Riding home the day before yesterday I decided to tack on a few miles to my normal 75 mile round trip commute.
I ended up on Custer road, which is a long straight flat road with no intersections for a good while. I was cruising along at or near the speed limit (55), humming, relaxing, in total comfort in my 'Stich with my new Unobtanium vest.
In my left mirror I saw a pair of headlights rapidly gaining on me. "Hmm.... a Porsche 911 or Boxter," I thought. I still was just cruising. The Porsche zoomed by on my left in the next lane at about the ton. It was a new black Carerra 4 Cabrio driven with the top down by a geezer with his combover flapping in the wind.
Surprisingly enough, at first I sat there and didn't do anything. This lasted about five seconds. Then, of course, something clicked in my head and I tapped down three gears and whacked the bitch wide open.
Third gear, full throttle... bars waggling a bit over the expansion joints. 8,000... 9,000... 10,000... shift!
Fourth gear, full throttle... Speedo is sweeping past 135.. 145.. 155... Fully tucked in... 'Stich is flapping on my back... The Porsche is accelerating, I'm not catching him as rapidly as I was. I puff of black smoke from the exhaust as he shifts... The Porsche ECUs must dump every bit of fuel they can in at full throttle at these speeds... 10,000... 10,500... Shift!
Fifth gear, full throttle... 165... 170... speed not climbing as rapidly... Wind is roaring... Bike is screaming... 175 indicated... 180... 185.. shit! rev-limiter. No wonder.. Shift!
Into 6th and WHOOOOOOOSH! The Porsche flies backwards past me on my left... Jeezus... I had about 50 mph on top of him... Keep it pinned... Rub it in... Speedo is crawling now... 190... 191... 192... 193... 193.5... 194... 194.25... 194.5... 194.75... 195... Shit! Shit! Shit! Running out of road... A red light sits up ahead... Slam the throttle shut, four fingers on the lever, foot mashes the pedal... Sit up.. Wind blast is insane... Fifth gear... Front tire is howling... Fourth gear... Engine screams as it compression brakes from 9,000+, popping, spitting, backfiring... Third gear... Down below the ton... Second gear... Back end waggles, front is chirping... Whew... Plenty of room... ease off the brakes... ease up to the line... First gear... clutch in, braking... SQUEEZE! Goood stick from the scorching tire, back end comes up a good three feet.
The back end slams down, my foot is out. My bike, which was at thrice the speed limit (and then some) just a few seconds ago is now burbling and idling normally. The cooling fan is on, the temp guage is hovering at the three-quarter mark. The Porsche comes to a halt on my left, the flat 6 mechanical noise dropping to a Valkerie-like burble as he idles next to me at the light.
The guy has a manic grin on is face and gives me a thumbs up.
The light changes, I nod to him and turn right. He revs it up and drops the clutch and the car lunges forward with that great mechanical Porsche noise.
He can't see it, but I've got a manic grin, too.