I believe I told this story last year, but I'll tell an abridged version for the two new readers we might have. Doug and I have a fondness for a charming little town called Madrid in the mountains between Albuquerque and Sante Fe in New Mexico. It's a one-street town, less than a mile long, with a bunch of cute restaurants and artsy little shops, known for it's long-ago history as a coal mining town and it's recent history as the setting for the silly John Travolta/Tim Allen/William H. Macy/Martin Lawrence movie Wild Hogs.
The plot of the movie is really not necessary to understand here--grab some beers and rent the flick sometime--other than to say that these four suburban dudes ride around on motorcycles calling themselves the Wild Hogs.
Doug and I have seen this movie, visited the tourist trap store devoted to the film in Madrid, and now call out "Hey, a wild hog!" whenever we see a dude on a motorcycle. Of note, Doug recently coined "Hey, a wild sow!" for a female biker.
Of course, then, I dubbed the yearly motorcycle rally that happens in Fayetteville The Wild Hog Convention. The real name is Bikes, Blues, and BBQ but this name has issues. First, all the words start with the letter "B." This makes it difficult me to remember which word comes first. Second, there are just too many syllables. I truly needed a nickname so that I could refer to the mass of leather chaps, loud roars, bandanas and long beards that descended into my town, so Wild Hog convention it is.
Plenty of people leave town during the Wild Hog Convention, because (a) it's hard to drive anywhere due to the number of cars/bikes on the road, and (b) it's just friggin' LOUD everywhere. Especially when you live two blocks from the main stretch of the rally.
But really, it just didn't affect me much. Yes, it was hard to teach with the windows open. Yes, it was hard to talk on the phone while walking home. Ultimately, though, I like all the Wild Hogs. I think the bikes are pretty to look at, and the people are just fascinating. Doug and I spent about 20 minutes actually walking around the rally, and he grumbled the whole time, but I could have put in some ear plugs and plunked down to people-watch for hours. Wild Hog Convention, you are welcome in my town anytime.
OK, maybe just the one time per year. That is probably enough.