Raw Undisciplined Emotion - the bicyclist turn bikie
The weather was magic. The traffic unusual. Many classic and vintage vehicles including motorcyclists paraded the long path from Sandy Bay to Taroona. Perhaps there were some odd people out, including your Bike Group. As we headed for the 20 km ride from 'sea to peak' - Yacht club to the torture of Bonnet Hill, an attempt to merge with the traffic drew a blast of effusive agitation from an old fart in a Ford Fortuna, maroon in colour. The Fart was headed into the Casino: "we went down to Havana, to have a gamble". But taking offence at one of our number's movement off the footpath into the very left lane of traffic, the horn (no not that one) blew (and not in that way) like a pissweak electronic buzzer, but shrill enough to disturb the peace. As we perched precariously atop our bikes at the intersection the Maroon Fortuna drew up beside us and started a gobshite of abuse. Andre Gromyko, leading the pack, mistook the abuse as directed to him- but he knew h