Hogs at Swine

As the late afternoon sun started throwing long shadows, a dozen or so Harleys roared into the fairgrounds, the riders all suited up in leather and denim and bandanas. But don't think Hell's Angels just yet: once they parked, the group--mostly in their 40s and 50s, men and women both--politely approached the gate to apologize for parking without having yet paid admission. They lined up, paid five bucks each, and donned the proof-of-admission: little robin's-egg blue paper bracelets that added a cheery note amid all the skulls, crossbones, metal jewelry, and rawhide cuffs.