Bikers

My father rode motorcycles. So did my mother (left, pictured on their Harley-Davidson just after the end of World War II). They were bikers. I was born into a biker family in 1947.

Three's a lot of debate these days on what does or does not constitute a "biker." To some, bikers are the one-percenters, those who belong to "outlaw" motorcycle gangs like Hell's Angels or the Pagans. To others, bikers are middle-aged accountants and retired senior citizens who dress up on leathers and ride mostly on weekends. And to others, bikes are a daily form of transportation that provide fun and save gas.

Does it really matter? To some, it does. To others, like myself, it doesn't. I got back into riding because I realized how much fun I was missing. Riding is fun, it's therapy and it clears my head of the issues of the day...both important and mundane. No radio, no conversation, not cell phones, no distractions...just be, the bike and the open road.

Does that make me a biker? Yeah, it does. I came by it naturally. It's part of my family heritage.