There’s no room for error, but I’ve a choice. I can hook my bike into the bend and nail this corner; or this turn can mug me, and I’ll slide down the tarmac on my arse. I wince at the prospect. This is no soft option.
My knee’s close to the surface as I allow my bike to run closer to the edge of the kerb, heart pounding, adrenalin pumping. Sweat drips as I tuck in low, engine clamped firm between my thighs screams. It vibrates through my slender frame. Pitting my wits against this road. Pitting myself against this machine. Pitting my machine against this surface.
I open her up. I adore how I feel as I travel through the slip stream. In the blink of an eye the tarmac vanishes beneath me. I fly, exhilarated, bike well balanced. I blip my throttle.
Faster, racing for the hell of it. My bike leans left, knee down; I drive deeper, down on the brakes.
Run through the bend, then hang wide. Take the corner real quick, as I gamble, I get a rush.
Pick up speed. I stand her up, push it harder. I’m riding the wheels right out from under me, racing my heart out. The knot in my stomach, tauter than a fisted ball, tightens. It’s one of the greatest feelings.
Another inside turn elevates my good mood. It’s addictive. Irresistible. My bike comes upright; I take my foot off the peg. Playing devils advocate I dodge in and out as I charge past cars, racing up a steep incline, finding a space, tucking myself in tight. Tearing down the hill into a harsh left hander. The hedgerow flies, blurs to a haze of smudged greenery. Trying to get on the turn quicker, faster than I should, my thighs tingle.
I shake myself free and test my nerve. Feeling loose my Ducate whines, flick the bike through a double right hander. It twitches. Brakes off. Lick my lips. Savour the salt. I’m buzzing. I’m flying.
On the brakes, another tough left hander. Off brakes, open her up as a straight lengthens, beckons me on. Throttle fully opened I spot the police car too late. Crap!
Jam on the brakes, the back tyre quivers as I lose speed in rapid quick time and come to an abrupt stop.
Sitting upright in the saddle. I release my handle bars. Clutch the bike tight between my thighs and punch the air. Maybe I can get away with it?
Will he be okay? Change his mind when I take off my helmet? When I remove this lid, flick my locks; let them fall casually across my shoulders. Smile. A big grin.
I usually get a look of surprise, followed by a quick nod of approval. Then I have to react fast. Bat my lashes, unzip my jacket, and reveal a flash of cleavage.
I wait, hold my breath, I recognize the officer. I dip my head, smile, this should be fun.
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