Riding Through The Fire

Riding Through The Fire
This poem came out of recent ride I made up to Missoula and then on to Kalispell, MT. Of course, most of this can be attributed to the imagination of the poet, but at the time there really were some fires burning in western Montana, one quite serious just north of Missoula, the “Blackcat” fire, where I rode through flames right down to the edge of MT highway 93. I rode through extremely smoky conditions on a lot of that ride and this poem came to me in bits and pieces as I rode. I finally got around to releasing it onto the page. I hope you enjoy it. Keep on Keepin’ on

Ridin’ through the fire
Ridin’ through the smoke of Hell
The forest around him burning
He keeps riding toward Kalispell

He met her in a saloon in Drummond
She lifted his soul and body higher
She was gone when he awakened
Left both his heart and the forest on fire

She told him she lived up by Kalispell
In a cabin near Flathead Lake
And although the smoke was getting bad
He new that run he had to make.

So he went ridin’ through the fire
Ridin’ through the smoke of Hell
He rode straight on through Missoula
He was headed for Kalispell

Although fires burned right beside the road
He kept that Harley’s wheels on turning
Through Arlee, Polson, then on to Big Fork
His heart-fire just kept on burning

He had to see that Montana girl again
She had taken him so much higher
Than any woman had done before
She’d really set his soul on fire

So he went ridin’ through fire
He rode through the smoke of Hell
He just crossed the Jocko River
He had to make it to Kalispell.

She heard about it the next morning
He’d run a road block, the announcer said
On a closed highway he’d lost control
In the flames they found him dead.

She wondered why he had made that run
What caused him to take that ride?
Her husband didn’t see the tear that fell
With the name of the man who had died.

He’s still ridin’ through that fire
He’s still ridin’ through the smoke of Hell
Around him all is burning
And a woman weeps in Kalispell

Copyright 2007, Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Latest from "Chopper Kate" Johnson

this idea I took from a message board for lady riders. there was a gal there who wanted to quit riding…you could tell she never wanted to , she did it for others not herself. I am sure she won’t come to such a tragic end..but then that is what poetic license is about.
He wanted her to “ride her own”
it was his persistent request.
She didn’t want to make him mad
by refusing to take the test.
A brand new, shiny v rod he bought
for her to cruise upon.
with him she rode side by side
plagued by doubts and fears,
they kept her constant company
along with frustrated tears.
She thought ” with me
there must be something wrong,
the love for the ride,
shouldn’t take so long,”
and wondered if it ever would
find it’s way inside her skin.
That kindled flame that grows to passion
warming your soul from deep within.
Sometimes she tried to tell him
that riding wasn’t meant for her,
How she felt awkward almost numb,
but he would laugh and call her
crybaby or chicken shit,
and just plain dumb
it shamed her so, she wouldn’t quit,
There came a day when her rider’s skill
was put to test on a rain slicked hill,
and as her old man knelt
dripping sorrow by her side,
He cried out,
“Oh Lord forgive me!
Why did I make her ride?”

Ridin’ With My Bros

Ridin’ With My Bros

I often ride out solo
and the time alone I spend out there
helps me put things in perspective,
sorta clears clear the mental air.

But there’s nothing like a fine, long ride
taken with my friends and brothers
to remind me of why I’m a Biker
why I need the support of others.

When we stop along the highway
in a friendly biker bar,
it’s good to laugh and be with friends
who accept you for what you are.

When those nasty gremlins hit your bike,
and I promise you they will,
it’s good to have a trusted friend
to help you over that hill.

When the day’s ride is over
and we all sit around the fire
you share all your tall biker tales;
and no one calls you a liar.

So I’ll take those solo rides I need
to keep my head screwed on,
but then I’ll hook up with my Bros
and just keep on keepin’ on.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote

Trailer Queen

Trailer Queen

Am I not pretty, I’m a trailer Queen
The prettiest motorcycle you’ve ever seen
No hard riding for me, never been out in the rain
I come off the trailer, then go back on again

The R.U.B.*who owns me can’t really ride
I’m just another hobby, a point of personal pride
His friends all have Harleys, so he has one too
To dress up in black leather is a cool thing to do.

To Sturgis, Las Vegas, Daytona and all the rest
He hauls me on his trailer then does what he does best
Rides me around a little, finds a bar and goes inside
Parks his fat ass on a barstool and tells all about his ride.

I wish once he’d come out of that bar, hop on me and ride away
Head for the back-roads full of curves, and ride me hard all day
I wasn’t made to sit and shine, I was born to run
To feel asphalt fly by beneath my wheels, now wouldn’t that be fun

But that will never happen, I’m mainly meant for show
I could make his life exciting, but my R.U.B. will never know
I’m the prettiest motorcycle that you’ve ever seen
Am I not pretty, I’m a trailer Queen.

* R.U.B. = Rich Urban Biker

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

The Cowboy and The Biker

The Cowboy and the Biker

“Where ya headin’ on yer ride?”
The old cowboy asked.
And the old biker replied,
“I’m headin for Sturgis.”

He sat there smiling from his truck
While he eyeballed the bike
Then he said, “Good Luck,
On your Ride to Sturgis.”

He said, “Cowboys and Bikers are alike.
Cowboys have to go to Cheyenne
But for you on your Bike,
You have to ride to Sturgis.”

“The horse that you ride has two wheels,
And although mine has four legs
I know just how it feels
To be headin’ for Sturgis.”

With a laugh and a wave he drove away.
I climbed on my bike and fired up.
We’d both connected with a brother that day
While I was ridin’ the road to Sturgis

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Riding to Sturgis

Riding to Sturgis

We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
We’re heading to Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

The Black Knights came to the Black Hills
From D.C. they all rode
No trailer queens, no toy hauler frills
Just two thousand miles of road.

They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

A father riding with his son
We met along the way
Dad from The land of the Midnight Sun
His boy from out Portland way

They were riding to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way.

Two who flew from the land down under
Picked up bikes in Frisco town
Across desert and mountain they did thunder
To get where it all goes down

They rode to Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis USA
They headed for Sturgis, Sturgis
Riding all the way

Each Summer thousands make the run
To this little Black Hills town.
If you’ve never been there for the fun
You should come to party down

You should head for Sturgis, Sturgis
Sturgis, USA
Come on out to Sturgis, Sturgis
And ride yours all the way.

copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Bringing a Brother Home

Today, 08/14/07, the body of Sgt. Nick Gummersall was returned to Pocatello for burial. Sgt. Gummersall was killed in action in Iraq. He was twenty- three years old. Over one hundred bikes rode escort for the Sgt. and his family from the airport through town to the funeral home. People lined the roads and streets, holding flags, signs, and hands on hearts as we passed. It was an emotional and moving experience. As the body was removed from the plane by the honor guard, a fledgling Bald Eagle cried and flew nearby.

Bringing a Brother Home

We brought a brother home today
We rode with him along the way
When he arrived an Eagle cried
We brought a brother home today.

He was every father’s shining son.
He was every mother’s precious one.
He served us well but then he fell
We brought a brother home today.

He left his home and answered the call
While many give some, he gave all.
No more from home will this lad roam
We brought a soldier home today.

Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

USN 1967-1971

Escorting the Wall

Yesterday (7/25) we brought the Viet Nam Memorial Moving Wall into town for a four day stay. The Moving Wall is a replica of the real Memorial in Washington, D.C., although smaller. All 58,195 names are there. It will remain on display through Sunday during our POW*MIA Rally and Bike Rodeo. It was while I was riding as part of the 125 bike escort to The Wall that this poem came to me.

Escorting the Wall

We escorted The Moving Wall today
Rode beside it into our town
The names all there reminding us
Of brothers and Sisters who went down

We escorted The Moving Wall today
But it isn’t with The Wall that we ride
We ride with those fifty-eight thousand,
One ninety-five brothers and sisters who died.

They went off to Viet Nam to serve
Their country and you and me
They served us well, but then they fell
Their homes never again to see

The Wall is a moving symbol
But we don’t ride with The Wall
Its all those people whose names are there
We’re riding with those who gave all.

So visit the wall and bow your heads
Remember them with pride,
Then raise them a glass and keep riding on
With the spirits of those who died.

Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Bikerpoet, Viet Nam Veteran, USN 1967-71

Living in the Ride

Living in the Ride

Riding in the world,
I hear the meadowlark’s song
I taste the dust coming off
The wheat field harvested
As I pass by

The sound of the wind
The sound of the wheels
The rumble of the engine
With these sounds,
Every moment I ride

In the distance a thunderstorm
Watch it grow, see the lightning.
Soon to feel the sting of drops
Cooling skin too long burned
By the high plains sun.
Long days in the wind

The fresh smell of falling rain
The sweet smell of freshly cut hay
The smells of asphalt, fuel, exhaust
Mingle with the odor of yesterday’s roadkill
The living and the dead,
All with me as I ride

I pass a car
In the back a small face
nose to glass, a wave
a smile, perhaps a dream.

I’m in the moment,
Living in the ride.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

I love Loud Pipes

I Love Loud Pipes
A love song for the Denver City Council

Window rattling, earth shaking,
Stomach churning, ear-drum-busting
Loud pipes

Alarm starting, backfiring,
Flame-throwing, head-throbbing
Loud pipes

Snorting, snarling, rip-roaring,
Feel-em in your guts, kick-em in the nuts
Loud pipes

Hear them clear across town,
What the hell was that, an Earthquake?
Loud pipes

Get off your cell, pay attention,
Roll up the window, watch out for that bike
Loud pipes

Loud pipes thundering
Through the valley
Up the hill
Down the highway
Into my soul
Singing the song I love
I love those loud pipes

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

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