Words: Peter Elliott Photos: Geoff Osborne

’ m looking out of my helmet at 500 metres of flat, black, rubbersmeared concrete. There is no inch that isn’ t covered, except right at the base of solid concrete walls on either side of me. A small tree of spotlights beneath two suspended incandescent lightbulbs hangs to my right. The top bulb is lit. The one beneath is not. A man in stained overalls, headphones, with a wired controller in his hand, waves me forward. An inch. Two inches. Six. And then the second bulb lights. My right wrist contracts and the revs climb with a throbbing roar- 3000, 4000rpm, the spots go on, I have no idea what colour they are, I’ m colour blind, blink, blink, blink, I release the clutch, winding more power on and suddenly the road is streaking into lines. The engine coughs and stutters, I roll off the throttle it catches and I change gears, rolling on again harder, and again it hiccoughs, what the hell is going on! A motorcyclist in the lane to my right has shot ahead- then on comes the power, big, smooth and thrilling- I’ m into third, fourth and just as I pass the end of the quarter mile, I touch somewhere over 160kph. Wow! Cool! WOW!! Bugger. Bugger! Slow, way too slow. I look back over my shoulder as I roll down the escape road back towards the start line. Big red accusatory numbers. a metre high. Brilliantly lit for all to see. 14.4 seconds. 101.2 mph. Very slow. A small, grim-faced girl hands me a brutal print out. Reaction Time 0.78 secs. Hell. My first run on a drag strip is over. It was exhilarating, fun. Fast, loud and legal. And I was really disappointed. 14.4 seconds.

Damn it. 14.4 seconds. I lined up again. Don’ t worry about waiting for green. Look at the lowest light. 1,2,3, Go, blur, splutter, roll off, pick up again, change gear, hold the throttle wide, don’ t, dammit! 13.9. Am I over-revving the engine? Is there a governor? Nope. Traction Control... Aha!

KIWI RIDER 79