In western Colorado in the 1970s, lots of cowboys did not care for motorcycle riders. Sometimes there were confrontations.
One day, I pulled into a gas station and there were a couple of pick-up trucks and some cowboys. My wife, Nina, was riding pillion and we got the stink eye and had to listen their banter. After filling up, I started the bike -- kick start, mounted up, flipped up the kick stand, and away we went. The bike seemed light. I looked over my shoulder and Nina was standing next to the gas pump.
When I pulled back up to the pump, the cowboys were in convulsions of laughter.