Speed Freak

I love to go fast. Always have, and always will.
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Some people don’t however. And that’s okay with me, I use it to my advantage.
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For example, I had a certain individual ask me for a ride on my bike the other day. This was a person I’d rather not take along with me when I’m riding my scoot. And I knew he didn’t like to go fast.
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So off we went, holding a steady ninety on the Harley’s clock. We arrived at our destination, which was Stewie’s place, and this person bitched about my high-speed ride. I responded with, “You shouldn’t have got on if you didn’t want to go fast!”
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When it was time to leave, he made me promise not to go ninety on the way back. I gave him my vow, and I am not a liar. True to my word, we did not go ninety. We went a hundred. ..
Hey, a hundred ain’t ninety. Besides, when I ride with Geno, we cruise at a buck fifteen. That’s how Geno rides, and it doesn’t bother me. I like it. A lot. And I always will.
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In my defense, I was racing motorcycles at the Pro level when I was twelve years old. When I turned sixteen, my first car was a five hundred horsepower Z28 Camaro (which I still have).
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Going fast is in my upbringing, and I do it well. I have never been killed (this I can prove), nor have I killed anyone else.
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I just absolutely and completely love speed. I believe the words used by Molly Hatchet in their song, ‘Flirting With Disaster’ are accurate, where they said, “I’ve got the pedal to the floor, my life is running faster”.
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The fastest I’ve gone on a bike was a buck thirty one. In my car, one fifty five. And the fastest I’ve ever gone was seven hundred and fifty miles per hour (that was in a jet chartered by the U.S. Navy).
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Still, I want to go faster.
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And I already know that no matter how fast I go, it won’t be enough. I’ll always need more.
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I love to go fast.
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