MC lesson learned, Chapter one

Ah, the groovy 70s, when helmets were just fancy headgear for astronauts, and danger was our middle name! My dear old mother, bless her heart, only had two rules for me: no motorbikes and absolutely no boxing contests. Naturally, I did the logical thing when I hit 18 – bought the baddest motorbike in town and signed up for a boxing match faster than you can say “rebel without a cause.”

Now, this wasn’t just any motorbike. It was a four-cylinder Honda 750, a beast with more growls than my mother when she found out. Bought it from a neighbor who treated his bikes better than his own children. This 400-kg monster was my ticket to freedom, or so I thought.

Lesson one in Motorbiking 101: white strips on the road are not your friend. In fact, they’re slicker than a politician’s promises. One day, I decide to show off my riding prowess to a crowd waiting at a pedestrian crossing. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well. The bike took a leap of faith without me, and there I was, on my behind, staring up at an audience I never intended to have.

Now, there are moments in life when you need a helping hand, and then there are times when you wish you were invisible. Picture this: me, on the pavement, surrounded by 10 people I was trying to impress, all eyeing me with a mix of concern and barely suppressed laughter. Note to self: motorbike stunts work better in the movies.

Luckily, the bike survived the embarrassment better than I did. A few scratches here and there, nothing a little paint couldn’t fix. But little did I know, there was a sneaky leak in the gasoline tank, playing a prank on me with every ride.

Days passed, and after a few mysterious wet spots on the couch, I finally connected the dots. Gasoline, my friends. My nose, in its heyday, might have caught the scent, but it was probably busy protesting the flower power movement at the time. Dodged a bullet there; could’ve turned into a human torch without even knowing it. Ah, the good ol’ days, when danger was just a slick white strip away, and motorbikes were the kings of cool.

Below is me, training for the first MC.




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