It was fucking primal dude. The rush of the wind, the rev of the engines, the honking of the cars – it was a symphony, and we were the fucking composers. I’ve never experienced such raw emotion before. It felt like the rest of the world fell away and all that was left was us and the bikes. Us and the bikes going down Gano Street, and then up Gano Street, and then down Gano street again.

You should’ve seen the looks on the faces of some of the other chumps on Gano. They looked disgusted, but beneath the surface, you could see that they were really jealous. Jealous of what? Jealous of the fact they were wasting their lives at their pointless desk jobs while we were out there going down Gano Street and then up Gano Street, and then going back down Gano street, before going right the fuck back up Gano street. Fucking society, man.

And tomorrow? We’re gonna go all the way up Wickenden Street, then all the way down Wickenden Street, then all the way up Wickenden Street again. This is the life of an outlaw.