Photo credit here
There is something almost irresistable when a motorcyclist is faced with a red light.
He stops (if he loves life). Soon, one by one, his brethren start forming a line on both sides, each stopping as if held by the invisible shield of the red traffic lights.
Each biker a stranger, on different bikes, from different walks of life.
Each trying not to be seen looking at one another, though one does catch discreet glimpses at individual bikes, marveling at bigger and tougher bikes, and triumphing over the smaller, cheaper bikes.
Each pair of eyes fixed to the traffic lights ahead of them, not daring to miss a beat for fear that they would be left behind in the oncoming onslaught of heavy traffic behind them. Brothers in arms, for sixty seconds, until the changing of the light.
Soon there is an elecric quality of excitement buzzing in the air.
VROOM! VROOM! engines are revved mere seconds before the lights change to the all-powerful colour of the US currency.
Wrench your accelerator, and feel your bike surge into the night.
Feel the all-empowering sense of satisfaction as you break away from the pack, leading the race that compels every motorist...
Eat my dust losers!