What a beautiful morning it is here in Perth, I was up before first light this morning, riding the 'bright red machine for turning petrol into awesome noise' down to Jandakot airfield, to give an early morning check flight. On the way I pulled up at the lights next to a lime green V8 Torana driven by a slack-jawed dingbat of about 40 without a shirt. I first suspected there may be a few missing from the top paddock when I spotted the "score a goal, ride my pole" sticker, the "Holden On" sticker merely added to the impression. Now my Ducati is a fairly vociferous machine, and Boof the Bogan was obviously peeved that he could still hear it over his pride and joy, because when the lights changed he treated me to nice display of multi-coloured smoke, white from his tyres and blue from his exhaust. Being in a very relaxed mood I gently rolled the throttle open, quickly changed into second to reduce the plod attracting noise level, and by the time I was snicking it into third he was just beginning to move. This theatre repeated itself at the next three sets of lights, with him getting more and more worked up, and me making no attempt to do anything but take a peaceful morning ride. As he was making absolutely no headway, and I was so obviously not playing, but winning anyway, he decided to engage me in stimulating debate at the next lights by winding down his window and opening with "you fcuking wog c&*nt, go home and fcuk your momma". I realized immediately that I was dealing with an intellectual heavyweight, who by a sort of 'all cows eat grass, so all grass is eaten by cows' kind of logic, had worked out that since the bike was italian I must be too. The total lack of reaction from me, coupled with the lack of eye contact (dark visor), clearly infuriated him further, and we once again were treated to the burning rubber (and oil) show, only this time there was a truck behind Mr Boof who was clearly not amused, and gave him a huge blast on his air horn. The last I saw of Mr Boof he was crawling along in the left hand lane, boxed in by two angry truckies. Now the thing that interests me about all this, is that he played out this whole farce with no input from me whatsoever, he constructed his own imaginary world, and played happily in it, but if I had reacted at all I have the feeling it could have gone from funny to dangerous very quickly indeed.