Kawasaki Triples Club

Chapter 1.

It was about 7pm on a warm May evening and I was speeding home along the A41 after a cracking day at the Ace Café Kawasaki day. The H1 was running a treat. I was only a few months shy of my 60th birthday but this ol’ bike made me feel like a teenager as I gave it some beans down the straights. The weather had been glorious all day but I could see there was a storm coming. Dark clouds way in the distance, which only a few minutes earlier looked like they were skimming the horizon, now seemed to be heading my way at an alarming rate. I only had another 8 miles to go so didn’t pay it too much notice. The roads were pretty clogged with traffic as expected but the conditions were perfect for a jaunt on the ever obliging little triple – at least they were where I was. If I gave it some welly I could probably make it back before the heavens opened.
Dropping down into fourth gear I poured on the coals. The triple screamed, the tacho redlined and the bars went light momentarily as the front wheel pawed the air like a lion about to strike its prey. In the distance forks of lightning streaked across the heavens followed seconds later by cracks of thunder. That was no ordinary storm. I knew if I got caught out in this I’d be in real trouble and unfortunately I was heading at breakneck speed for it. Another flash lit up the sky followed by a louder roll of thunder. It was now a game of chicken, me against Thor’s Hammer and I had no intention of being the nail. Clicking up into 5thand with adrenaline now surging through my veins I snapped the twistgrip back against the stop. The bike shimmied, the speedo needle yawed purposefully clockwise and the road ahead began to blur as the vibes coursed through the bars. If this wasn't living I dunno what was!

Spatters of rain began appearing on my visor, not enough to wipe away but an omen of the impending deluge to come. I only had a leather jacket and jeans on. I had to get back before it hit or I'd be drenched. There was a car up ahead, a Beemer by the looks of it. I changed down a cog and prepared to overtake. As I did so there was another flash of lightning, this time much nearer and far more powerful which blinded me for a millesecond. At the very same moment I felt a cold shiver surge through my body. Reactively I shut off the throttle. As my eyes began to focus again I looked down at the speedo which was now dipping just below seventy. The Beemer had gone, but where? He couldn’t have accelerated off that fast could he? For that matter where was all the other traffic? The road was empty all of a sudden.

It was a fairly warm evening, at least twenty degrees, but my entire body was shivering. My first thought was I’d been hit by the lightning and somehow survived! The bike was still running fine though. The other strange thing was the road ahead looked different somehow. In fact it was different. It looked much narrower. I slowed the bike down to 30mph to gather my senses. Something very odd was going on here. Not only was the road different but the storm had gone too. In fact there were now no clouds in the sky at all.

There was nowhere to stop really so I carried on at a steady 50 or so looking for a layby. The bizarre thing was that the road on both lanes was empty. Not a single vehicle anywhere in sight which to my mind was a first. The A41 was never this clear. But to be honest this didn’t even look like the A41 anymore. Had I taken a wrong turn somewhere without realizing it? I just couldn’t figure it out. The other strange thing was that I felt different, like I was lighter and more alert somehow. Wow! This was bizarre. It was as if I’d just skipped the light fandango.

The roundabout was coming up. I changed down a couple of gears, flicked the nimble little machine to the left and right and carried on. Then I had a thought. Where was the M1 Motorway? Before you got to the Elstree roundabout you went over the M1 bridge but I swear I never did. Also, there was no sign of rain anymore and the road was dry as a bone. I was about to pull over and check the Sat Nav on my phone when I saw headlights in my wing mirror. Coming up fast behind me was a trio of bikes by the looks of it. At last – something normal! Moments later they’d caught up and were now cruising alongside me, one behind the other. The one in front was a classic 5TA in pristine condition. The other was a Bitza by the looks of it, café racer style and the other an AJS. Probably on their way back from the Ace café I guessed. I nodded to them but the riders didn’t return the gesture, they just maintained their speed and kept staring at my bike through their goggles. Then they accelerated off. That was it! - the urge to race took over. I dropped a gear and let her off the leash. The next section of road was a long straight and I passed them doing eighty, changing up to fifth as I did so and leaving them in a cloud of blue smoke. After touching the ton I eased off a bit and looked in the wing mirrors. They were nowhere to be seen.
Then something really weird caught my eye. The Hilton Hotel that had been there since before I could remember wasn’t there anymore. Instead, there was a transport café with a lot of bikes outside and people milling around them. I checked the wing mirrors, grabbed a handful of brake and slowed the bike down to get a better look. Something definitely wasn’t right here. The sign outside the café said BUSY BEE CAFE, but that didn’t make any sense at all. That place had shut down years ago and they’d built a hotel on the site, yet if my eyes weren’t deceiving me there it was as plain as day. I had to check this out, so I indicated right and zipped across the road. The classic bikes I’d passed had caught up with me now and followed me in. There were dozens of old bikes parked up outside the front of the café and as I pulled up on my H1 the gaggle of bikers hanging around all turned to stare. No sooner had I stopped and turned off the ignition I was encircled by them. They were all dressed in black leather jackets, rocker style. The bikes I’d just left in the dust up the road pulled up either side of me. All three of the riders appeared a bit agitated.


“What the hell is that?” said the bloke on the 5TA as he removed his helmet and goggles. He was a tall gangly guy with an Elvis Presley quiff.

I looked at him askance. “It’s an H1,” I replied.

“H what?” he queried, as he got off his Triumph and started inspecting the three exhaust header pipes exiting the engine of the Kawasaki.

Now of course, the H1 with its classic kudos, shiny chrome and dazzling candy red livery very often elicited interest wherever I went with it. That was par with the course. I’d become used to it, but these guys seemed to be more than just interested. They appeared to be genuinely taken aback by it and more than a little confused. I overheard the guy on the Bitza excitedly relaying what had just happened earlier to one of the bystanders – “came past like a rocket it did, smoked us, literally,” he was saying.

“Wot’s a Kwakasaki when it’s at ‘ome?” another asked, peering inquisitively at the letters on the side of the fuel tank.

"It's got blinkers on it like a car!" said another

I was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed and I could feel a lump forming in the pit of my stomach. Anyone who rode a bike knew what a Kawasaki was! Something didn’t add up here. All these young guys looked like they’d just come off the set of a James Dean movie and what's more none of them seemed to have a clue what an H1 was, which was a first in my book. Then there was this café, the Busy Bee, it shouldn’t be here! None of it made sense.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“The Busy Bee o’ course, and you’re a long way from ‘ome by the sounds of it, mate,” said Mr Gangly. “Where ya from?” he asked.

“Watford, I live in Garston, Watford,” I replied.

“That’s five miles down the road from ‘ere mate. You sure you ain’t been drinkin’?” said a short stubby guy with a baby face.

“Never seen him ‘ere before. Never seen nuffink like that bike either,” said a teenage girl, the only female among them. “Woss your name? she asked.

“Tod,” I replied.

By now the whole café had emptied out and I found myself surrounded by at least thirty leather clad teenagers all wanting to know what all the commotion was about and clamouring for a glimpse of the Kwacker.

“Bloody weird helmet you got there mate,” said another young guy, peering inquisitively at my full face flip up Caberg.

“How fast’s it go then”? the tall gangly guy asked, leaning over to look at the speedo.

“Tops out at about 120,” I replied.

As if on cue the entire entourage burst out into uncontrollable laughter.

I don’t know why but I started to feel a bit queasy. I needed a drink, or something. Jumping off the bike, I made my way through the gawping bunch of Marlon Brando wannabe’s and into the café. A few of them cautiously followed me in but the majority stayed glued to the H1. As I stepped inside a jukebox was playing the Everly Brothers. I noticed a Telegraph newspaper on one of the tables. Something about it made me stop and pick it up. It felt crisp and new but it was the content that caught my attention. The headlines read Bannister breaks four-minute mile. Roger Bannister, a 25-year-old British medical student, has become the first man to run a mile in less than four minutes. His time was 3mins 59.4 seconds, achieved at the Iffley Road track in Oxford and watched by about 3,000 spectators. I looked at the top of the page. The date on it was May 7th. The year was1954!

I furtively looked around me. The walls were clad with green and cream tiles and there was a mosaic of a bee on one of the walls. The first thing that hit me was the lack of technology. No TV, no mobile phones or laptops. Reactively, I reached inside my jacket and pulled out my iphone. It was still on but there was no signal, not even a server. Then I became aware of someone peering over my shoulder. It was the young girl who’d asked me my name.

“Wossat then Tod?” she asked, seemingly mesmerized by the screensaver.

I ignored her comment and quickly pocketed the phone. I was starting to feel quite sick.

“Where’s your toilet mate?” I asked the old boy behind the counter.

“It’s outside in the yard young fella,” he said, pointing to the back door.

Stumbling out to the toilet, I went to the washbasin, looked in the cracked mirror and got another shock. Staring back at me was a young guy with a full set of hair. It was me, but it wasn’t me. I looked no more than about eighteen years old. I looked behind me. No one else was in here. My knees began to buckle under me. I had to grab onto the washbasin to steady myself. What the hell was happening here? I checked my phone again – nothing! Then I puked up. When I finally stumbled outside again the girl was waiting there for me.

“You alright Tod? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.

I had. It was me. I was dead. I was sure of it. I’d been hit by lightning during that storm and died on the spot. There was no other explanation for it. The thing was though, I could feel, smell and see everything around me. I pinched my arm hard. It hurt just like it should. Then cautiously, I reached out and touched the young girl’s face. It was soft and smooth and warm – and very real.

“What’s your name? I asked.

“Ooh cheeky!” she replied with a churlish grin. “I’m Tina. Better be careful though, my boyfriends that tall fella you were talking to out front and he gets real jealous if uvver blokes get fresh wiv me,” she warned.

“What year is it?” I asked.

“You ‘avin me on Toddyboy,” she replied.

“Just tell me what year it is?” I repeated.

“Well, it’s 1954 o-course. Woss the matter wiv ya. Lost yer marbles or something?” she scoffed.

I wasn't listening. Whatever happened up the road back there was no small thing. If this wasn't a dream or if I hadn't popped my clogs then I’d just been transported back to a time four years before I was even born!

To be continued ............................

I,LL have what ever you had

I have had moments like this, but when I looked in the mirror there's some old boy looking back.

Loved the first installment.

doc

Spooky man Thoroughly enjoyed that!

Tina's gonna get it.

Just been glued to my iPhone reading this, can't wait for the next episode.
Keep the story going you never know Mr Danny Boyle might make a film...now here's a thought , who'd play you and Tina?

That was fabulous ! Right up my street ! Can't wait for the next installment......

great read keep um coming

I was still dazed and confused as I walked back into the Café. The place was empty save the old boy washing glasses behind the counter.

“They’re all outside gawking at that machine o’ yours,” he said.

And it was true. By now there were at least forty people surrounding the H1. I went to walk outside but Tina grabbed me by the arm.

“I’m Tina by the way, Tina Teaser,” she said, giving me that coy flirtatious look again. “Jed and the boys are always ribbin’ me about my name so I just wanted you to know. I ride a bike too, a Triumph!”
I guessed that Jed must be her boyfriend. “Cheers Tina. I won’t tease you about it, don’t worry,” I joked.

“See! There you go. You’re doing it too you scallywag,” she said swiping my jacket gently with her hand.

She was a little minx this girl. She had dark green eyes and pert lips, a real looker. Then it began to dawn on me that back here I was about her age, maybe just a little older. I’d need to watch myself with her, I mused. Anyway, better not dwell on that I thought or I’d be for it if my missus found out I was flirting with a teenage biker babe at the Busy Bee Cafe. Then another thought crossed my mind; my missus didn’t even exist yet. She wouldn’t even be born for another fifteen years. Back in the day, er, the future rather, I always used to josh with her that she was the same age as my bike, which she was. Jeez! What the hell was going on here?

This was without doubt a bizarre situation I found myself in. Somehow, someway, me and my trusty steed had been catapulted back into the mid-fifties and not only that, forty years or so had been shaved off my age in the bargain. To be honest, there was a part of me, the bonkers part, that got a bit of a kick out of that. The other part, the sensible side of me, was wondering if I’d ever get back to my own time again and if I’d ever see my wife, kids and grandchildren again. There wasn't much I could do about that right now though, so with that conundrum sloshing about in my head I steeled myself, took a deep breath, walked outside and entered the fray.
Outside in the car (bike) park there was an excited buzz in the air. The H1 was the star attraction of course. Not surprizing really. Japanese bikes were unheard of in England in 1954 let alone something as advanced and exotic as an H1. It would be another decade or more before it was even a twinkle in its designer’s eye. As I approached the motley crew of bikers a silence descended and they parted to let me through. I figured that if this was a dream I’d wake up soon enough so while I was in it I might as well have some fun. I pulled the keys out of my pocket and sat on the bike. “Who’s up for a race then?” I asked.

With no further encouragement needed a dozen or so made for their bikes and moments later the air was filled with the roar of British twins and singles thumping into life.

I donned my helmet, flicked the ignition key on and kicked her over. The triple fired up first kick. You could hardly hear its two stroke ring-a-ding among the din of a dozen or so big four stroke engines being revved up. Clicking it into gear I spun the bike round to face the entrance to the road.

Tina’s boyfriend came up alongside me on his Triumph and pointed up the road. “Up to the Elstree roundabout and back again,” he yelled over the noise of his revving engine, and with that he was off.

The rest of us followed hot on his heels. I let a few pass me then clicking up to second gear I let her rip. As the powerband kicked in the H1 surged forward like a scalded cat. Within a few seconds I was tearing past the leaders leaving them in the dust. By the time I’d reached the roundabout they were several seconds behind me. Leaning her over as far as I dared I got safely round and was heading back before any of them had even reached it and I popped a wheelie as I screamed past them going in the opposite direction. Then I hammered the H1 down the straight towards the Bee. By the time they’d all arrived back I was off my bike, helmet in hand and tapping my toes.
Tina’s boyfriend got off his bike and walked over to me, all the while glancing sideways at the H1 as if it were going to bite him. “Jed’s the name,” he said holding out his hand, but I knew that already.

“I'm Tod. Nice to meet you Jed,” I replied, and shook his hand.

Apparently, I’d set the fastest time on record for what they called “looping the loop” i.e. making it to the Elstree roundabout and back. After that I was considered one of the boys and I spent the next half hour or so fending off questions about the H1 such as “What cc is it?” – How come it’s so quick?” - “Why’s it’s got 3 cylinders?” – “Smokes a bit don’t it?” – “Who makes Kawasaki’s?” etc. etc. They wanted to know all about me and what I was wearing too, where I got my weird looking helmet and how they could get one? Where I lived? all that kind of stuff but as you can imagine I was a bit stumped there. What was I going to say? ‘Oh! sorry, I didn't tell you, I was hit by a bolt of lightning and was transported here from the future and oh by the way, I’m not actually even born yet.’ That’d go down well wouldn’t it. So I lied. I told them I was a road tester for a new European motorbike company. I didn’t let on that Kawasaki was Japanese. I figured that might not be too well received seeing as the Second World War had only ended a few years back. It wasn’t exactly a very watertight story but it would do for now and they seemed to accept it.

My stomach was rumbling. I’d puked up everything I had in the bog a little while back and this time warp shit sure was energy sapping. I needed some grub so I extrapolated myself from the crowd and ordered a burger and chips but when I pulled out a tenner and gave it to the old boy behind the counter he just looked at it and scowled, muttering something about Monopoly money. Of course my money was no good here. It was way ahead of its time. I quickly snatched the note back before he got a good look at it and was trying to figure out what to say when Tina came to my rescue. She paid for the food. It cost a shilling! She said I could pay her back later. When I sat down to eat she sat next to me and as I scoffed down the food she just sat there looking at me with an ever inquisitive stare.

“Where you really from, Tod?” she asked.

I stopped eating and just gawped at her. The game was up. She knew I was bullshitting. Then again why should I be surprised by that? Girls always know when a bloke’s lying through his teeth.

“You really want to know?” I replied hesitantly.

“Yeah, I really do,” she said.

To be continued ………………………….

What a read!!
Absolutly brilliant!!

Cheers guys. Glad you're enjoying it.
It aint over yet though. Not by a long shot.

Great read
anymore pics of Tina

there will be

Great stuff Toddyboy

Get back to the keyboard, NOW!!

pops

Chapter 3
It was getting late and the Café was emptying out. Bikes were firing up and heading off into the night. The motley crew (that was my nickname for the gaggle of bikers) were a friendly bunch and a few of them said their goodbyes to me as they left, many of them asking if I’d be here tomorrow, but I was in a quandary. I shouldn’t even be here at all and not only that, Tina had rumbled me. She knew there was something odd going on, which of course there was and then I had another daunting concept to ponder. I had no money, well no money that would be accepted and no home to go to either. If my memory served me right my house hadn’t even been built yet. I was a lost soul in a strange world that once was.

I was jolted out of my reverie by Tina.

“So you gonna tell me where you're from then or what?” she asked.

I looked up and for a moment I was mesmerized by those inquisitive sparkling green eyes staring back at me. How the hell was I going to explain to her that I’d come back from the future and that I was really 59 years old with a wife, four kids and two grandchildren?

“Well?” she urged.

I was about to open my mouth there was a commotion at the entrance door and Jed rushed in with a worried look on his face. “Oi Tod, there’s a couple of Rozzers outside eyeing up your bike,” he warned.

I whirled round and peered out through the Café window and sure enough there were two policemen walking round the H1. One of them was shining a torch on the back of the bike. The other one, a big burly guy with a beard was scrutinizing the engine. Then I realised what they were interested in – the bloody number plate! It was a G reg but prefixes wouldn’t start on number plates till 1963. Fortunately it was a classic black and white plate but I knew it wouldn’t make sense to them. I immediately hotfooted it out to where they were standing. The copper with the torch shone it in my face as I approached.

“Evening officers. Can I help you?” I asked holding my hand up in front of my face to shield my eyes from the glare.
“This your bike son?” the bigger one asked.

“It is yeah. Is there a problem?” I replied.

“Strange registration plate. What’s the significance of the G?” he asked.

I had to think quick. “Oh er that stands for Gibralter,” I lied. “It’s a foreign bike you see. I’m just over here for a few days visiting some friends.” My heart was pumping fast now. I knew that cops of this era didn’t have the technical backup from my day. No DVLA computers, mobile phones or anything like that and fortunately something in the back of my mind told me that Gibralter reg plates were similar to UK plates only they always had a G in them. I couldn’t remember how I knew that but I did.

The big bearded cop looked over at the other one who raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if to say ‘aint got a clue.’

“Gibraltar eh! Long way from home aren’t you sonny?” he probed. He was one of those seasoned cops with a perpetual air of suspicion. “Odd looking bike too. Never seen one of these around have you Pete”? he asked his mate.

Pete just shrugged. He obviously had no knowledge of what a Gibraltar number plate looked like and also didn’t appear too interested in bikes at all. I was hoping Officer big beard was going to be of the same inclination but unfortunately he wasn’t. “Got any documentation on you son?” he asked. Oh shit, now I was for it.

At that very moment the radio in the police car crackled. I caught some of it - something about an RTA in Hendon. Pete took the call and beckoned to my interrogator. Apparently they were being ordered to attend the accident. Big beard’s inquisitive demeanour changed immediately and to my utter relief he dropped his line of questioning. “Have a safe trip home son,” he said as he walked away. Then the two cops jumped into their Humber and sped off.

As I watched the blue flashing lights disappear into the night I breathed a sigh of relief.

“So you’re from Gibraltar eh?” said Tina, hands on hips. “You’re fulla surprises you are Toddyboy.”

I didn’t confirm it but I didn’t deny it either.

Jed had also been listening in on my banter with the cops. “Where’s Gibraltar then?” he asked. He was obviously not the brightest kid in the class this guy.

“Just south of Spain,” I replied.

A faint smirk of disbelief crossed his lips but it was tinged with a look of respect. “Bloody ‘ell. You come all that way on that bike?” he exclaimed.

“I’ve come a long way, that’s for sure,” I replied.

“Hats off to you mate. Well, I’m off,” said Jed looking at Tina as if to say are you coming too.

Tina declined, telling him she had to go home so he took her aside, gave her a snog then roared off into the night on his 5TA.

“You really from Gibralter?” she asked.

I didn’t want to lie but the concept of telling the truth just didn’t seem logical right then and there. I decided to sidetrack the conversation. “I’m tired Tina. I need to get some sleep,” I said.

“Where are you staying,” she asked.

Jesus! Did this bird ever stop asking awkward questions! She had me there though. Where was I going to stay?

Again, Tina had me on the hop, and again she came to my rescue. “If you like you can stay at my place. It’s just me and me Mum. Me dad left years ago. You can sleep on the sofa."

I didn't really have many other options. “After you,” I gestured.

Tina smiled, zipped up her leather jacket, donned her helmet and jumped on her bike, a Triumph 500 speedtwin and as I followed her out onto the road I wondered to myself where all this was going to end.
To be continued ………………………………………….

I find a mouthful of hot toddy at bedtime helps me sleep too.

Mitsui Spy wrote:I find a mouthful of hot toddy at bedtime helps me sleep too.

Oh Errr

Getting a bit hot under the collar there eh Eric?

Well, that's not what I expected at all.

But it was what I hoped for.

Well done Mr Todd.

Chapter 4.

Cruising along behind Tina at a sedate 60 or so I caught a glimpse in my wing mirror of another bike coming up behind me. My heart skipped a beat as blue lights flashed and a siren wailed. Shit! It was a cop. Not again! I slowed down and the cop came up alongside motioning with his left hand for me to pull over.

Tina had also pulled over and was sitting on her bike about thirty yards up the road looking back over her shoulder.

I remained seated on my bike with the engine still idling.

The cop pulled over a few metres in front of me, parked his bike and walked over to me.

“Good evening sir. Nice night for it,” he said. “Do you realize what speed you were just doing?”

“I just shrugged my shoulders apologetically. “Sorry officer,” I lied. “Not used to this bike yet. I just bought it, you know.”

Then something odd happened. The cop turned round and looked up the road to where Tina was sitting on her bike and I swear he nodded to her. Then Tina rode off! He then spoke into his radio and said something along the lines of “I have him.”

At that same moment I became aware of a dark blue van pulling up and stopping about five metres behind us. I heard sound of a sliding door being pulled open and then a heavy set guy in blue overalls got out and started walking purposefully towards the two of us.

Something didn’t feel right. This guy hadn’t just pulled over for no reason. There was some sort of collusion between him and the cop, as if they knew each other, and what was the deal with Tina? Had I imagined that or was there actually some kind of subtle communication between him and her as well?

The cop seemed to sense my concern and I noticed his eyes dart furtively to the man walking up behind me. Something was about to happen here and by the looks of it, it wasn’t going to be anything good.

My bike’s engine was still ticking over and I could sense by his body motion that he was preparing to do something untoward. The van guy was almost upon us and in a split second decision I grabbed the clutch lever, clicked into first gear and gave it a fistful of throttle. The bike surged forward. The cop jumped sideways to avoid me running him over. As he did so I gave him a hefty kick with my left leg but he managed to parry it and grabbed hold of my jacket. I managed to pull away but with him still hanging onto it then I gunned it back onto the road causing him to lose his grip and he toppled sideways.

I tore off down the road without thinking but one thing that did cross my mind was that was no cop! And who the hell was that guy in the van? Twisting the throttle to the stop in all five gears I gunned it up the road. Only then did I glance in the rear view mirror to see the police bike now in hot pursuit with lights flashing and siren wailing. With a blip of the throttle, I changed down a gear and let her rip. The three Doremi’s wailed and the rev counter topped out as the bike hit max speed. I checked my wing mirrors again. He was still there! I leaned forward to reduce wind resistance and kept going. When I looked back the guy was still behind me. Shit! This was getting serious.

Then, my right wing mirror shattered and seconds later something ricocheted off the back of my crash helmet.
What the ……! That bastard was shooting something at me! It couldn’t have been bullets though. I’d be dead by now if they were.

Subconsciously, I registered the effect of adrenaline coursing through my veins. My vision became clearer and my mind more focused as I realised I had to get away from him. This guy wasn’t just chasing me; he was out to knock me off – literally.
Up ahead, I saw that the slip road for Garston was coming up fast. I decided to wait until the last moment then slammed the brakes on and veered left, narrowly cutting past the front of a truck in the process. The truck driver blasted on his horn, but I was travelling so quickly that I was past him in an instant. Slamming the bike down through the gears, I disregarded the red lights at the end of the slip road and accelerated left towards the town. I didn’t have time to look back but somehow I knew my pursuer was still there. Flicking the bike round the next mini roundabout, I blasted up the hill.

Something was very wrong here. Whoever this guy was, cop or not, he meant me a whole load of no good. I had to get him off my tail. I dropped down a gear and gunned it. Hedgerows whooshed past either side of me like storm-clouds as I flicked the bike through the bends. Thank fuck I’d fitted bronze swing arm bushes and Avon Roadrider tyres, I thought.

The stopping power of this bike left something to be desired as I braked late and accelerated hard out of the corners, all the while trying to catch a glimpse of the bike behind me in the nearside mirror. Once or twice I saw his headlights and blue flashing light. He was still there and unless I was very much mistaken was gaining on me. Jesus – this guy knew how to ride. How the hell was I going to get away from him?

Reaching the crest of a hill on full chat, the front wheel came off the ground and it was all I could do to keep the bike in a straight line as it wheelied down the other side. Ahead of me was a long straight hill that went on for about half a mile. Twisting the throttle to the stop I blasted down it.

I looked back. He was gaining on me!

Looking ahead, I spied a black car coming the other way on the opposite side of the road. Then to my utter horror it veered across the road and headed straight for me! I slammed on the brakes. The forks nosedived and I was thrown forward onto the petrol tank from the violent inertia. Then the back wheel slid out sideways. I was on a collision course with the car coming at me. Everything seemed to slow down. I was still travelling at well over eighty miles per hour with the bike slewed sideways but for some reason it felt a lot slower than that. My mind must have been working so fast that time slowed down around me. Luckily, the front wheel of the bike was still facing forwards. In front of me, the car was dead ahead and on a collision course. The Kawa’s back tyre was still spinning like mad, trying to gain some grip on the road surface and in a split second I realised had one chance, and one chance only to avoid certain death.

With only twenty metres or so between me and the bonnet of the car ahead, I slammed the throttle shut and jabbed my heel down on the back brake lever. The rear tyre squealed and bit into the tarmac. At that exact moment I dropped a gear and yanked back on the throttle. The bike surged forward, but this time at an angle of about forty five degrees. It blasted across the road onto the other side of the central white lines like it’d been sling–shotted from a catapult.

The car hurtled past me at lethal speed, missing my left arm by a whisker.

Still wrestling with the bike’s shuddering handlebars as they trie to wrench themselves from my grip, I managed to keep it in a straight line till I finally brought it to a stop about fifty metres further on down the road. Then I looked behind me. The guy on the cop bike had also had to make an emergency manoeuvre to avoid the oncoming car. He’d narrowly escaped a head on collision himself but in doing so he’d ended up careering off the road and ploughing the front of his bike into a hedgerow.

The car had screeched to a halt, leaving smoking skid marks on the road behind it. Then I saw it reverse and the driver was leaning out the window shouting something to the man on the bike, who was frantically attempting to pull his machine free from the hedge. Another guy jumped out of the car and ran over to help him.

I didn’t hang about. These guys were obviously in cahoots and this was my best chance to get the hell away from them, whoever they were. I clicked the kawa into gear and roared off at full pelt. But to my utter dismay, as I accelerated down the long straight road I looked back only to see the car the cop bike’s lights again. Holy crap! What was I going to have to do to get rid of this guy?

The solution to that problem presented itself rather rapidly though. Just around the next bend was a hump back bridge that took the road over a river. It wasn’t visible till Id rounded the corner. I slamming the bike down through the gears and braked with all my might. The tyres protested, skidding and squealing as I went but they held, just, and as I righted the bike, the hump back bridge was on me. Up and over I went with both wheels in the air, then down hard onto the tarmac with a resounding crunch as the suspension bottomed out. By some miracle I kept her upright as I slammed on the brakes again, locking the rear wheel with the rear tyre squealing as it cut a swathe of black rubber into the tarmac.

Looking back, I just managed to glimpse the lights of the bike behind me as it too rounded the corner, travelling at the same speed or perhaps even faster than me. My pursuer wasn’t so quick to react however. His bike slammed into the hump back bridge at way too fast a speed. To make matters worse it looked like he was still braking as he hit it. He didn’t stand a chance. Going over that bridge at say thirty miles per hour would have been difficult, but with his back wheel locked solid and at the speed he was going the bike’s front forks bottomed out with and with nothing left to give, the back wheel reared up, catapulting him over the handlebars like a wild bull rider at a rodeo. He went flying over that bridge – literally.

His crippled bike cart-wheeled over and slammed into the tarmac, spitting him off into the hedgerow then it slid down the road and crashed into a telegraph pole, exploding in a ball of flame. For a moment, there was an eerie silence, broken only by the crackling flames from the burning wreckage and the rhythmic pulse of the river as it coursed under the bridge.

A couple of people who were coming out of a pub across the road started running towards the burning carnage, shouting and beckoning for others to come and help.

As I watched I wondered where that kamikaze car had gotten to. The sound of screeching tyres and a high powered motor at full revs answered that question for me as it came hurtling round the corner and slammed on its brakes in a squealing, dramatic attempt to stop before it too hit the hump in the road. Like the guy on the bike, it was going too fast and it couldn’t slow down in time. The front bumper disintegrated as it slammed into the raised section of tarmac, upending the heavy car’s back wheels and it veered out of control in an instant, smashing into the brick wall that lined the side of the bridge and crashing straight through it, sending bricks, mortar and smashed glass beads from the car’s windscreen cascading into the air. For a moment it just hung there, teetering halfway on and halfway off the bridge. Then came a grinding, graunching sound and I watched in muted awe the car toppled slowly forwards and almost as if it were in a slow motion film clip, it dipped down and slithered off the edge, crashing into the fast moving river below with an almighty splash.

Several other people had exited from the pub now to see what all the commotion was about and the road was now teeming with shouting, alarmed locals, some of them frantically calling out for help while others peered over the bridge’s brick wall trying to get a glimpse of the car that had just careered into the river below.

I decided to make myself scarce. Whoever that bike cop and those guys in that car were, they were no friends of mine. They could fend for themselves. Turning the bike around on full lock, I shot off down the road the way I’d just come.

This was no longer a surreal dream. This was a nightmare, and worse still I now knew Tina had something to do with it.

To be continued ................................