derbyshire, where men are men and sheep are scared, hundred miles on the beemer saturday, today i get the 'domestic's' out of the way, watch some british superbike racing on sky, sit in the garden with the dog's drinking tea, late afternoon and the boxer is calling me, it's an itch that has to be scratched, riding kit on, the little 650 gently rocking from side to side on the stand as i shut the garage door, don't know where i'm going, just ride, the sky is grey, deep cloud many thousand's of feet thick and every now and then a few drop's of rain splatter on my yellow, low level light, industrial safety glasses that i wear when using my open face 'cromwell' lid, i love this bike, i love the anonymity that it afford's, if i go anywhere on the sporty i get self-concious, people gawk at it and ask questions, on the bmw it's different, sport's bike riders ignore you, harley riders ignore you, it's great, i guess it must be the 'space 1999' styling of this early 80's machine, the square headlight and the kraft cheese triangle fairing as it comes toward's you?, this bike suit's me down to the ground, i ride it and in karate terms i reach 'muga', muga is a state of intuitive awarness, universal consciousness, i come from another planet, baby...................
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