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Many years ago when I was single, I had somehow convinced a brunette stunner way above my pay grade to take a day trip on my big motorcycle to a mountain wilderness area an hour and a half north of the city.
While sitting on a blanket in a scenic meadow having lunch, a ratty pickup with three nasty looking dudes pulled in. The driver started circling us-- his buds gawking and commenting on the young lady's appearance with a few comments about "get some."
I reached under a folded towel and extracted a 1911 Government Model which I slowly stuck in my belt-- and a spare magazine for my pocket. They beat feet in a hurry.
We "broke camp," repacked the bike saddlebags and left. End of story.
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