I won my very first bike street race battle yesterday, it was like a scene out of the Fast and the Furious.; only minus all the Hispanic girls with vinegary tits that are conveniently scattered throughout the movie JUST so you don’t realise it’s actually the film ‘Point Break’ with suped up cars instead of surfboards. Patrick Swayze, legend.
Situated on the tarmac I sat on my newly restored bike, poised like a gazelle in the May sunshine waiting for the bank holiday sale to begin at Ikea. Hey, gazelles like beanbags and floating candles too you know?
In my peripheral vision I noticed that my opponent had his hand ready on the throttle control of his vehicle; this is a man with over 60 years of motoring experience I might add. His headgear clearly didn’t adhere to DVLA motoring standards but that wasn’t going to stop him. A veritable rebel with a cloth cap?
We decided that we’d go on 3, not 1 2 3 and go, 1 2 and GO. Mano a Mano. Were we Riggs and Murtagh from Lethal Weapon? Possibly? He’s too old for this shit.
This was it, grandson versus grandfather, Aprilia RS125 versus fliddy disability mobocart. The motherfucker was on!
1, 2, GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…………………………………………..
Being a sport, I decided to give him a headstart, after all, I knew I could catch him if I rode like Barry Sheen. 5 feet, 10 feet, 15 feet, he started disappearing down the road ahead of me like it was pension day. I revved the engine, slipped the clutch and screamed down the tarmac; and I passed him, gave a couple of toots on my horn.
Chequered flag Krishnan.