reflektor

so, me and dangerous tip up at the local bike night wednesday, dangerous superstylin' on the real bonneville, the original meriden triumph, [i can remember pressing my snotty nose against wilemans window on siddals road in derby as a callow youth and admiring the 'big' british twins], i'm trailing behind on the 'false' triumph, the hinckley, the podgy, awkward sister to the supermodel, we park up and immediately people flock around to look at the dangerous bonny, old blokes, 'i had one just like it youth, back in the day, let me tell you about the time me and my missus went to.....' bearded trendy boys, classic bike buffs even 'hedumakated' sports bike riders, all drooling over the loveliness that is the 'e' type grey, love-removal-machine that is the dangerous trump, i just take off my lid and go and get the cokes in, [proper coca-cola though, full sugar, served ice cold in a glass bottle, non of that syrupy shit behind the optics] as dangerous signs autographs, poses for photo's with the fan's, the grandkid's, young ladies, dignitaries and the local ukip candidate, answers numerous questions about his bike i go off for a wander around, all biking life is here, from turbo charged, lengthened swinging-armed, quick-shifting katana street legal drag racers, through to the local zip mounted scooter massive, the local h.a. turn up as do the r1 riding superbikers, all rubbing shoulders, smiling, no attitudes and getting along famously, it's all good and yet, somehow, it's not, i'm feeling rather uncomfortable with it all, don't get me wrong, i live for motorcycles, it's just that, erm, i don't really feel part of it all, i don't really fit in anywhere, i liked the ride there and i loved the ride back i just didn't like the bit in the middle...............