We booked in here at Rydges, coz they had better rates
Than the caravan park across the way, where they charged
much like a bull
We booked the gig in late July, so we knew they were not
full
I rode the Wing, Val stayed at home, and Ree she drove the car
The weather humid and oppressive, even though it wasn't far
Eight of us we made the trip, some young, some old, some
knarly
A bunch of Wings, "the touring King", but no one
chanced a Harley
A lone Ducati, parked on a verge, a sight we'd often seen
Italian engineering isn't always exactly what it seems
The pillion and the rider, lamenting their bad luck
You shoulda bought a Honda, and you wouldn't need a truck
Sidecars, Spiders, trikes and trailers, we even saw a Vespa
Twelve Malvern Stars they pedaled by, clad in yellow
polyester
The roads around the snowies are just paradise in summer
Got stopped quick on a hairpin bend, where someone parked a
Hummer
We sat around and had drank some beers, told stories and told lies
Took photographs of early morn, as the sun crept up the sky
We rode the hills, wide roads, no snow, long corners and
great vision
Pretending that we all could ride like the blokes on television
But still too cold for water sports, so we settled for the rest
Today's a day for apathy, as we watch the final Test
Four nil, five nil, who could tell, but we'll know before
too long
I can talk so I write poetry; if I could sing I'd write a
song ...
Barb Reid Charge: Ducati, Harley, Vespa
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