We weren't going to go and then we did.  At an ironic distance, it seemed silly.  "A bunch of motorcycles riding by.  And then?"  Then it started.  The first bikes were police motorcycles from dozens of Connecticut towns: Westport, Fairfield, Milford, Stratford.  There were Connecticut towns I didn't even recognize.  After the police motorcycles, came the plainclothes motorcyclists wearing mostly black, but nearly everyone wore a very bright green.  Instead of the low peace signs that I've seen bikers give, riders and passengers alike held up their hands up high in a peace sign.  Then I started to think about why they were there and I got a little teary.  Peace. love; that's what they were riding for.

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