"They're nicknames that refer to the design of the engine head. The Evolution V2 motor was first produced in the early eighties. Original y it was cal ed a blockhead, but that tag never real y stuck. Most folks refer to it as the Evo. A lot of the bikes you see today are shovelheads, made from 1966 to 1984.

From 1948 to 1965 it was panheads, before that flatheads, which came out in '29. It's easy to identify the era of production by the design of the engine head."

Kit's interest in bikers was nothing compared with his ardor for bikes.

"Did you know that al modern Harleys descend from the Silent Gray Fel ow, the first bike to rol off the line in Milwaukee back at the turn of the century?

The Silent Gray Fel ow had a one-cylinder twenty-five-cubic-inch motor capable of three horsepower No hydraulic tappets, no electric starters, no V-twin engine." Kit shook his head in disbelief.

"A modern Twin Cam engine displaces upwards of eighty-eight cubic inches. Even an old '71 FLH, at seventy-four cubic inches, has an engine compression ratio of eighty point five to one. And today they're pushing nine to one. Yeah, we've come a long way, but every hog on the road today can trace its bloodline back to that old Silent Gray Fel ow"

"Aren't there other motorcycle manufacturers?" asked the actor

"Yessir," Kit agreed, his face and voice showing disdain. "There are Yamahas, Suzukis, Kawasakis, and Hondas out there. But they're just transportation. The British made some good bikes, Norton, Triumph, BSA, but they've al gone out of business. The German BMWs were impressive machines, but for my pesos Harley is the only show in town."

"Are they expensive?" Claude-Henri.

Kit shrugged. "Harley doesn't make low-end cycles. It's not cheap equipment."

I listened as my nephew talked. He had the same reverence for and knowledge of motorcycles that Marie-Claire had for furniture. Perhaps the timing of his visit was fortunate. He could help me understand this strange world I was entering. It was almost midnight when we said good-bye and pressed for the elevator. I felt ready for bed, but Kit was stil wired, yammering on about engines and critiquing the evening's guests and events. Maybe it was wine, maybe youth. I envied him his stamina.

The rain had stopped, but a strong wind blew off the river, bouncing branches and shrubs, and swirling wet leaves across the ground. When Kit offered to get the car I careful y appraised his condition, then turned over the keys and waited inside the lobby In less than a minute he pul ed up, then got out and circled to the passenger side. When I'd settled behind the wheel he tossed a brown envelope into my lap.

"What's this?"

"Envelope."

"I can see that. Where did it come from?"

"It was on the windshield, stuck under a wiper. You must have an admirer."