Meeting Toughie

I have no idea, she told me. Better ask Toughie, he will know. I have never been to a motorcycle rally, there is an excitement glow. Another guy said the same thing. Better find Toughie, he’s on a bike. The whole place seemed to know him, but what did he look like? I figured Toughie was big, wild looking, with at least one tattoo. I would ask six or eight people about him before I was through. I hear you are looking for me, a voice yipped from the crowd. It was a tiny dog, but his voice was extremely proud and loud. No, I am looking for Toughie, I told him, in a persnickety way. A bunch of other bikers began laughing; they were merry and gay. That is Toughie; see his helmet? A club member said to me. AMA, ask me anything; he is the smartest one you’ll ever see. I thought AMA was American Motorcycle Association, I said. They laughed at my idiocy, I’ll remember this until I am dead. You aren’t from around here, Toughie guessed, going easy on me. He had all the answers, and was as kind as could be.