Ah, I once, on a dual carriageway, slowly overtook a long convoy of the Brotherhood of Mann, or something like that, on my CX500. They all stared resolutely ahead, little comedy beards flapping upwards amusingly in the wind and old, plasticky, German helmets looking very toddler-ish but making quite sure they weren't noticing me on my upstart, cheap, old hack.

It's not that I'm prejudiced, just that if they are too cool to acknowledge me I do tend to notice the details of their image that might be self-subverting.