For Bob.

Memorial Ride

(12/10/00)

A congregation, a leather clad procession.

Tender hearted roughnecks.

It doesn’t seem to matter what you wear -

when you’re not suited up.

Be it khakis or faded dungarees, underneath the riding

gear there’s a common connection

a solemn remembrance, and a facial expression that

seems to say it all as you state at an engine,

and let your mind drift.

As we embark on the cemetery ride

(strong in numbers)

engine hums resonate off Sunday morning city walls…

never have I heard such a sweet symphony of life.

Looking back upon the headlight snake trailing over the

Bay City hills as we wind up Twin Peaks

-         my heart soars –

He knew this, Bob, this joy – he lived for it.

And now, we ride for him.

How could a soul slip so far into the sadness well

When always he had these people – this experience.

If only we could have reminded him,

before it got too late.

God rest him.

He’ll be free now anyhow,

ain’t no speed limits or stop lights where he’s gone,

and the road never ends.

Andy McPherson (Knuckles)