Rolling through southeastern Pennsylvania on weekend mornings -- and walking through downtown Manhattan during the week -- has been an education in subcultural taxonomy. So, before proceeding to rally etiquette, here are my impressions. Oh, and since your bike is your clique, I'll reveal which group I want to join.

Harley guys: stupid poser dentists in new leather vests
Nobody likes Harley guys, except for other Harley guys. There's a whole lot of them, of course; on a morning ride, you'll probably see 3 Harleys for every 2 other bikes. Harley guys don't wave, they glower. They don't wear any safety equipment. But most don't seem to get away with the schtick: judging by the riders I've seen, I bet that almost all the bikes live in suburban ranch-house garages during the week. I'd still like to go to Sturgis sometime. I just won't be allowed in on my little Japanese bike.

(Note: Since I wrote that two years ago, I've met a lot of really nice, regular-guy Harley riders, each of whom like their bikes, take good care of them, and are upstanding, unpretentious pillars of the community. And it's now my aspiration to own a suburban ranch-house garage, so my R100/7 can live in it and stay clean. So the joke's on me, I guess.)

Rice Rocket riders: live fast, die young, leave a really ugly corpse
These guys are the ones that drive the giant Japanese bikes with the balloon tires, the ones that have the "hand of God" acceleration. Jason Bravo, my one-time personal trainer, was a great example: he had a tree-MEN-dous red Honda, and would ride laps around Manhattan in a chrome half-helmet and Vanson jacket with no shirt. I think it would be fun to ride such a big, fast bike, but I don't want to die. Also, stoppies scare me.

Ducatistas and other tiny hipsters
Everybody, everybody, everybody in Soho rides a Ducati Monster with a flat-black tank and a birdcage frame. I think that Ducatis must come with all two-bedroom apartment on Prince street: "drmn bldg, wsh/dry, 950cc dcti mnstr, cppchno mkr." The whole point in riding a Ducati, as far as I can tell, is to give skinny straight art directors an excuse to wear tight black leathers. The Ducati website even has a fitness section! I have friends that would look good on top of a Ducati, but I'm not one of them.

BMW yuppies
In order to buy a new BMW, you must be either a fly fisherman or a neurosurgeon, preferably both. If you're going to ride a BMW, you must first purchase a seven hundred dollar Aerostich suit, and you must own a heated vest and heated grips. You must also own a GPS unit and attach it to the windshield. Needless to say, I want a BMW.

Brit-bike entropy fighters
To my mind, the guys who own old Triumphs and Nortons are the very height and pinnacle of coolness. Brit bike riders accept a simple fact of life: these bikes fall apart. The whole time you're riding an old Triumph, the engine is slowly shaking itself out of the frame. Triumph riders sometimes have to heat their spark plugs in the oven for 45 minutes before they're able to start their bikes. These riders are the ones that love a challenge, that love to rebuild their bike constantly, that enjoy a love-hate relationship with their motorcycle: as Kate's dad says, "I love my motorcycle, and it hates me." I'd love to be one of these elite bike-fighters. Like an Olympic athlete, though, I'm afraid I'm too old to start the training.

The Mighty, Mighty UJM
My motorcycle is a 1982 Suzuki GS450, what is referred to as a Universal Japanese Motorcycle, or UJM. UJMs were produced in tremendous numbers in the 1970s, and they tend to share the same aesthetics as the kitchen appliances of that period. I actually like UJMs because they're entry-level pre-clique bikes. You're not trying to impress anybody by riding a 350CC Honda in Harvest Gold.

Secretly, the non-impressive bike is the ironic choice of the 30-year-old meta-hipster: "Look!" says the lower-east-sider in Dickies shorts and a paint-stained messenger bag. "My bike is a silly-looking beater and I'm still cooler than you!"

Actually, the real reason that I think UJMs are so cool is that Bill Murray rides one as head counselor Tripper Harrison in Meatballs. When I saw Meatballs in sixth grade, I thought Trip was the COOLEST GUY THAT I HAD EVER SEEN. On the last day of camp, he rides at the head of the school bus convoy, hawaiian shirt on his back, leather fighter-pilot helmet on his head, crew-sock-wearing girlfriend Roxanne riding pillion. Sold.

The Bike I want
So here it is, the bike I really want right now: a 1975 BMW R75. Made in the 1970s, giving it Tripper Harrison UJMmyness. It's a BMW, enough for gear-headedness, blocky enough that you don't have to wear tight black leathers to look good on it.

If my biker clique includes Trip Harrison, I'm in.