How Fast is Too Fast?

Sure, the world would be a safer place if nobody exceeded twenty-five miles an hour. All of us motorcyclists, let's face it, statistically speaking, would be safer in a cage, belted and airbagged in.

But that's not enough to convince us, and hallelujah. Some things are worth the risk.

Lately, it seems all I've been reading is 'jailed for 145 miles an hour' "DRIVER ARRESTED FOR RECORD SPEED! 155 MPH! TO JAIL - DO NOT PASS GO!"

When I read this, I can't help but try to put myself in their shoes. Coulda been me, I think. Would that be fair? I've heard plenty of stories about the 'stupid stuff' that we all did in our youths -- in my twenty-one year old life, that's just beginning.

So, as a more direct question to the MOridian world -- what's the fastest you've driven or ridden on a public road, and how do you feel about that? At what point should motorists be fined or imprisoned for their exploits?



I'll start, then. Two occasions come to mind... once is recently, on my SV650. Whilst visitng a friend some 200 miles away, on a long, straight stretch of I-5, I was travelling about 80. After a time, the lack of twisties got a little bland, and not a soul was in sight, so I clicked the shifter and rolled the throttle. Twin cyclinders screaming seven, eight, nine grand beneath me, a glance at the soozook's clock showed a buck thirty-something. This persisted for perhaps twenty seconds, until the acceleration had waned at simply travelling straight at such speeds seemed unwise and fruitless. No harm befell me or anyone else, though I admit a slick patch at that speed wouldn't have felt good.

My fastest cage experience tops that one slightly... in my Toyota Supra one night about a year ago, at a stoplight to a freeway onramp, another Supra beckoned a 'follow my leader' gesture as we left the line. As we entered the long sweeper of an onramp, he led me by perhaps 50 feet, taking the inside lane as I followed on the outside lane. The engine's sound was intoxicating as I rowed through my gearbox, the well-mannered machine hunkering down against the hundred-mile-an-hour air. When the turn was finished, my top gear was spinning near its redline; the speedo was pinned at its top, which read 140. Once this deserted ramp met the main highway, we both slowed to sixty-five, pulled alongside each other, and gave the other a smile and a thumbs-up as our two red sports coupes parted in the night.

Both of these experiences were, I admit, 'stupid.' They put life and limb at risk, but dammit, they were a blast, and while now I plan to contain my urge for speed until I find track days, I can't say I think I should be tossed in jail for my offenses, nor would I take back the go pedal if I could.

What thinks you -- am I a criminal? Are you?