Ever had a day, riding or otherwise, that ends up etched into your petroleum-stained brain and a kind of surreal movie that you can’t believe actually happened? The days where completely without the aid of silly biscuits, you have to think twice about them just to make sure that you aren’t about to relate the experience to someone as if it was a real life event when it was in fact just a dream that your memory cortex hadn’t filed properly. The days where you just suddenly get this moment of crystalline clarity burst into your head like a sniper’s bullet from a thousand yards and you ask yourself, “how the Keith Richards did I get here?” The days where you are just waiting for some unseen director to yell “cut” and then you suddenly see behind the facades and through the fog and realise that it’s all a show for a secret audience and somehow you have been in the starring role all along. Have you? We all did. It was last Sunday, and it was pretty fucking strange to put it mildly. Weird weather, weird bikes, weird people. Weird scenes inside the goldmine? Almost, my friend, almost. Cut.
PS. Many thanks to the Sydney Cafe Racer crew for staring along side us. Next time bring the sun with you.