Dear Craig,

How are you tonight, my darling? You looked well on the show. Bouncy, peppy, happy. Dare I say "giddy" as well? By the end of the evening, you had slowed down a bit and seemed tired. Are you getting enough rest these days? Are you staying out too late?

Monologue: You little motorcyclin' hottie! You have an Indian Scout? You didn't ride it yesterday because it was Columbus Day, and it would seem insensitive to be riding an Indian... In honor of Dennis Hopper's visit to The Late Late Show tonight, you rode today.

Your dad got you interested in motorcycles when you were a kid. While he couldn't afford a leather jacket, he'd wear his post office uniform inside out so it would look shiny and cool. He couldn't afford a silk scarf either, so he resorted to wearing tea towels. Whatever it takes, whatever it takes.

You had a motorcycle accident in 1984 in New York. You were drunk at the time. However, you managed to escape arrest because of your ginormous British license. It scared the cop. Thankfully, my dear, you learned your lesson and quit drinking — eight years later.

While you were making the movie I'll Be There, you crashed another bike. Craig, you said you knew you were an actor because you kept thinking "not the face! Not the face!" as you were going down. You broke your collarbone and cracked three ribs. Having been there and done that myself, I can fully sympathize. No coughing, sneezing, or laughing with cracked ribs.

My accident wasn't nearly as sexy as yours, though. You had the big chrome washing machine to explain your broken ribs. Me? I had a long-winded neighbor (telling some odd story), two ill-behaved children (not mine), a dog, and a kitten involved in the cracking of mine. Hardly the type of thing legends are made of, except at the urgent care center. Where they laughed. Not with me, at me. Had the story involved a rabbi, a priest, a goat, and a tutu, well, I'd be singing a different tune.

The power of a bike is hard to deny. They do have a certain vibe. Even the smallest motorcycle has the ability to produce some interesting sensations. Oh, yes they do! I once dated a man who had a Harley. We'd go out on rides all the time. I think he figured that he increased his chances of getting lucky if he took me out on the bike. Not that I was denying him the rest of the time, but there was a definite advantage to going out for a jaunt on the hog first. Gotta love those enormous love machines, eh?