I saw alot of anger growing up, and so I try to control my own. But I'm not very good at it, not at all.

So when the Harley Davidson flew past me, without even a wave, my hand began to twist the throttle without a conscious thought. My bike is old, I know that. It's old and tired and its 80 horsepower engine, a beast in its day, is a sopwith camel in a jet plane age.

Still, the bike respondedand I tore down the freeway, buffeted by the wind. I guess I'm old, too, and I'm an 80s guy in a Millenium age, but I cut my teeth riding the Los Angeles freeways, splitting lanes, weaving among cars, a shark swimming in a sea of traffic.

And so without much thought I flew through and among the cars, danced with my bike on the blacktop, the Capitol Dome flying by, and the fat, lumbering Harley, nearly as big as a car itself, was a quarter mile behind me in a few moments time, caged in by traffic.

The weekend was spent tightening down all the screws and bolts I shook loose on my poor old bike. That's what a temper will do to you.