I live for the CABE
Each year I invite all Whizzer riders on the continant to sleep free at our inn in the mideast section of the beer state. We enjoy three days of butt pounding fun, dodging deer and answering questions. We are 77-80 years old but we keep wiggling our heads so that no one sees our wrinkles. This has been going on for the last 30 years with as many as 12 guys but we are the last Duffers standing. During the first week of June we invite all comers to join us. We repair en-route, leave our sweat on the blacktop, and pee on any thirsty bush that is far away from adults. "But officer they are called Whizzers."
The lake roads are stunning at lower speeds and my armored jacket insulates me from road rash. We outlaw bikers rumble past the candy-ass electrics, like the white one caught in the first picture. All pillaging is kept to a minimum and the junk food gives our cholesterol pills something to do. Join us next year if you sport a set of boulders and want to bounce them till you go blind.