Up to now, my life has mimicked my sportbike riding style: wild and reckless. Tonight proves to be no different. I’m speeding as usual.
I’m pushing my motorcycle at 120 mph down a darkened one lane straight-away. Though my bike’s headlamp functions properly, I can’t see beyond ten feet ahead of me. A quick glance at my tachometer reveals the needle flirting dangerously close to 16, 000 rpm. She’s gonna redline, if I don’t back off. But I can’t. This adrenaline run is pure suicide and I know, deep in my heart, I should pull off the pitch black road.
Instead, I twist the throttle wider. The foreign-engine screams in violent protest, but rockets faster, speeding me toward an inevitable doom I am reluctant to turn away from. My body stiffens against the cold relentless wind blowing past my helmet. As my head bobs from side to side, my vision obscures…
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