The sun beamed down on the island. A soft breeze wafted between the trees, rustling the leaves in the British countryside. A robin darted out from the foilage, breaking cover to search for food.

“Funny...” thought John as he made his way past the bird. “Me and him are just trying to survive”. He held his head down as he worked his way past the bush, looking forward towards his goal. His arms and legs were feeling the strain of his progress, the sweat beading on his brow. “Can’t let up now, not so close to the finish”. He pressed on, eager to get to his goal.

The path which he took was normally well traveled, but it lay abandoned before him now. It seemed wider when he had come here the day before. Now, the tree and shrubs lining his travels seemed to reach out to grab him. The sun beat down on him as he passed below the trees.

John shifted his posture and pressed down with his left boot. He felt a slight hesitation, and heard a loud bang from behind him. The dash on his Daytona changed, gear indicator now showing he was in 4th, and the thin red needle of the tach, previously hovering near the redline, dropped, eager to make its way to the top of the RPM range once more.

The road leading up to the mountian on the course was starting to straighten up. The climb was approaching. Adjusting his wrist on the throttle, John let the howling triple dig, letting the numbers on the digital cluster before him climb.

180 kilometers. 190. As the bike crested 200, a blue light lit up on the dash, letting John know that his shift point was coming up.

He thought back to the chain of events that brough him here. A former track racer and canyon junkie, he took a job working for a dealer, and when they offered him a chance to travel to Europe to watch the Isle of man, he took the opportunity and travelled over. What he wasnt expecting was to be handed the keys to a track ready Daytona and told to go and have fun on the mountian course. He was used to bombing through canyons back in North Carolina, but nothing close to the speeds he was achieving now.

The blue started to flash. John pressed down on the lever again, the speedometer reading 225km/h. there was a slight hesitation as the bike cut spark for the gear change, accompanied by a loud bang emiting from the exhaust. A hot blue flame of ignited fuel spat out, beofre the bike resumed its charge up the hill.

John grinned behind his helmet. “Just trying to live


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