The Race goes to the Person in Last
Bluebird day and I decide to take a ride up to see an old friend who owns this amazing pet store. Not that I’m looking for any pet other than my Black Lab “Buster”. Damn fine dog. He gets his can of food himself when he wants it. Just look down and he has it or tell him to go get it. Either way as if by magic he appears at your side with a can of dog food in his mouth. Damn fine dog!!
I’m wandering.
So I head out to the animal farm. I’m riding a 1985 Honda 1100 Sabre in top shape. A comfortable and powerful motorcycle indeed. I could never get over how narrow it was. I also liked her cause she was tall. You could soften the suspension by air and have a pretty cushy ride or put a couple pounds in, dial up the anti-dive front suspension and get yourself twisty on those snakey roads. I had a Stiletto smoked fairing, a small set of case savers, a small backrest and platform. My usual uniform of jeans, jean jacket, fingerless leather gloves, work boots and XXXL helmet with full smoke face shield just enhanced my stunning good looks. HEY….at least the helmet and shield made me less prone to scare women and children into looking for policemen or dark places to hide and whimper in.
So today I have to travel some back roads and then it’s a squirt up a 4 lane to my friends. I decide to stick a little PSI into the air ride system. Now, I grew up on these roads. I have ridden them on motor scooters, woods bikes, Classic British scoots and wallowing vacation bikes to “I’m already back... but, you ain’t left yet!” go fast alien technology hyper bikes. This Sabre is not in the latter category but it’s in sight of them UFO’s.
So I head out and start whupping on the snakey roads. The Sabre is stiff and rolls into the corners as if on rails. On one corner there is some wash and I get to chirp and elevate out of it. We are having fun? Yup! This is when I remember a flight helmet I got for Christmas as a child. It had a drop visor and an oxygen mask that had a piece of wax paper in the oxygen mask. This made it so when you talked you sounded like you were on early radio. Kind of like that cheap kazoo everyone made out of a comb and wax paper. I start making flight chatter in the full face helmet. I even add the “static” of a mic cutting out. What? Don’t tell me you have never done this! If your saying nope never did it and you don’t have anything crossed (fingers. toes, legs or eyes) you better get a time machine, go find yourself as a kid and smack yourself in the head for growing up too fast ‘n too much!
So I dump out onto the 4 lane cruising road and I am happy to see I got it to myself. I pull out and ring her up into the triple digits, then let her drop and settle in at 75. Just letting her purr and enjoying the sights and the mechanical song of the bike. I’d gone about 5 miles and was coming up on a crossroad that has a signal light. I see the light is green and I speed up a little but the damn thing sees me and changes up into yellow for a infinitesimal amount of time and then red bursts into play. I bring her down and as I do I notice no one is waiting to cross out of the other street.
Having a road to yourself and a nicely tuned comfortable machine is as close to nirvana as one gets so when I hear this obnoxious blapping sound increasing on my left I feel a little mad that my Zenatude has been hijacked. I had forgot about checking my mirrors and while grateful the vehicle now approaching has no flashing lights or siren I am also not completely ready for what approaches.
He looks to be about early twenties sporting a vain attempt at a gotee and has a medium to small build. He has on leathers that proclaim him to be a real street racer. Woo! Patches and weird color combinations that don’t ring a bell as to what team they represent cover his attire. He has red converse hi-top sneakers on his feet and while they are one of my favorite foot coverings the seem very out of place on this speed racer. Then I see the sicle and it’s a Frankensteiner. It’s got so many stickers on it it’s hard to see the color of the bike. All kinds of stickers adorn the old scoot, from Ari to Pennzoil all the way to The Little Mermaid and Chiquita Banana. He has covered the flyscreen and the whole fairing. Some of them seem to be peeling off in an attempt to remove themselves from the hideous mess. His seat is regurgitating dried up green hued foam from a 10 inch slice and his right side front blinker is looking at the ground next to his front tire. I can only guess he has no blinker fluid left.(sic) His front brake lever is suspiciously short and the angle looks like it’s from a Lovecraft safe house. The front fender is gone but something that looks like a home made fork brace perches over the almost slick smooth front tire.
Young Sky Pilot is saying how “we had to really scratch” to catch me and how fast was I going? We? Then I hear a muffled whump-whump coming from my right side. Damn I was caught with my pants down! So after noticing his instruments were MIA I look to see who has my 3 oclock. Damn! It’s a girl! By the looks of her she’s a long leggy blonde. Hard to see whats under the black tinted full face shield but that is some purty yeller hair falling out of it. She is on a Honda Shadow. Looks like a 750! It’s black and silver and fits her pretty good and it’s not in too bad condition.
Sky Pilots mouth is still running and his bike is doing all it can to keep up. I think the bike is a Katana but don’t quote me. All identifiable labels ans emblems are missing or hidden by stickers. He certainly has either taken or rusted the baffles out of that exhaust and she’s popping enough to put a smile on Orville Reddenbacher’s ugly mug. He’s got pods on her but they look about 10 years old and dry to the point of crumbling into dust. Now I hear that he’s wanting to race and he begins yanking on the throttle cable. He’s looking at the light and I can see by the one across the intersection we are about to get the green. So I grab a handful and get the V65’s pony’s awake. I take a sneak look at SuperGirl and I can tell she is smiling. Back to the light that turns green and ace holeshots out. Not real gracefully mind you. First there is this big ole POP and it looks like he is nosediving... then a couple of chugs where he is sort of pogoing. Then the thing catches and runs like a cat with burning turpentine on his ass. He is almost pulled off the bars as he takes a 30 degree angle across the intersection. He one damn lucky boy cause as I sat there watching he almost runs her right into the guardrail on the other side of the street on the other side of the intersection. But he saves it and in a blue cloud is off running hell bent down the road with me and Blondie sitting at the light. I am in hysterical laughter and she is in frozen horror! I look over and tell her to “go get em” and she slips off to rejoin her DNA donor.
I sit there watching her chase down her clown and marvel at the resumption of solitude. Still no one in sight and the light is red again. I look over and again the yellow is for the cross traffic so I know the tree will go green soon. I lean forward and grab a handful of throttle. Green light springs up and I slowly release the clutch and slowly bring her up thru the gears til 70 reads on the digital speedometer. “Saber1 to command! (static) Encountered 2 unfriendlies! Splashed both…..no chutes sighted! (static) Continuing mission. ETA …er….someday! But hopefully not too soon!!” (static).
Few miles up the road there is a greasy spoon where you can play mini-golf or ride a little train in a circle and in their parking lot were the two wheeled chariots themselves. His was leaning over at an angle that looked to be yelling obscenities at gravity and not merely defying it. Hers was leaning like a cowpoke holding a wall up in an old western. As I slid by I sounded the horn and gave a one fingered salute but I’m sure they didn’t hear or see me. Most likely they were gobbling down a celebration wiener feast and hoistin’ coffee milk toasts to their utter dismantling and humiliation of the giant on the gofast bike.
“Command…..signal the heavies to drop load on Kenny’s Putt and Poot (static) coordinates being sent now…..(static) believed to be unfriendlies stronghold…Sabre1 continuing mission….OUT! …..(static) .
Be Well
AmbergrismOoOn
