GR sat in the side road watching the traffic. There were scooters everywhere. He'd already carved up more of them in the last half hour than he usually did in a whole week. The rumour that the Mods were heading to Brighton for another riot was, as usual, wrong. The Mods were obviously on a tour of the south coast. Well they weren't going to have it all their own way.
Four scooters went past in a flash of colour and chrome plate. The riders, in their ex U.S. Army parkas, were leaning back as if their backs were broken. GR pressed the starter button, and the Honda screamed after them.
The bike shot alongside them in a matter of seconds, and GR laid it across the nose of the lead scooter. He braked to 30 m.p.h. and dropped the bike down into second gear, the needle of the taco hovered just below the red line. They tried to overtake, he saw them in his mirrors and pulled across in front of them. They tried the inside, he flicked the bike the other way. Down to twenty, and into first. Two of the scooters tried the outside again. GR let them come almost alongside, then screamed the bike across their noses, taking them over to the other side of the road. He poured on the power till he saw a side road and pulled into it and waited for the four scooters to pass by. They pottered past, the riders looking nervously about. GR gunned the Honda again and screamed past them to dive in and slam on the brakes. The scooters pulled into the curb, the Mods turned off their engines and dismounted. A disappointed GR did a quick U turn, and did a couple of slow passes in an attempt to get them to come out and play, but they weren't having any of it.
The door of the restaurant opened "Taxi!" GR pulled in, and Foxy mounted the pillion "To the bog, James."
They roared off.
The square in which the public bog was situated was packed with row upon row of scooters, hundreds of them. GR pulled up at the bog, and both he and Foxy got off. Mods were everywhere, like ants. "Into the Valley of Death rode the five hundred." Foxy stood at the top of the steps and surveyed the subterranean Mod bog.
"You've forgotten something Foxy, there ain't five hundred of us, only two."
"All the more glory." Foxy adjusted his peaked busman's hat, stuck his hands into his pockets, and sauntered down the steps with GR in his train. The Mods made way, the lads made water, then left as unhurriedly as they had entered.
"Thank God for the reputation" said a relieved GR as they climed the stairs out into the sunshine.
"Which must be preserved at all costs" Foxy reminded GR as they mounted up. "Better make it a quick trip GR, there are others who want a leak." Foxy gave a couple of Mods the Nazi salute and almost fell off as the bike ripped round the square.
GR sat in a side road watching the traffic. Six bog runs and not one hitch, the Mods must be getting soft. A dozen of them came out of a shop and mounted their scooters. GR started the bike and pulled out into the main road. They saw him, turned off their engines, and went back into the shop. There wouldn't be any more fun this morning, perhaps they would have forgotten him by tomorrow. He rode up to the fountain at the end of the prom. Two of the local lads overtook him as he poodled along. The bikes in front slowed down, as they rode round the fountain the girl pillion riders threw something into the water, then the bikes roared off again. GR tried to puzzle out what was going on, and had just given up when the first detergent bubbles started to appear. The locals were in a playful mood, so there was bound to be fun when they came to the club that night.
As GR pulled away the fountain started to take on the appearance of an iced wedding cake.
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