Ode to the R1200R

She rests in my garage, in her so humble sleep,
A magnet so strong, a desire so deep,
Not knowing how life has changed since her arrival,
And a push of a button and that sound is so primal.

No wind screen, no fairing, no speakers, or stuff,
Just a motorcycle, a boxer, a Garmin, no fluff,
Her engine protrudes from left to right,
When she leaves the garage, her shine is so bright.

Those corners and curves that used to be scary,
Have straightened and now there is no need for a Hail Mary,
One shift from the hip, she leans well to her side,
Those chicken strips appear and can be displayed with pride.

That boxer, that growl, that sound from heaven,
To shut her off would certainly lead to depression,
So, a twist on the throttle, the wide-open road,
The RPMs beg for more, the zone of her humble abode.

Four thousand, seven, eight and often a nine,
A sound, such excitement as the engine will whine,
The world has slowed down, the trucks and the cars,
Like everyone’s drunk as they came out of bars.

One hundred, one forty she wants to be bad,
The law, the restraint, to be legal is so sad,
So, once in a while, the dragon comes out,
The exhilaration, the joy, makes you want to shout!

Then there’s the tech, so simple and clean,
A Garmin, a Google, a Sena; all on my screen,
Directions, my playlist, the temperature and more,
A roadster, a motorcycle so true to her core.

From one to six, quick shifting’s a blast,
When you need to pass, she’s beyond fast,
So how do you stop or even disembark?
Don’t ask me since I’m not an aardvark.

A thousand a week, oh no much more,
The kilometers keep climbing, soon they will be four,
This bike is for life, a rare find indeed,
I have a feeling that she will always be my trusted steed.

Peter Sanderson

July 5th, 2018