THE NOISE: THE PRIMAL, VISCERAL, HAMMERING, THROBBING, ALL PERVADING, HORN INDUCING, NOISE . . . . THE THING THAT REALLY STICKS IN MY MIND WHEN IT COMES TO BIKES AND CARS IS EXACTLY THAT, THE NOISE . . . . BEING A FIVE YEAR OLD AND HEARING THE M.P's BEEZA COME BLATTING DOWN THE ROAD IN FRONT OF OUR HOUSE ON THE NAVAL BASE, THE NOISE . . . . "5 NORTH" ['GRANTPETERSON' P/TUBE]

STICK THIS ONE AWAY UNDER " THE NOISE . . . . [C'MON FEEL THE]" OR "BRING IT" . . . .

Maybe it's the same for everybody, I don't know, but no matter how cool, how sweet, how fucking brilliant a bike or car might appear to the eye, it doesn't really mean anything until the belly of the beast is growling like the Devil himself with chronic gastric reflux and a vile case of the cyclonic sphincter . . . . I'm not even talking about running it with the butterflies wide open like footage of Debbie in post doing Dallas state, nor under full load waiting to launch off the pad, not screaming it's tits off in tyre shredding burnout mode, just up and chugging at idle or shifting on down the highway sitting on the speed limit . . . . it's the sound, the sensation of those shock waves as each sparking combustion chamber ignites the charge sending the spent vapours tearing past the exhaust valve, down the pipe and finally breaking the sound barrier as it exits into the world at large filling your ears with the sweetest sound known to man . . . . happiness is a free breathing donk doin its thing !!! 

I remember being so amped as a kid in the back of dad's LC GTR Torana, sitting on the old fashined ton on the highway in the days of unlimited speed and the mind warping noise as a Norton, Trumpy, Harley or a 750/4 blew by as it overtook us, mum freaking the fuck out in the front, 'lift your foot Keith, lift your foot' while the old man and I were pleasantly enjoying the ultimate combo meal of speed and noise . . . . no word of lie, one time coming home from the holidays in Bris Vegas in about '72/'73 on the Newell Highway, again sitting happily on 95-100mph, mum and dad up front, me truck spotting in the back, I noticed a rapidly approaching Kenworth cabover behind us, within minutes it was filling the rear window and then it pulled out without so much as a downshift puff of diesel smoke and went past us . . . . with an empty 40' flatty on the back he must've been doing 105, maybe more, nearly blew us off the road too, the GTR wasn't a big car. But the sound of that big Kenny at full noise with its blower spinning like a giant hairdryer was music to my eleven year old ears, ooh ee !!!

So . . . . where was I . . . . yeah, noise, the aural sex that only a motor is capable of engaging in, not the cacophonous sound of a great band or the soothing tones of Miles Davis, not the crack and bang of guns, nor the singing of cute little birds, not the silence of waking up in the country miles from civilisation, not the sweet nothings whispered in your ear by the girl you love, nah, none of it, not one single other noise making thing compares to the sound that a well sorted motor is capable of doing for me . . . . with that in mind, have a look and, more importantly, a listen to this cracker video from Mr Grant Peterson, yes, 'that' Grant Petersen, as he and his buddy, whom I'm sure many will also be familiar with, as they move it on out down the freeway, this says it all, if you're not feeling it or not getting it, you probably never will . . . . adios.