I hate bird poop. They stick on the seat, and they stick hard. Especially when they’re dried. Try as hard as I may, my hand hurts and so does my heart trying to wipe the shit off. Whatever do those darned winged things eat?
Especially when the bike is all clean and shiny black, they soar above and start their target practice. I hate them. I’m getting a gun.
The moment finally arrived. Monday, 30th July, 2100 hrs. No more would I have to look at it in awe with others on it instead of myself. It was mine now. What I always wanted, my mum gave it to me. It’s black, it’s heavy, it’s alive, it’s mean, and it’s definitely male. It’s my very own Bajaj Pulsar 180 DTSi. The dark phantom, black from head to toe, alloys, engine and attitude. Razor sharp LED tail lights, wicked wolf lamps, and very stylish digital speedo.
From a first impression, the bike overwhelms you with it’s bulky, muscular form and sharp features. You can’t help but stare. Stare into the darkness, into the mystery that surrounds it, the adventure that it promises and the fun that it beckons. I sat on it for the first time, and I could feel my blood race inside of me already. You automatically get into a ’racing’ posture and the power of the engine makes you feel like you own the road. It doesn’t make a loud roaring sound, but makes one good enough to get your heart to beat faster.
I pressed the self start, and the bike growled, like a wolf ready to find it’s prey, like danger was lurking in the air, like good… suddenly became bad, and like magic… was just about to begin. It felt great, this beast I was riding, just soared through, as if there were no road beneath, smooth as silk. It was a dark street and I purposely didn’t turn on the lights. There were a few dogs on the road, lying around, and when I neared, I turned the “wolf” lamps on. They could see that it was a superior being approaching, and they bowed out of the way, for me to silently pass by. They knew whose road it was. Took a turn and entered the main road where traffic was flowing. Sped it up and tested it, ran like the wind. And I couldn’t have been happier on it, coz this time, I had that one main function that the other bikes I rode didn’t have. The horn.
It wasn’t a crazy one, but was loud, and sent the message across quite effectively. Get out of my way, or I’m going to kill you. It was just perfect. I am normally not myself when driving or riding. I shout, scream, swear, show the finger and even the tongue to all the annoying people on the road. This country doesn’t deserve roads when all it has is wild untamable crazy motorists. But I was out now to tame them. The wolf is on the prowl, and it will eat them. Show them who’s boss and have them clear the way.
It rained heavily that night, and so in the morning, we had potholes and slushy muddy roads. Took the bike out for a spin, shiny black, but returned muddy brown, like a bad boy coming home from play. And I thought I’d be happy on the bike, but I was infuriated when a stupid scooty girl zipped pass me at a turning and nudged me from the side, leaving a dent on the side of the lamp. Nasty, but unnoticeable. I cooled down by evening, and somehow, didn’t feel too bad about it either. In fact, I liked it that my bike now had a scar. It gave it character and made it all the more wicked.
Bought myself a nice black helmet to go with it and only after trying it on, did I realise how big my ears were and how right my mum used to be when she used to tell me how funny I looked after I’d had a haircut. They’d get folded and it’d be the most uncomfortable feeling. I could unfold them inside, but not totally. Got used to it anyways. But with the helmet on, the noise is less, and you can be a little ignorant of the world around you, and just enjoy your ride.
This was evolution. From a humble beginning on a 150 cc Suzuki Fiero, (which by the way, I had a flying start with – I gave so much throttle on the first gear before releasing the clutch, the bike just wheelied up and flew and sent me crashing down) to a 100 cc traffic busting Suzuki Samurai. It was now my time, to evolve, and to separate the kids, from the man. I will however, be grateful to the two bikes for teaching me, and for instilling in me, this new spirit, and new passion, my new found glory.
I am now, a biker.
And this relationship that exists between me and my bike is indescribable. It’s a bond that a doctor shares with his stethoscope, a guitarist with his guitar, a boy with his favourite GI Joe, and a girl, with her soft toys. Yes, it makes you all young and proud and possessive again.
And so begins, a new chapter in my life, where I am now, indefinitely mobile, with an empty rear seat.
Girls beware; the wolf is on the prowl.
