I’ve always thought of myself as a fairly well-rounded person—and I’m not just referring to my waistline, which after 55 years has long since gotten over its youthful shyness and has started to expand its horizons, as well as my circumference. I ride, I write, I play the guitar and the piano—well, I can make musical noises on them—I shoot both guns and photographs, and I train dogs. So when I overhear someone sum me up as “a motorcycle guy,” it makes my back hair stand up a bit, even though I’ve been riding for 38 years. “There’s more to me than that,” I want to say. A lot more.