Biker Rhymes
Moto Guzzi Musings
Andrew Lament
Ain't Life Grand
Moto Guzzi Musings
Ah, the freedom you feel as you set off on your motor
bike,
What else could compare to the buzz,
As you follow each curve in the highway ahead of you,
Just beware of the whack of the bugs!
All goes well, you're really into the ride,
The pillion seems quite serene,
Then up ahead you observe the dreaded "Road Works"
And your bike until now was so clean!
Of course the signal by now becomes "Stop",
And there's cars both in front and behind,
The water truck's having a ball with the spray,
You could murder that bloke with the sign!
He finally turns the disc around to say
"Slow",
So you do the right thing, as one does,
And you slither along through the mud and the slush,
As the cars throw more muck at your "Guzz".
At last you're through and all seems quite fine,
You speed up on the bitumen road,
The bike purrs along, it was made for this life,
And then you hear the first moan.
It's the missus you hear from somewhere behind,
Her words muffled amongst all the roar,
If only, you think to yourself, as one does,
She was always so easy to ignore!
Andrew's Lament.
Thirteen bikes were gathered on this morning in the fog,
Some say that's unlucky for a start.
"It's ok, " someone muttered, "there's two more along the
road."
So the Guzzi and various others joined the Hogs.
The air soon cleared along the way, to Ebor we were
bound,
Our Guzzi easily keeping with the throng,
With the sun beside us, our spirits in good tune,
No better way to spend a day to be found.
At Ebor pub we stretched our legs and emptied bladders
full,
We knew the road ahead was chockers with bumps,
But as we thought to leave en mass to Bellingen, our goal,
The Guzzi's bloody throttle grip did slump!
A few remained behind and helped to right the mongrel
thing,
We women in a panic the whole time,
If we missed the markets there'd be hell to pay and more,
Our men would really suffer for their sins!
Luckily, it wasn't long before we hit the road,
Confident we'd reach the treasured goal,
And sure enough, we managed it with hours up our sleeves,
Could the bikes now cope with the extra load!
Restrained is a word which springs to mind -
Maybe manacled would be better,
We women viewed the wares with circumspection,
The wallets deeply hidden by our partners for safekeeping,
Were never for one moment under threat.
Hot and slightly weary were our group at Taylor's Arm,
The motorbikes had earned good old rest,
Though the Guzzi took it seriously and lay down upon its side,
Luckily, someone noticed and raised the cry.
The motor bike was righted, no damage too severe,
But concern was soon averted to the rider,
A wasp it seems took umbrage to disturbance near its tree,
And proceeded to exact its toll so dear!
A shower would help to wash away the grime and pain
endured,
So off into the bathroom Andrew trekked,
Returning to his bedroom, so refreshed and in good cheer,
He found the door against him was inured!
It seems that thirteen's rotten luck had finally run
out,
The rest of Andrew's weekend was sublime.
The run back up the Oxley, on to Walcha and finally home,
Were worth the minor problems without doubt!
Ain't life grand!
As the chill of winter sets the scene,
Our longer rides are now a dream.
With fingers frozen like fish of the same,
We imagine warm fires, are all bikers insane?
The fist half hour, the cold doesn't exist,
Thirty minutes on, it would help if you were…wrapped up more?
So, on you travel in layers cocooned,
To the insidious cold your extremities marooned!
Time for a break, a hot coffee at least,
If only your fingers from the handlebars would release!
You sit in the sun absorbing it's rays,
And try to remember those warmer days,
When you wished that your jacket and gloves could be ditched,
It just goes to prove that life really is a…wonderful thing!