Bimbo's is a ramshackle old cabin-like structure set among a grove of Christmas light-draped oak trees in the middle of nowhere on the far northwest side of town. There's seating on the front porch, but you don't have to sit out there to legally light up as Bimbo's is beyond the city limits and not subject to Houston's antismoking statute. Once inside, you'll likely find a bulwark of leather-clad bikers pounding Buds and Millers and occasional sidecars from the full bar like there's no tomorrow. They will probably also be singing to each other, to jukebox tunes like Dr. Hook's "Cover of the Rolling Stone." Meanwhile, the barmaid and another employee will be trying to reassemble the pieces of the night before: which of them, if in fact it was either one of them, took whom home, and what happened after that? And there is some priceless graffiti here, such as the one my wife found scrawled on the wall in the ladies' room: "Don't eat hot wings then pussy!" That's the kind of hard-won advice bikers go out and live for us so we don't have to.