Riding Through The Fire
This poem came out of recent ride I made up to Missoula and then on to Kalispell, MT. Of course, most of this can be attributed to the imagination of the poet, but at the time there really were some fires burning in western Montana, one quite serious just north of Missoula, the "Blackcat" fire, where I rode through flames right down to the edge of MT highway 93. I rode through extremely smoky conditions on a lot of that ride and this poem came to me in bits and pieces as I rode. I finally got around to releasing it onto the page. I hope you enjoy it. Keep on Keepin' on
Ridin' through the fire
Ridin' through the smoke of Hell
The forest around him burning
He keeps riding toward Kalispell
He met her in a saloon in Drummond
She lifted his soul and body higher
She was gone when he awakened
Left both his heart and the forest on fire
She told him she lived up by Kalispell
In a cabin by near flathead lake
And although the smoke was getting bad
He new that run he had to make.
So he went ridin' through the fire
Ridin through the smoke of Hell
He rode straight on through Missoula
He was headed for Kalispell
Although fires burned right beside the road
He kept that Harley's wheels on turning
Through Arlee, Polson, then on to Big Fork
His heart-fire just kept on burning
He had to see that Montana girl again
She had taken him so much higher
Than any woman had done before
She'd really set his soul on fire
So he went ridin' through fire
He rode through the smoke of Hell
He just crossed the Jocko River
He had to make it to Kalispell.
She heard about it the next morning
He'd run a road block, the announcer said
On a closed highway he'd lost control
In the flames they found him dead.
She wondered why he made that run
What caused him to take that ride?
Her husband didn't see the tear that fell
With the name of the man who had died.
He's still ridin' through that fire
He's still ridin' through the smoke of Hell
Around him all is burning
And a woman weeps in Kalispell
Copyright 2007, Bill "uglicoyote" Davis
Ridin' With My Bros
I often ride out solo
and the time alone I spend out there
helps me put things in perspective,
sorta clears clear the mental air.
But there's nothing like a fine, long ride
taken with my friends and brothers
to remind me of why I'm a Biker
why I need the support of others.
When we stop along the highway
in a friendly biker bar,
it's good to laugh and be with friends
who accept you for what you are.
When those nasty gremlins hit your bike,
and I promise you they will,
it's good to have a trusted friend
to help you over that hill.
When the day's ride is over
and we all sit around the fire
you share all your tall biker tales
and no one calls you a liar.
So I'll take those solo rides I need
to keep my head screwed on,
but then I'll hook up with my Bros
and just keep on keepin' on.
Copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote
Am I not pretty, I'm a trailer Queen
The prettiest motorcycle you've ever seen
No hard riding for me, never been out in the rain
I come off the trailer, then go back on again
The R.U.B.*who owns me can't really ride
I'm just another hobby, a point of personal pride
His friends all have Harleys, so he has one too
To dress up in black leather is a cool thing to do.
To Sturgis, Las Vegas, Daytona and all the rest
He hauls me on his trailer then does what he does best
Rides around a little, finds a bar and goes inside
Parks his fat ass on a barstool and tells all about his ride.
I wish just once he'd come out of that bar, hop on, and ride away
Head for the back-roads full of curves; ride me hard all day
I wasn't made to sit and shine, I was born to run
To feel asphalt fly by beneath my wheels, now wouldn't that be fun
But that will never happen, I'm mainly meant for show
I could make his life exciting, but my R.U.B. will never know
I'm the most beautiful motorcycle that you've ever seen
Am I not pretty, I'm a trailer Queen.
* R.U.B. = Rich Urban Biker
Copyright 2007 Bill "uglicoyote" Davis
Keep On Keepin' On
http://hard-ride.blogspot.com Hard Ride ( my motorcycle blog)
Songs of the Open Road (my motorcycle poetry)
"And I to my motorcycle Parked like the soul of the junkyard Restored, a bicycle fleshed With power, and tore off Up Highway 106 continually Drunk on the wind in my mouth Wringing the handlebar for speed Wild to be wreckage forever."