The Edge

something i wrote recently....about me and my bike.

The Edge
By: Tom ******

The lever goes up into fifth and now there�s no sound except for the wind.
Stand on the throttle all the way, the tach soars over nine grand and the needle leans down past one hundred and sixty. Wind burned eyes strain to see down the center line, trying to provide a margin for the reflexes.
But with the throttle screwed down there is only the barest margin and no room for mistakes. It has to be done right; and that�s when the music starts-when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms.
You can barley see at one hundred and sixty. The tears flow back so fast they vaporize before they reach your ears. The only sounds now are the wind and the dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white lines and try to lean with them. Howling through a right hand sweeper, a left hand hairpin, and down the long hill to HELL!
Letting off now, but only until the next stretch and another few seconds on the edge.........
The edge, there honestly is no way to describe it, because the only who know where it is, are the people who have gone over. The others-the living- are those who push their control as far as they felt they could handle it and then pulled back or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between NOW and ETERNITY.
To be continued�..

Well written. you have talent- now write more.

DE