I WOKE UP excited at 4am … blinded by my own excitement is how I have been described on occasions by close friends.
I knew just by the electrifying signals my insomniac consciousness was beaming out to my endoskeleton that today would be full throttle. Redmond Redline. Wicked! I take those days as often as I can.
Remember waking up with your pushbike on your mind? Infant stuff, I admit, but I still hold onto flying carpets, candy castles, genies in a bottle and adventure even as I grind my bones through their fourth decade. Halfway.
It was 4.02am as I put the collars on my unholy, barking, crazy hyperactive fleet of three Jack Russells. We went and tabbed out 5km of walk-jog-puff-bark, walk-jog-puff-bark. We got home and I gave my trinity of ratdogs a treat each and they went back to bed (my bed!)
I went into the backyard and pulled the choke knob on the 1972 Charger. It barked into life with more vigor than three Jack Russells wailing for Smackos. I wondered about my nomination for “Neighbour of the Year” as the cold 245 Hemi spluttered and coughed into life an entire hour before dawn. I feathered the throttle and rolled down my street thinking about boobs and sandwiches.
I arrived 15 minutes later at Skinny’s deli and dived stomach first into a Dean Luken-strong coffee with a chicken cheese toasty. I read ADB mag and vacuumed up this most righteous of breakfasts as the sun rose into the blue North Queensland sky turning the steel-grey dawn into a warm exciting morning.
In the boot of the Charger was my BMX. Maybe that is the most delicious sentence I have ever written? Anyway, I headed to the pump track and, with brekky fuelling my legs, I reeled off some laps. While pumping the track, lofty thoughts such as my favourite Guns and Roses song, tommy sauce on devon or Meg Ryan in The Doors film filled my mind and cleansed the filthy thoughts and dramas such as dozer service intervals or fence repairs that can flood it unnecessarily.
I started to sweat and puff, my timing went to shit and after a couple good sessions I threw BMX back in Charger and headed back to my castle. The morning had been good but that was only the intro. I dragged out my dirtbike and suited up.
Damn my heart rate peaks whenever I pull on them dirtbike boots and helmet. I rolled out of my street on the KTM 500EXC with my pipe throwing out enough noise to make Bon smile. I hit the windmill track and soon I was sweating and riding wild again.
I rode through to the pinnacle mountain range (cliffs really), stopped to drink out of the creek and skim stones on the creek. I was feeling a bit weary on the ride home so I just pulled wheelies and safe powerslides instead of trying to push the front or stand up in fourth gear wide open.
I got home and found it was midday. I jumped in the shower and washed off the crust. Quite deliberately and as per my plan I jumped on my Suzuki lounge chair (GSX1400) and rode to lunch. My local is a dank Irish pub and I fit in perfectly. I grabbed some wedges and poured down a great pint of the black.
I put Gimme Shelter, Jack Flash then Satisfaction on the juke box. I was fed and watered now and headed home. It was not far but I saw my speedo read 2 something on the straight, also I pulled a rev limiter cracking a two-gear wheelie.
My ears were ringing and I was as tired as an $85 whore at dawn when I got home. I headed to the lounge to fart, snore and snooze like Jake Blues until Mrs Redmond got home from work.
I did not feel like cooking so I suggested “date night”. Date night is always and only ever done with our 5.0L VK. I fired up LIE05 and we charged into the Mecure Inn restaurant. Same place we jumped the broom. Using this 1984 Holden to finish off my day meant my toy box had been thrown wide open, as was the plan.
After destroying prawn-garlic and white wine we headed home. As per usual on our way home from the city in LIE05 I stopped in industrial area (private property, of course) and I smashed the back tyres and ripped out donuts. Wifey laughed and squealed as I threw the car around while the four-barrel sang like Roy Obison wailing out his arrival on the Bayou.
The last stop on our date night is always the servo. I bought a couple of banana Paddle Pops and giggled at the rubber smell pouring out from my street car (never gets old). Banana Paddle Pops are so good and certainly it can be an advantage to have you co-pilot on a sugar high at the end of a cruise … I skip the CD to Ain’t Even Done with the Night by John Cougar as we rolled low and loud back into our suburb.
This is my yin. Some days I pour over the New York Times, workshop manuals or panic about security in the free world. Some days I worry about my fibre intake and nose hairs, but some days I let my excitement lead the way. Tonight I lay in bed still buzzing from the day and smiling. They say life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone. BULLSHIT.