Speed

I have always love speed, whether it is from the innocent sprinting on the field after a soccer ball, to the leisure of inline skating, to the death defying road rage. Racing on the road may not be the right thing to do, but I simply love it.

I used to ride a sports bike, not a big one though. Yamaha TZR 125, red and white, to be exact. It was my first bike and it was a typical “bad boy” kind of bike. I would fly down the street at any opportunity I could get. In fact, I always turn a full throttle.

I raced quite often, either with my friends or challenged strangers on the road. Although my bike had a small capacity, I used my guts to beat them flat. I would dart in between cars and trucks, squeezing through the narrowest of gaps at high speed to gain a lead. Traffic lights were often indicators for the beginning of the excitement. After that, it served no purpose. Whatever color it lighted, there was only one instruction to follow, and that was “Go”. Nothing could stop me, not even after I had an accident, which my parents did not know about. I did all this because I loved the adrenalin rush in my body.

I ride an even smaller bike now, Suzuki Viva 110, red and black. I do not race anymore, but I can still taste the adrenalin every time I rush to work, or in between appointments. The fantastic feeling of riding down the road in between traffics reminds me of the good old days. But as I grow older, I realize that what I used to do was an act of a foolish young lad. I still have my scars to remind me of those crazy days and they will remind me not to repeat my folly for the rest of my life.