My wife's idiot friend (yes, I've mentioned her before) and her hubby got a Harley that cost more than their house a couple years back. Their lives revolve around gathering in a parking lot with 75 other...uh...rugged individualists in their complete Harley outfits. They then get a spot in line to ride to some redneck paradise, like Myrtle Beach, SC, (aka 'the world's largest ashtray') and back, paying careful attention to the odometer.
Hubby loves to brag about all the miles he's put on his whaletail, or whatever kind of tail his bike has. If I only rode the way he does I wouldn't even ride. What a crappy way to spend a day on a motorcycle.
It's not just about how many miles you ride. It's about how and where you ride those miles. Taking the Interstate to Myrtle Beach is worse than spending the day changing oil in a station wagon, IMHO. This guy lives in the heart of some of the best motorcycling on the planet and he gets in a Harley conga line headed down the Interstate.
WTF?
Give me a plain 'ol North Carolina highway and zero to one other bikes. That's pretty close to heaven for me. But, then, I'm kind of a simple guy.
