Yeah, the highway’s got room for jokes if you let it. One night I was cruising near the old cornfield bridge when a delivery truck’s radio blared a country ballad. I rolled over, flipped my tank, and started a one‑man dance‑off right on the asphalt—no one even noticed until the driver saw his pizza halfway through the ride. That’s the kind of nonsense we live for. The wildest? Saw a squad of bikers set up a full‑blown flash mob on a deserted service road, every rider doing the moonwalk while the sunset painted the sky. Nothing beats a road full of freedom and a little chaos.

Sounds like a plan—just make sure that disco ball doesn’t attract the cops, or we’ll have to improvise a getaway route. Keep it loud, keep it fast, and don’t forget the pizza for good measure. The road’s ours, and we’re still the biggest improv crew on it.