motorcyclemeditation.com

To Hillingdon today, a quick jaunt on the motorcycle, speed limit fifty miles an hour. Traffic mild, occasional knots of slowing cars providing mild entertainment by way of overtaking opportunity.

Pulling away from some lights briskly, staying in the middle lane, catching up to a lone car stuck purposelessly on the outside. Sudden activity from behind, a slightly dated orange BMW, first undertaking, then swerving in front of the motorcycle, then roaring away. Four oversized exhaust pipes and a grotesque rear spoiler, eloquent signs of backstreet dreams and testosterone overload.

Well not much to do about it, already doing near sixty, don’t want to go much faster even for the joy of meting out lessons to cars with ideas above their station. But at the next lights, what have we here, oh how sweet, the orange BMW waiting at the front with time for the motorcycle to come up alongside.

Driver revving the engine belligerently. Lights green, car flooring it. Just ahead of the motorcycle, speed about forty. Perfect. Opening the motorcycle throttle slightly, surging alongside. A little more, surging ahead. Lesson meted out, ease off.

Orange car driver unamused. Veering sideways at the motorcycle. Gee huh, road rage. Easy enough to deal with, the road empty and the inside lane available. Slowing down slightly, letting him go. Orange car also slowing down, following the motorcycle to the inside lane. His fists waved.

Cars coming up from behind, overtaking. Picking the moment. Okay pal, more lessons. The motorcycle catapulting forward, into the outside lane. The orange car feebly following. Timing working well, two other cars dozily perambulating past each other and a slow truck, he getting stuck behind.

Childish to do anything other than leave it at that. But there again, what the hell. Coming up to a junction, traffic thick in two lanes, flowing in the third. Motorcycle hanging in with the thick traffic. Mister Angry in the orange BMW burning up the third. Motorcycle slipping in behind. A long queue at the lights, BMW fifteen cars from the front, revving impatiently.

Motorcycle filtering past, carefully indifferent to the BMW, oh dear, brushed his wingmirror.

Okay, enough, probably unwise to taunt him further.

Enjoyed that.