Something about anti-motorcycling prejudice: On the way to Covina, a “lady” in an automobile smiled sneeringly at another woman (no doubt her equal as a real lady, and well dressed, with fur about her throat) who was in a side car of the smaller type. The temptation was to heave a brick at the supercilious one. On the way back, however, “Pop” Martin and the writer met two motorcycles, each with a choice bit of femininity on the tandem. Though the breeze was pneumoniously fresh, the first girl leaned away out, obviously to, display an unusually full expanse of pink wishbone, while the second one startlingly exposed a shapely left leg transparently covered with a gauze white stocking, with an equally diaphanous white garment-union-made, apparently-beneath the hose from the calf up to the knee. It was enough to make the orange blossoms blush, and one could hardly blame women occupants of many passing automobiles for making caustic comments.