On the boulevard of life, there are riders and there are passengers. Riders who want to bring a friend along will probably suffer less themselves if they have a little sympathy for the back-seater's plight. Those of us up front get to savor the wind in our face, the almost-flying feeling while leaning into a corner, and the sensation of our powerful, throbbing mount's response to our every nuance. However, for the person perched on the pillion with no control over what happens next, it's more like the rider's helmet in the face, the almost-dying fear of leaning into a corner and the relentless vibration that leaves them wishing for a new ass. A passenger's suffering increases when the rider chooses a saddle because of its sleek style, or offers up a seating position with the footpegs six inches below the saddle, or makes tire-smoking starts with nothing behind the seat to give the passenger a fighting chance of staying aboard.