Chapter 12- Jimmy Bond and handlebar mounted machine guns

The last tunnel before the turn off to Monaco nearly claimed me. It was a long one, usual dual carraigeway, but no visible light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, obviously had curved air in it somewhere.

Rashly whilst about halfway through I blasted past a car which had overtaken some other to take up my airspace. I took them on the outside of the outside lane and squeezed past just in time to see the tunnel turn sharply to the left decreasing into a single carraigeway with with roadsigns telling me what was what.

Madly I pawed at my visor to get some extra light on board noticing immediately a car in front with its reds on and a huge trail of detritus on my right with a wall looming ahead as the radius decreased.

This all happened in a matter of a few seconds . Survival is a powerful instinct, turbo boosting the system with adrenaline. I must have missed the car in front by mere inches as I cranked the bike into the turn cutting them up whilst madly trying not to let the bike drift into the deadly crap at the side of the road.

God is good and God is great and I was a convert briefly that day, the Suzuki may have been forged in Hell but the great shining one gave it's pilot another chance (obviously not my time) and I thanked him aloud in the privacy of my crash helmet.

I exited the tunnel more than a little embarrased at my stupidity, bathed in fear sweat, but alive and kicking. There was a pull in just past the tunnel exit right underneath a repeat of the road sign I had noticed but didn't actually read. Fast Ed and Phil landed beside me, they said nothing, perhaps they hadn't seen. It was fortunate that we did stop because the road sign said exit for Monaco, take the right fork, we took it at a much reduced pace and headed for the city state. We'd covered about 300 miles since 2pm. Not bad going.

We had to wind down the road from the top of the coastline into Monaco itself. It was the sort of road you see on telly when James Bond is being chased by evil hoods with thicj eastern European accents. (if they talked at all). In the blacked out sedan spraying bullets ahead of them like badly aimed confetti. (none of these arch crim henchmen ever got a serious hit on Jimbo though).

I was mulling this as we negotiated the bends with low parapet walls, thinking this surely must have been a location for at least one of Broccoli's films. All we needed was a blond blue eyed assasin powering a modified XT equipped with handlebar mounted machine guns chasing us or a couple of skiers zooming overhead clad in radar reflective cat suits and mirror shades dropping grenades as they soared over our heads in a tight crouch. Lastly the scene would have not been complete without a helicopter appearing out of the blue from behind a screen of trees revealing another blue eyed Aryan assasin clone with sniper rifle hanging out the cabin. Call me theatrical or melodramatic but that's what it reminded me of, when....... (absolutely bullshit free), I dropped the bike through the high gears hooking third to take the turn only going 40 odd but close to one of those silly parapet walls (how these things would ever stop a serious crash from plumetting over the edge is a mystery) when a frigging helicopter burst into view ascending from out of sight below into frame slap bang in front of me. When was the searing lead going to bite into my head? I stared into the evil insect bubble of the cockpit straight at the pilot as the slow mo blades chopped the air. It increased height and left the scene as swiftly as it had appeared. My second reprieve of the day.