The parking lot outside the tavern was jam-packed on a rare, scorching hot day in the Pacific Northwest. Paul and Pete, two motorcycle enthusiasts, were dismounting in the last shady spot.

“It’s a long walk to the door from here,” Paul grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Yeah, but it’s worth it to keep the bikes cool. I've been experimenting with driving with two fingers,” Paul said nonchalantly.

Pete stared at him, eyes wide. “Holy cow, you’re nuts! If I tried that, I’d probably end up face-first on the pavement, sizzling like bacon in a frying pan.”

Paul chuckled. “Well, I did wipe out. That’s when I discovered that asphalt can turn into soup on a day like this.”

Pete burst out laughing. “Did you swim to safety?”

“Pretty much,” Paul said, wincing at the memory. “I felt like a noodle in boiling water.”

Pete shook his head, still laughing. “Man, next time, just use all your fingers. Or better yet, stick to the shade.”

Paul grinned. “Lesson learned. But hey, at least I’m not the one who had to peel his boots off the asphalt last summer.”

They both laughed and shared stories of hot day mishaps while cooling off in the tavern.

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