CHARGE OF THE CYCLE BRIGADE
by
James Hurst (mostly...)




There were times in Idaho and Montana as I rode the Lewis & Clark route during the Summer of 2006 when I felt a certain kinship to the featured characters of Tennyson's 'Charge of the Light Brigade' – and there were only thirteen of us. Please recognize that no one has ever accused me of being anything approaching a poet, but that didn't stop me.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All on the road of Death
Rode the Thirteen.
"Forward, the Cycle Brigade!
Charge for the camp!," he said,
Onto the road of Death
Rode the Thirteen.

"Forward the Cycle Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the rider knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die,
Onto the road of Death
Rode the Thirteen.

Semis to right of them,
Motor homes to left of them,
Chip Haulers in back of them
Honked and thundered.
Stormed at with horn and bell
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell.
Rode the Thirteen.

Flashed all their wheels bared,
Flashed as turned in air,
Riding the shoulders there,
Charging a hill, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the exhaust smoke,
Right thru the line they broke;
Trucker and RVer
Reeled from the cycle stroke,
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, all,
All the Thirteen.

Semis to right of them,
Motor homes to left of them,
Chip Haulers in back of them
Honked and thundered.
Stormed at with horn and bell
While no Bike or Hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thru the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of the Thirteen.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Cycle Brigade
Noble Thirteen.

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Last updated Oct 30 2006