Perhaps on a racetrack for grannies looking to get into low power two-wheeled competition. I have to zip-tie my dangling baby's arm of a cock to my leg so it doesn't get covered in chain lube. XX riders, collectively hung like the Pit of Snakes in the original Indiana Jones movie, can't help but mono because of the sheer ferocity of our testosterone-seeping mounts. We don't NEED no stinking front tire. XX owners are the epitome of modern-day manhood.
Women are powerless against our manliness.
We all have to carry weapons such as semiautomatic pistols or ASP batons to beat nubile young virgins away at lights. We go 220 miles before we stop, refill our tanks, reload our guns, and restock our prophylactics. We piss on your measly 40-something pounds of torque. It wouldn't even lift a single one of our throbbing, bulging, angry purple members.