The annual prospect competition was apparently one of the most important events on the Iron Vipers calendar.
Nobody had bothered telling me that until I arrived at the clubhouse and discovered half the membership acting like they were preparing for the Olympics.
I stepped out of my truck carrying a travel mug of coffee while Diesel trotted happily beside me.
The clubhouse yard looked completely different from normal. Orange cones covered the grass and tables had been dragged into position.
Motorcycles lined one side of the lot and several homemade obstacles occupied the center of the field.
A crowd had already gathered. Children ran between adults and old ladies laughed near the picnic tables.
Club members placed bets that absolutely were not official according to Mason and the fact
