He took one last drag off of the filterless Lucky Strike
and walked outside of the bar towards his bike.
It was beautiful, he was still not used to its newness.
Like his new Harley Davidson vest, the Fat Boy Lo exuded prowress.
The smell of the new leather carried him off into visions of "Born To Be Wild".
This was all exciting; reminescent of his days as a Flower Child.
The scene seemed somehow fresher knowing he would soon be flying through the air
on his bike, pipes resonating off the canyon walls, wind flowing through his long beard and hair.
He stuck his key in and pushed the electric start button, revelling in the comforing sound of the pipes.
He flipped up his kick stand and sat down on the thick leather seat, built for his body types.
He put her in gear and roared out of the parking lot, soon zooming around the curves
of the deep canyon, the feel of the road unlike that you get from cars, his nerves
gradually relaxing as he realized he was getting used to the touch and feel
of the new bike. He now approached riding with the same zeal
as when he wrote. They both took him into a special place.
Except, on the bike he would tend to race,
whereas, when writing, he would go slow, constantly starting over.
The winding canyon road soon gave way to steep climbs as the Divide was approached.
The bike just ate up the miles like candy. As he rose through the atmosphere, he reproached
himself on not being entirely safe today. He was not wearing his helmet, as he had taken off from home
without it. The mountains loomed all around him and he was soon topping the great dome
of the Divide. How relaxing, how cool was this afternoon's ride.
The wife, who had recently died,
had given him permission (finally) to buy a bike.
And to be sure to get one he really would like.
Starting down the other side of the mountains, he soon spied a biker bar.
He pulled off the road and backed his bike into the line of other bikes, snuck out his jar
of white lightning and took two deep swigs. That would save him some money!
Unless, of course, he ran into some biker honey.
There was ample room on the bike for an extra rider.
The vibrations of the bike would soon have her wet enough to slip insde her
at the first sleezy hotel he could find. But, he was just daydreaming, getting ahead of himself!
Damned white lightning! He left the bike and walked through the swinging doors.
Once his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could see that indeed there were a few whores
scattered about the joint. And plenty of riders, mostly bearded and tatooed.
They saw him as he walked in with his obviously new leathers and a few of them booed.
But soon, after buying a few drinks for select people, he was deep in conversation.
The alcohol was like a tonic, but he never forgot the rule of self-preservation:
"First, do no harm." Then the other rules that kept him out of fights.
Treat all beings knowing they all desire happiness and freedom from suffering. Kept him having good nights.
He eventually sorted the whores from the biker chicks
and grabbed the most likely one, lips made for sucking dicks.
They went outside and took in the full moon and the tons of stars visible at this altitude.
Soon, they were headed down some side road for her house. She had a decent attitude,
taking him to her house on the occaision of their first meeting.
Soon, they had pulled into the driveway of a huge mountain cabin, his thougts now fleeting
from the shock of what he was seeing. Some sugar daughter he had stumbled across.
Was it going to be her arms hanging around his neck or an albatross?
Suddenly apprehensive, he dropped her off and said his goodbyes.
Amongst much groaning and sighs,
he got back on his bike and took off down the road.
The bike knew the way back as if not new, but very old.
-------------------------------------------------
mindbringer, 21 July 2013
and walked outside of the bar towards his bike.
It was beautiful, he was still not used to its newness.
Like his new Harley Davidson vest, the Fat Boy Lo exuded prowress.
The smell of the new leather carried him off into visions of "Born To Be Wild".
This was all exciting; reminescent of his days as a Flower Child.
The scene seemed somehow fresher knowing he would soon be flying through the air
on his bike, pipes resonating off the canyon walls, wind flowing through his long beard and hair.
He stuck his key in and pushed the electric start button, revelling in the comforing sound of the pipes.
He flipped up his kick stand and sat down on the thick leather seat, built for his body types.
He put her in gear and roared out of the parking lot, soon zooming around the curves
of the deep canyon, the feel of the road unlike that you get from cars, his nerves
gradually relaxing as he realized he was getting used to the touch and feel
of the new bike. He now approached riding with the same zeal
as when he wrote. They both took him into a special place.
Except, on the bike he would tend to race,
whereas, when writing, he would go slow, constantly starting over.
The winding canyon road soon gave way to steep climbs as the Divide was approached.
The bike just ate up the miles like candy. As he rose through the atmosphere, he reproached
himself on not being entirely safe today. He was not wearing his helmet, as he had taken off from home
without it. The mountains loomed all around him and he was soon topping the great dome
of the Divide. How relaxing, how cool was this afternoon's ride.
The wife, who had recently died,
had given him permission (finally) to buy a bike.
And to be sure to get one he really would like.
Starting down the other side of the mountains, he soon spied a biker bar.
He pulled off the road and backed his bike into the line of other bikes, snuck out his jar
of white lightning and took two deep swigs. That would save him some money!
Unless, of course, he ran into some biker honey.
There was ample room on the bike for an extra rider.
The vibrations of the bike would soon have her wet enough to slip insde her
at the first sleezy hotel he could find. But, he was just daydreaming, getting ahead of himself!
Damned white lightning! He left the bike and walked through the swinging doors.
Once his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could see that indeed there were a few whores
scattered about the joint. And plenty of riders, mostly bearded and tatooed.
They saw him as he walked in with his obviously new leathers and a few of them booed.
But soon, after buying a few drinks for select people, he was deep in conversation.
The alcohol was like a tonic, but he never forgot the rule of self-preservation:
"First, do no harm." Then the other rules that kept him out of fights.
Treat all beings knowing they all desire happiness and freedom from suffering. Kept him having good nights.
He eventually sorted the whores from the biker chicks
and grabbed the most likely one, lips made for sucking dicks.
They went outside and took in the full moon and the tons of stars visible at this altitude.
Soon, they were headed down some side road for her house. She had a decent attitude,
taking him to her house on the occaision of their first meeting.
Soon, they had pulled into the driveway of a huge mountain cabin, his thougts now fleeting
from the shock of what he was seeing. Some sugar daughter he had stumbled across.
Was it going to be her arms hanging around his neck or an albatross?
Suddenly apprehensive, he dropped her off and said his goodbyes.
Amongst much groaning and sighs,
he got back on his bike and took off down the road.
The bike knew the way back as if not new, but very old.
-------------------------------------------------
mindbringer, 21 July 2013
