Down time between surfs gave me the time to suss out what it is that Husni, Mencos and the other guys were into when their not in the water. I got to listen to them playing sweet melodies on the guitar and watching them paint. I also got to see them play with their bikes.
It’s hard not to notice the Honda cb100, c90 and c70 or vespers cruising around, they are bloody everywhere. The temptation to jump aboard and fang along the beach is like an itch you cant scratch.
So it should come as a surprise to anyone that after half an hour we were. Once i pulled the cameras out of my bag and start snappin, they appeared out of the woodwork and soon we had pretty much every old school bike ripping and tearing along the beachfront. Problem was we had also outgrown our makeshift drag strip. It was time to take it to the next level.
The local airport is only open two days a week, the two kilometer long strip of pristine ashphalt sits all alone for the best part and the guys assured me the runway was a perfect place to really open the bikes up. As if I needed convincing.
Organically they paired themselves up and started to drag race. Husni & Mencos battled it out across the long stretch of tar. They even pushed Andre and I into some saddles, best that one wasn’t recorded. For the finale we had every bike lined up across the wide even surface.
The combined din of low CC engines congealed to create a cacophony of noise that could easily have been mistaken for a plane coming in to land. There was no holding back these guys. The hat dropped and the posse passed my lens in a blurred motion.
After one minor incident which saw gravity get the best of Giang, we knew it was time to slow things down from break neck speed and head back down to the beach. It was smiles and talk of bravado as we set off to cool down in the azure waters by catching some waves. Paradise.