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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