Bacon

Monkey rides. East this time, into the blinding early morning sun. Once again his trusty steed rumbles below him as the urban decay of east London slowly gives way to the bland retail parks and shopping arcades of Essex. Despite the boring surroundings and the general monotony of riding the same route every day, Monkey has learnt that this particular journey often has a few surprises lined up to keep him on his toes. While others become complacent in their daily routine, Monkey’s senses are alert and his eyes scan the road like a hawk.

Today’s journey starts with the comforting sight of an ambulance tending to an upended biker. A regular sight along the A12, this particular rider appears to have been taken out while filtering through traffic. His black R6 lies on its side leaking fluid while the paramedics tend to him. Nobody looks hurried so it seems the biker is relatively ok, alive at least. Monkey shakes off this stark reminder of his vulnerability by doing what he’s good at…..arsing around. At a set of lights he blasts away from the line as they go green, then in with the clutch, let the bike redline and BLAM, out with the clutch again. The front wheel rockets upwards, along with Monkey’s heart, which gets temporarily stuck in his throat until the fuel tank wallops into his chest and knocks it back down again. He manages to shut off the throttle and the front end drops. Winded, and with his pride dented as much as his balls, Monkey sheepishly, and painfully, continues at a more modest pace.

Further down the road Monkey comes across another biker ahead of him filtering through the traffic at a set of lights. Although clearly much shorter than Monkey, he is riding a tall enduro bike and at a standstill his toes only just reach the floor. He has a large topbox on the back of his bike, which doesn’t seem to help the man’s balance as he tentatively makes his way through the traffic. In a dazzling miscalculation he chooses the worse possible time to weave between two cars. The lights have just changed to green and the cars begin to move as he rides between them. He corrects his path, trying to get his bike pointing in the right direction and as he does so there is the slightest of contact between his front tyre and tyre of the moving car. It is so slight that it’s barely noticeable. But Monkey sees it. The man’s already questionable balance is found wanting as the bike starts to fall. His left leg shoots out and he manages to stop the bike from falling, but his short legs don’t have the leverage to right the bike, which is leaning over at a forty-five degree angle. He puts all his strength into trying to get the bike back up and his arms begin to shake with the exertion. His efforts are futile because there can only possibly be one winner here. He just doesn’t have the height to get this bike upright again but he hasn’t quite accepted the inevitable yet. Having come to a stop a few feet behind the stricken biker, Monkey watches all this develop with amusement. After leaving it as long as possible he lunges his bike forward at the last moment, puts his hand on the topbox and gives the bike a swift shove. This was a complete surprise to the biker as he suddenly finds himself sat upright in his saddle again. He looks around nervously, before quickly fumbling his bike into gear and riding off. Monkey sighs, casually engages a gear and follows. At the next set of lights he pulls alongside the biker who leans towards him. ‘Thanks mate’ he shouts sincerely ‘You really saved me bacon back there’. Monkey’s expression is hidden behind a darkened visor, but he nods nonchalantly in acknowledgement. Monkey knows.