Archive for the ‘Riding’ Category

Power Played Perfection 

September 13, 2015

Diesel engines used on large commercial vessels can be four stories high and produce one hundred thousand horsepower. Nitrous bottles blow v-8 engine power bands well past the normal ranges. Converion kits allow trucks to burn natural gas. But the key to all these platforms of pulsation is knowing precisely when to tap the torque.


Cruise quietly before the dusk of dawn,

Solitude and steady pace ride on-

Light ahead still green; it tarries bright,

Torque moment rips the tacky throttle tight.


Pokey metal pachyderms who steal,

Precious moments; dolts behind their wheels.

Cell phones plastered to their deafened ears,

Passing slot is leveraged smoothly cleared.


Highway myriads a matrix make,

Merging power plays of give and take.

Accordion we move then slow once more

RPMs rev tapestries towards freedom’s shore.


Three Thousand R-P-M

April 11, 2015

Sometimes in life there are triggers or thresholds defining transitions. Same for motorcycles.

Vibration rattles handlebars while pausing for the light-
Radiated waves of heat cook muscle through clothes bright.
Drivers souls crushed down into the coolest of the gems;
Freedom flashes, V-twin roars; Three Thousand R-P-M.
Once more the speedo passes thirty, fifty is on deck-
Car ahead drifts toward my lane, a swerve avoids a wreck.
Fifth gear now, new band of smash as cams do lift the stems-
To feel the power in the breeze; Three Thousand R-P-Ms.
Accelerate past stripes of gooey latex on the road-
Passing quickly S-U-Vs and lorries rolling loads.
Hefty forks steer deftly down the blackened asphalt’s hem;
And there I cruise quite comfortably; Three Thousand R-P-M.
An hour passes, almost two till conscience bids me home,
She tarries there; but stresses when too long out there I roam.
Just one more stop to fill the tank, this ride another poem,
Back on the road, shift up to third; Three Thousand R-P-M.

Infrastructure Indentured Cruise

January 14, 2015

Barron’s writer Jim Mctague on Jan 10, 2015 eloquently described the gut wrenching fervor of lawmakers to repair U. S. infrastructure. Everyone wants roads and bridges fixed- but wants the other guy to pay. It’s why we have a failing society, lazy federal bureaucrats, and $18T in short term debt. Fix those potholes for my ride!!


Panic stricken politicians,
rust stained concrete bridge partitions.
Eighteen trillion on our card-
taxpayers must work more hard!

Black smoke proclaims the dozer’s day,
dawn illuminates the fray
steel, pipe and girders strong;
new road for rides alone and long

Sand, stone and asphalt heat,
mixed to harden, forms replete.
Patiently my V-twin waits,
Four lanes to reach horizon’s gates…

Muscled brawn strains with the beam,
Rebar placed to bridge the seam-
Painted stripes and drainage swales,
Smoothly cruise refurbished trails.
Nineteen trillion dollars- Fail!

Sparkie Rider

August 26, 2014

Motorcycle news has been full of electric motorcycle products for many months. Harley-Davidson was the latest to showcase an electric ride. Now personally, I’m all for improving technology, but when limited range is combined with hours and hours of recharging… Well, didn’t we visit this issue back in the 1910s! My short answer is Tesla will fail and electric bikes at best will be a novelty.


Chemistry evokes electrons small,
Horizons far; a tricky order tall-
Visionaries march towards carbon free!
Petroleum in tanks is all I see…

Combustion of a different sort – OK,
on distance none will waffle or be swayed.
The atoms in your battery get tired,
hours pass while charging fully wired…

Need a charge- those plugs are hard to find.
Armatures and staters on you mind;
Imitation noise a selling tool-
Valve adjustments? Never is the rule.

So saddle up! Then ride to windmill farm,
Visualize the energy, and harm.
Flaring and deep fracking is still best!
Internal fire rumbles on request….

Quittin Time

July 9, 2014

Title Stolen from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song…

If you have a riding problem- you do it at Quittin Time


Nail deep to hold the structure’s frame,
Another roof conceals enchantment’s flame-
Minutes drag till day completes its fun;
Release the torque for v-twin rumble run.

Cubicles encase the business ebb and flow;
Endless tapping keys unlocked, transpose-
Knowledge printed read, then glibly tossed,
Handlebars will pull you from partition’s dross.

Baking sun or icy gale, a prairie players prayer;
Target depth from toil and greasy derrik’s tare.
One last pipe to trip on schedule firm yet true;
Then saddle up your triple pistoned ego coup-

Mundane to serve a burger on a garnished bun,
Patrons harried raw by deadlines they do shun.
French fries bubble deep within the slime-
RPMs and thrust to claim; at Quittin Time.

Left Arrow Green

April 6, 2014

If you ride motorcycles in urban or suburban settings, you’ll quickly note that multi-taskers live in left turn lanes. They are doing everything but paying attention to the signals…


Light change, green arrow;
In this designated lane.
Eyes up to left oblique
Throttle rolls, demands the strain-

Torque pulls the wheels forth
Press handlebars for lean.
Velocity past ten and then-
The v-twin gets hard mean.

Together clutch and toe refine
A better gear select-
Angles rate and past quite clean
Look through to lane elect.

And back to roll more gas to give
The fuel injectors hot.
Ventilator gasps the passing breeze
Blow by the sluggish lot.

Clean air proceeds, to cut a path;
And slipstream straight ahead,
Tires bite black asphalt sheen,
Keep rpm-s from scale of red.

Rose Colored Goggles

August 9, 2013

This is another one of my plagiarized poems. What a surprise huh? I’m using John Conlee’s idea for this poem. He sings a song about looking through ‘Rose Colored Glasses’. His significant other isn’t really that interested in him, but he presses on with his unrequited attentions. It’s got a good tune if you’ve never heard it… So, if you are a regular motorcycle rider in our modern society – you probably own at least one pair of Rose Colored Goggles-


Scalding breeze at fifty five,
freezing rain in puddles dive-
sunshine blinds the morning dawn;
wooded ride; beware the fawn.

but these rose colored goggles,
that I’m looking through-
mask threats environmental;
power past creations’ truth.

Yellow lights, traffic crawling-
A-D-D electric scrawling…
angry rage, excessive speed;
avoiding impacts is my creed.

but these rose colored goggles,
clear highways I see;
oil spills and potholes deep-
occasionally around I creep.

Loose chains, brake pads real thin;
a second job for dollars win.
Adjust the clutch, buy more chrome-
new battery before I roam.

But these rose colored goggles,
elastic band all stretched-
show only the beauty,
of good rides, fully fetched.

New Years Wet

January 1, 2013

This will probably be a lousy post. I’m almost forcing myself to write it- It’s New Years today; Jan 1, 2013. (Notice I didn’t use an exclamation point). It’s also raining; but I decided just to defy the rain and go out early for a ride. It wasn’t cold or uncomfortable, it was just wet. Riding a motorcycle when it is wet requires attention and careful turns. It also requires slow accelerations ( in both directions ). So much for the intro- if you are not familiar with the four horsemen, read Revelation Chapter 6


Unruly molecules of slick hold tight,

to paths of bitumen and esters white-

Now gentle are the revs of engine chrome;

To safely gain my goal of wasteful roam.


Hungover are the hoards of New Year’s fest-

As fitful flash and bangs disturbed their rest.

The newest day of ’13 has arrived!

With feds who sparkle budgets just contrived.


Yet in the mist of gloom before the sun,

On steel wheels and chrome I seek some fun-

With care negotiate the slimy, wily wet;

Black Horseman rising is a growing threat.

V-Twin Cafe

October 2, 2012

Biker bars are NOT my thing, and going to Starbucks is just OK. I wish there was a motorcycle themed cafe where one could watch Crome roast in the sun. I’d call it the V-Twin Cafe.

Uninspired experience, no destination true,
Same old places ill defined, industrial their crew.
Agonized the hours and miles, indecision mind-
To stop along the road of ride; V-twin Cafe to find.

Parking slots of custom width just right,
Broad glass of vistas filled with chrome; quite bright-
Refreshing rest and menus minus burger blight,
No alcohol to mar old friendships past daylight.

Along the walls momentoes silently proclaim,
The glories of past rides; and riders’ fame.
From carburators, spokes and seats of spring,
Fuel injected horses strain; acceleration sings.

Watch along your route today for clues-
A new establishment; inviting riders old and new.
Relax as others tell their tales of harrowing surprise,
Of pistons, gears and democrats; conspiring demise.

An Absolute Zero

September 17, 2012

Perfect riding scores on the Motorcycle Basic Rider Course are zeros. It’s like golf; low scores are better. Mostly the perfect scores are a matter of luck. A few are Absolute Zeros.


Arrive on time with confidence, it seems;
Thoughts of her, no worries in his dreams-
road rules and controls, he’s mastered all,
Attention span is strained; a pool hall.

Dismounting from his ride the pipes they gleam,
Quiet now the pistons rest their scream-
Takes a seat in class amongst the new,
His questions of the course, a very few.

While others halt and stall upon concrete,
He smoothly glides and turns aplomb replete-
Each maneuver challenges, but not for him;
Quietly perfection sings it’s hymn.

Evaluation time the second day,
classmates fret about their scores; dismayed
Authority his ride, delivers absolute-
Perfect marks; and girlfriend quite cute.