Throttle twisted with the clutch inclined,
Hundreds of horses and all redlined.
Leaning foreword and straddled high,
Embracing with passion and ready to fly.
Dropping the clutch without hesitation,
Brings life to the beast and riders relation.
As the fractions pass in a blurry seen,
When the roosters fly and the engines scream.
Lighting fast, reflex or decision,
Is it a breakaway or curtain collision.
From hills high to valleys low ,
From hills high to valleys low ,
The better your time the faster you go.
Fatigue is gaining as muscle tire,
The engine grow hot as the pistons fire.
Body and bike melt as one,
Call it a hobby in the name of fun.
Just a weekend like all the rest,
Taking for granted what some do best !
Samuel F Moore
3-22-90
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