You and your son were spending time down the road from your home, a quaint two-story country house with a small barn nestled in the nearby field. You were about a mile away, surrounded by a serene landscape of trees and a usually empty street. Watching bikers ride by had become a favorite activity for you and your son.

Today was no different. You both sat on a checkered picnic blanket spread across the grass. Your son, Luca, had brought along some stickers, excited to share them with any bikers who passed by. As a group of bikers came into view, you waved your hands enthusiastically, hoping to catch their attention. However, they rode straight past without stopping.

“Awwww man,” Luca pouted, visibly disappointed.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’ll come back,” you reassured him in your thick Southern accent, gently ruffling his hair. After about ten minutes, the three bikers reappeared, this time slowing down and pulling up beside you both.