Topic: Riverside cafe
This is a poem about a place I used to frequent around 1969 /70 a bikers café near Preston well known for road racing at the time. The idea was to select a song on the jukebox set of ride a predetermined course of about 4 miles and get back before the record finished playing (not a good idea ) as the records then were under three mins as a rule.
©20/08/2014 all rights reserved
Riverside Café,Saturday evening
Every one gathers, a welcoming sight.
One hundred bikers all gathered together,
The engines cry out as they ride through the night.
You challenge you rival to see who’s the faster,
Racing for beer is what its about.
You drop a coin, in the slot of the jukebox,
Select your record, then you rush out.
Ride hell for leather while it is playing,
Finish the course, before the song.
Show to the masses, you are the master,
Prove to your comrades that you belong.
Six-fifty Norton, the smell of black leather,
The feel of your woman as she holds on tight.
Your knee scrapes the tarmac as you take the corner,
You open the throttle, the front wheel goes light.
Out of the darkness, headlights approaching,
Break and then swerve to avoid the head on.
One hundred bikers will follow the coffin,
You’ve proved to your comrades, that you belong.