Angry Bird

Insanity Is The Only Reason This Motorcycle Exists.

- Ruman Devmane

 At 280 kph, gunning down the airstrip in 6th, I was still sitting fairly upright. The scenery was blurring past at an uncomfortable rate but the physical force of the wind was conspicuously absent. Less than a kilometre of tarmac lay ahead of me and at this point, I was tempting fate. I had two choices to make — bail out and coast to a halt or twist the throttle to the stop, to go even faster. This was an opportunity that was probably never going to present itself again, certainly not in this lifetime. It’s impossible to escape the irresistible grasp of speed and being a self-confessed lesser mortal, I stood no chance of fighting this seduction. I then remembered I wasn’t even crouching, let alone bracing myself, for this moment I have dreamt of a thousand times. I tucked in. The howl got louder. 300 kph. 320 kph. A hazy blur. Then silence.

I thought I had died. Not that any of it was agonising but I couldn’t believe what we, as an ambitious, optimistic team, had set out to perform had happened. It had become the past. It was over. The lack of a casualty, therefore, was a bit confounding. I should add that this deep into my train of thought, I was decelerating although still past 230 kph. This is not something I’m used to. This is not something many people are used to. I cannot deny how lucky I am, and this is not even in reference to the fact that I am, indeed, still alive. Now, of course, speed doesn’t kill people, mistakes do. And how wrong can you go on a motorcycle travelling in a straight line, with a squared-out rear tyre, on a strip of tarmac that qualifies as ‘ample’ even for a Boeing 737?