Saddle Rash

Sunday was hot and long and noisy and full of wind noise. Every biker in the world seemed to be out. I saw kids in not enough armor on ridiculously overpowered sportbikes, a couple guys in sweaty head-to-toe racing leathers riding flashy Italian sportbikes, and any number of choppers, cruisers, and even a custom drag-racing bike with an extended swingarm and what looked like a nitrous system.

At a gas station in Nashua I asked another biker what was up, and he said “I’m hot, my ass hurts, my fingers are numb, and I’m loving every minute of it.”

All told, I put over 650 miles on the bike this weekend. It was hot, my legs and shoulders are sore, the backs of my thighs are chafed and tender, and I loved every minute of it.

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