Mac-Pac poetry

Wet butt series

EZ Pass

Ode to E-Z Pass
by Doug Raymond

A motorcyclist's ultimate bane
Is the greasy strip of the tollbooth lane;
In snowy slush or freezing rain,
To fish out coins is a royal pain.

Frustration, delay, oh woe! Alas!
But now I got my EZ-Pass!
It may be rude or a little crass,
At tollbooths now I hit the gas!

But wait, is something now amiss?
My recent trips lack joy and bliss;
I ride for hours upon the slab,
No people there, the scenery's drab;
Now and then I'd like so much,
A human hand to merely touch.

Of personal contact I am fond,
Like the outstretched palm of a platinum blond,
There used to be a human bond:
Now the camera winks, and I transpond.

On the Departure of the Motoreast Motorcycle Circumnavigation of the Black Sea, May 1, 2003 by Doug Raymond Sing, Muse, of the joy and camaraderie Of the men in this modern Odyssey, Who have pledged with total insanity To ride around the Euxine Sea! They search for knowledge in a faraway place, In Scythia, Colchis, and the coast of Thrace; And as the motorcycles steadily race, What adventures they shall face! As Jason launched the Argo ship, So Kaz and Paolo planned this trip. Vedat will come with a smile on his lip, And Ahmet with his wounded hip! Two British brothers, riders sublime, Have joined our crew, and thus this rhyme; When Ian and Adrian in the saddle climb, They ride together for the very first time! Four Americans you should know, Are Henry, Court, and Doug and Joe. We sail without the ship Argo, We love to ride, we hate to row! We ride for adventure, we explore in peace, We shall not steal the golden fleece! With Georgian women we may dally one day, But if we meet Medea, we shall run away! As Jason prayed to the wind and sea, And many a pagan deity, So we our vulnerability confess, And pray the Lord this voyage to bless. May every rider find safe success, On Honda, Aprilia, or GS! Our minds are keen, our hearts are full, As we depart from Istanbul. What grateful joy will be for us, When next we cross the Bosphorus! May 1, 2003

On the Completion of the Circumnavigation of the Black Sea by Motorcycle by Doug Raymond We Black Sea riders of one accord Do now most gratefully thank the Lord. Eleven days are by the board, Five thousand kilometers have we scored; Though scrapes and bruises may be observed, Our life and limb has been preserved. What we shall remember most Is the serpentine road on the Turkish coast; A biker who's done it may rightfully boast, And to each other we raise a toast! We saw the ship that carried Ataturk's host, And in Ordu we felt Xenophon's ghost. Though gravel bends did take a toll, The twisty curves uplift the soul! From Sinop to Asmara`s abodes, This was the mother of all roads! And now it seems but a romantic dream, Since first we crossed the Danube's stream. On the way to Moldova Kaz had a flat, Paolo found some mechanics for that; While we in a relaxing restaurant sat, We drank beer and ate schnitzel 'til we felt fat! The Romanian waitress had skin like a dove, And Dancing Dougie fell in love. But in Cahul the poet was truly blessed, With a Moldovan lady so firm of breast; She danced and moved like a woman possessed, Two hearts were pounding on his chest! Hour after hour my motorcycle schleps, Over the endless Ukrainian Steppes. To Odessa, a city of fading grace, But there's still a nightlife in this place. The sight of Potemkin's Stair enthralls, Though Odessa's dilapidation appalls, They are philosophical whatever befalls, And they prize their Turkish cannonballs! In Kerch the police stopped us for their sport, They planned to take us to Ukrainian court. We'd be in a pretty pickle indeed, If a Russian biker did not intercede! Another Russian, who treated us like kin, Was Sasha, whose Honda was faster than sin. But there was no windscreen, alas! therein, So he hooked a bunjee to his chin. In Russia we hated the dead slow clerk, How they love their paperwork! We needed temp titles, we are told, So she typed away while we grew old! The Russian police are even worse, Police corruption is a national curse. At each checkpoint you must disburse, They greedily empty the traveller's purse! Abkhazia did their border freeze, So we a hydrofoil decided to seize. Ten bikes within we managed to squeeze, Then magically we flew over the seas. On Poti's shores we landed late, The yachtsman took us to our gate; A Georgian feast was put on our plate, Man, khachapuri sure is great! Eternal gratitude we have for Kaz, He led us through the land of Laz. He set the pace, whether fast or slow, How he found the way, we'll never know! He read detailed maps with very fine lines, And figured out Cyrillic signs. Paolo's a student of life, reads many books, He's very nice, in spite of his looks! Our greatest recourse in an emergency Was Paolo's force of personality! And we took turns behaving like a child, Just to drive our Paolo wild! I'm proud to be a member of this team, Was this trip real, or just a dream? And life for me shall be quite dull, 'Til next we meet in Istanbul! May 11, 2003

On the Housewarming of Eric and Phyllis Heilveil

by Doug Raymond

Upon this glorious day in June, Friends come together, and none too soon, We celebrate this afternoon Our Eric and Phyllis in their honeymoon! It is a housewarming as well, In love and peace may here they dwell! The amount of work is hard to tell, They gutted it down to the shell! With taste and skill they built the rest, Now one is proud to be their guest! Here in tranquil Jenkintown, Matilda lives just two lots down; Where neighbors greet without a frown, And Eric himself is the only clown! To market products at Brooks is a breeze, For Eric and his expertise; With patience Phyllis teaches kids; Both keep the faith as the rabbi bids. This summer in Israel they did decide, A Bar-Mitzvah to attend with pride. Now the Negev desert is hot and wide, There a rental bike our Eric would ride; But think upon thy fair-skinned bride, Don't bring her home all brown and fried!

As an independent, Phyllis was apt, But to married life she'll soon adapt. The eleventh commandment our Eric will like: It's honor thy wife before thy bike! Her riding skills to reinforce, Phyl took and passed the MSF course; Now we her friends who admire and like her Congratulate the lady biker! As parents we think you'd both be great, Please find some time to procreate! For grandma what a nice surprise; For us- some little biker guys! For any problems you report, The Mac Pac gives you full support! We do not shrink from any toil, We'll drink your beer or change your oil! Our bond with you is growing strong, To our extended family you belong! Your love and marriage deeply touch us, Long live the Ducdude, and the Duchess! June 14, 2003

Ballad of the MacPac Shoot by Doug Raymond [On the occasion of a ride, eat and shoot event of the MacPac BMW motorcycle club.] By Doug Raymond, October 2004 Tom Cutter had the brainstorm to recruit The members of MacPac to ride, eat and shoot; To Carlos and Ducdude the thought did clearly suit, And other biking gunners came along to boot. The "Back-to-50s" diner was quite a hoot, Though pretty slow service, it was worth the commute. So we rode on a morn that was colder than Hades, Nine men-at-arms, and two armed ladies! Then we rode as a group into Wicens' Farms, The men with bravado, the women with their charms; The scurrying geese set up cackling alarms As we spread our ammo and gleaming firearms! When it comes to guns, Tom ain't no dunce, He actually behaved himself for once! While eating he's outlandish, crazy in the head, But it's serious business when he's slinging lead! Tom watched for any gun-happy fools, And made the newbies follow the rules. The wind did make the targets flutter, Our teeth to chatter, our voices stutter, But Tom kept firing smooth as butter, 'Twas a glorious day for Mr. Cutter! Mr. Laurie is Cutter's neighbor-man, Now better known as sharpshooter Dan! Obviously shooting is something he likes, He's good with guns, not only bikes! The lovely Sorensens were beyond my eye, I could only hear their bullets fly! When practicing this martial duty They possess both brains and beauty: Who woulda thought these two could shoot, 'Cause she's so smart and he's so cute! Rick likes anything that explodes, Like a .44 cal which muzzle-loads; Poor Rick mis-fired when he shot his wad, The ball lodged in the barrel like a clod! Another lady you shouldn't rile, Was the 38-packing Arla Hile; She fired away in splendid style, And shared with Elia all the while. And you could see by his widening smile, He'll get a gun, at least on trial! Eric looked the bandido even more When he strapped on his Italian forty-four. He held his hand as steady as a rock When firing the semi-automatic Glock! He had a Ruger pistol and a little handgun, And a wooden carbine from World War I. I won't flirt with Phyllis 'cause I'd be a fool To engage with this dude in a duel! To Carlos it's an old hobby re-begun, So shooting for him is special fun; He imparts to David the lore of a gun, As well befits a father to son! Loving pride over Dad's face runs, When he sees young David taking to guns! With firing, loading, walking in the mud, Only Carlos drew some blood- Don't worry, with his pistol he made no slip, But stapled the target to his fingertip! And Charlie and Doug gave the target a miss, Though they fired all day with infinite bliss! The paper stayed perfect near the bull's eye, But how the dirt and splinters did fly! They kept aiming for the center by every means, And blew the frame to smithereens! Charlie's marksmanship you'd normally admire, But today he went for rapid fire! Thus we overcame primordial fears, Of martial combat in bygone years; Of the smell of powder, the ringing of ears, The heft of guns and bandoliers: To defend ourselves and our beloved dears, Is the right and duty of us and our peers!

My Defense in the Bowling Green Traffic Court Doug Raymond April 7, 2004 'Twas a night in March, chilly and serene, As I rode out of Bowling Green; An hour before dawn, the sleepy scene Was not disturbed by my touring machine. Just out of town the coast was clear, Carefully I scanned for deer; Not a car to see nor truck to hear, Straight and deserted did the road appear. And now, your honor, to tell the truth, I felt again the thrill of youth; It could be that I oversped: Eighty-nine, the officer said. I thought it was less, and I was shocked, I respectfully question what the deputy clocked. It's not just speeding, he went on to say, We call it 'reckless' down this way. Well, I'm over the limit now and then, By sometimes five and maybe ten. I made a mistake and was foolish again, But a reckless man I've never been! The honest truth I would never fudge, My driving record's without a smudge, A very strict fine I don't begrudge, But Lord save me from a wrathful judge! I submit to what the law decreed: For your honor's mercy now I plead. I shall mend my driving habits indeed, And in Bowling Green I'll never speed!