Real bikers weren't bothered by a little rain, he tried to tell himself, but the car radio spoke of a storm system moving up from the south, bringing with it high winds and torrential rain.
In spite of his love of music, no pocket recorder filled Dean's head with voices, strings or horns through tiny toy earphones— he'd leave that to the bikers who pedaled unaware of the sounds of birds and springtime around them.
Early Saturday morning, the two had boarded a charter bus with scores of bikers for the 372-mile, eight-hour trip to Cortez, Colorado, where they found a pleasant little town abuzz with the activity of 2,000 riders and hundreds of support personnel.
Some of the bikers were Dean's age or older and a few were in physical shape that made you wonder if they realized what they were undertaking.
Many of the bikers knew one another and there were groups traveling together, but there was equal representation of couples and solo bikers.