This morning I pulled up at the lights next to a slim young lady on an R6. She was wearing boots, jeans, a skimpy little white camisole top, and a helmet. The view was stunning, but my brain kicked straight into protective parent mode and gave me an internal soundtrack along the lines of "gawd, she really should be wearing a jacket and gloves, and imagine the gravel rash and scarring...". When your brain's louder than your balls, you really must be getting old. Gulp.