Sunday, 26 February 2017

Your Motion Says


Under leaden Derbyshire sky's, it was either either sit around waiting for a break in the clouds, a sudden increase in temperature or wrap up, bite the bullet and do a 'Danny Dyer'. 'Come on treacle, let's get amongst it, WALLOP!' Me and Dangerous chose life, heading out in a positevely balmy seven degrees centigrade . Fair play to Dangerous, after his Mallory Park incident where he mashed his collarbone big time it took him all of, what, two miles to be back on the pace, funny how the pain of seven screws, a titanium framework and hours and hours of physio disappears when the adrenaline of riding a motorcycle very fast in poor conditions focuses the mind.
   I'm fifty eight and Dangerous is seventy two and yet we turned into a pair of dickheads, Dangerous rooster-tailing salty water off his back tyre, wheelies and general hooligan behaviour, down the Via Gellia and a thick ribbon of salt and limestone scum off the never ending convoy of Derbyshire Roadstone wagons adding to the already tricky conditions. Toasted cheese and tuna sandwiches and strong coffee to warm frozen limbs and deserted roads, no one is out today, into Matlock, the traditional biker, Sunday afternoon, meeting point, no-one here, Me, Dangerous, the local scooter posse, that's it, what's up? Your dead a long time fuckers..........

2 comments:

  1. Really? Dangerous is 72. He's my new idle.

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  2. Hello (Not So!) OldMotoDude, yep, Dangerous is a proper bloke, ex racer to a very high standard racing single cylinder Ducatis, ex marathon and fell runner, dead handy on a mountain bike and hill walker, he really is as fit as a fiddle!

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