Wolfie
Is a lunp
Made me rethink about a few things.
Jim awoke with a start.
?Shit, late again!! ? he said to himself.
He rolled out of bed, checked himself in the mirror.
?No time to shave today?
Five minutes later he was washed, had been to the toilet and was standing by the French doors smoking, the first fag of the day. Whilst drawing the flavour of the roll up into his lungs, he glazed over his bike, taken in every detail, the way the morning sun reflected off the black paint work, the stainless exhausts, the tread pattern on the back tyre, the well oiled chain glistened slightly. The lit end of the roll up now was too close to his fingers as the pain reminder him. Quickly dropping the roll up, Jim turned and went back into the living room, pulling his leather jeans on as he searched for his back protector. Next the left boot then the right one, his leather jacket was now on and his helmet was being lifted over his head, when he remembered that he had not said goodbye to the wife, Jim put the helmet on the settee next to the Jack Russell who was sleeping on the settee in the sun. Quickly and quietly, Jim climbed the stairs, gently opened the bedroom door, and lent over the bed and kissed his wife goodbye.
?See you later sweetheart? he half murmured.
?Ok, have a nice ride ? was her reply.
Once out onto the stairs again he sidestepped the Jack Russell who was still half asleep and looking for the chance to sneak into the warm bit of Jim's bed.
Helmet on, door locked, Key in the bike. Jim thumbed the starter button, the bike came to life, blowing its spent exhaust gases through its illegal end cans, the idle speed settled and the bike purred as Jim put on his gloves and unlocked the gate. Half way down the hill the bike was warm enough for Jim to turn off the choke, the roads were dry and already getting warmed by the sun.
The first three miles to the petrol station were covered at a steady pace to let the tyre warm up and to give the bike time to settle into its own rhythm.
?Bloody hell!!!! Sixteen quid worth of fuel!! Shit!! Feckin robbing bastids? thought Jim
?Morning love, number three please?
?Nice morning for a ride!!? Replied the bored looking fat girl behind the counter.
?Err no thanks love? Jim thought to himself ?I know what sort of ride you want?
Once again, his black bike came to life, the trip meter was set to zero, ?tyre pressure???? ?No time need to get going?
Ten minutes later Jim had made it to the meeting place and was glad to see two of the faster riders had turned up to keep him company on the ride. He had recently got to the point, as summer had worn on that every time he rode he was pushing the bike and himself further over and faster, and could not stand to just sit there with the rest of the gang. After another smoke the ten bikes were fired up and roger led the gang along the high street dead on the speed limit, the left right at the end of the road was taken just below the limit and Jim could already feel the bike talking to him. As the next few corners went by Jim was feeling good and alive, the bike was alive and talking to him, telling him off every little bump, every ripple, every piece of stone on the road, they were becoming one again.
Once out of town. Jim began to move up to the front of the bikes, for two reasons, the first was that he had the fastest bike there and the largest engine size so he wanted to stretch its legs abit. Secondly, some of the other riders had yet to find their rhythm and they were taking wrong lines, treating roundabouts as fifty pence pieces. As the trip meter clicked seven miles Jim was behind the leader and to the right of him, there was a long left corner coming up and Jim knew that he would overtake there and enjoy the next thirty miles of twisty A roads, before he got to the caf?.
The left hand bend appeared, Roger the leader waved as Jim speed past, the other two faster riders came with him, all three riders speed around the left with a sensible distance between each of them, the three bikes all chatting to their riders, all moving as one. Down the straight, a short left, a sweeping right, then the tight left. After the tight left there was a half a mile straight with a steep hump back bridge in the middle of it, Jim loved the bridge it was the first place he ever had got airborne on a bike. the left was taken in second gear, Jim could hear the other two bikes behind him, totally different exhaust note bouncing off the banks and trees, the road started to straighten as Jim open the throttle slowly at first then whack!! To the stop, into third, the bridge was in front and close now. Whoosh!! Up the first part of the bridge, the sudden increase of revs and engine noise told Jim he was airborne, as did the bike once they landed it was not the most graceful of landings but what the feck he had got airborne and was alive!! At the end of the straight the right-hander was taken with ease,
The banks at the side of the road had grown now and the three racing bikes sounded on song as they used the banks to guess which way the road was going. Second and third gear corners, bikes revving around the nine and a half thousand mark, sometimes up to eleven thousand. Jim was now getting the back end out as he powered out of second gear corners and the bike was just beginning to drift the back end as they braked for some of the bends.
The next part of the route was through the forest and the roads were nearly always a bit damp so Jim moved his bike near to the middle of the road, around a left, braking hard, slung the bike down low and gassed it coming out of the right hander, down the straight hard.
?Bloody hell? thought Jim again ?165mph, best I have ever done along here?
The next left the bike twitched a bit more than normal and when the next right came along, the front end slid and the back kicked out big time.
?Feck!!! That was close? shouted Jim to himself as he slowed down, the feeling of panic in his chest made his breathing harder, and the adrenalin was creating hell with his legs. Not long to the caf? now only two more bends.
The caf? was busy; very busy
?bollox. We had better leave earlier next time we come here.?
While smoking his third smoke of the day, Jim started to wonder where had the other two faster riders got to, he crushed his fag on the floor with his left heel, fired his still warm bike up and headed slowly back the way he came. As he approached the bend where he had had his close moment, he spotted some of the other members of the club at the side of the road.
?Shit looks like somebody has gone down? Jim quickly pulled over to the side of the road, side stand down and dismounted his bike, walking quickly to the others, he was trying to see who was missing, as he got close to them he could see what was left of a bike half way up the trees.
It was a black bike.
It was Jim's bike and his broken body was on the ground underneath it.
The accident report had said something about the wrong tyre pressures?? They were too low or something?? His wife still does not understand.
Jim awoke with a start.
?Shit, late again!! ? he said to himself.
He rolled out of bed, checked himself in the mirror.
?No time to shave today?
Five minutes later he was washed, had been to the toilet and was standing by the French doors smoking, the first fag of the day. Whilst drawing the flavour of the roll up into his lungs, he glazed over his bike, taken in every detail, the way the morning sun reflected off the black paint work, the stainless exhausts, the tread pattern on the back tyre, the well oiled chain glistened slightly. The lit end of the roll up now was too close to his fingers as the pain reminder him. Quickly dropping the roll up, Jim turned and went back into the living room, pulling his leather jeans on as he searched for his back protector. Next the left boot then the right one, his leather jacket was now on and his helmet was being lifted over his head, when he remembered that he had not said goodbye to the wife, Jim put the helmet on the settee next to the Jack Russell who was sleeping on the settee in the sun. Quickly and quietly, Jim climbed the stairs, gently opened the bedroom door, and lent over the bed and kissed his wife goodbye.
?See you later sweetheart? he half murmured.
?Ok, have a nice ride ? was her reply.
Once out onto the stairs again he sidestepped the Jack Russell who was still half asleep and looking for the chance to sneak into the warm bit of Jim's bed.
Helmet on, door locked, Key in the bike. Jim thumbed the starter button, the bike came to life, blowing its spent exhaust gases through its illegal end cans, the idle speed settled and the bike purred as Jim put on his gloves and unlocked the gate. Half way down the hill the bike was warm enough for Jim to turn off the choke, the roads were dry and already getting warmed by the sun.
The first three miles to the petrol station were covered at a steady pace to let the tyre warm up and to give the bike time to settle into its own rhythm.
?Bloody hell!!!! Sixteen quid worth of fuel!! Shit!! Feckin robbing bastids? thought Jim
?Morning love, number three please?
?Nice morning for a ride!!? Replied the bored looking fat girl behind the counter.
?Err no thanks love? Jim thought to himself ?I know what sort of ride you want?
Once again, his black bike came to life, the trip meter was set to zero, ?tyre pressure???? ?No time need to get going?
Ten minutes later Jim had made it to the meeting place and was glad to see two of the faster riders had turned up to keep him company on the ride. He had recently got to the point, as summer had worn on that every time he rode he was pushing the bike and himself further over and faster, and could not stand to just sit there with the rest of the gang. After another smoke the ten bikes were fired up and roger led the gang along the high street dead on the speed limit, the left right at the end of the road was taken just below the limit and Jim could already feel the bike talking to him. As the next few corners went by Jim was feeling good and alive, the bike was alive and talking to him, telling him off every little bump, every ripple, every piece of stone on the road, they were becoming one again.
Once out of town. Jim began to move up to the front of the bikes, for two reasons, the first was that he had the fastest bike there and the largest engine size so he wanted to stretch its legs abit. Secondly, some of the other riders had yet to find their rhythm and they were taking wrong lines, treating roundabouts as fifty pence pieces. As the trip meter clicked seven miles Jim was behind the leader and to the right of him, there was a long left corner coming up and Jim knew that he would overtake there and enjoy the next thirty miles of twisty A roads, before he got to the caf?.
The left hand bend appeared, Roger the leader waved as Jim speed past, the other two faster riders came with him, all three riders speed around the left with a sensible distance between each of them, the three bikes all chatting to their riders, all moving as one. Down the straight, a short left, a sweeping right, then the tight left. After the tight left there was a half a mile straight with a steep hump back bridge in the middle of it, Jim loved the bridge it was the first place he ever had got airborne on a bike. the left was taken in second gear, Jim could hear the other two bikes behind him, totally different exhaust note bouncing off the banks and trees, the road started to straighten as Jim open the throttle slowly at first then whack!! To the stop, into third, the bridge was in front and close now. Whoosh!! Up the first part of the bridge, the sudden increase of revs and engine noise told Jim he was airborne, as did the bike once they landed it was not the most graceful of landings but what the feck he had got airborne and was alive!! At the end of the straight the right-hander was taken with ease,
The banks at the side of the road had grown now and the three racing bikes sounded on song as they used the banks to guess which way the road was going. Second and third gear corners, bikes revving around the nine and a half thousand mark, sometimes up to eleven thousand. Jim was now getting the back end out as he powered out of second gear corners and the bike was just beginning to drift the back end as they braked for some of the bends.
The next part of the route was through the forest and the roads were nearly always a bit damp so Jim moved his bike near to the middle of the road, around a left, braking hard, slung the bike down low and gassed it coming out of the right hander, down the straight hard.
?Bloody hell? thought Jim again ?165mph, best I have ever done along here?
The next left the bike twitched a bit more than normal and when the next right came along, the front end slid and the back kicked out big time.
?Feck!!! That was close? shouted Jim to himself as he slowed down, the feeling of panic in his chest made his breathing harder, and the adrenalin was creating hell with his legs. Not long to the caf? now only two more bends.
The caf? was busy; very busy
?bollox. We had better leave earlier next time we come here.?
While smoking his third smoke of the day, Jim started to wonder where had the other two faster riders got to, he crushed his fag on the floor with his left heel, fired his still warm bike up and headed slowly back the way he came. As he approached the bend where he had had his close moment, he spotted some of the other members of the club at the side of the road.
?Shit looks like somebody has gone down? Jim quickly pulled over to the side of the road, side stand down and dismounted his bike, walking quickly to the others, he was trying to see who was missing, as he got close to them he could see what was left of a bike half way up the trees.
It was a black bike.
It was Jim's bike and his broken body was on the ground underneath it.
The accident report had said something about the wrong tyre pressures?? They were too low or something?? His wife still does not understand.
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