The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the garage,
Not an engine was rumbling, not even a Sportster's barrage.
The helmets were hung on the handlebars with care,
In hopes that St. Nick would soon be there.

The riders were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of winding roads danced in their heads.
Mama in her bandana, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

When out on the street there arose such a roar,
I sprang from my bed to see what was in store.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the chrome of the newly washed bikes
Gave a luster of mid-day to their polished pinstripes.
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a shiny red chopper and eight feisty reindeer.

With a little old rider so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his cruisers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:

"Now, Indian! Now, Harley! Now, Triumph and Norton!
On, Honda! On, Ducati! On, Yamaha and Bultaco!
To the twisties we go! To the long open road!
Now rev away! Rev away! Rev away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the cruisers they flew,
With the sleigh full of parts, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a rumble, I heard on the roof
The throaty exhaust of each tiny pooof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of parts he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a dealer just opening his pack.

His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a greasy broad face and a big round belly,
With the familar musk of gasoline, kinda smelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his wrist,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to miss.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the saddlebags; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his chopper, to his team gave a yell,
And away they all flew like a bat out of hell,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rode out of sight—
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good ride!"