Firing Up In The Classic Manner.
I’m enamoured by most motorcycles I must profess,
There’s a plethora of eastern promises I’ve come to posses,
But I have lived long with one overriding regret;
That’s that I’ve never owned a classic Velocette.
But now, thanks to a late great Uncles largesse
I can turn my wife’s ‘no way’ into a reluctant ‘yes,’
Soon as I heard the word I sat down with smile set
And my fingers fairly danced as I hit the Internet.
Not for me a malleable mildly tuned inoffensive MSS,
No, I yearned for the fabled Thruxton, nothing less,
But I was seduced by a cheap tarted up Viper, and less debt,
Still, she retained the svelte lines and promise of the true coquette.
In my garage she’s sat, submitting to my caress,
A twist of the throttle, her kick start I gently press,
A backfire, a belch of flame, a long ululating epithet,
A kick start to the calf, a bruise like a lingering sunset.
… My praise for the Velocette’s designers I cannot express-
Their crankily geared starter painfully slowed my progress,
If my coarse criticisms cause those old buffers some upset
When it comes to that maddening clutch, how crazy can you get?
The old dear’s propped up, oil dripping, making its own mess,
Her starting procedure and clutch adjustment- anyone’s guess,
My once bewitchin’ now forlorn Viper leaves me in a cold sweat
But my long-standing limp keeps making her impossible to forget.