Twas the night before Christmas - Hog style

Reprinted from Sunset HOG Mail...

Twas the night before Christmas
Hog style
Author unknown

Twas the night be fore Christmas, and down at the shop.
The Harley's were waiting to thunder and pop.
Mike Durbin and staff, greet with a smile,
A new Harley wait's its very first mile.


Ready for sleep from a long work load.
In the distance I hear a Harley being rode.
I call it a night and settled in bed,
while visions of a new ride ran through my head.


Sudenly I hear.... a familiar noise,
It's a short red fat boy loaded with toys.
Raising the window and ready to holler,
I see a leather vested man with a studded collar.


The streets lights were full and
lit up the scene.
It was hundred and ten inch...6 speed...what a machine.
The rider was old as many I've seen,
Crusty and cranky and not so lean.


My eyes were bleary and then became clear.
This fat boy was towed by V-Twin reindeer.
Knowing the myth and the day of the week,
Was this Hogs version of Santa with rosy red cheeks.

In a moment the legend will definitely unfold,
Can he throttle to the roof..being this old?
Then he yelled and shouted and called them by name,
Now sportster, now dyna, now heritage and street bob,
On ultra, on road king, on crossbones and V-Rod.
From the front of the drive and over the wall,
Now crank it wide open.....to the rafters we go all.

So up to the peak the entire pack rode,
And across the roof the fat boy strolled.
I hushed myself...not to utter a sound,
Then down the chimney he comes....short, fat, and round.

He was dressed all in leather from head to toe,
With a sunset patch on the back you know.
He looked like a biker.. I remember so well,
Then went right to his work and did not dwell.


His sack carried chrome, and motor-clothes abound,
And then he was gone with nary a sound.
Never the less...he made it all so right.
Not many can say they saw Santa, on a Harley that night.
Yet I know the truth and it's all so cool,
He was a graduate of our group riding school. 


He looked very familiar and now I ask you,
Could it be that Santa is that fellow named Shoe?

But with thinning white hair and a beard all frumpy
I honestly think that Santa is Grumpy.

Then he cracked open the bike and rode out of sight,
and yelled have a Happy Harley Christmas and to all good night.