The sun is shining, its a beautiful day, and I'm enjoying the quiet ride to work on the GS500. The traffic is moving along nicely at 50 kph and for once the driver behind me isn't trying to get close enough to read the small print on my rego label. I'm at the southern end of Jonson St, and there's a car waiting to come out of Ruskin St on my right, so I eyeball it carefully for a second to make sure I don't get SMIDSY'd. I look ahead again, and in my peripheral vision something large leaps out from behind a parked van. As my reflexes kick in I realise its a surfboard, and its going for my throat! I hit the brakes hard, and as the bike comes to a stop with the back tyre squealing I realise the board is in the care (if not the control) of a dreadlocked muppet on a bicycle. I stop with my front wheel touching his forks, the nose of the board is about 6 inches in front of my visor, and Bob Marley is looking at me as if I've just teleported from a distant galaxy. He's got the board under his right arm with the nose high, so he couldn't have seen me or used his front brake. As he pedals off across the road, I look over my shoulder and give a thumbs up to the car driver who has stopped safely a few feet behind me. Ah, Byron, beautiful one minute, deadly the next.