‘Each year they devise a new route for a fresh cohort of wide-eyed motorcyclists’ Raindrops on hairpins and cold sandy beaches, Bright chrome air cleaners and damp tyre screeches, Hiding your smartphone so it never rings, These are a few of my favourite things.
Cream-coloured Triumphs and heated gripped Beemers, Town celebrations all laid out with streamers, Lighting the way to avoid the tent strings, These are a few of my favourite things.
Guys on white Harleys with red and white sashes, Ornate exhaust pipes that finish with slashes, Hardtailed choppers that go without springs, These are a few of my favourite things.
On the dark nights, while the frost clings, When I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favourite things, And then I don’t feel so bad.
If you’re…