SUNBURN DON'T MEAN A THING . . . . TODAY WAS A GOOD DAY
The nocturnal ride was bloody sublime, night time is the right time, mounted astride the Purple Penis, over the Glumdale Bridge and head south along the Gold Coast Highway, plenty of cops, but not a hassle to be had . . . . the sting of the day's heat had been replaced by the balmy cool of a most splendid evening as I burbled along at the speed limit, just to prove to myself that I can, the bike is loving the cool of the night air . . . . a ciggy and a Coke, in a glass bottle of course, at Caltex Burleigh, then back on Starship Phallus and down to Coolangatta, even the usually boisterous public bar at the Cooly Hotel was tranquility made manifest . . . . over the Tweed River and turn back onto the main vein and head up the back highway for home, fully on the fucking pin, a gentle forty to fifty klms above the posted speed limit, oops, sorry about that chief, missed it by that much . . . . bugger all traffic, adrenalin racing, eyes wide open and scanning the shoulder up ahead, in just over fifteen minutes I'm turning off the ignition and coasting considerately into the driveway . . . . kick out the skirtster's stand, give it some love in the form of a thorough wipe down with the polish cloth, I sit and have a fag while listening to the motor and pipes ticking as it cools . . . . did I ever mention just how much I love motorcycles . . . . even Harleys . . . . and speed . . . . shhhhhhhh . . . . don't tell.
The nocturnal ride was bloody sublime, night time is the right time, mounted astride the Purple Penis, over the Glumdale Bridge and head south along the Gold Coast Highway, plenty of cops, but not a hassle to be had . . . . the sting of the day's heat had been replaced by the balmy cool of a most splendid evening as I burbled along at the speed limit, just to prove to myself that I can, the bike is loving the cool of the night air . . . . a ciggy and a Coke, in a glass bottle of course, at Caltex Burleigh, then back on Starship Phallus and down to Coolangatta, even the usually boisterous public bar at the Cooly Hotel was tranquility made manifest . . . . over the Tweed River and turn back onto the main vein and head up the back highway for home, fully on the fucking pin, a gentle forty to fifty klms above the posted speed limit, oops, sorry about that chief, missed it by that much . . . . bugger all traffic, adrenalin racing, eyes wide open and scanning the shoulder up ahead, in just over fifteen minutes I'm turning off the ignition and coasting considerately into the driveway . . . . kick out the skirtster's stand, give it some love in the form of a thorough wipe down with the polish cloth, I sit and have a fag while listening to the motor and pipes ticking as it cools . . . . did I ever mention just how much I love motorcycles . . . . even Harleys . . . . and speed . . . . shhhhhhhh . . . . don't tell.
I must confess I am just a little jealous. OK, A LOT jealous! Low twenty's and snow in these parts. When it warms up enough to go for a put on some dry asphalt, I am Fucking Gone!!!
ReplyDeleteYeah, sympathies Wheelman, it's a bit good, but I sweat heaps and would glady trade for a few weeks of cold and snow, seriously.
DeleteRight I'll try again, google is doing stoopid things, as I read this great post all I could hear was the incessant "festive" rain hammering down outside, chunter chunter, grumble grumble. Is it the Purple Penis you'll be hardtailing Whitey?
ReplyDeleteHa, funny bastard . . . no mate, it's the '74 shovel, code named Project Shoveller, all kicking off after the New Year . . . and I will get the sticker in the mail, promise mate.
DeleteCheers Mate and a cracking new year for you and your bikes too all the best wishes..
ReplyDelete