You'd think I had a crapload of cash hanging out my back pocket. I had neither crap, cash, nor a crapload of cash in my pocket. I checked. The safest lane for a motorcycle is the far-left lane. Not today. Apparently, a lot of people were in a "20 miles over? meh" hurry. I stopped counting after the 97th car tried to crawl up my, err... tailpipe. (OK, I didn't count. It's just a low estimate.) And the guy who tried to read the label on my jeans for 40 miles, but refused to pass until I actually pulled into a turnout? Charmer. "Perhaps you were riding too slowly," you think. Reasonable assumption -- after all, I'm a girl on a giant tricycle, right? I checked that too. My speedometer was quite clearly in the "this could be pricey" zone. Maybe if they realized I was in the midst of a 310-mile killing spree, they would have backed off. Shown a little patience. Evidence of many satisfying splats.