Touch of Heaven

Yesterday, I went to the Croft Circuit leg of the British Superbike Championships. With my friend, Bob the Biker. I sat in the grandstand and watched as supertuned machines on two wheels, 2, 3, and 4 cylinder bikes with brake horsepower numbers in the hundreds, and engine capacities of a medium sized car rumbled past at around 180 miles per hour, the sound and vibrations rattling my eardrums and teeth.
But that was not it.

Yesterday, I walked through racing team pits, filled with Ducati 999s, Honda Fireblades, Yamaha R1s, R6s, Kawasaki Ninjas, Suzuki 1000ccs and what not. The stuff of magazines and dreams. I breathed in octane and adrenaline.
But that was not it.

Yesterday, I saw an English countryside field full of the best bikes in the world. From classic bikes which looked like they were from the 1930s or 40s, to bikes fresh out of the showroom. From Harleys to Hayabusas, and everything in between. I saw men, women and children in full leather biking gear, feeling completely at home. This was their way of life.
But that was not it either.

Yesterday, I was given a ride on a 900cc Ducati.

Yesterday, I was given a ride on a fucking 900cc Ducati, at fucking 160 kmph, by an expert rider weaving through the narrow English countryside roads. Taking corners at 100 kmph, while my heart was in my mouth and the low end torque and 75 horses were keeping my ass two feet ahead of the rest of my body at all times.
Yesterday, I was given a little touch of heaven

THAT was it.

^