With Apologies to The Eagles

On a long, empty highway, the old Number Two,
Cold wind slicing into leather, hot Pennzoil burning
The engine roars; on the distant horizon, a shimmering light.
My head grows heavy; my eyes dim.
My bones ache and ache and ache
From the vibration.
I gotta stop for the night. Phew, pay for just one night.

We rattle and roll into the parking lot,
The engine stalls, my joy dissipates
And this world comes flooding in.
Vincent Bates, in the doorway,
There he stands, lean and tall.

Welcome to the Trailblazing Motel
Such a lovely, lovely place
Bikers always welcome, any time, any year
Pay your dollar, buy a lover
At the Trailblazing Motel, any time of the year.

That’s a mighty fine bike you have there, young fella
Just like mine, a ’73 650.
I traded her for a Hog, a slab of pig iron, rusting over there.
And I couldn’t pay the bill. I hit this wall and couldn't move on.
Now all I’ve got is this garage—of parts, the Trailblazing Motel
And a snooker table that won’t let me win
Will never let me win.

Cordelia’s her name I reply,
Deafened from the headers, straight piped and blue
For the daughter I never had. The daughter I wish I had.
I shut her petcocks off, thumbed the master and saved the electrics
Ready for another day’s hard ride; it’s been a hard day’s ride
On my vintage motorcycle. Cordelia, sweet Cordelia
She's daughter I never had. A daughter I wish I had.

In the shadow, black as night, Mr. Bates the hotel man
Proffers me a proposition, which he scarcely mumbles.
First, let me show you to your room, he plies.
The Biker’s Special, a suite built for three
A room for you and yours to be.
Then one for the little lady decked out in chrome,
Sweetly decked out in chrome.
This was an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Sweet Cordelia! Safe and sound, in a room of her own,
Locked away from prying eyes, my vintage motorcycle
And me in the deep purchase of love, entwined.
That proposition Bates refused to tell in the dark evening light.
Let’s not talk business, he pled, offering instead
A mission bell with the prospect of heaven in hell.

There are pickled eggs, beans and hand-made hamburdogs in the fridge.
I ran out of patties. The buns I had fit Brats.
And I had to make do. Do.
I had to roll do.
Part of the Biker’s Night-time Special, I roll for thee.
And you’ll toll for them. Oh man, you’ll toll for them.
He laughed, walked out the door and I
Settled down to a midnight Feast for Fools.
I started to tell. I had to tell. Man, I've just got to tell.

Welcome to the Trailblazing Motel
Such a lovely, lovely place
Bikers always welcome, any time, any year
At the Trailblazing Motel, any time through the year.

Early bright shone the morning sun, making my body groan
Crotch sprocket sore at 65 miles per hour
Straight up, no windshield, buffeting the wind takes its toll
You have to pay your toll—you gonna pay a toll.
Yesterday’s gain is this day’s pain.
The knife-edged shower cuts through my soul.
I moan and struggle to put my Levi’s on
And pull my red bandana low. And gash my red bandana low.

There Cordelia waits for me, shiny bright, Pennzoil glistening on the floor
Sheltered from the star-blackened night, covered from the frost-rimed light.
Some gas, a little more oil, loose nuts tightened to the notch
Chain checked, tire pressure—sure—some choke, a short kick, the engine roar
Down one, up two, three, four then five. And I’m outta here; I fondly dream.

Goodbye this most capital city
Such a lovely, lovely place
Plenty of room for bikers, any time, any year
Except when you come, you have to pay your toll.
You have to pay your bill.

I roll Cordelia into the sun, savouring the Bikers’ Morning Special
Included in the price at the Trailblazing Motel
Such a lovely, lovely place
Plenty of room for bikers, any time at this time of year.

Mr Bates reaches out beckoning, his smile as broad as he stands slim.
Thought about my proposition?
I tuck into my food piled high as Mt Sigh-nay-eye.
No, you didn’t say. You didn’t e-lab-or-ate, the fine print magnify.
I enjoyed the room though and will surely come again, I sigh,
Will surely come again. The shower’s a bit of a killer, though.

Here’s the deal, he whispers sweetly in my ear
His long, lean back bends over the chrome-topped counter,
The gleaming chrome-topped counter.
The room’s for free, the meal’s on me; and the lady?
Well, just let me take a little ride on your Cordelia
That cute little ’73, like the one I had to sell
But couldn’t pay the toll, just couldn’t face the bill.
Now all I’ve got is this garage—of parts, the Trailblazing Motel
And a snooker table that won’t let me win
Will never let me win.

My heart was broken when first I heard this tale of woe
Of Vincent Bates from the shadow black as night.
Sure I was a little leery, and what is love?
No-thing is free at the Trailblazing Motel.
Lightning struck as we shook hands, the kick was short, the fool engine roared.
That’s a Yammy for you, I now fondly rue
She’ll fire every time you foot the starter. Every time you kick the starter.

Down one, up two, three, four then five
And Vincent with a throttle twist
Weaves off toward the sun in the southbound lane.
Smoking Pennzoil hangs in the air—fills my breast with fear—
And I have miles to ride before I sleep. Miles to ride. . .
I cry,
Too late. Too late. Too late.
For sweet Cordelia, the daughter I'll never know,
I weep and weep and weep.

Now I’m the owner of this garage—of parts, the Trailblazing Motel
And a snooker table that won’t let me win, will never let me win.
This place that’s programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave. You can never leave.
Unless, of course, you’re tripping on a Nineteen Seventy-Three

Six Fifty