Hell Bent for Leather

I´m someway out of town on an old, dry football pitch, and on the Honda Baja XR. Despite finishing at three AM this morning, I´m in good shape and anything residual drunkenness is sobered by two-hundred-and-fifty cubic centimetres of cylinder capacity. Urghf, urghf, urghf. Two hours later, without a fall, I´m moving through the gears and roaring up and down a dirt road.

I´d checked out of my hostel this morning, but I now I feel a definite urge to break off another piece of this action. Motorbikes are cool. If not for this helmet, I could probably smoke and ride. I´m checking back in.