The meds are working
zimmer frame polished & fitted to front of bike
Im ready so lets ride!
Now if I could just remember were the hell I put the keys
Bugger it I need a nana nap![]()
Im not as good as I ones was
But Im as good ones as I ever was![]()
Not much action in here lately.
Must be due for a ride next weekend aye bmz.
can't wait , roll on saturdaymight even ride tomorrow
'Twas the night before Christmas, And not until Spring
Would a motor be running, not even a Wing.
The bikes are all sleeping, they're covered and warm,
Batteries are tended, nylon covers their form.
My Bros were all nestled down snug in their beds,
While visions of new chrome danced in their heads.
And I in my do-rag, bike jacket and boots
Out shoveling snow, and dreaming of scoots.
Then from the horizon there came such a clatter
My shovel I dropped, what could be the matter?
Away up the hill, I slogged through the snow
Looked up at the sky; where'd all that noise go?
Then a throb from the heavens, like Cobra pipes so hearty
Gave Summers' good thoughts, a loud bikers' party.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a Red 109er, Red trailer in rear!
With a little old rider, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than a V-Rod his Niner came on,
And he whistled, and shouted, and sang out this song;
"Now, Haya! Now, Busa! On B-King and Raider !
Now Zuki! Now Yamie! On Boss Hoss and SpYder!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now RIDE away! RIDE away! RIDE away all!"
As small bikes that from the semis do fly,
When they meet with the air blast, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top that Niner it flew
With a trailer of goodies, and ole' St. Nick too
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The rumble and thunder of slash-pipes that gave proof.
I ran in the house, boots thumping around,
And in came St. Nick all bearded and round
Dressed all in black leather, from do -rag to boot
His chaps were all tarnished with road grime and soot;
A T-bag of goodies he'd flung on his back
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
His shades -- how they twinkled! his do-rag how scary!
With chains intertwined, through skulls that were cherry!
He had a broad face and a large fat beer belly
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly
He was tattooed and plump, a right jolly old rider,
So I offered a cold brew, thought what could be righter?
A wink of his eye as he downed that cold beer,
Gave me to know I had nothing to fear
He spoke not a word, but went straight to my ride
And fixed it with Chrome, Horsepower and DLP-Pride
And giving the peace sign with bikers' good cheer
Strode off to his Niner rumbling near
He sprang on the gel seat, his gloves on the bars
A wheelie he threw; then off towards the stars
I heard him exclaim, as my chest swelled with pride,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD RIDE!"
Jeez, i know that the weather is different up norf, but winter????
Good stuff anyway - love the re-write around "The Nine"...!
I was up your neck of the woods for a couple of days last week, a fleeting business trip. Staying and working on the North Shore - alas, no time to meet up with any KBers. I was (rental) cage bound anyways...
I don't envy your traffic up there. Two hours to get from the airport to the North Shore (unfortunately at rush hour). Walking pace up the NW motorway - with lots of bikes lane splitting past me. I can now see the necessity of lane splitting up there...
Can I believe the magic of your size... (The Shirelles)
Nice write-up there bmz, deserves green bling.
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