100 days of something
The largest problem in this sorry plan is that it only contemplates the future in terms of making our tomorrows look more like our familiar yesterdays
It was at the end of the Foxton straights, at the end of 1978, at 100km/h, that someone tried to grab me from behind on my Yamaha.
They seemed to be yanking my backpack. My first thought was outrage. My second was: but how? Where have they come from? And my third — and these all came in pretty quick succession — was: better brake.
I soon established that …