We were entering the onramp to head north to the lake. It was nearly 100 degrees, the girls were in the back seat, and we were all sticky and disheveled. A motorcycle vroomed ahead of us, its driver looking over his shoulder in our direction. He had one hand behind him on the seat while craned his neck back and popped a wheelie. The girls gasped. “Oh, my, oh my, ohmyohmyohmy. Mom, did he just do a wheelie?” Briar gasped. “That is so dangerous.” “What’s a wheelie?” Finley asked. “It’s when they make their bike go up on one wheel,” I explained. “Why did he do that, mom?” Briar asked. “Well, I don’t know. I think usually that’s to impress people.” “Impressing people doesn’t…