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The motor-scape is changing, as choppers and bobbers recede and baggers rise as the next big wave. “I am a lifelong, hardcore, hardtail man,” said Paul, who was curiously, standing next to his bone stock 2009 Road Glide, “until one day when I was riding from Tucson to Sturgis and got as far as Colorado, stopped again to rub my butt and stretch my back, paused and thought, ‘this sucks.’ Right then, I decided I’d sell the chopper to a younger, dumber man and get something with a [comfortable] seat and suspension. I was getting too old, I guess, to tough it on down the road for much more than a milk run. Smartest damn thing I ever did.”

If you stood near the venue’s entrance long enough, you would have seen ride by pretty much every year, make and model of motorcycle known to man or motorcyclist, and a few yet unknown. A sea of Harleys and other manner of two- or three-wheeled conveyance filled the Cashman Center’s yawning parking lot.

This was a good place to walk the rows and take a leisurely, detailed look at part, paint and design, while enjoying other traditional enthusiast activities, such as people watching as event goers arrive and depart, sometimes looking much different coming than going after a few hours of festival fun.

There was the BikeFest custom bike show and Artistry in Iron championship, where imagination was transformed to steel and fantastical machines went wheel to wheel for bragging rights. Some bikes were more fine art than motor machine, rolling sculptures appearing as if out of the dark side of a deep nightmare; others looked practical and prepped to ride cross-country and back. This is Las Vegas, where secrets are kept and anything goes, as long as you don’t get caught. Everything that happens in Vegas doesn’t, of course, stay in Vegas—just ask a certain golf god. That’s a tourism ad slogan, not a town ordinance. Nor is it even a suggestion, which leads to the next surprise: there aren’t as many biker hangouts as you would expect in a town nicknamed Sin City. Nearly all hotels and casinos funnel vehicles into colossal parking garages, which swallow up your motorcycle, hiding it from your watchful eye and others’ admiration. So where is a biker to go? Try these local favorites:

The Double Down Saloon is a well-preserved scrap of urban decay, a self-proclaimed “clubhouse for the lunatic fringe.” Its signature scatological cocktail is an unsettled concoction of unspeakable ingredients. The recipe, we are told, for “Ass Juice” changes depending on the most of what’s left over. No one seems to want to know what goes in it.

Just a short putt from University of Nevada, Las Vegas (UNLV), the Double Down is not really a college bar; it’s more of a neo-bohemian blend of punks, poets, hipsters, bikers and bums. Walk past “The Happiest Place on Earth” sign and into a grimy room painted with chaotic and psychedelic murals where edgy chicks covered in tats and retro dresses dance to a screaming punk band. The “Whiskey & Knives” front man later crooned a soft love ballad to his new wife. Brought a damn tear to the hairy weird guy sitting two barstools down from me.

The Travel Channel has visited the Double Down at least twice, apparently not adequately scared off the first time (www.doubledownsaloon.com; 4640 Paradise Rd.; 702-791-5775).

For a more traditional bit of controlled mischief, try Dino’s Lounge. Its billed as “The Last Neighborhood Bar in Las Vegas,” although that may be more about the city limits a half-block away. The bar dates to 1960 and is named after owner Dean “Dino” Bartolo, and sadly not the other Dino. It does somehow retain some of the free spirited character of the era, attracting colorfully seedy and retro cool locals and the occasional clued-in out-of-towner.

Dino’s is the kind of place you’d expect the ghost of John Belushi to run up a tab. Locals and staff know each other here, giving it more of that 100-proof “family” vibe. A biker friendly establishment, motorcycle swap meets are held monthly (1516 Las Vegas Blvd S; 702-382-3894).

A throttle or two away from Dino’s is Hogs & Heifers, a kind of old-school, friendly neighborhood biker bar where scantily leathered bartenders shake their booty on top of the bar between pours. Although far off the glitzy path, motorcyclists have honed in on the downtown Vegas hangout, not far from the semi-seedy Fremont Street Experience.

Hogs & Heifers Las Vegas is a fair remake of the original bar still serving suits, bikers and assorted scalawags in New York City. The name is a play on its location in the city’s old Meat Packing District, now a high-rent area—except for this lone hold-out.

The Vegas version is bigger and has a stage, but not quite as many dusty bras talked off saucy patrons and nailed to wall and rafter. It does, however, stay true to the unbridled, shut-up-and-party attitude of its predecessor.

On weekend nights, row after row of motorcycles line up outside, making Hogs & Heifers perhaps the premier bike and biker ogling juke joint in town www.hogsandheifers.com; 201 North 3rd St.; 702-676-1457).

Local motorcycle clubs and dealerships also host parties, bike washes, bikini and wet T-shirt contests, all of which pull in bikes like an atomic magnet. If sweet rides are what you crave, there’s plenty of candy for everybody.