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While attending
one of those big biker runs one year,
I watched as the crowd was having lots of fun and drinking beer.
But what really caught my attention was this old man sitting on his Harley
and not making a sound,
Suddenly, I became sad as other bikers walked past him acting like he
wasn't around.
I thought
to myself, that biker is someone's son, father, or brother,
We are supposed to be a sister and brotherhood, not act like this to one
another.
So I decided I would walk over to him and hear the stories he might have
to tell,
As I got closer, I saw he was wearing an old leather jacket, chaps, and
his skin was pale.
We began
to talk and he told me he had been a biker all his life and the road was
his home,
There was once he thought he would give it up but he loved too much the
freedom to roam.
He told me about the big runs like Sturgis and Daytona and the places
he rode,
How God took care of him all his life and even now that he is old.
He said,
"This old Shovelhead Harley has taken care of me everywhere I went",
And when the day comes I can't ride no more, I know my time on earth was
well spent.
It is my prayer that as long as I live, those bikers will someday see,
what being a biker really means and stop and listen to old bikers like
me.
copyright
by Dean Downey-2002
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