There is something irresistible about a motorcycle. Is it the shiny chrome gears showing off a pattern of circles, rounded lines, or is it the shape with the forward motion implying there is danger ahead. Or is it the color or the lack of color? The big bad-ass black and chrome monster snorting, simmering, waiting to be unleashed. Maybe it is all in your mind, the long haired cool guy with leather chaps choosing you to hop on behind. Or is it past memories of being on the back of a motor cycle, holding on and feeling like life could not be any better. Whatever it is, these machines are like the guys from Chippendales, they are lined up performing for you, showing off their gears and chrome like muscles, flashing their colors like pieces of clothes being thrown in your face, smelling of leather and beckoning to you to get up and dance with them right out to a new life. Here are my Chippendales: