Picture the scene if you will...
It was one of those clear, crisp nights when the air is just willing you on to slice through it with gusto, and there was just me, the bike and the M1 making hydrocarbon love with not a soul in sight.
I'm in the middle lane (it's windy, I need a wobble zone) and doing a hundred-and-eleventy-three mph, enjoying the freedom of a real open road when a glimpse of blue on a bridge cathes my eye...
"sh*t". too close to slow down.
"f*ck" it's a Vascar.
"double f*ck" he's put his lights on and is after me.
If I'm stopped for that speed its bye-bye license, hello bubba.
What to do?
Flight of fight...?
Flight.
1 mile to next exit - A5 to smallsville.
Wonder if I come off if he'll see.
Of course he will, its a T5 and I'm the only light on the motorway.
! Turn lights off ! Kerching, that's an idea.
A hundred-and-eleventy-three mph and no lights... come on sliproad, hurry up.
BRAKE! Left. Right. Roundabout, lights on, industrial estate, pull in. stop, wait.
I can see the M1.
I can see the blue lights....
...passing.
Be slow my beating heart.
Wait... they'll guess.
Wait some more, just to be sure.
Back on the M1
nice and slow.
Sorry occifer.
