Blue lights flashed behind me.

I opened my saddle bag, fumbled,

sought registration and insurance

At the bottom my beneath my papers

lays another bag, waterproof

Holding pens, pencils, my journal.

My addiction, my words.

“What might that be?” the cop asked suspiciously,

shining his light on the source of possible infraction,

hoping to make this stop other than “routine,”

seeking glory, an arrest, perhaps a clipping.

Armed and Dangerous

“It’s full of deadly weapons,” I replied,

his bright light blinding me.

“I’m a poet. I’m armed and dangerous.”

Bill  ”uglicoyote’ Davis 2009

and looked  up to the sky

I was out Christmas shopping

As the snow began  to fly.

I slipped those last minute  gifts

into my  saddlebag,

lit her up and turned  homeward

down  the town’s main drag.

The roads were  getting  dicey

as I road toward the barn

inside a fire was waiting

soon again I was warm

But I knew that  this might have been

my  very last ride of the year

the weather forecaster that  I’d heard

had made that pretty clear.

As I sat  worming by the fire

my thoughts turned to  the  highways

that this past year  I’ve rambled,

many back-roads and by-ways.

I ridden with  some good friends,

Through good weather and  some bad

We’ve seen lots of  beautiful country and

many good times we’ve had.

We rode the curves of  Big Sur

The Golden Gate we crossed

We camped beneath  the Redwoods

Rode  a highway they called “lost”.

We  rode the Nevada desert,

Towering cliffs in Southern Utah

We crossed the Columbia River,

many amazing sights we saw.

We shared much  fun and laughter

over many an ice cold beer.

The memories of food and friends

will stay with me for many years.

But now this year is over,

it’s  now time  to look  instead

to the good rides still  in front of us,

the many roads  that wait ahead.

Wherever those roads lead us

we’ll ride on  beside our friends.

Once  again we’ll  take to the highways

riding free, in the wind.

As I sit here  beside the fire

and this fine year’s  adventures  I recall,

I see  another great year lies ahead

so,  good roads and  rides to you all.

Happy Holidays

Happy New Year

Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

2009

They turned right onto Main Street

On that hot and dusty day.

Thirty bikes with Thirty riders,

Why’d they come here? Would they stay?

“You’d better run and tell your mom

lock the doors and shutter down.

I’ve heard bad things can happen

When bikers come to town.”

I watched as they rumbled down the street,

Chrome and steel, all dressed in black.

The reached the end, where three roads meet,

Then turned around by the tracks.

The paused and spoke  and seemed to decide

Then they slowly rolled  back  down.

At Annie’s Place they pulled aside

The Bikers put their kickstands down.

Most of them were dressed in black,

But when they took their leather away,

I was, I must say,  somewhat taken aback,

Many of those heads were gray.

And everyone was smiling  bright,

I never saw a  glare or a frown

I thought perhaps I’m just not right

About these Bikers who came to town.

I decided then to check them out.

So I walked  over to Annie’s Place

I saw  the two waitresses scurrying about

And Annie  had a smile on her face.

The I saw that patch upon a vest

It read HOG, Portneuf Valley Chapter,

I put my previous worries to rest.

It wasn’t my daughters they were after.

It was for Annie’s food they had made this run,

It’s a long  ride, many beautiful miles.

To them, the ride is always most of the fun,

But Annie’ s famous pie made  them smile.

So  I got on the phone and I called my wife,

I said,”Honey, just come on down.

Bring the kids, no need to fear for your life,

The Bikers have come to town.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

If you’ve done any riding out west
Up near that great Divide
You may well know
How that snow can blow
and ruin a biker’s ride.

There was a legendary old rider,
Who lived up there in a cave
On his bike he would go,
come rain, wind, or snow
They called him Roadkill Dave.

He lived up on the Red Desert
Up near the great divide.
He would sometimes ride out
to Rock Springs and about,
He always wore a gun at his side.

He rode a 52′ Harley
Leather saddle bags, skinned from a bear,
His leathers wore stains
from blood and hard rains,
And most of his clothes were threadbare

They say he served in Korea,
Just showed up and moved into his cave.
On his old bike he rode
Down old trails and dirt roads.
Cold and snow didn’t stop old Dave.

In the Winter out there on I-80
Oh God, how that wind can blow.
In ’74, when a Spring blizzard hit
I was alone, out driving in that shit
My cage slid off the road in the snow.

You couldn’t see for, love or money
The whole world outside had turned white
I had packed no warm clothes
And when my carburetor froze
I thought I’d freeze to death that night.

I was dozing off when old Dave found me
and hauled me off on his bike,
How that Harley could go
Through the ice, wind and snow.
I’ve never again seen the like.

In his cave Dave warmed and fed me.
He said, “eat up,” so I had my fill.
It was a fine stew, a real treat.
I asked, “What’s that tasty meat?”
He laughed, “Why do you think they call me “Roadkill?”

The next day the when blizzard died down,
Roadkill Dave hauled me back to my car
As I watched old Dave go
On his bike through the snow
I longed for the warmth of a bar.

That’s the last time I saw old Dave
Though I heard stories of him now and then
How he made that bike go
Through rain, wind and snow.
He was one hell of a man.

They found old Dave dead one day
In the Red Desert alongside a trail
as he rode in the rain
He had felt a chest pain.
and his old heart decided to fail.

They sealed him up alongside his Harley
In his home right on that stone floor.
on the seal of that cave
they carved “Here Lies Roadkill Dave.
They don’t make’em like him anymore.”

copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

As we prepared to mount our bikes,
He asked, “Tell me why you ride.
There’s nothing that you few can do
For these soldiers who have died.”

“You’re wrong” I answered back to him,
” Yes, they all have paid the toll,
But we can help people remember
When they hear the Thunder Roll.”

“These men and women served their country,
their deaths were not by choice.
They fulfilled their solemn duty
And now we are their voice.”

“Some returned in shrouded coffins.
They served and gave their all.
Some went to serve in foreign lands,
And never returned at all.”

“So we ride to offer honor to
All those who paid this toll.
We ride so you’ll remember them,
When you hear the thunder roll.”

2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis
USN 1967-1971

On a sunny Sunday morning ride
I stopped to adjust my load
A group of bikers passed me by
and roared on down the road.

At the next town, a rest stop
they were there when I pulled in
One of the riders walked up to me
I recognized that grin.

“I’m Pastor Bob, ” he told me.
“I ride with the C.M.A.
I smiled and slid back on my bike,
but he wouldn’t let me get away.

“Have you found Jesus,” he asked me?
“I can help you find him again.”
I replied, “Sorry that you lost him.
Guess I’ll just have to live in sin.”

Bob wasn’t sure how to take that,
but he kept up his holy spiel.
So I held up my hand and said, “Bob stop!
Let me tell you just how I feel.”

“I know you think you’re being kind,
and “saving souls” is your call.
but insulting me and what I believe,
that ain’t being kind at all.”

“When you shove your religion into my face
you assault what I hold dear.
You’ve no right to do that, Pastor Bob,
so before I roll out of here,

I’ll tell you, I believe in freedom,
in truth and the open road,
in honesty, and integrity,
in shouldering my share of the load.”

“I believe that people have a right
to believe whatever they may.
I believe that if you don’t respect my right,
Then Bob you can K.M.A.”

So I started my bike that Sunday,
but before leaving him in a lurch,
I asked “Bob if you’re such a Christian,
Why the hell ain’t you in church?”

2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

* C. M. A. = Christian Motorcyclist Association

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

He strolled into the bar, real casual like,
new black leathers from head to toe.
His brand new, shiny, soft-tail bike,
said more than we needed to know.

From a stool he asked “Do you have Bombay Gin?”
(Our bartenders nickname is “Beanie”
on account of the of the skull plate the doctors put in.)
From Bean this dude ordered,  ”martini.”

Well, I thought Beanie would surely blow,
but instead he just smiled and said, “Sure.
One dry martini, I’ll make it just so.
Would you like that shaken or stirred.”

“Shaken”, he said, then winked at ole Bean,
and asked “Who’s that pretty young gal?”
Beanie looked down the bar at the girl he had seen,
and said ,’Why that my friend, that’s Sexy Sal.

Red hair and tight jeans of black leather,
that fit real close to her skin/
A halter top, perfect for warm weather.
but it barely reined her all in.

She smiled and winked at leather-boy
who had now slipped down by her side
He said “Howdy miss, my name is Roy.’
Would you like to go for a ride?”

Now we all were smirkin and doin a dance;
we had seen all of this before.
When Sal asked, ” Would you like get in my pants?”
Roy’s jaw dropped clean to the floor.

“Here’s the deal boy, now please listen up.
I have my own bike parked outside.
We’ll ride for an hour Roy, and if you can keep up.
That soft-tail ain’t all you will ride.”

Ole Beanie couldn’t hold  in much more,
I thought his skull plate would explode.
As Roy and Sal walked out the door.
We went into full laughter mode.

Outside Sal jumped on her black V-Rod
Leather-Roy jumped on his new red ride
She thundered away like the wrath of God,
He dumped his new bike on its side.

When he finally got it back upright,
Sal was a good mile down the road.
Roy tried to keep her in his sight.
but he just couldn’t carry that load.

Sal came back a, big smile on her face
Sat down and said, “Great ride boys.
I went down the canyon for this little race,
but what the hell happened to Roy?”

We never did see Roy there again
He never again showed his face.
He never appeared asking Beanie for gin.
I assume because of that race.

To win that race, Leather-boy had no chance
Everyone in that bar knew full well
For a boy like Roy to get into those pants,
Well, it would be a cold day in hell.

Old Roy had it coming, most people say.
He needed his male ego jarred.
Sal took it to him in her special way.
She’s a rider–Sexy Sally rides hard!

copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

Cool spray soaks us both,
I run the sponge softly along
sensuous, graceful curves and hard,
straight, lines, water beading on
smooth skin. The droplets
burst beneath my fingers and
the white soapy suds overflow,
gently rolling to the floor
as I massage softly, first the front,
then move to the rear and down.
Later, a soft, clean towel rubs us
both dry.

I love washing my bike.

Copyright 2007 Bill “uglicoyote” Davis

The sun seems brighter  on late  November days

the crisp cold air more clean,

Fall colors, once  resplendent , now all blown away

reds and yellows no longer seen.

I head south out of Inkom on old 91

watching  for ice  on the way

not yet  removed by the morning sun

a slide could ruin the day

The bike loves  cold air,   I’m dressed for it too

the pipes sing as we roll along

I join in the singing , as I’m want to do

the joy of the ride turns to song

Soon these days  will end,  too cold for the  ride

I’ll be putting the bike away

but when the snow blows and I’m stuck inside

I’ll re-ride  these November days

copyright 2009  Bill “uglicoyote” Davis