Crotchrocket Extravaganza

(Screenshot of Google satellite image.)

The other afternoon (Sunday, September 6, 2009), about 6:30 p.m., I set out to walk the dog.
The sun hadn’t set yet, but was going down.
Every afternoon I try to walk my dog around suppertime.
The sun has been setting earlier each day, so it’s a race to get the dog walked before dark, sometimes after supper, occasionally before, and often during.
What I do is walk the dog up (south) State Route 65, which we live on in West Bloomfield, to Michael Prouty Park, a small town park near Routes 5&20.
I then walk around the park, and then back to our house on 65. (See picture.)
The dog loves it.
We often see critters of every stripe: squirrels, and kitty-cats, and rabbits.
My dog is a hunter, but I keep her leashed so she doesn’t get hit by a car.
Heading toward 65, a gigantic climbing ripping sound washed over me, and echoed widely throughout the area.
Four-or-five crotchrockets were passing four-or-five four-wheelers.
About 500 yards are between 5&20 and our house.
About 200 are marked as passing, so the crotchrockets didn’t have much space to pass.
Loudest was the last crotchrocket, and it started to pass almost a 100 yards into the passing zone.
The passing zone ends about 100 yards before our house, but that last crotchrocket paid no attention to that, and completed his pass in front of our house.
He also was wide open, pushing 14,000 rpm. His motorcycle had little muffling, if any.
The cowering car drivers were juking along at maybe 35-40 mph, obviously terrified by what was happening to their left.
Namely, they were being royally skonked by macho-men.
I have a crotchrocket myself, although it’s only a Honda CBR-600-double R, not a liter-bike.
And it’s 2003; somewhat dated.
I’ve felt the wrath of the straights myself. Once I was told by a security-guard to park elsewhere. Apparently I was perceived as a threat to social order (gasp).
Yet is it any wonder the straights are angry?
Years ago I was skonked on my Ducati (“dew-KAH-dee”) by a Suzy-Q ridden by a maniac.
He had it screwed to the wall — climbing towards 14,000 rpm — and merged into expressway traffic without looking.
I couldn’t do it. I have to look.
To me his blast was just making a statement. Instead of “Rage Against the Machine,” it was rage via machine.
Thankfully, no one was coming when the crotchrockets made their move.
The speed-limit on front of our house is 40 mph. That last crotchrocket was doing at least 100!

• “5&20” is the main east-west road (a two-lane highway) through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road.
• We live in the small rural town of “West Bloomfield” in Western N.Y.
• A “crotchrocket” is the usual sport motorcycle available nowadays, made by Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki and Suzuki (“Suzy-Q”). They are incredibly fast, and can be ridden hard; usually powerful enough to wheelstand in every gear. Another is Ducati, although that is made in Italy, and has been a sportbike for about 40 years. (The Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki and Suzuki [all Japanese] are fairly recent.)
• A “four-wheeler” is motorcycle parlance for a car.
• A “liter-bike” is 1,000 cubic centimeters engine displacement; usually 150 horsepower or more — maybe 170-180 mph. A “CBR-600-double R” (CBR600-RR) is only 600 cubic centimeters engine displacement; maybe 100 horsepower and 140-150 mph. (I’ve never done that.)