Karl
“Don't you think you should slow down a little?” Fed asked as I slugged down the last of my beer. I wasn't sure what number I was up to, but I knew I was up there.
This was killing me, having to cut myself out of the club. It was better than the alternative, I supposed. But, still, it stung. I grumbled and just grabbed another cold one and cracked it open.
It used to be that I loved the rally. Every year my dad would bring me down here and show me around to his buddies for a few hours, before bustling me off to a sitter or my grandpa's. Live music, people hawking their wares, drinking competitions.
Sure, it wasn't Sturgis, or anything, with thousands upon thousands of bikers coming from all over the country. But it was ours, without any weekend warrior types coming in to dilute ou
