Once upon a time

Once upon a time

Ok, I have had enough now.

Winter is beginning to drag on and I want it finished….but it is still only February.  Now, with our favorite watering hole gone we are like knights on some epic quest, tossed on the winds in search of our Holy Grail,  a new pub.  How I miss that warm, crappy beer; the smells that you could almost chew and the carpet that sort of stuck to your feet…..aah I am getting nostalgic and it  has only been 9 days 6 hours and 42 minutes since I drank my last beer there….

The memories are all that remain now, I could tell of the time of the great race, an epic encounter between two local heroes battling about just who was the fastest.

Because no good story ever started with a salad

 The friendly argument started for the normal reasons, boredom, beer and bullshit but this time it was interesting; you see it wasn’t two youngsters arguing it was two old boys who really should have known better. What’s more is both raced classic Triumphs and anyone brave enough to race anything that old and prone to blowing up is worthy of interest.

Of course there had been too much alcohol consumed that night for anyone to do more than talk bollocks,  but we were able to nail down some sort of plan for this upcoming spectacle. One of the guys owned our local breakers and agreed to supply two bikes of equal quality for the race, just to make sure all things were fair.  A route was arranged, and the following Friday evening was agreed as the date. The landlord of the pub came through to, a prize of beer for the night for the winner, suddenly things were getting serious!

Friday evening came and there was a throng outside the pub, you could cut the tension in the air with a tire lever! The two gladiators were pacing about, trying to look like they were having fun by chatting and laughing like old friends, but you could tell it was all an act! This was serious, this was for BEER!

  

In their dreams!

Then the seriousness took a knock because the bikes turned up. The promise was for two machines with a racing pedigree, and I suppose he did not lie, Honda and Mz both have a great history in racing…but a CG125 and an Mz125 are not really what springs to mind! This now added a whole new dimension to the evening as we realized that we would be able to follow the race physically. There was a mass scramble to find places on bikes and in cars and vans, deals were struck and souls were sold and finally all were ready.

They were off,  and so was the convoy behind them, pickup trucks and cars, filled with drunken bikers laughing and shouting, and for those of us on the bikes, well put it like this the butt on my pillion seat was rather shapely!

Out into the country they raced, and us following on behind did our very best not to overtake them!  It wasn’t the quickest race in the world; well it wouldn’t be with those two bikes, even if they were in perfect condition, which of course they weren’t.  The Mz was out in front, but not by much, when suddenly it cut out…oh what bad luck, and us, being the sort of mates that could,  all stopped and offered sage advice as to what could be wrong,  when we could draw breath between laughs that is. The CG disappeared into the distance, certain of victory and free beer for the night…

A small wiring fault was found and we all started off back to the pub,  Mz rider bracing himself for the gloating and piss pulling that was sure to come.  We rounded a corner a few miles further on and we spied the CG, pulled over on the side of the road, being inspected by a policeman.  As we passed slowly and respectfully (ok some of this story is fictional!), CG rider was pulling his helmet on and about to leave, the race was back on!

I never knew, honestly!

They called it a draw in the end, seeing as they both had to push their bikes over the finishing line and the arguments raged on, CG rider was certain that the bike cop that pulled him over was waiting there for him where as Mz rider was certain that the wiring fault was deliberate to.   Of course I would know nothing about that, after all how was I to know that the breaker’s best mate had a side bet with just about everyone in the pub that the CG was going to win, and also how was I to know that the beautiful butt on the back of my bike belonged to a lady that I had known since school…and who had always wanted to join the police force!

Stay safe

Ratso

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