THE DARK SIDE OF THE HOON

The lights showed both bikes were pre-staged so I inched forward until the stage lights on my side lit up. The giant man-child in the other lane decided to play silly buggers and didn't move for almost all of his allotted 20 seconds, time I spent making up convoluted insults based around dubious parentage and erectile dysfunction for when we met again on the return road.

Finally, all four stage lights illuminated, the tension and revs rising in anticipation. I stared, unblinking, as the three yellows flickered down the Christmas tree and with a final twist of gas, dumped the clutch just before the green came on to record what I imagined would be an astonishing reaction time and a glorious win. What I actually got was a massive amount of squealing wheelspin and a load of sideways action, ruining my start as I backed off to get it all in line. Even the ultra-tacky VHT traction compound, which had practically glued our boots to the start line earlier, making us sound like a herd of cattle in a bubble-wrap