Once upon a time, long, long ago there was a young woman who loved to ride her motorcycle. She would ride it every chance she got. She would ride it everywhere – to work, to the store, to parties. She would ride it even more on vacation.

Only the snow and ice of the coldest winters would keep her from riding. And sometimes she would go south in the winter to find warm sunny weather and ride some more.

One day she was riding her motorcycle with a young man she had recently met. He was an honorable and kind young man; a chivalrous gentleman in the terms of the age. Custom dictated that the man should proceed on his motorcycle and the woman should follow. This, I assume, was to keep the fragile flower from getting lost, but I never did understand it. Neither did our fair young maiden.

They rode and rode one fine sunny afternoon. They rode over hills and dales and along the twisting river roads. Our fair young woman was not known for her patience. She was, however, a practiced observer. And what she observed that day was the gentle young man riding at a very low rate of speed and aligning his motorcycle with the painted center line throughout every curve. He kept an upright posture and navigated more and more slowly.

This behavior was driving her nuts.

Finally, after several exasperating hours she picked her moment, leaned over and rolled on the throttle, passing him on the inside of a right hand sweeper. This is against most commonly accepted motorcycle customs.

She had had it! She then rode the rest of the route at a sprightly pace, thoroughly enjoying herself.

When the young man finally arrived at the destination, he sought out our heroine and proclaimed, “You are HELL on WHEELS!”

With a flip of her hair, she smiled sweetly, “Oh no! I drive my CAR very sanely!”

“Then you are HELL on TWO WHEELS!!”

And from then on, she was.