I just witnessed the most wonderful thing. Here I am, printing out newsletters at the office, when from the window I heard the rising murmur of car horns - many of them, honking and honking. Behind the klaxons came a roar, a sharp, square roar that had me first looking to the sky for an answer on such a thundery, cloudy day.
Bikers. Thousands of them by my count, they rode past my building on US 10 - Center Ridge Road here in Rocky River - in twos and threes, honking at waving bystanders. The vast majority of the bikers rode Harleys; a few had sidecars and a handful rode crotch-rockets. Snarls from the engines bounced off the echo chamber created by the two buildings that enclose a parking lot by three sides as they sidle up obliquely to mine; the sound was incredible when I opened the window. Screams, shouts, hoots, hollers and hogs as the bikers rolled by in their endless procession.