'ernst degner wanted to become the bike. he was tucked in so hard that it hurt. he had flattened his torso so tight against the fuel tank that his chest was getting battered black and blue as the little mz skipped from bump to bump. his chin was squeezed as hard as it'd go into the cube of foam rubber that had been glued towards the front of the fuel tank for that purpose. every muscle in his arms and legs strained inward, like he was trying to hug the machine to death. his knees were dug as deep as they'd go into the cut-outs that had been hand -beaten into each side of the aluminium fuel tank. he had shifted his hands as far up the handlebars as they'd go and he had moved his toes back onto the footrests, so his feet were fully hidden inside the bodywork, looking at the man and machine, it was difficult to see where the muscle ended and the metal began......'
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