Oh Jim, we (the touring group) lost you. No longer will you and your wife take leisurely rides, kicking back snuggling your body between her highs.
No, now you'll be humped over the gas tank with your wife grasping on the the full leather racing suit as she hangs on for dear life. You attack each turn looking for next ****** rocket to blow by as they quake from your power and speed.
You stop only for gas and to guzzle down a Mountain Dew, with a group of young men you just blew off the road chatting about the latest Rap and techno music you downloaded on your IPod.
Oh the humanity of it all.

We will miss you.