My road tax for my Aprilia rs250 expired 3 days ago.

And that was my first thought when i saw Mr Traffic Policeman harassing some poor guy with an old beat-up car at the road shoulder on my way to work this morning on the Central Expressway (CTE).

“I’d better go get my road tax renewed tomorrow,” I said to myself, almost out loud, as I slowed to keep within the speed limit on the 90km/h highway.

What if I renew my vehicle road tax late?

“Please renew the licence before it expire as it is an offence for anyone to keep or use a vehicle without a valid licence in force for the vehicle.

A late penalty fee will be imposed if you do not renew your license by expiry date. Your vehicle may also be impounded and there will be towing and storage fees will then be payable in addition to the arrears of road tax and penalty fees.”

(source: onemotoring.com.sg)

Morning traffic was not as bad today, and it was enjoyable to just cruise without worrying about another black Camry (or was it a Cefiro?) cutting into my lane and causing me to crash. One thing about cars, they all look the same. Haha.

Do you think about a lot of things when you ride, or drive? I’m not sure if it’s against the law in Singapore - apparently everything is - but I like to think when I ride and have all these nice little thoughts and ideas swirl around in my mind. The wind rushing up to greet you and the asphalt disappearing behind you creates a certain magic, very conducive to creative thoughts. At least a dozen great ideas have been born in the saddle of this wild horse.

Then, suddenly, I saw a flash of light on my left mirror. A glance informed me that Mr. TP was signaling me to pull over.

Damn.

 

It’s a nice morning, do we have to do this? I turned to look at him, and stared straight into soul-less eyes framed with standard-issue dark glasses. Double damn. Sorry dude, you’re not getting me today.

My stare turned into a nod and a half-grin. I snatched at the clutch lever and snapped down two gears. The front-end of the 250 lifted an inch, the engine roared in wild delight, and the bike exploded off the block. I was sprinting like Ben Johnson on drugs, all the way to Olympic infamy. Behind the shades, I caught a glimpse of Mr. TP’s eyes widen in shock. He wasn’t expecting this, for sure.

By the time he blipped his throttle, i was off like a bat out of hell.

But a largely stock, 250cc 2-stroker does not measure up well against a 750cc, souped-up police motorcycle. Especially not in a country with an expressway that is as straight and unbending as its society. Even as my speedometer needle happily climbed past 230km/h, the White Mothership From Hell was fast gaining on me!

“I have to get out of this,” I thought. “Get into some twisties, I’ll surely lose him there.”

One thing about the Aprilia, it’s not as powerful on the straights. No wait, it is damn bloody knn powerful. Powerful enough to rip one of those pseudo-racer Subarus to shreds, at least. But just not as powerful when you compare to the rest of the superbikes rolling out of Japanese factories like chocolate from Willy Wonka’s.

But on the bends, there’s nothing quite like an Aprilia. A group of not-too-sane Aprilia riders have taken to saying you could pick a coin off the floor as you bank around a tight corner, no problem. I say i could ride with one hand, dig my nose with the other, and place a nice large piece of booger at the apex of each corner at the famous 99 bends - with my eyes closed.

Yes, I’m exaggerating. But you get my drift: the Aprilia is unbeatable at the corners.

According to the most recent official statistics, there are 1,121 Aprilias in Singapore, as of December 2004. That accounts for a mere 0.8% of the total bike population here, which comes up to about 137,029 motor-heads on 2 wheels.

One thousand, one hundred, and twenty-one (go buy 4D if you want). And Mr. TP picked the wrong one to flag down.

The CTE turned out to be a short sprint. Hell, at that speed, I could get to KL in two hours, no? By the time I hit the final right-side curve before the Ayer Rajah Expressway (AYE), Mr. TP was almost beside me. Above the roar of our engines, the blare of his sirens filled my helmet, swimming around my head like a poisonous gas, intoxicating and choking me with its skeletal fingers.

Blinded, I hit the brakes hard and dived low, throwing my bike into the Bukit Merah exit.

A part of me hoped that maneuver would throw Mr. TP off my tail. It was a very naive part of me, I must add. With special training in riding techniques and a career on 2 wheels, Mr. TP was - like all things Singaporean - very efficient. He replicated my actions without batting an eyelid.
For a split-second, it almost felt like The Rise of the Machines, except this terminator breathing down my neck was more real - and some argue, more ghastly!

But at least I’ve got the tighter corners and smaller roads to my advantage now. And now the gloves were really off: cars in the way didn’t matter, pedestrians promptly dove for cover into the bushes (they deserve it lah, bloody always jay-walking), and traffic signal lights went unheeded.

Yes, I ran some 4 red lights, I think. But in my mind, aiyah, after this go make police report that my bike was stolen, kick up a big fuss, and complain that some young punk ran off with and wrecked my bike. Not I riding what, you can’t arrest me!

Hmmm… Maybe I can even write letter to my Member of Parliament (MP). For what I don’t know, but everyone seems to write to their MP to complain about this and that, so just write lah. And somemore I live in Marine Parade GRC, under a super-duper powerful, very senior minister. Eh, but MP got so much time reply to so many letters meh? Even Santa Claus has his elves to reply his mail! Hmmm… Oh ya ok, we have mythical creatures too, I guess. Wouldn’t call them elves though. Haha.

Goodness, where have I learnt to digress so much? Let’s cut back to the chase! (pun intended, of course)

 

Bukit Merah felt like a scene out of Grand Theft Auto. By this time, another TP motorcycle and a patrol car had joined the pursuit. “Bloody hell, I’m going to be late for work again lah,” I cursed, now more upset than ever. “And you think petrol cheap ah?”

Determined to shake off my “escorts”, I hastily drummed up a plan. Taking a sharp left turn very late, I guided my missile into Depot Road. It’s no joke, taking on a 50 km/h road at three times the limit, but I had spent my childhood cycling around the estate at Depot Road, and I knew the place like the wrinkles on my forehead - there are but a few to speak of, but I look at them everyday and know them very well.

The little lanes, which by now were filled with cars and people rushing to work, slowed the men in white down a little. Ah, the advantages of a small bike! By the time I hit the end of Depot Road, I was some 30 metres ahead of my pursuers. And just about ready to launch my plan into action. But the timing had to be immaculate.

I said a silent prayer.

At the T-junction to the main road (Alexander Road, I believe. I wasn’t stopping to read road signs, that’s for sure) the traffic light was not in my favour.

Damn.

Prayers do get answered. I ran the light (what do you mean “again”? One more won’t make a difference) and spun unto the main road, hit the brakes, banked hard left, and throttled off again. A black Camry - oh sweet irony - swerved wildly to avoid hitting me, and was promptly rear-ended by a taxi.

The “bang, bang, bang” of a 6-car pile-up in the middle of the yellow box junction never sounded sweeter. Not daring to look back for more than a half-second, I made one last sharp turn, this time into the old beer garden beside SAJC. Easing off the throttle as the sound of the sirens bated, I brought the now wheezing rs250 to a stop on one of the smaller dirt tracks.

Waving a sad farewell, I walked back to the main road and flagged down a taxi. The driver must have been amused and awfully confused to pick up a passenger with a helmet but no bike, screaming into the phone about a stolen motorcycle, and demanding something be done immediately, or the MP will be notified.

Oh, what a day. Had to dump my bike, waste $10 on a taxi (the bloody jam!), late for work again, and put on a Oscar-winning performance to the police.

Hope they find my bike soon and return it to me.

I still have to renew my road tax tomorrow!

 

*** THE END ***
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Well, not quite.

The Prologue

My road tax for my Aprilia rs250 expired 3 days ago.

And that was my first thought when I saw Mr. TP was harassing some poor guy with an old beat-up car at the road shoulder on my way to work this morning on the Central Expressway (CTE).

“I’d better go get my road tax renewed tomorrow,” I said to myself, almost out loud, as I slowed to keep within the speed limit on the 90km/h highway.

And before I knew what was going on, Mr. TP pulls up next to me, signaling for me to stop at the road shoulder.

And I do, cursing, but only under my breath.

No chain guard, no mud guard, number plate obscured. Damn.

“Please lah, give chance lah ok?” I plead, still half-asleep.

He books me for the chain guard, which is a breach of safety. Then comes my Oscar performance.

“Road tax?” he asks.

“Huh? What road tax?” I walk to my bike, walk around it, then walk back to his bike which is parked behind mine. “Oh, you want me pass you the whole road tax disk, or just want the number?”

He gives me blur look.

“There is a number on the road tax I’m supposed to get, is it?” I continue.

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head, thinking what an idiot this rider is, don’t even know what road tax, chain guard and mud guard are.

I now wait for a letter for my chain guard offence.

But at least my bike was not impounded.

I still have to renew my road tax tomorrow!

*** the end, for real***