So we're on the Hogs for Dogs run. When a train separates the lead 25 bikes from the remaining 200. At the next stop sign the yahoos on their geezer glides get off and start walkin back through the line askin for directions. We'll Butche and I can see this ain't gonna get nowhere so Dixie and Butche and I BLAST to the front and we're cruizin on our merry way when we realize we got 200 bikes followin us 2 Weasels. Well shit, never follow a Weasel, but these poor sheep were. So we cruiz down Ole Route 66 to Halltown and miss a turn. Dixie barks down the next street to turn this train around and we dead end at a Baptist church parking lot. Well them baptists musta thought it was thunder from the apocalypse 'cos the next thing ya know a half dozen of em are pourin out the door talkin in tongs. Thanks to Butches intoxicated speech experience he's able to decipher these tong talkin baptists directions. Dixie BLASTS back through the line of 200 bikes, shattering a few church windows from the sound, and we get the ride back under way. The 200 sheep were cheering Dixie on waving their fingers and fists as she flew by.
Never follow a Weasel.