Thunder and lightning suddenly burst out of the sky. The bikers were forced to pull into the restaurant’s parking lot. They all ran inside to get out of the storm.
The restaurant was quiet. The only people in the joint were a bunch of old ladies with big hats. The bikers sat at the bar and checked the hat ladies out. The ladies were all dressed in red. Maybe they were retired prostitutes. Maybe this was a union meeting for retired female Canadian Mounties. Maybe today was a red letter day.
The bikers thought the ladies were strange.
The restaurant had a juke box and a dance floor. One of the bikers put money in the juke box. When the music started he went over to one of the red hats and asked her to dance.
She looked aghast!
Her mouth dropped open, but when the biker took her hand she rose to dance, automatically. She still didn’t close her mouth as they danced.
Another biker asked another red hatted lady to dance, but her head shook “No,” as her eyes opened in large circles. So the biker just stayed and talked. Actually, he was showing her his tattoos. The red hat kept dipping in appreciative understanding.
Another red hat joined the dance floor. And another…and another.
I think the red hats liked the hairy, muscled, tattooed, earring, bandanna, bikers.
And the bikers still couldn’t figure out why these old dames were all wearing red. They asked the red hats, but for some unexplainable reason, they were all rendered speechless.
Eventually, the thunderstorm passed. The bikers finished their beers, and they started to say their goodbyes. The red hats walked out to say goodbye, but also to look at their “hogs.”
The bikers invited some of the red hatted ladies for a ride, and the ladies obliged.
And that’s the last the red hats saw of their friends. They rode on the backs of the Harleys, skirts up over their knees, one hand around the thick middle of a biker, and the other hand holding onto a red hat--and into the sunset they rode.