Way out past Langtry on my recent jaunt, I was entertained by the people on bicycles and motorcycles. The bicyclists seemed to be part of a rally or race or something. For many miles they were strung out along the opposite shoulder of the road. Chugging up hills, they showed me faces that were either in smiles of transport from all the endorphins they were generating, or maybe those were rictuses of agony. I couldn't tell the difference.
The other group of two-wheelers was middle-aged motorcyclists. Did every doofus Yuppie in the whole damn country go out and buy a Harley? These just aren't the bikers of years ago. Back in the Sixties, I worked with a guy who said he'd got a bid to join the Hell's Angels out in Fresno. He was a reliable narrator; I never knew him to improve a story. It's probably better for all the world that he rejected the invitation. Smart as he was if he'd worked at crime he woulda been a terror. In his later years he ran a tattoo shop, Painless Pablo's, out on Dyer near Ft. Bliss in El Paso.
I think the modern phenomenon of the bourgeois biker is a little creepy in the way so many modern phenomena are creepy. They come down the road in big packs, but they have the intimidation factor of the Shriner contingent in a July 4th parade. Saw one middle-aged guy all done up in black-leather everything in Marfa trying to hustle a cute little waitress about half his age by telling her all about something he'd seen in a museum in Mexico. That's just sad … that chicklet wasn't interested in museums. Some people just don't get social nuances.