Biker Stories

Right of Passage
by The Ironhorse Writer

"So your a Biker?,
don't get uptight.
Just an 'ol man jaw'n,
ain't lookin' to fight."

"If ya don't mind me sayin,
that's one fancy hog.
Say, ain't it one of them,
computerized jobs?"

"Fuel injection?,
stereo too?
Where'd ya keep the bed?,
ahhh, just messin' with you."

"'Spose it breaks down,
and your all alone.
Do ya whip out a tool pouch?,
or a cellular phone?"

"I used to putt,
those days are through.
Now'days I wrench,
gives me somethin' to do."

"That's when startin' a hog,
took a good, firm kick.
When brotherhood,
wasn't some fancy clique."

"Colors were somethin',
you lived righteously by.
Not a fashion statement,
to catch one's eye."

"Freedom wasn't a logo,
that cost ya twenty grand.
It's fire-in up your very first scoot,
settin' your last kickstand."

"Now'days, it's no big deal,
riders everywhere you look.
I ain't sayin we blazed the trail,
but we sure as hell wrote the book!"

"Hey...didn't mean to bend your ear,
know ya wanna go.
Before ya split, just one more thing,
somethin' ya ought to know."

"A "Bikers" not just ownin' a hog,
anyone can play the part.
It comes from inside, ya live for the ride,
mind, soul, heart."

"Ride safe kid."

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Daddys Hands

My Daddy, twenty years my senior,
sat feebly on the patio bench.
He didn't move, just sat
with his head down
staring at his hands.
When I sat down beside him
he didn't acknowledge my presence
and the longer I sat
I wondered if he was OK.

Finally,
not really wanting to disturb him
but wanting to check
on him at the same time,
I asked him if he was O.K.
raised his head and looked
at me and smiled. Yes, I'm fine,
thank you for asking,
he said in a clear strong voice.

I didn't mean to disturb you, Daddy,
but you were just sitting
here staring at your hands
and I wanted to make sure
you were OK I explained to him.
Have you ever looked at your
hands he asked?
I mean really looked at your hands?

I slowly opened my hands
and stared down at them.
I turned them over,
palms up and then palms down.
No, I guess I had never
really looked at my hands.
I tried to figure out
the point he was making.
Daddy smiled and related this story:

Stop and think for a moment
about the hands you have,
how they have served you
well throughout your years.
These hands, though wrinkled,
shriveled and weak have been the tools
I have used all my life to reach out
and grab and embrace life.
They braced and caught my fall when
as a toddler I crashed upon the floor.

They put food in my mouth
and clothes on my back.
As a child my mother taught me
to fold them in prayer.
They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots.
They held my rifle and wiped
my tears when I went off to war.

They have been dirty,
scraped and raw,
swollen and bent.
They were uneasy and clumsy
when I helt my newborn son.
Decorated with my wedding band
they showed the world was married,
and I loved and had someone special
to share my life with.

They wrote letters home.
And trembled and shook.
As I buried my parents and spouse.
As I walked my daughter down the aisle.
Yet, they were strong and sure.
They dug my buddy out of a foxhole
lifted a plow off of my best friend’s foot.

They have held children,
consoled neighbors,
and shook in fists of anger
when I didn't understand.
They have covered my face,
combed my hair,washed
and cleansed the rest of my body.

They have been sticky and wet,
bent and broken, dried and raw.
And to this day when not much of
anything else of me works real
well these hands hold me up,
lay me down, and continue to
fold in prayer.

These hands are the mark of
where I've been and the
ruggedness of my life.
But more importantly
it will be these hands
that God will reach out and take
when he leads me home.
And with my hands
He will lift me to
His side and there
I will use these hands
to touch the face of Christ.

I will never look at
my hands the same again.
But I remember God
reached out and took my
Daddy's hands and led him home.
When my hands are hurt or sore
or when I stroke the face
of my children and wife
I think of my Daddy.
I know he has been stroked
and caressed and held
by the hands of God.
I, too, want to touch
the face of God and feel
his hands upon my face.

Anonymous

------------------------------------------

'My Daddy'

ByThe Ironhorse Writer4/12/2002

The kids all pledged allegiance,
Then sat to start their day.
One little girl was deep in thought,
Over what she was going to say.

One by one, each took a turn,
to talk about their Dad.
She wondered if the kids would laugh,
If her teacher would be mad.

There were uniforms with badges,
An abundance of suits and ties.
It was then a smile beamed from her face,
For she had realized.

He really wasn't like the rest,
Not part of any crowd.
This little girl in coveralls,
Stood tall and said so proud.

"My Daddy is a Biker.
He wears no ties, no suits
Leather is his uniform.
He wears big biker boots."

"The pins on my Daddy's vest,
are the badges that he wears.
He takes toys to girls and boys,
Because my Daddy cares."

"My Daddy takes me everywhere.
We have lots of fun.
You go on vacations.
We go on a run."

"He always likes to ride to work.
Mommy likes to say.
You can hear your Daddy coming home.
From half a mile away."

"That is all I have to say.
But I am really glad.
My Daddy is a Biker.
But most of all, "My Dad."

------------------------------------------

To The Hot Brunette That Rode By Me Today

There is something about
a good looking women on a Harley
that drives me nuts
my penis begins to throb
and my mind starts racing
thinking about how great
the sex must be
but my brain brings my dick
back to reality by
reminding it that she
probably has that motorcycle
for a reason
and no matter how good
you might be you
don't stand a chance
up against that Harley
Author Unknown

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As We Ride

Written by Josh"Pan Griffith" Outlaws World

As We Ride Threw The Valley
Of The Shadow Of Doubt
Modern Day Outlaw's
We Fear No Evil
For We Are The
Badest In The Valley
We Are Brothers
Side By Side
On Our Iron Horses
Of Chrome And Steel
Fearless We Ride
Destination Unknown
Free To Travel The Badlands
In This Pack We Are As One
Into The Night
We Claim As Our Own
The Highway Our Only
True Home

Written by Josh"Pan Griffith" Outlaws World

Do not copy without owners consent
------------------------------------------

'THE WARRIOR'

By - The Ironhorse Writer7/8/2002

He rides alone, into the night
Mirrors reflect, a last glimpse of light
Descending shadows encroach his path
A luminous sword, invokes their wrath

As those, long past, beckoned to heed
This Knight of Eternity, his Steel Steed
Into the darkness, The Warrior rides
Where evil's blackened heart resides

Wings of thunder, as ships at sea
Take to wind a legacy
A righteous cause must always prevail
Lest it perish in dormant sail

Thus, The Warrior, one with the road
Resolved to abide an unwritten code
Ventures forth in heart and breath
Through the valley, of the shadow of death

Should fate, this night, summon him home
Destiny, shall once more, seek to roam
Who among us, shall legacy view?
Does The Warrior existâ€¦within you?