I'd never seen a rolling mid-life crisis before.

He was riding one of those giant Harleys, cushioned and windshielded and lumbar-supported, basically a Barcolounger with wheels. His Harley shirt was streached tight over his gut and his Harley helment covered thinning, sandy hair. A Harley keychain dangled from the ignition. I would have been willing to lay a bet on what kind of socks he had on.

His license plate read "EZEE RDR."

And, really, you can't get much easier than that.