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November 03 What Will Become of Me?WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME WHEN I LEAVE THIS PLACE? WHAT WILL BECOME OF MY HEART AND MY SOUL? WHERE WILL MY SPIRIT GO? WILL I RIDE THE LIGHTNING IN THE EVENING SKY? WILL MY VOICE BECOME THE HOWL OF THE WIND AT NIGHT? WILL MY SMILE BECOME PART OF THE MOON? MY EYES, STARS THAT SHINE IN THE DISTANCE AT NIGHT? WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME WHEN I LEAVE THIS PLACE? WILL MY SCENT BECOME THE FRAGRANCE OF THE FLOWERS IN SPRING? WILL MY TEARS BECOME THE GENTILE RAIN ON A SUMMERS DAY? WILL MY LAUGHTER BECOME THE SOUND OF CREATURES IN THE NIGHT? WHO WILL REMEMBER ME, WHO WILL MOURN ME? WILL I LIVE ON FOREVER IN PEPOLES MEMORIES? OR WILL I FADE AWAY LIKE A DYING FLAME AT A CANDLES END. WILL SHE REMEMBER ME AND THE THINGS I DID AND THE THINGS I SAID. WILL SHE REMEMBER MY SMILE AND THE SOUND OF MY VOICE? WHEN I AM GONE AND MY MORTAL BODY HAS TURNED TO ASHES AND RETURNED TO THE SOIL FROM WHINCE I CAME, WILL SHE THINK OF ME AND SMILE, KNOWING HOW MUCH I LOVED HER. WILL SHE REMEMBER MY TOUCH, THE SOFTENESS OF MY SKIN. WILL SHE REMEMBER THE SOUND OF CONCERN IN MY VOICE AS SHE CONFIDED HER PROBLEMS AND FEARS IN ME. WILL SHE KNOW THAT NOT A DAY PASSED BY IN WHICH I DID NOT THINK OF HER AND I DID NOT LOVE HER. WILL SHE KNOW SHE WAS MY INSPIRATION AND MY STRENGTH, WHICH CARRIED ME THROUGH MANY A DIFFICULT DAY AND NIGHT. I KNOW AS MY DAYS GROW LONGER AND MY NIGHTS SHORTER AND MY FUTURE CLOSES IN ON ME RAPIDLY, I LOOK AT HER AND I SEE ALL THE BEAUTY IN THE WORLD BEFORE ME. NO ROSE CAN MATCH HER BEAUTY AS IT IS A BEAUTY THAT COMES FROM WITHIN. SHE IS MY FRIEND, SHE IS MY CONFIDANT, SHE IS MY HEART AND SOULS INSPIRATION. AS I THINK ABOUT WHAT WILL BECOME OF ME AS I LEAVE THIS PLACE I HAVE NO FEAR BECAUSE I KNOW THAT I WILL ALWAYS BE NEAR. I WILL BE THE STARS THAT SHINE AT NIGHT, I WILL BE THE SOUND OF THUNDER RUMBLING IN THE DISTANCE, MY BREATH WILL BE A GENTILE BREEZE BLOWING ON A MOON LIT EVENING. SHE WILL HEAR MY VOICE CALLING HER AND REMINDING HER THAT I AM ALWAYS THERE, BY HER SIDE, LOVING HER FOREVER. copyright 2003 Earl A. Allain Chain Driven Cowboy HE STANDS NEXT TO HIS TRUSTY STEED HE RUNS HIS HAND OVER HER SHE HAS BEEN BY HIS SIDE FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FOREVER THEY HAVE RIDDEN MANY TRAILS IN THE YEARS PAST AND HE HOPES THEY MAY RIDE MANY MORE TOGETHER IN THE FUTURE HE TOUCHES HER AND CARRESSES HER LOVINGLY SHE STANDS THERE WARMING TO HIS TOUCH HE THROWS HIS LEG OVER THE SADDLE AND SITS FOR A MINUTE TAKING IN THE SUNSHINE THAT BATHES THEM BOTH IN ITS WARMTH HE STAND UP IN THE SADDLE AND JUMPS DOWN ON THE KICK STARTER AND THE ENGINE ROARS TO LIFE HE PLACES HIS HAND ON THE HANDLE BARS LIKE A COWBOY TAKING AHOLD OF THE REIGNS HE IS A CHAIN DRIVEN COWBOY JUST LIKE THE COWBOYS IN PAST HE IS BOUND BY NO ONE HE IS HIS OWN MAN JUST HIM AND HIS TRUSTY STEEL STEED IS ALL HE NEEDS HE EASES OUT THE CLUTCH AND THE ENGINES SNORTS IN DEFIANCE OFF INTO THE DISTANCE HE RIDES ON ANOTHER ADVENTURE DOWN ANOTHER LONG AND LONELY HIGHWAY HE IS A CHAIN DRIVEN COWBOY HE IS MYSTERIOUS TO SOME AN ENIGMA TO OTHERS LOVED BY SOME FEARD BY OTHERS LIKE HIS HORSE RIDING BRETHEREN OF PAST HE IS A FREE SPIRIT A LONE RIDER IN THE NIGHT RIDING HIS IRON HORSE AS THE MILES DISAPPEAR BEHIND HIM AND THE ROAD IN FRONT OF HIM LOOMS LARGER AND STRAIGHTER HE RIDES INTO THE NIGHT A GHOST RIDER BY HIS SIDE HE IS A CHAIN DRIVEN COWBOY copyright 2003 Earl A. Allain ----- An old friend rememberded.I’m sitting here at work tonight taking a break from the shear tedium of data entry wondering about something to write about and I have decided to reflect on an old friend. Brad and I have gone way back for a long time. I have probably known him the longest out of all of my friends. We go back to ohhh probably the 5th or 6th grade at Catholic school (see, that explains a lot doesn’t it). Brad and I became friends and hung out. Sometimes a lot, sometimes not a lot but we were always friends. I have many fond memories of hanging with Brad and the things we used to get into. Brad is the one responsible for me riding Harleys to this day. Brad was always a great mechanic (in my opinion). I could do minor stuff but Brad was way better. Brad always believed in making horsepower. He never really had what I would call a chopper per say. He would maybe have a slight extension on the forks but that was about it. He always felt that he would rather build a high horsepower go fast motorsickle than something that looked good but didn’t perform. His bikes were pretty basic, simple, a little chrome, maybe some gold plating but nothing overdone or overstated. His bikes basically looked stock but the hauled fucking ass. When we were teenagers Brad would come to my house on Saturday mornings to get me to go to Baton Rouge with him and hang out and I being the late sleeper I was (and still am) would always have to say “well I can’t go until I get the grass mowed”. He would say get ready and I’ll take care of the grass. I would get ready and he banged out the yard. I owe him a big debt for that because I HATED to fucking mow the grass. THAT is a good friend. When I got my first Harley Brad and I would ride together and I have to say, it was good times. Lots of shits and giggles to be had by all. Well went through a bunch of shit together. He would come by my house in the middle of the night and I would get up get on my bike and we would head out for a ride. There was this one incidence at his house that involved lots of cops and drug sniffing dogs and automatic weapons pointed at us. Ahhhhhh good times. I had a battery malfunction on my 1981 Wide Glide and got acid all over the rear of the frame and rear fender. Well at that time I was unemployed so at his house I tore the bike down to redo it, repaint the frame and fenders and tank. Well shortly after that life happened and I ended up working 2 jobs and never ever got back to that 81 wide glide. Fast forward to December of 2002 and I decided that I just could take it anymore, with very little free time on my hands and not having the place or the will to really fool with putting the 81 wide glide back together I went and bought a 2002 Springer softail. I love that bike. A couple of days after picking it up I went to Brads to show it to him and as luck would have it he was just getting ready to head out on his bike to get some lunch so I went along. Now Brad’s bike this time was a fat boy of which year I do not remember but it had the LOUDEST fucking motor I had ever heard on a street bike ever. He was running a 120 inch Merch motor. We headed out up LA 1 to a local choke and puke place and as I was riding on the side of him, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. A sense of belonging. Like this is right where I belong, riding down the highway at 80 mph along side this guy. I once again felt part of a brotherhood. I don’t think I ever told Brad that. That was an important feeling to me. We had a good lunch together and chatted a bit and both of us headed home. It was awhile again before I would see Brad again and this time it would be in the hospital. He was coming home on a Good Friday night and lost his bike in a curve on interstate 10 through Baton Rouge. He went down on his left side landing on his left elbow basically grinding it off. The doctors tried for many weeks to save his arm but they ended up taking it off just above the elbow. From as near as what he can figure out, his rear tire was flat or going flat when he went into the curve, he felt a bobble on the front end and tried to correct it when the back end became all squirrelly on him and he went down. He had always been a fighter and still is. He no longer rides even though he still has the bike he wrecked just as it was when the wrecker picked it up. It still has that bad assed 120 inch Merch motor in the frame. Looking at the bike from one side you wouldn’t realize it was wrecked at all and on the left side that went down, it doesn’t have much damage there. I asked him if he thought he would ever ride again and he said he didn’t think so. He felt he didn’t have that many limbs left and wanted to keep the ones he has. He now has a really nice motor home and takes it out when he feels up to it. He told me that his motorcycle was his ticket to adventure, now his motor home is. I have sat with him and talked with him and I think he is doing really well. He handles it better than I would be if it was me and I respect him greatly for it. Brad was never one to let difficulties get him down; he picked up and moved on. He still is one of the smartest guys I know and one of my best friends. I ride when I can (not as often as I like) and he is always on the side of me in spirit. It is because of Brad my opinion of my motorcycle and what I want it to be is. He says that perhaps one day he will repair his bike and put it on display in his living room like a piece of art. Does he miss riding? I haven’t asked him but I think that he probably does and knowing Brad, If he feels that one day he would be comfortable riding again, I’m sure nothing would stop him from swing his leg over the seat and heading down the highway again, but if he doesn’t well, he had a lot of great memories. I want to tip my hat and raise my beer mug and salute Brad for being a friend and a brother, here’s to you old friend, Live Free, Ride Hard. |
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