I’ve always deliberately kept myself from liking motorbikes. I appreciate the insane engineering that goes into them, and even more, the bonker riders that make magic with them. It’s just too dangerous for my liking.
My first real encounter with a proper hardcore motorcycle was a dirt bike much like this- owned, modified and driven one by my best friends.
Engineered Insanity, is what I like to call it.
The first thing that gets to you is the weight of the bloody thing- the first time he took me for a sighting lesson, the weight of it was what really stood out. The thing weighs a metric ton. Coming from a background of pedal-powered two-wheelers, I was completely blind-sighted, and almost dropped the thing flat, with me basically a passenger for the journey to the cold hard concrete. After you accustom to the weight, then comes the power. The sheer amount of power is mind boggling. It rips the very fabric of space-time, and drives your body forward, leaving your soul in its wake. Every twist of the handle, every kick of the foot for a gear change, you’re launched into hyperspace. G’s become C’s. Your heart now resides somewhere behind your spinal vertebrae. Your brain? That switched off the moment you turned that ignition key. That was probably one of the only times I actually thought: Death.
The second time, long after making my peace with the fact that I could not trust myself to bugger off into oblivion on a two-wheeler, was when that very same friend offered me a lift to the bank.
It was a breezy Tuesday afternoon, the sun was out, but the air was still cold and crisp, typical for autumn in Northern China We were on the “river road” as it’s called, an empty, long, straight road, with no cameras and no traffic lights, spanning the length of the city. The man was booking it, and rightly so. No one comes out at lunchtime, and we could see down the road for miles. 60kph quickly became 80, and was creeping even higher. As fate would have it, one of the cars parallel parked on the curb, decided, as is custom I assume, to complete a perfect 180 out of his parking bay, and on to the opposite side oncoming lane.
Time froze. The car stopped, a deer in the headlights. I made peace with everything and everyone I’d ever held a grudge against. The funny thing is that I had time to think. I actually had time to say to myself “right, this is it. This is where I call it a day. I should try to loosen up my muscles, so at least once I get catapulted into the air, my body stays in one piece. That way, all the damage will be internal. I should probably also read my kalimahs. I feel bad for the driver, we’re both to blame.”
I swear to you, we were gone. It was the end of our story, and the time was over. Only @irfaan_knows how he managed to stop that bike in time.
As I said, all this happened in slow motion. I saw the needle on the speedo fall and the look of sheer terror in that poor motorist’s eyes. I felt the clutch engage, and the rear of the bike lift. I felt a wind on the passing side, millimetres away from that car’s bumper. If someone doesn’t believe in a higher power, this most definitely is my proof to them.
We got away, by the cuffs of our pants. Till today, I sometimes lie awake at night trying to figure out how in the world did my man slow down enough, and in time, to avoid a catastrophic end. You’d probably have to ask him yourself, but I doubt he’d have any answers for you.
Leave a Reply