Snippet: It's just numbers...

I came through the right hander and went over the bridge that formed the apex, just like the six Bullets ahead of me. In a perfectly timed dance, the row of Bullets leaned over again after the bridge, ready to take on the interrupted corner. Then, on the brakes into the next left, I found the space I needed to promote myself up the order. The red Thunderbird rumbled down the revs as I braked hard, hard, hard. The weird handlebars responded easily and in a fraction of an instant, we flicked left, right on to the bike's ear. I felt the footpeg rubber transmit a brief vibratory good bye as it was chewed up by the merciless tarmac. Up to number six, then.

Then going into the next sweeping right hander, I made a mistake. Aiming for a promotion to number four, I entered the turn a little faster than I would normally have. A yellow warning light went off in my head along with a strident alarm. For a long moment, I was conscious only of the blank wall of rock blurring by on the outside edging ever closer, the concrete lined gutter that marked the edge of grip and the fact that I was in it too hot. Already I the Tbird was edging closer to the wall. The rubber on the metal peg was almost all gone and any moment now, I was ready for the harsh grinding of metal on tarmac. Throttle closed, leaned fully over and waiting. Relief? Or a big bang and then earth-sky-earth-sky-earth-hospital?

Uncommon sense prevailed. I tore my eyes from the wall and looked up through the corner. The bike, almost magically, began to tighten the line. I think I missed touching the concrete gutter by a few inches. As Bullets are won't to do, I laid a desperate footpeg darkie. The road seemed to on turning right forever in my head, but under that chain of dancing Bullets, it lasted a mere instant.
With my heart throbbing wildly, I smiled inside my helmet knowing that taking number five had been special. It carried the thrill of having been to edge and returned in one piece. That skill, today, had luck on its side. That the newly demoted number six would take a few corners before he started thinking about passing me.

Then, as I flicked into the next left hander, I began to wonder how number three would feel like.