I’ve written on this space about my early years riding a Harley because I thought it might be interesting to some to hear they weren’t alone in their love of two-wheeling.  But as most Bikers know, its more than a love of biking, it’s a love of living that attracts us to this life style.  You don’t have to be a rider to relate to incidents of living.  There are stories that let us all know we aren’t alone in our love for life and when there is one silly little story that combines both of these loves, it’s priceless.  The most interesting stories to me are always the real stories of other riders.  Stories without moral or hype, just human bits and pieces that makeup what we are all about.  This little tale is true and about a rider currently residing in Northern California named “Star”.
   That’s his real name, Star.  A nice guy who lives in the Sacramento area where there are more back roads and scenic places to ride than politicians.  And that ain’t easy.  But Star’s story wasn’t about Sac, it was about rural Utah over 30 years ago.  Back in the day when  all Utah had pretty much was Mormons, Salt Flats and back roads.
   In 1968, Hippies were something they only had in California (OK, Oregon had three and Denver had one).  The rugged country people of rural Utah had nothing in common with the flower-power movement of the west coast.  Yet here was Star, a long haired, full bearded California hippy, flying through their state in the middle of a snow storm on a Harley.  What could look less foreign?  Yes, I said “snow storm”.  I never found out exactly what drove Star to take on the freezing white stuff while saddling a Sportster, but he did.  The only thing that could be possibly worse than the snow that blew so hard at Star, that he felt it run up his coat sleeves and already drenched pants leg, was the locust swarm he encountered twenty miles outside of the nearest town.  No wonder the authors of the Bible consider locust such a deadly experience that they liken it to pure hell and retribution, they must have ridden through Utah during one of these swarms, Star thought.
  Star had to pull over every 100 yards or so to wipe the bug smear from his goggles and to spit out remnants of large insects while trying to shake the frozen feeling from his bones.  He finally decided to surrender to the freezing snow and insect infestation and pull over at a lone diner on the deserted highway.
  Frozen stiff, Star stumbled into the diner and up to the counter.  But as cold as he was, Star could still feel the burning gaze of the dozen or so folk inside the diner pierce through his near-petrified state and add its own discomfort.  Sure, they didn’t get a lot of long hairs out here he thought.  His Smith Brothers’ beard and full head of hair made him stand out a bit, but they looked at Star as if he were from Mars.  Why were these people so taken aback?
   Star headed to the men’s room, with all eyes on him.  He shivered over to the sink and ran the hot water and casually looked up in the mirror.  He was startled to see large insects, still half alive but at the same time half frozen, wiggling frantically around in his full beard.