Riding through the countryside was Owen’s freedom. Nobody asked him anything and if they had, their voices would’ve been drowned out by the roar of the engine.
If Alan was out for a morning ride, he wanted to hear the larks; the gentle burn in his thighs wasn’t just a price worth paying, it was part of the experience.
Pulling up outside a café atop the hill, the two men stared, uncomprehending. Then Owen peeled down his leathers, revealing his shirt.
“Don’t see many United fans round here. D’you see the game Saturday?” Alan smiled at his new best friend.
I have a shirt for the Red Bull Formula 1 team. It wasn’t cheap but it’s comfy and I love it. More than that, I find it evokes a fascinating response. Formula 1 fans are not as widespread as soccer or hockey fans, but there are more of them around than I realised, and my shirt almost always results in me finding one! Instant friend. Or rival, depending who they support! 😉