I had to go to town, my truck tire was flat and the air pump didn't work. I pulled the cover of the ZX-14 and gathered my riding gear. Ozzy saw me preparing to go for a motorcycle ride, and pleaded with me to take him for a spin. I had a few minutes to spare, so I cranked up the bike, threw on my coat and helmet, snatched up Ozzy and we took off.
I got a few miles up the road and I could hear Ozzy screaming "Faster! Faster!" I turned off the main highway onto a side road, and brought the big Rice Rocket to a halt. I asked Ozzy if he was certain he wanted more speed. He said he wanted to see what this bad boy could do. That's all he had to say.
I buttoned up, leaned over, grabbed the trottle and with a violent twist we were off. The front tire came off the pavement as the rear increased our velocity. Houses were going by like fence posts. I heard Ozzy screaming again, and I thought he was having the time of his life... I was wrong. When we arrived at our home I pulled into the driveway and stopped the bike at the front door. Ozzy's front paws were dug into my jacket so deep I had to pull it off with him still attached. His eyes were blown so wide open he couldn't close them, and his tongue was wrapped around the back of his head. He attempted to speak and I barely understood his words, but I could tell he wasn't happy. I playfully asked him if he wanted to go the the doctor's office with me. I can't repeat his response on this blog. I think it was the final ride of the Ozzy Gang!
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