A Harley in the Heights

Ken Beckmann and his 1994 custom Harley

Everyone knows that in the Houston Heights there are more interesting people per square yard than in any other neighborhood. And there is just something about a quiet guy on a Harley. Tall Husband and I were having breakfast at Dry Creek Cafe in the Heights when we heard the familiar potato-potato-potato sound of a Harley engine, then saw Ken walk in. As I once rode passenger on a Harley from Houston to California and back, I just can't resist eliciting another Harley rider's stories. So I struck up a conversation. It turns out that Ken was born in Copenhagen, Denmark and emigrated to the United States with his parents when he was a child and that his wife rides a "scooter." We hope to meet up with her some Saturday at Dry Creek.

I didn't mention this to Ken but I no longer ride a bike. After a dramatic spill with the Harley on a rainslick, cobblestone hill in San Francisco, I lost my nerve. Besides, mature guys look cool on a bike but somehow we grandmas don't effect an equivalent image. Ah but I have memories and can live vicariously whenever I run into a Ken.

All the Right Stuff!

(Ken is an intelligent man and plans to remain that way: he wears a helmet when he rides. As a therapist who has had numerous patients who rode without helmets, I cringe when I see someone without appropriate head gear.)

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