I sat at a light, and watched a girl on a motorbike.
The bike was yellow; the girl was in leather, jeans. Her booted feet looked like a child’s, tiny black leather boots.
She passed me in an intersection as I waited for green, and then I tried to catch her; in my huge gray truck, it was hopeless. But I tried, ran a light to stay with her, passed my stop.
Her helmet was decorated, neck to crown, in sparkling stickers, whorls and flourish and little stick-on gems. It was a helmet a little girl would imagine on a princess, should a princess ride a motorbike; perfect and elegant, yet child-like.
I lost her at the next light, carving between cars on her fleet little yamaha; her black braid trailing behind her in the wind. I never got a look at even the sliver of face a motorcycle helmet would show, only a pair of mirrored shades, no more.
I turned my truck around, a great tire-screeching arc, and went back to my errand.
This is the song I dialed on my iPod as I drove away.
Take a walk through the city
Turn right at Potzdamer Platz
To see a girl on a motorbike
Expression carved on her face
Saw a man in a cafe downtown
Who says it fucks with your head
When you’re tryin’ to sleep at night
With a gun across your bed
Don’t wanna be down at heel
Don’t wanna be down at heel
You’ve shown disgrace on my place
You’ve gotta know how it feels
Sometimes at night when it’s cold outside
It would be easier and sweet
To hack a road through the jungle
Than clear a path down the street
Too many folk in the middle lane
Who don’t wanna swerve ‘gainst the rails
Apathy balanced with disdain
Dogs chasin’ their own tails
Don’t wanna be down at heel
Don’t wanna be down at heel
You come breakin’ down my front door
You’ve gotta know how it feels
Followed the girl on a motorbike
Saw her enter a bar
It’s dark inside with candles burn and
To liberate her scars
She Spanish-dance on the table
With butterflies that burn
It’s like an incessant fox-hunt
Too many lessons learned
–Girl on a Motorbike, Swervedriver
I got caught staring at a biker on my way to the grocery store a few weeks ago. He was stuck at a light–a really long light, which gave me ample time to slowly wander down the sidewalk and check out his gear. And he was in *full* leather: coat, gloves, chaps, boots, the works. He had a nice black and chrome cruiser, the lack of sissy bar telling me he probably didn’t have anyone to ride with him regularly. It was (*ahem*) quite a site.
Then he turned his head, caught me staring at him, and revved his engine while in place, doing so once more before he drove off a few seconds later. I hope I made his day, cuz he sure made mine. ^_^
Merrick, you pretty much have to have made his day.
Said Red Molly to James that’s a fine motorbike
A girl could feel special on any such like
Said James to Red Molly, well my hat’s off to you
It’s a Vincent Black Lightning, 1952
thanks for the tune……i like it except it makes me wanta go for a ride in the cool night air right now. and that’s impossible. eh.