Hot late summer of '79, we're sitting in the downhill side stands of Sidewinders race track in Portland Oregon, keeping our hands over the paper cups of Oly beer to keep the dirt out, when the announcer blared out over the loud speakers, mounted on the light poles that they were looking for a Trophy girl for the up coming trophy dash. Me and my buddies who rode there on Triumph's, BSA's, and Norton
's, were egging on my date who happened to be wearing her tight jeans, cowgirl shirt, unbuttoned seductively, and cowgirl hat, that she needed to get her ass up to the tower to show her stuff. I accompanied her to the tower door as the announcer dismissed all the other teeny bobbers and said he founnd his girl.
Thirty years later, still MY trophy girl and my wife. This year will be our 36th together.