beaky blinder [aka the ktm supermoto project]

i'm not a fan of christmas, i admit it, all that false bonhomie leaves me colder than a freshly shaved hipster's chin. [if i hear slades 'i wish it could be xmas everyday' again i'll spew up a concoction of tyskie, luke warm mince pies, cynicism and quorn roast.] don't get me wrong.  i like the time off work but for me it's reaching the winter solstice that does it for me. the promise of the days slowly getting longer, creeping towards spring, brilliant. finished work today and dragged the bikes out of the shed into the milky winter sunshine. started them both up to warm up the thick, cold oil, [i long ago threw my battery 'optimiser' in the bin after advice from an expert who told me to just start my bikes every couple of weeks instead, let them reach operating temperature and i would never have to buy a new battery again. and. you know what? he was right. apparently it's something to do with disturbing the majik stuff that makes batteries produce electrickery, don't ask me why but it works for me] anyhoo, while the bikes were gently warming up me and dangerous took full advantage of sweeping out the shed and completing the clean up operation that we started last week and erm, sort of just ground to a halt while we drank tea and ate hot mince pies.
     dangerous is like larry's evil conscience in the 'animal house' movie, you know the one, 'fuck her...' anyhoo, we are sitting quaffing another brew, dangerous is giving it the bee-gee's 'ooh, ooh, ahh, ahh, ahh' as he gorges on another too hot mincer. between the swear words i can make out ' get your helmet on, go on, just round the block' 'i've got no tax on it dangerous' 'fuck that go on, go, fuck her....' so i end up donning helmet, no gloves and a fetching shorts, batman hoody and trainers combo.
       it's january, the roads are damp, i have a quarter turn throttle, new tyres and  a 63 bee-haightch-pee, 150 kg, big single between my legs, i mean, what could possibly go wrong?
       out onto the road and a big handful of throttle see's the back end of the beaky blinder coming around parallel to the front, holy shit! i'm four feet out of the saddle, both legs flailing behind and getting spat off the highside, how i save it i don't know! i snake off up the road, selecting gears and the rev's rising as the tyres fights for grip on the greasy surface. two laps of the block, front wheel pawing the air, no clutch here just sheer, nasty, power. straight back into the shed. i'm shaking like a shitting dog. dangerous is soiling himself. 'fucking hell' i say. 'fucking hell' say's dangerous. my toes are poking out of my ruined trainer, my sock atomized, toes bleeding. 'fucking hell, i'll put the kettle on........'