This may seem an odd topic to start the week, but its origins lie in the events of yesterday. The town where I live has a bypass much beloved by the lunatic fringes of the motorbiking fraternity. It actually runs just behind my flat, and bikers hammer up and down at all times of the day and night with much sound and fury.

Yesterday though I had trouble contain myself. I heard some lunatic come off the roundabout at the bottom of the bypass and really wind things up. The biker came screaming up, and was just by my flat when the engine let go. There was a loud bang and all manner of sounds of mechanical distress as at least one conrod made a break for freedom via the crankcase. Hahahahaha.

I mentioned this to a friend of mine, who then regaled me a tale about something that happened at a bike festival at Cadwell Park some years ago. The organisers had decreed that attendees could not get passes to leave the circuit and nip to the off licence, but must instead purchase drink from the beer tent. Then they ran out of beer. Now bikers do like a beer, and reacted rather badly, trashing and then burning the tent. I’m not condoning such behaviour, you understand, I’m just reporting it.

Things got a bit out of hand. Some of the more hairy arsed bikers, the guys who think riding anything under a 750 is tantamount to admitting you wear ladies’ underwear, discovered a much smaller bike. They put it up on its kickstand, hotwired it, jammed the throttle full open, and as my friend put it, waited for it to go pop. This took quite a long time, even though the valves were bouncing, but the trusty machine made it to about two minutes before giving up the ghost in a cloud of deathsmoke.

Boys will be boys, eh?

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