The other night I went to an event about 30 minutes from home along semi-suburban highways. I was riding the Triumph. On the way home on Loop 360, which is a 4-lane divided highway with stop lights here and there, some doofus in a Mustang decided he wanted to drag race me, multiple times. In fact, it was each stop light for about 3 miles where he revved the motor at the stop light and then tore off like a bat out of hell once it turned green.
I was not really interested. I was freezing my hands off since it was about 38 degrees out and I was halfway home. I was just focused on getting home while I could still feel my fingers. The stop lights were a mixed blessing, where the wind chill stopped long enough for me to begin to warm my fingers, and since I was not moving I could put my hands around the big 900cc's cylinder fins on each side and try to heat them up (this didn't work, BTW, even though I thought it was a genius idea when I thought of doing it). So you know, the dude was barking up the wrong tree.
The Mustang was fast. If I rode it right and could manage the 1-2 shift quickly enough I think I might have been able to keep the car's tail lights within 100 yards of the Triumph's front wheel before getting to the next red light, but I'm pretty sure a new Mustang GT is quicker than my warmed-over Bonneville. Way quicker than a GS500.
I guess in the dark maybe the Mustang driver thought the noisy Triumph might have been a Ducati or a Buell or KTM or some other 100+hp twin. And he obviously mistook me for a squid. Must not know that guys with hi-viz helmets are the grandpas of motorcyclists.
