The Ride

I wiped the sleep from my eyes,
and stared out the window at the wet grey world.
My heart saddened that day by what I saw.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, and ran the hot water,
soaked the cloth and scrubbed the night from my face,
And return I did to the same window, only to confirm,
what I already knew.

I went through the motions of starting my day,
brewed a strong mug of coffee,
then sat alone at my table, deep in thought
rolling the mug between my hands,
perhaps to warm them, perhaps not.

Time after time,
I would look up to stare out the window,
Hoping beyond hope,
the brightly shining sun would appear in the sky,
drying the sodden, slick highways and byways.

Then one by one, they would appear, riders of all kinds,
even old worn out riders like me.
Called by some overwhelming and irresistible force to ride,
riding two-wheeled icons, of American Iron,
to Utopia and beyond.

Some say, it is the beating of their hearts, which calls them ride,
others say it is the ride, which stirs the emotions inside,
the hard-core riders say, they ride,
to beat the devil.

As for me, I ride to feel free,
I ride to live,
And more often than not,
I simply ride to find inner peace.