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-   -   It was more'n A drag race (https://www.gopitbull.com/showthread.php?t=59801)

william williamson 04-09-2013 07:09 PM

It was more'n A drag race
I was on A Suzuki with A 1428 motor, 285 horse motor, 250 HP of timed nitrous. I was racing A twin Turbo viper.
His shit counting candles, mine also, both on the 2 step. Your listening to this thing, you get out in front of it, the adrenaline kicks in, you feel like A king, he's running 1300 HP. He's on top of the RPM'sin 3rd gear, headed to fourth, I've got A 1-2-3 auto with foot shift 4and 5 gear. I'm not sure if my bike is in 2 or 3, I got A big chunk riding on this, other folks have bet the farm.
I sense my progressive nitrous starting to get to 1/2 use, I'm 3 1/2 seconds in on A low 8 second street bike on A street tire. I'm thinking, did the tire slip some? What gear? Baby bajeebus? Are you there? The addict foxhole prayer! I DONT GET AN ANSWER! WTF am I gonna do? I runk the throttle, I shift, the shift drum chatters and then settles down, I settle down, my spray is at 60% and I'm gonna get all of the 40 in 1/2 A second. I squeeze my ass, I tuck into the saddle, I know what it's like to have A bike run out from under me in that moment, at A buck 50.
I don't pray, I do though thank God for letting me be A big fearless overgrown, shouldn't be doing this I'm so big, jockey, I look over, that tiger that was trying to eat me, clawing at my tire, the roar of A beast, like I'd never heard so close to my ear.
The fear, milks its way into my veins, it courses through my heart and it becomes another dose of adrenaline.
I look over, and the car pilot is in awe, the barefooted redneck has stolen his thunder, I nod my helmet at him, the throttle, though only A 1/4 throttle feels like I've turned it so far I could put it in my pants pocket.
The pilot backs off his motor, I hear the turbos wheeze, and then the whine as they settle to the coasting he does. I'm still tucked, buried and lost in the victory.
I shut the motor down, she hums silent like I'd never asked her to perform.
I get off the bike, and immediately, I am released from that junkie shot of adrenaline. My knees buckle, the pilot, who's walking over with my envelope catches me, and he says,
Son, you had A co pilot, I looked at your back and I saw this woman with A cane waving it over your head. I knew then, you didn't have an angel, you had A banshee. I says, that was momma, he looked at me, he was about 65 years old, an old racer with alot of money. He said to me, I recognized her. I knew big Marge and your daddy Wild Bill. It's an honor to lose money to your family, AGAIN.

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