The email seemed harmless enough. Angie, an old friend of mine from CT would be in Tampa on vacation with her new musclely boyfriend, some tiger tamer-bounty hunter guy. She wanted to get together in Daytona during Bike Week. I didn't take it too seriously. After all she'd be too busy 'being in love', to waste any time with me playing 3rd wheel. Maybe a quick lunch and they'd be off counting the stars in each other's eyes. I emailed Angie my cell phone number.

Her first phone call on Thursday was something about frozen rats and monkey shit. " I gotta get outta here! I'm on my way! You would not believe this place. He picks me up at the Airport in his car he called the Jag. The window on my side didn’t role down and his window didn’t role up. There was dirt and rat shit on the seat and the air was too expensive to fix. It was all dented up. And his house! The whole house smells like monkey shit. Everything is covered with dust and shit. I open up the freezer and there are ziplock bags full of rats. Frozen rats! Oh my god, he's coming. I'll call you when I get close to Daytona."

This did not sound like true love. After several attempts directing Angie to the Ranch, where I was staying, she finally figured out, for a short time anyway, which way north was. She pulled up to the Ranch in her rental car and paced the yard while telling her horrific tale.

"He took me to his house, where there was the smell of dead rats and monkey shit. I started to laugh, saying your kidding me right!!! We had to go shopping. When he saw me get a few things, he got his own cart, so I paid for my own things. At home when I opened the freezer it was full of dead rats with their tails out of the zip lock bags. Didn’t fit. He feeds them to his snakes. I screamed. He called me Barbie and put a rat-tail on my arm and laughed. I put my sweatshirt on the radiator to dry cos it costs too much to run the dryer. Then he goes and put rats on my shirt so they can thaw out. He bought me these new towels at flea market and never washed them. They were full of dirt. I tried washing up and all this black stuff came out of them. He takes me to all-you-can-eat $5.99 buffets and doesn't pay for mine. Yelled at me for not shutting off the lights and told me to take short showers and to flush the toilet once a day because he has to pay for all the water going out of this dump he calls a house. Then he says to me this morning, ' just how much toilet paper do you use anyway? You've already gone through one roll.".…I called Delta and they wanted $658 to take me home so I cried. Then I caught him looking through my diary and he listened in to all my calls on an extension when I called my daughter!"

Geno, associate editor at The Horse had asked me to try and find Jesse James. So I tossed Angie on the back of my sporty and we rode down to his vendor display at The Wreck Bar and Grill on Main St. She had her reservations about riding bitch. She was convinced everyone was watching us. "They're gonna think we're dykes!" she cried. Her own sporty was 1200 miles away. At one point she screamed how people were staring. I looked around. No stares. So we're riding down the crowded streets and she's shouting, "We're not dykes! She's just giving me a ride!"

A number of people stopped us and asked to take pictures. One group of elderly ladies ran up and posed with us. They gushed about how great it was to see "two women out and about on their own, on a motorcycle. Doing just what they want." OK.

At the JJ display, Angie eagerly played Horse Maiden handing out copies of the Horse. I questioned her, when I noticed she wasn't handling many out. 'You said to hand then out to cute guys," she said. "I don't see any." No cute guys. No JJ. We decided to eat at the Wreck and Angie found a few cute guys. She found a few more down on Beach St. Tom the German, had hot chicks posing on his latest custom. I grabbed a few pics, while she grabbed Tom.