when

When the headlight goes out the ride is done
but the feelings remain in the head and the bum.

The cooling down noises of the bike will soon go
But the bike noises will remain in the soul

The bikers came to town

Dirty Jeans and Long hair
look out honey the bikers are here
Black leather jackets
ice cold stares
They ride into town
everybody else looks down
their noses at the few
wondering what the bikers are here to do
The bikes stop outside the childrens home
and on their feet they start to roam
wandering here and milling there
some begin to rearrange their hair

The town stops and holds it breath
watching and waiting for unrest
topboxes and panniers are opened up
bags are brought out for the sun to light up
 The town folk are wondering
who the bikers are going to fight
shake their heads and mutter this aint right
slowly they shrink away
The home doors open and children rush out
all yelling and smiling and beginning to shout
the bikers smile and with great care
begin to distribute their ware

Not one child is left without
and slowly but surely not one child is left to shout

The town folk stop and stare at the sight
of children and bikers as they share
the Easter eggs and toys
that the bikers brought there.

Its a strange thing

The feeling of a cold metallic object grasped firmly between your knees,  you can feel the pulses of the engine, the coldness of the fuel sloshing around, gallons of the stuff inches away from your most sensitive parts. Maybe that is one of the reasons we like to ride?

Or is it the pulses running through your hands, the way the bars twitch, the downward motion of the forks ? creating that thrust forward and downward, again bring them closer to the tank, again highlighting the motion of the fuel.

Or maybe the squatting of the rear under power, which throws the top half of you backwards, your arms extend you try to get closer to that feeling but find that you are already riding the tank.

You wrap your arms down and around the tank, shift your toes onto the pegs as your favorite set of bends start to appear, but this time you move backwards along the tank, until just before the moment you glide into the corner when you lift your arse out of the saddle and over to one side, again they are against the tank, the inside of the outside thigh pressed tightly to the tank the fuel sloshes inside , you can feel it, you swap sides on the seat the other thigh is now pressed against the tank, your elbows have a death grip on the tank, your hands are rapid movements of fine adjustment, caresses the levers, tweaking the throttle.

The bends end you are thrilled, the tank is one again doing the business on the area, the knees are again hugging the tank, you breathe a  heavy sign with satisfaction maybe even utter a small cry of delight. she has pleased you. her job is done. for the length of time that you rode her you were as one.

You wasnt riding the bike, you was loving her in the only way you two can do it.

thats is the reason why we ride.