The Banshee Remembrances of a Glamis Halloween Nuge (with apologies to E. A. Poe) I tell this tale in spirit sober: yes, it was in late October, And each bike with revving motor lined up on the desert floor. Gazing up Comp Hill, believing I could get this win, not cheating, With my bike, alone defeating all the quads that won before - Beating, trouncing, roosting, bouncing all the quads that went before, Hill King crowned for evermore. This I sat engaged in dreaming, with my thumb depressed and streaming Fuel to engine in a manner that created awesome roar. Then lined up a Banshee, blaring, next to me - its rider staring At my bike with such disdain I wished I had a bigger bore. This I wished with sudden panic idling on the sandy floor, This I wished and nothing more. Now at once I saw the gleaming black and silver Banshee teeming, With more pow'r and tricked out features than I'd ever seen before. Something further I detected, on the rider least expected, As I throttled and injected gas into my motor's core. Flowing hair, I saw descending 'neath the helmet that it bore; White against the black she wore. Fascinated by this feature, donned by such a puzzling creature; Now I tried to see her face beyond the mask of gear she wore. Curious, I started peering, in the dim light, watching, leering, Fearing that she'd catch me spying, so to get an edge at war. Seemingly, she noticed nothing as her face I did explore - Ghostly as the hair she wore. Helmets bending, bikes contending, soon the race's start portending, Quick, a closer look I chose to steal upon my foe once more. What I saw was quite disturbing, as she beckoned me unnerving, Hand extending, finger curving in a gesture known of yore. Then I noticed on her helmet, written, was the name Lenore - A name to haunt me evermore. Presently, my mind grew muddled, and my thoughts became befuddled, Wond'ring what the rider meant in throwing hand and finger fore; Then a voice, high pitched and shrieking, broke the motor's drone beseeching; Loud and penetrating it did pierce above the engines roar: "I am she of old - you know me. With my victory secure, I'll have thee for evermore." So it was in this confusion, that I made a clear conclusion: She had come to summon me beyond this worldly scene for sure. Now my head was in a dither - she had beckoned me 'come hither'; Just as that gaunt spirit who takes souls 'beyond' in Irish lore. I could see but one solution to the threat the Banshee bore - Win this race and live some more! The race began - not hesitating I commenced accelerating Like a bat departing from Hell's fiery and sulfurous core. Faster now I felt the thumping of my heart and motor pumping Pure adrenaline and fuel to save my soul from Hades' shore. "Save me now," my cry instinctive, "Save me from Damnation's door, And the Banshee's lonely roar." Front-end lifting, gears up shifting straight I wheeled the lead, now sifting Through the jumps, the whoops and daunting inclined face the mountain wore. But I heard the Banshee wailing, closer now it was assailing; I could sense a doom prevailing, by the sounds it did outpour; Screaming, moaning, wailing, groaning were the eerie sounds it bore... Spirit fiend of Irish lore. As the hill top was encroaching, I could sense my death approaching With the Banshee inching by me, moving faster than before. Sparked by threat to my existence by that demon's sheer persistence, Suddenly I felt a pulse of energy like none before. 'Twas as if my bike felt likewise, and its horses did outpour - Gaining back the lead once more. Offensively I fought the battle, now I hit the crest full throttle, Launching through the air at least two dozen yards and maybe more. Then I realized when I landed, sound defeat is what I'd handed To the Banshee, whose shrill sounds were silenced and prevailed no more. Gone the screaming and the wailing, calm had washed the desert o'er; My soul rested now once more. Looking at the dunes around me, I now sought to find that Banshee; Just to prove and reconfirm events occurring heretofore. In the distance on a hilltop, what I saw now made my heart stop; As my foe, while gazing at me, vanished from the sandy floor. Fading from my field of vision, bike and spirit were no more. Gone, I hoped, for evermore. Races, yes they've come and gone since; and I've thought this all was nonsense - That a ghost or spirit could engage a bike and make it soar. But, each year I look around me, on the line for that dark Banshee, Thinking this time she could trap me, trap me in a race once more; If she wins, my life is taken - taken from this desert shore By a Banshee named Lenore
