It’s a warm afternoon and I decide to ride the back road to Clyde – a not particularly onerous trip – its been raining and the bog holes and track will be ‘interesting’. About halfway through I see two yappy little bikes approaching – they’re everywhere but on the track, bouncing and sliding along – it’s a couple of young punks out for the day … they roar past and I continue on my way, slightly envious of their youth, skills and bullet proof attitude.
Minutes later they’re back - buzzing me, egging me on for a race – I’m tempted but this area is no place for an old fart on a 650 – hard rocks, bogs, and long gearing – so I wave them away … feeling pissed off and wishing I was 40 years more youthful … then I’d show’m.
However I did have my moment in the sun – the Clyde track exits out onto a sealed road close to a pub/café. I’m approaching the sealed road and I spy the young punks again – helmets off now – goddam they’re barely teenagers – they’re humping their bikes onto daddy’s pickup for the trip home to mummy and lemonade! I give them a smug wave (not sure how one waves smugly!) and turn out onto the seal, gunning the bike up fully in the first few gears. They gotta at least hear that (and I didn’t miss 2nd gear either - this can happen during moments like these).
I turn down and cross the Clyde bridge and pull up in the pub cagepark, disrobe, and join some girlfriends in the garden bar – I survey the scene at the garden bar table –antipasto, wedgies (all sorts), fine wine, cool ale and a bevy of heaving mammaries, flaunting themselves in the warm afternoon sun. I’m reminded of the story about an old bull and a young bull, looking down on a herd of cows grazing in the valley below .. the young bull turns to the old bull and says “…..
But that’s another story … the young punks are at home ogling Britney on MTV or something … and for the moment, life is … good … ohhhhh yeahhhhh
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