Devil’s Peak sounds dangerous and exciting.   I am going along with my sister’s friends for a motorcycle ride.   In the early evening we meet in a nondescript restaurant in the New Territories.  After the ride, we will all meet here.

There are four or five motorcycles.  The guys drive the machines.  We cling to their backs.

I am clinging to Rich’s back.    Last summer he was the one driving the car when we left the night club after my fifteenth birthday party.   He went faster and faster.  Even though there were almost no other cars on the road, everyone was yelling at him to slow down.

A taxi comes out of a side street.  Rich swerves but we hit the taxi anyway.   We take a fender off the taxi.  Rich does not slam on the brakes.  He zigzags between the buildings and eventually we come to a stop.

I lurch forward and skin my knees.   I am in the devil’s seat between Rich and my sister.   If Rich had put on the brakes sooner I would have gone through the windshield.   My sister says Rich has nerves of steel.   He rides his father’s racehorses too.

We come to the base of the mountain.  The road is wide, the wind is picking up.   I feel a few drops of rain.  Then a few more drops.  I don’t see any of the other motorcycles.

It is starting to rain.  I wonder if the others are going ahead up the mountain.  Rich is not slowing down or turning around.   The rain is warm.  I don’t mind getting wet.

We are on a narrow dirt road that winds up the hill like a corkscrew. The rain is pouring.   Even if we wanted to turn back now we can’t.  We have to go all the way up first.

It gets dark quickly.   We see by the motorcycle lights.   The wind gets stronger and there is the sound of thunder.  Lightning flashes across the sky and lights up the dark sea below.   I hang on tightly to Rich’s back.  We are now soaked through.

Then we make a turn and the road slopes down.    We are finally descending.   The rain blows so hard I can hardly see the road except when lightning flashes.

The road is getting muddy and the motorcycle slides a little.  Then the motorcycle lights go out.

O my god !  I am too young to die.

Every time Rich makes a turn I pray that it’s in the right direction because I can’t see.

Then a flash of lightning shows that we are back at the base.  Soon we are riding on the wide road.

When we walk in the restaurant everyone gasps.  My sister looks as though she has seen a ghost.  The whole group is here.   They are dry and nursing tall drinks.

Rich and I are the only ones looking like wet rats.

Someone says good thing Rich has nerves of steel.   No need to call the police after all.   Glasses clink.   Cheers!  Live fast, love hard, die young!