Ready to fly, got my bumble bee on, ready to join the fly boys, gotta a spin, spin our wheels skipping the road to Spa moto-raceway, moto boys flying, flyboys flying down the moto-way, we first land and we took on some fly cherry pie, and where regaled with a new friends good humor a friend at hello, and a sadness’s at goodbyes, a strong farewell, that’s how we fly boys roll, then it’s back on the streets we run, four motorcycles and our mascot Scimitar five friends off to Belgium, Raceway Spa, exploding down the moto-way passing lanes all the way, a very blessed and happy birthday, it’s flyboys all the way, to meet Luca at the track his fast and green poetic machine wrestling him all the way, but that’s racing as we say, on any given day, a life lesson I’d say, omg what fantastic 58th birthday, we rode some roads all tiers at days end, to our flyboys landing strip, but now we’ve become six our Honda pilot Hans, some beers some cheers to end the best of days, and then it’s off to bed I’m dead happy,

Me, I’m up at the crack, I’m restless at dawn, that’s just me I love that quite space to reflect into the day, the excitement moto explosions that thunder, flying boys are up one after other, and soon we are away, chasing each other, food on our minds tummies like our bikes rumbling, we found Two Sisters took us in, they Coffee’d and feed us, now ready set feed, we are away, at the Spa Raceway, all day.

Day two

Then we took a bumble about the countryside some of it’s up and downs, we roll left right and essing bends running into valleys of speckled light and shade, past old stone houses centuries ago were made solid against wind and rains and wars, all this while I’m think or was I at all when I thought I was in NZ and slew across the road think I was elsewhere was not such a great thing, with cars coming at me from around the bend, I looked left and right and I called it right, but that my friends could have been goodnight, that would have been as sad, as sad, as fare.

Rolling to the grid….

Bikes and bikes and bikes galore old and classic and lovingly restored all polished to a shine, all the smells that we adore, the fumes, the avgas, the rubber and the roar, the nuts the bolts that hold it all together the mechanics and the crews the riders, their wifes the kids are all involved, and family affairs for petrolheads, but not just any petrolheads the exclusive breed we lovelife on two wheels the bugs the and all the speed as we fly by past the weeds, it’s the Flyboys all the way.