When I started posting here I was working with a bunch of younger guys in Alaska and nobody else was interested in motorcycles. I thought I was THE Meandering Geezer. Well, I moved down south when I retired and rejoined the hordes of baby boomers wandering the back roads and I realized that if you took a good sized rock and chucked it really hard you would hit a meandering geezer. Probably piss him off too. They're everywhere. One caveat to the square jawed, young, jack booted heroes out there; if you see a geezer and he (or she) is not sipping tea at the nursing home and not under Sean Hannity's control, you have a dangerous situation. Geezers have nothing left to lose. If you corner a rabbit and he has no other choice, then you have a whole handful of teeth, claws, fur and attitude. A couple of years ago I had a stroke, and got lucky. Everybody knows an unlucky victim so won't go into details but on my second day at the hospital (Orofino) I was working up the most righteous and indignant pity party the world had ever seen. They wanted me to give the walker a try. As soon as I got out in the hall there was a guy, smaller, and more wrinkled, pushing a walker toward me. He was sweating and breathing hard, and had an ear to ear grin. When he passed me he wheezed "I'm going HOME!" They had told him that if he could go to the end of the hall he could go home. Rossi has nothing on him. He was on the home stretch. Every goddamned bit of horsepower he had was in use. His eyes did not betray what his white knuckles obviously felt. Probably a good idea to get out of his way. And it's that particular point of view that I was hoping to highlight with this thread. So if you're too old to die young feel free to jump in.