A Sunday Bike Ride

Pauls new paint job does turn heads
It’s something to remark
It’s not just that the bike is big
Or where he picks to park.

There’s owls and other birds of prey
Buzzards and Sparrow hawk
And if you’ve time to stop and look
He’s got the time to talk.

So today we hit the road
We were Exmoor bound
The painted hound was on the trail
And on familiar ground.

Rain clouds gathered over head
The gloom became so black
My tinted glasses did not help
I couldn’t see the track

It then came on to rain so hard
My trousers were so wet
The drips were cold and dripping well
My shrunken tackle set.

But in it’s time the sun came out
And warmed my nether regions
The route was not quite 66
Or fit for Roman Legions.

But onward ever onward
The motorcycles went
One of them was quite complete
The other slightly bent.

So roaring on through leafy lanes
Not sure of where to end
There seems a shortage of left turns
Oh not another bend.

But then at last we knew the road
And where our future’s bound
The open spaces, lovely straights
Our riding now is sound.

Taunton passes with a whisper
The chargers nearly come
The beasts are truly fed and watered
And E.T. has phoned home.

The mighty beasts are now quite silent
Not even little roars
Until the next time that the starters
Awake to great applause.

A Sunday Bike Ride

BurtleBard

Burtle, United Kingdom

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