A Nod and a Don

Water is appearing in Perth skies in mid-October, so obviously the citizenry has to some degree been losing its collective shit. This parody of the 1984 Don Henley song Boys of Summer, is my tribute to the stoic resolve of those motorcyclists who are compelled to ride in wintery conditions, by either circumstance or sheer madness.  In lieu of a salute – not the appropriate manoeuvre while riding – I offer that powerfully succinct gesture which seeks to unite us in our times of peak anonymity: *nods*

Toys of Summer
Silent drizzle from the dark sky
Sprayed at me from cars
A chill in the air
And in gore-tex and kevlar
Mild headwinds, slippery roads,
Cagers brake too soon
A droplet finds it way in
What the hell am I doing?

Then I see you
Your headlight peerin’ through the grey
You got your high beam on and that’s okay, baby
And I can tell you, your nod makes me feel less alone
Now that the toys of summer have gone

I never will forget that ride
How many k’s in all?
Remember who I shadowed there?
Remember how my own bike stalled?
Now I can understand
Why some won’t come to play,
But babe I’m gonna be out there
A few clouds won’t scare me away

Then I see you
The rain beads on your leather
I see you grit your teeth through
This fkn weather
I can tell you, the sight of you makes me feel strong
After the toys of summer have gone

Out on the road today I saw a first aid sticker on a four-wheel drive
A little voice inside my head said, “Heed that omen to stay alive.”
I thought I had common sense – what would I know?
The road whispers my name and off I go

Then I see you
At the Give Way sign
The rain briefly clears making
Everything shine, baby
And I can tell you your nod puts me back in the zone
After the toys of summer have gone

Then I see you
Your headlight peerin’ through the grey
You got your high beam on and
That’s okay, baby
And I can tell you, your nod has got me going strong
Now that the toys of summer have gone

Footnotes: cager = term used by motorcyclists and cyclists to denote the driver of a four-wheeled motor vehicle. Gore-Tex and Kevlar are trademarks (of products designed to prevent, respectively, water saturation and death by gravel-rash).

Born to Ride

[ Original song: Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band, although I quite fancied the cover by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and often sing that version in my head. There I said it.

FNR = Friday Night Ride, a group ride organised on the internet for skilled riders, and alleged to be of a rather enthusiastic pace ] .

Born to Run
In the day we tear it up in the hijinks of runaway off-topic threads
At night we ride through the back-roads and highways with the mongrels and thoroughbreds
Sprung from driveways obscure and discreet
High-octane premium and taking over the streets
Baby this town is half-asleep
We’re the black sheep, we’re in waist deep
We gotta take that in our stride
`Cos tramps like us, baby we were born to ride

Clear out some DMs I wanna be your friend
I want to sneak in under your guard
Just perch your feet on the pillion pegs
And hold on fairly hard
Together we could split from the pack
We can set the pace before leisurely dropping back
Will you give me the nod to go
`Cos baby I’m just a scared and lonely rider
But I gotta escape this place
And if I’m going to fall, it might as well be from grace

Down by the river a low rumbling growl stirs along The Boulevard
Meanwhile coastal roads bear the high-pitched roar
That marks the start of the FNR
High-beams at night cast an eerie light
As we carve through the Swan Valley mist
Then you drop a gear and scream ahead
An invitation too good to resist

The tunnel’s lit up with all the excitement of an overdue social run
Everybody’s out to be seen tonight but I’m only looking for one
Together one day we can live with the derp
I’ll rub out this hurt and baby we’ll never look back
Someday soon, I can’t say when, were gonna get to that place
Where we really should be and we won’t have to hide
But till then, tramps like us, baby we were born to ride