My old man RMJ passed away this past year, but here is a poem he wrote way back when, he was a biker all his life. I will sadly miss him.
What tired old hands placed you
there long ago?
How many tales of the road
do you know?
Old scooter you've aged brittle and hard, Your tires are worn, your chrome is scarred.
You were owned by some hard fisted
biker no doubt.
Who is now old and leathery and like you worn out.
Who when riding through rain storms
to head to the coast,
At time trailed the pack, and ate dust
like a roast.
Your paint is all scarred and burned
from the sun.
How many ol' ladys have you
made pack and run?
Did you witness the courage
of stouthearted men,
who faced into the wind
as they say, they did then?
Those worn old chaps lying there
by your side. Could they tell of
riders, restless and wide?
Were those conchos once shiny,
now covered with rust?
Were those patches once new,
now covered with dust?
Did the legs those chaps once covered
stride through doors , and mingle
with honeys on old dance hall floors?
Did thopse legs that they covered
love a sweet laughing maid, were
those chaps hung over your seat as
they danced and they played?
Can you smell the hard liquor,
remember the fights
Brothers playing poker
far into the night?
Old scooter now sits
in the old wooden shed
spokes and rims rusty
and with the leathers of the dead.
You've known men of courage
and foolhearty deeds
who fought with their fists
roda big iron steeds
the end of the trail must
come to the best,
But you served many your purpose
Now, you may rest.
By Reverend Mad Jack...long may he ride.