A very Harley Christmas

The Big Guy himself emails from Down Under (I think - it's hard to keep up with his location without a GPS tracking device.  No doubt your Mandarin is working on that ...) with this bit of Yuletide awesomtude.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the pad,
There was nada happenin’, now that’s pretty bad;
The woodstove was hung up in that stocking routing,
In hopes that the Fat Boy would soon make the scene.

With our stomachs packed with tacos and beer,
My girl and I crashed on the couch for some cheer;
When out in the yard there arose such a racket,
I ran for the door and pulled on my jacket.

I saw a large bro’ on a ’56 Pan 
Wearin’ black leathers, a cap, and boots (cool biker, man);
He hauled up the bars on that bikeful of sacks,
And that Pan hit the roof like it was running on tracks.

I couldn’t help gawking, the old guy had class,
But I had to go in – I was freezing my ass;
Down through the stovepipe he fell with a crash,
And out of the stove he came dragging his stash.

With a smile and some glee he passed out the loot,
A new jacket for her and some parts for my scoot;
He patted her fanny and shook my right hand,
Spun on his heel and up the stovepipe he ran.

From up on the roof came a great deal of thunder,
As that massive V-twin ripped the silence asunder;
With beard in the wind, he roared off in the night,
Shouting, “Have a cool Yule, and to all a good ride!”

More Santas on bikes here.  Have a cool Yule, y'all. (and travel safe, Jay!)