The roar from the engine rises in pitch as I change down and pass a dawdling Sunday driver. He's running late: it's Tuesday already.
Shifting up, I lean into the approaching left-hander; up and over the rise to meet the coast. As I roll into the sweeping right, I watch the breakers fall on the shore, and the toi toi's flash by in a blur. The sun shines on, and the air smells of kelp, as the throttle rolls on to 100.
OK - It used to be a bigger number; a much bigger number, truth be told, but these days I'm feeling a lot less bullet proof, and a hell of a lot more respectful of the law.
And right now I'm feeling very very old.
5 comments:
You're not old, sweetpea, you just more fabulous than you were when you were hmmmmm ... when did we meet? Were you 9 or 10?
Anyway, older and wiser, less bullrush of course and no more Green Street but certainly more delicious. It's just like that, silly billy.
Happy new year from a frozen Belgium.
God - i miss the bullrush :)
Me too!
Let's organise the old crowd, maybe deadly jelly and her crew could play too, next time I'm home, eh wot?
Or ... you guys could all come over here. God only knows what the Europeans would make of it but I can imagine the Irish chick embracing it ;)
nicely written :)
DUDE! All you need is a little bit of thrill and you'll be sorted.
Am totally up for a sess by the way
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