I hate getting held up behind them, all the way down in first gear, slipping the clutch, cooling fan on, and sweating my ascend off in a one-piece leather racing suit, as they wobble through corners at little more than a walking pace, unable to hold their line, disturbing the peace with their noisy unmuffled exhaust systems, and utterly oblivious to all the traffic they're holding up.
And then when I find an opportunity to politely slip past them (on two wheels, at part throttle, with a stock exhaust), they startle like they had been struck by a lightning bolt and damned near run off the road.
But my biggest challenge is that because they generally do not know how to ride, they are often unable to stay on the correct side of the solid double-yellow. It sucks to go around a corner and come face to face with a costumed Harley buffoon head-on in my own lane, with their elbows locked and their eyes as big as saucers.
I'll stop and render first aid and to call for medics, tow, and police for them, but I've gotten to the point that I'm not going to help pull any more of those damned things out of ditches.
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