I was a skinny, 9 yr old girl sitting back of a big Harley, 
holding on to a 6', 230# leather-clad biker. With a two-foot long 
brown braid whipping out from under a helmet two sizes too 
big, I rode like I was born to it. Daddy was an aircraft 
mechanic and a one-time LA County Sheriff, with a charming 
smile, and a wicked twinkle in his eye, that hid one dangerous 
kind of mean, if you were on the wrong side of it. 

He was my hero, and I was the little girl that no-one messed
with.