simply isn't enough to show that you are still a mans man. Forget the swimsuit competition. These men are willing to show you everything, tummy (flat or round you get to see all of it in its glory), biceps with our without muscles, hair maybe on the head, mostly on the back. You will also get to look at their motorbikes which they have named hogs or cows or some other euphemism depending on the type of bike they purchased. These men come out in droves on a bright sunny day, if only to add spice to the scenic beauty around them.
I ran into one of these men yesterday at a stop light... no shirt, no helmet, just shorts and bicycle glory. I had to laugh, I had to take a picture, and I had to admit that I in the not so distant past I had taken part in this motorcycle mania. I had just moved to Kansas, don't ask... I don't want to have to admit why. But it involved a man and he had a motorcycle. For years I had told him that I would not wear leather and ride on the back of a motorcycle. I insisted that was a princess and should be driven around in a mercedes. Note to self, probably not going to be driven around in a mercedes by a man who thought I should be more country. Not that I know what that means, but I think it involves bbq's around the trailer park and cutting coupons. Nevertheless, in an effort to prove my love I rode on the back of his motorcycle.
I would like to say I was a good motorcycle partner, but I wasn't. I couldn't breathe, I was afraid of becoming close friends with the asphalt, and the seat hurt my butt.
Side note: I got no junk in my trunk... it is flat back there. So flat that the one time I was brave enough to moon someone (this was back in college) they said "Holy crap your butt is so flat"....Try to live that one down.... it is almost as bad as when my mother showed me an ad for panties that had butt pads in them.
Pain and panic aside, I persevered in my motorcycle riding until I realized, I have no tattoos, I am not middle age, I own no leather clothing, I do not blend in with this motor cycle crowd. I will motorcycle no more... well all that and he dumped me.... but nevertheless, with no dignity in tact I came to the conclusion that middle aged motorcycle men are not for me. Now where is the guy with the mercedes??