Welcome to the black bottom of biker culture. African-American road dogs from all across the continent head towards the Carolinas on Memorial Day Weekend to revel in the southern hospitality of Myrtle Beach. The documentarians at Rising Sun Media hound spectators for any trace of public nudity, but they have their job cut out for them. The Man is out in numbers as well, giving sista bike riders a good excuse to act coy about flashing a few secs of nips or a peep of bush. Playful animosity is the reaction most often encountered. One disrespectful sista, instead of stripping, takes a bite out of a fried chicken leg, chews it up and sticks out her chunk-filled tongue for the viewers to admire. Another laps saliva all over the camera lens. Among the muthas that do show, B.B. King naked might be a preferable alternative. Fortunately, there are a few pros around the corner who, for a few dollars, will stuff a bottle of Colt .45 up their snatch in a dumpy Motel 6 or let the gang strip them in a trash filled parking lot. The most flavafull sighting of the fest is the dozens of bikes cruising down the Ocean Boulevard strip, each one with a booty in tow, bouncing up and down like an army of chocolate gyroscopes. In slow traffic a pack of sex-crazed males attack them, busting down their thongs, copping a feel of ghetto cooch.