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The Right Approach: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Harley-style)

As we are in the middle of the holiday season with Christmas fast approaching, I thought it an appropriate time for a break from the typical technical topics and perhaps give everyone a chuckle. I wrote this a number of years back before Nancy and I sold our Harleys, but we never really left the lifestyle. Once a biker, always a biker.

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the town,
All the bikes had been put up,
Before snow hit the ground.

I had just drifted off,
To a beer-induced snooze,
Dreams of leather, and chrome,
Harley rallies, and booze.

I was then jolted awake,
By a thunderous roar,
From far deep in the night,
Coming fast to our door.

As the thunder approached,
The ground started to rumble,
Throwing on my black boots,
From my chair, I did stumble.

I threw open the door,
And ran into the night,
Then my eyes grew wide open
At what came into my sight.

A fierce fire-breathing team,
Of eight Harleys appeared,
With a black and orange sleigh,
Pulling up at the rear.

Snorting smoke from hot pipes,
Spitting sparks all around,
Fueled by massive V-Twins,
Built right here in Mil-town.

The team came to a stop,
At my house, where I stood,
And I thought I saw Santa,
Underneath a black hood.

As he walked up my drive,
Chugging 180 proof,
This was not quite the Santa,
From my dreams as a youth.

With long hair and tattoos,
And a beard black as night,
He looked more like a pirate,
In search of a fight.

His black eyes were on fire,
Burning holes in the night,
Muscles chiseled from steel,
Quite an imposing sight.

“You can call me Dark Santa,”
He said with a grin,
As he wiped red hot whiskey,
From off of his chin.

He said, “I too have a list,
And I do check it twice,
But unlike the Good Santa,
Mine is naughty, not nice!”

“At the top of my list,
Your name’s first; you’re the king.”
Then he placed on my finger,
A new, bright chrome skull ring.

He then said, “I must go,
I have many to see.”
Turning to his steel horses,
He let loose with this plea:

“On Sportster, on Road King,
On Softail Deluxe,”
All eight throttles rolled on,
From an invisible touch.

As the sleigh rolled away,
I yelled, “No, please don’t go,
I have so many questions,
Things I need to know!”

As I stood in the yard,
In my boxers and boots,
Must have been quite a sight,
Gave my neighbors a hoot.

As he rumbled away, he said,
“Let this be your guide,
Merry Christmas to all,
Ride to live, live to ride!”…

I awoke to my wife,
Who said “Steve, it’s all right,
Must have been a bad dream,
Your shouts gave me a fright!”

I thought, shuffling to bed,
It was all just a dream…

As the Christmas lights twinkled,
Off my bright chrome skull ring.

This column originally appeared in the December 2024 issue of PCB007 Magazine.