Smith's has got to be the best place to take your hog these days, if only to pay respects to the memory of the late great Geno Mahler, the bar's effusive, animated night manager, who died earlier this year. Smith Bros. soldiers on without him, with the exception of the caricature now painted on one of the mirrored walls. He has a halo in the picture, and if heaven has a dive bar, he's probably managing it now. In any case, those left behind can expect everything out of Smith's that the biker-bar connoisseur has come to expect -- a pretty lady behind the bar, a cheap bottle of suds, the occasional deafening approach of a local motorcycle club, and a jukebox that'll make you party like it's, oh, about 1988 or so. The occasional cover band adds to the raucous good time. Just, for God's sake, don't pull up on a Vespa. For your own safety.