So, I just attended this motorcycle fest in downtown Colorado Springs this weekend. Motorcycles aren't really my thing. By that I mean that I do not swoon over them. I do not dream of them and I do not manufacture fantasies based around them. However, I do enjoy riding them. When you hit like 85 and you have to suck in your cheeks so they don't flap around you know it's a good time. The wind always blows the water out of my eyes even with a giganto pair of sunglasses. But I love being able to see every cloud, every mountain peak and I love hearing the rumble of the motor.
So I headed down to this grand event. There was an old guy band there. You know the type. All these guys in their early fifties with too-long hair, too-tight jeans, and a pair of rockin' 80's sunglasses. The sight wasn't so hot, but the music was great. They did all the beloved biker tunes... I guess I wouldn't really know what a biker tune is, but I assume it's things like Born to Be Wild and Livin' In America. It was ridiculously hot, so I grabbed an ice cream cone and stood watching the band. Little did I know, I was standing in the infamous BEER GARDEN - a fenced-off portion of downtown Springs where it was legal to purchase and drink beer outside. I stood for a while enjoying the day when I was approached by two gentlemen. "Well, I'd have to say that's the first ice cream cone I've seen in the Beer Garden." I looked around. Yep. I was the only one within sight that was not holding a trendy plastic cup of Coors. "True," I said, "So are you making fun of me?" "Absolutely," they replied.
I guess it must have looked pretty weird. But what we need in America is a little bit of icecream tolerance. Why must we be so disgusted with a little twist cone? You got your vanilla and your chocolate. There is no better combination. And yet, the world just isn't ready for it. It breaks my heart to think about what would have happened if I had been consuming Rocky Road.
I won't even mention Butter Pecan.