The sudden roar of a motor close beside the camper caused her to turn her head, quickly, to look with startled eyes at the lead motorcyclist, who was then drawn abreast of the cab. She saw a black beard, long black hair whipping in the wind, a pair of dark eyes flashing, angrily, and an open mouth that roared, obscenely, the words partially snatched away by the wind.

"… of-a-bitch! Get… fucking… off the road!"

With a roar, the motorcycle swept by them. A second figure, smaller and definitely feminine, clung behind the driver. She, too, was shouting, although it was difficult to understand what she was saying.

A straight stretch of road lay ahead of them for about seventy-five yards, devoid of approaching cars, which was the reason the group of four motorcyclists chose to pass, right then. As the leader swept by, he shook a threatening fist, then flipped his middle finger up in the age-old signal of derision. Then, Lois' sensibilities were injured. The auburn-haired, pixie-faced girl, on the back of the motorcycle, looked back at them and made the self-same sign.

Then, in quick succession, the other three motorcyclists thundered by the slow-moving camper, each hooting a string of obscenities and following the example of the leader, flipped the lewd hand-sign at Stan and Lois.

Stan's temper boiled over, instantly, and he was shouting back, "Well… fuck you, too… you bastards!"

"Please… Stan… do you have to be like them…?" Lois chided. She didn't like to hear him use those words. It always seemed so unnecessary.

"God damn it!" he flared back at her. "I'll say what I like… and right now I'm good and mad! Plug your ears up… if you don't want to hear it!"

The fourth and last cyclist had just passed him, when a low-slung sports car came snarling around a curve toward them. Lois was sure there would be a collision, but the motorcycle rider ducked to his side of the road, at the last instant, with only inches to spare.