I felt like I was in the middle of the Wildebeest migration, with wild beasts of steel, pawing the ground and snorting, their low rumbles could be felt deep in my bones. The deafening roars of the engines, the gunfight pops as several gnu's backfired together, smoke billowing behind. The testosterone hung so thick in the air like a smog. I revelled in it and took in every inch of the scene playing out before me.
There was a lot of camaraderie, guffaws and backslapping as the "ou's " ( men) got ready for the ride. Each had a signature arrival, revs, skids, squealing tyres. It all meant something to the group. Of course I didn't understand the language, so I just drank the visual spectacle in deeply and supplied my own subtitiles. I needed a fix like this. My days have been filled with children ( I'm an elementary teacher) and woman mainly. If I do get some contact with men they are accompanied by their wives. Here was a whole herd of them, behaving in their natural habitat of gears and chains and throttles.The roads were as slick as snot, so I was told, so there was mud flying everywhere, the skilled bikers flew over the obstacles, the less experienced ran aground, bikes flying one way and bodies the other or they merely kissed their bumpers. There was a lot of bumper kissing. Lucky bumpers. Men, mud and bikes - now heres a way to really cheer a girl up.
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