Boats, Bikes, Babes

Saturday night, I met up with friends for a chocolate buffet at the Fullerton Hotel. Halfway through a chocolate coated strawberry, I offered to lend my camera equipment to my SSC friend to shoot her colleague's wedding and in exchange, I got two free tickets from her to go to the F1 Powerboat World Championships yesterday at the Marina Bay. Being in the Singapore Sports Council had its privileges. She also asked if I wanted to join the marathon at the end of the year, because she could get a discount in the registration. I didn't take long to consider. I would've liked to, but that would take up all the time I could have spent killing myself in other more pleasurable ways.

So I went to the F1 Powerboat World Championships after borrowing a Nikon from a colleague. There were many tents there with all kinds of mini-shows. I glazed over most of them. Particularly, I was interested in three things: Bikes, boats and babes. In reverse order.

There was a motor-cross event going on by the side. On the right, you will see a biker defying gravity, leaping high overhead after accelerating up a ramp. To me, he is a shining example of sheer guts and dare-devilry.

I take my helmet off to these guys. Check out the copious amounts of mud that gets plastered on their suits while their faces remain nice and clean. I just don't know how they wipe their faces while holding on to the handlebars. They must do it while they're up in the air. Like, that's totally awesome.


I headed to the powerboat competition after that. The roar of the engines was like Lord Thunder had His balls squeezed. According to the advertisement on the bus, these machines rip through the water at 260km/hr and at that heady velocity, water turns into jagged steel. I guess that's why after these two leading boats crashed, the hull flew out and one of the drivers got hospitalized.

While waiting for the crash recovery team to mop up the scene, I parried some of my F1 knowledge with a couple of dudes I got to know at the race. I said that the Ferrari guys were blaming Bridgestone tyres for poor performance on the tracks. Oooh, they nodded, chewing on this morsel of trivia. Then I learnt from one of them that the drivers at F1 car racing don't use brakes as we know it, but engine brakes to slow down their machines. Their gears are merely buttons on the steering. Mmmm, we nodded again sagely.

I got up and left soon after the crash, suddenly feeling a vague discomfort, as if I've just taken too much of a good thing. I walked toward the FHM booth. Because ultimately, a guy can only take so much power play and macho posturing.

At the end of the day, there's only one thing a guy really needs:

A sandwich.