The Man in the White Suit_ The Stig, Le Mans, The Fast Lane and Me - Ben Collins [106]
We sped down the street. The sedan shot out from the right and nearly T-boned me. I counter-slid around the obstacle and continued the chase.
The muscular biker flew through the air and crashed on to my bonnet. I tasted two-stroke as his sump smashed the windscreen. He spun his wheel and rode over the roof, then the sedan smacked into me from behind.
I booted it away and went after the skinny rider who was struggling to turn in the confines of the alley. I slapped his rear wheel with enough force to knock him through a wall. One down, four to go. The flame-breathing, bog-eyed swamp creature wasn’t pleased.
The power band kicked into third gear and I surged ahead. The sedan flew out in front of me, partially blocking the street and offering a perfect target. I accelerated towards it, took aim at his passenger window and pressed the firing toggle on my steering wheel.
A missile spewed from the bazooka above my right ear, rattling my eardrums as it scythed through the sedan. The rear section dropped away and the front spun off to my left, so I hammered through the middle. With a clear line of attack towards the big biker and Car Two, I kept on the gas and sped through the debris.
Car Two hesitated and I slammed into his rear quarter hard enough to destabilise him. The driver wrestled with the steering, then tank-slapped hard into the wall. The biker had nowhere to run. We were just a metre apart, so I dropped the clutch and lunged forward. He scrabbled around me, kicking at the ground to get away. We revolved around one another in a deadly tango until he had enough momentum to set off into the back street.
We plunged into darkness and grime, both struggling for traction, but I was gaining on him. Just inches from his rear wheel, a gentle kiss on his chain would unseat him. The rider’s leg dropped and nearly went under my wheel.
He shot a nervous glance over his shoulder before turning left towards the fuel tanker. I pulled alongside and squeezed him straight into it. The bike thundered into solid metal, flinging the rider over the handlebars. He landed like a rag doll.
That just left the 30-foot fire-breathing monster. Its cloaked arms lashed out, filling the air with burning petrol.
‘Perrrfect!’ Colin purred inside my earpieces. ‘Now for the money shot, Stiggy.’
I pulled my final handbrake turn to face the creature and fire my last missile, striking ‘Swampy’ in its evil heart. The strike was so close that the burning embers rained down through the open caged frame of my Rage Buggy.
I swatted them off my white overalls and spun around to face the 4,000-strong audience.
Richard and James strode back on to the stage as Jeremy brought another Top Gear Live show to an end.
‘The Stig is victorious, ladies and gentlemen. You’ve all seen a lot of crazy car stunts tonight, so please remember on your way home … drive fast. Good night!’
I tilted my visor open a fraction to make eye contact with the defeated biker, Jason Finn, lying in a heap on the side of the tanker. His chest bobbed as he fought to get his breath back without visibly moving. He looked across and pouted at me.
The Stig’s battle to save the universe from speed cameras and like-minded forces of evil played out according to the script above, mostly. The live theatre was part of a tour that began in Earl’s Court and was taking in Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong and South Africa.
The good burghers of Johannesburg cleared off muttering, ‘Yessus, man, some lekker cars there, hey,’ and Jason, the world’s number one freestyle trials rider from Essex, hobbled towards me backstage with Chris, his young apprentice. Jason took off his sweat-soaked helmet to reveal his pop star good looks. His Lycra tights were bursting at the seams, evidenced by the number of golf balls smuggled in his front pocket.
‘Awright, Benny Boy? You was right