I took a ride over to Marcus Dairy not too long ago. For those of you who aren't familiar with the place, it's a popular Sunday-ride destination located in southern Connecticut, about an hour north of the Big Apple. Sort of an East Coast Rock Store or Alice's Restaurant. I occasionally stop there for a preride breakfast and the chance to kick a few tires. Anyway, there I was, all set to dive into an artery-clogging mix of greasy hash and overcooked eggs, when an older fellow, a very casual acquaintance at best, elbowed my buddy aside and squeezed his way into our booth. "Mind if I ask you a question," he wheezed. Since he was obviously a man on a mission, I paused in my shovelling and told him to go right ahead, questions, at least questions about motorcycling, being something I like to answer, or at the very least make an attempt to.