When I lived in Australia, I used to hate going to motorcycle shows.
Summertime motorcycle shows would be set up in a large hangar where the temperature hovered around a million degrees.
Parking was a nightmare, and you’d have to leave your bike miles away at the edge of a massive parking lot.
Then you’d trudge for half an hour in your leathers and boots under a blazing sun, back to the hangar.
On this delightfully sweaty trek, you’d try to ignore the circling packs of suspicious, aggressive policemen just itching to make an arrest.
Finally, you’d arrive at the hangar door: scowling, sunburned, and panting.
And the fun just kept on coming…