IF - with apologies to Rudyard Kipling

[Trapper]

This used to be the UK's favourite poem - until I got hold of it.

Apologies to Kipling fans and lady riders.


IF

If you can keep your grip when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on their tyres,
If you can trust your cornering when others out-brake you
But make allowance for these flyers,
If you can get your knee down, and wheelie just for fun
Or, ride all day whatever the weather,
Or, if you're boiling hot, not blame the sun
And yet don't look too cool, nor wear dodgy leathers:

If you can clean it - and not make cleaning your master,
If you can look at those extras - and not make them your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Honda
And treat those two importers just the same;
If you can bear to hear the speed limit you've broken
Twisted by the police to make a speed-trap for fools,
Or watch the bike you gave your life to break down
And stop at the roadside to fix it with limited tools:

If you can make one heap of your penalty points
And risk them on the flash of a speed cam,
And lose your license for a few months
And never breath a word about your ban,
If you can force your clutch and tyres
To serve your turn long after they're gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing left in them
Except your Will which says "to live: Hold on!"

If you can talk with dealers and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Rossi, and not lose the common touch,
If neither cars nor vans nor wagons can hurt you;
If all men ride with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving hour
With eighty miles' of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a biker, my son!



The End