FORTY-EIGHTTHE HARBOR LAY FIVE miles from here, with four of those leading down to the tollgate on Chapman’s Peak Drive. We weren’t alone on the road, but I rode that bike like we were. It handled magnificently and after nearly a year of not touching a motorcycle all the reflexes came seeping back almost instantly. The overdose of adrenaline and other action juices had tapered off and focus pulled to a fine pinpoint.
By the end of the first hundred yards I was doing 80, taking the corner at 50 to the right again, knee only covered in a pair of suit trousers, almost touching the tarmac. As I turned this corner and straightened up again, I saw the lights of the X6 make their way back past another vehicle on the opposite turn. I opened the throttle again, night air washing through my face an
