Motokat and I were part of a group riding from Portland to Boise a couple of years ago. We'd stopped for fuel somewhere in central Oregon where she had opened her bags for some reason. She had a small, but awesome, set of aftermarket hard luggage on her bike, but I can't remember the brand.
The newly-fueled group breezed out of the gas station, me riding a distant sweep on my Tiger, and accelerated to warp. Suddenly the roadway was littered with ladies' underthings. I checked the horizon ahead for whatever it was that had blown a woman clean out of her clothes, because I definitely wanted one, as well as the now-nekkid woman. What I saw was Motokat and the group on the side picking up her clothes; she'd forgotten to relatch her sidecase lid. I performed a U-ey and stopped in the roadway to pick up her errant lingerie. Maybe I'm a good Samaritan, but I'm not a nice guy. I strung the lacy objects on my mirrors while the couple in the Chevrolet camper truck behind me laughed uproariously.
When I rode up to the rest of the group with my booty, she refused to let me ride the rest of the way with her undies stretched between my mirrors.