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My mobile phone couldn’t receive a signal, so all I could do was sit by the side of the road; smoke a cigarette and wait for help. After 20 minutes, I heard a familiar noise, in the distance. In seconds, seven Harleys cruised around the leafy bend. Seeing my distress, the bikes pulled up next to me. “Need a hand?” he drawled, as he pushed his goggles up, onto his helmet. “Shit!” They were a group of Desperadoes. Craig had said that they might attend this year, as one of their favorite...