The Spur!

The Spur(by Folma) This poem was written by my good friend Folma( the subject of most of my heartfelt poems...lol.) He has given his permission for me to post his poems! We are motorcyclists and "the spur" is a dangerous 15 mile stretch of road notorious for fatal accidents. Although not grammatically corrct by any means, I am loath to edit it for him as I feel his excitement as I read. As we head into the spur, on another run, as fast as we can, just for fun. Through the gears, up into top,                                          then onto the brakes, to almost a stop.                                           Out of the hairpin, and onto the straight, open the throttle, and like a bull from the gate.                                            Hold third gear, through a series of turns,                                            confidence high, and rubber to burn. Power slides, from apex to next, giving it all, to pass the test. Defying gravity, with angles of lean, precision and skill, must keep it clean. Catching a jap bike, who's taking the line, gotta get past him, his wasting my time. Hard on the brakes, as late as I can, up the inside, like his pushing a pram.                                             Twisting the gas on, the road is now clear, into a blind left hander, with out any fear Over a crest, with the front end light, checking the mirror, for a jappa in flight                                            Tip toeing through doglegs, right on the edge, another two jap bikes, I part like a wedge. A tight right hander, is coming up fast, get it right, "god damn" it's a blast.                                             Running down hill, with brakes running hot, the front wheel chattering, the back wheel locked. Sliding side ways, with exhausts on the road, handle bars bucking, objecting to load. Engine straining, above the redline, three corners to go, and every things fine. Back down to second, for the very last time, sliding again, on that dreaded white line. Up in to third, for the second last turn, twisting the throttle, for more fuel to burn. With not an inch to spare, using all of the tar, into the last curve, overtaking a car The spur now behind, open road ahead, with adrenaline, still pumping through my head. Pleased with the effort, of the corners we did attack, just wish she'd remove, those nails from my back. Written January 15th, 2002 © on Jan 14 2002 05:16 PM PST   0 • 10