Scene: Peak hour shitfight on Market St, Sydney, approaching intersection with the turnoff onto the interchange onto the flyovers leading onto the Anzac Bridge.
Me: Lanesplitting on my newly-assembled freshly-acquired blue ZX9. Red-powdercoated frame, black-powdercoated swingarm, black ducktail, black hugger, red front guard, tinted screen, Scorpion pipe, Ohlins rear shock, red-shrink braided lines (pics soon).
Approaching the intersection, I spy something up ahead with a low, skinny arse and even skinnier rear tyre trailing a cloud of blue smoke from a stack of three exhausts down the right side of its tail.
Couldn't be. Couldn't possibly.
Lanesplit extra hard to catch up before the red light up ahead changes and I hop into the same slot in traffic.
It faken is.
A green-with-blue-racestripe Mach IV. Black-powdercoat frame, fresh paint, bikini fairing, cast wheels, replica period rear shocks, reupholstered seat, dual front calipers, still in front of the forklegs, and those triple-stacked custom chambers and carbon stingers.
OMGWTFBBQ!
I lean over and scream in the guy's ear how he's riding the most awesome thing I've ever seen. He proceeds to look over my paltry effort and goes, "Thanks. That there would've taken some work, too." Yeah, like just a rebuild from a bare motor after the frame and swingarm came back from the powdercoater's.
Lights turn green, we give it. I let him get ahead and the just drops it onto the peg turning left under the Darling Harbour footbridge plaza, then picks it up and drops it onto the right peg to take the far exit for Broadway, all while trailing the thickest cloud of the bluest smoke seen anywhere since the last time he commuted on his 35-year-old piece of headbanging two-stroke history.
I can think of at least a half-dozen members on here who I imagine would undergo gender reassignment just so they could have this guy's babies.
Fecking awesome.