Single Track Mind: Religious Conundrum

Following last month’s Single Track Mind, in which I addressed the very real need for President Obama to bring biker-focused medical care into his health reform measures, I was pleased to receive this letter from Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton:

“Dear Mr. Melling,

"President Obama has asked me to thank you for the incredibly helpful suggestions you made in the last issue of ‘Single Track Mind’ regarding health care for racing motorcyclists. I know from personal experience just how important the attention of attractive young ladies can be to the health of older men and this is why I am responding on behalf of the White House.

“President Obama recognizes the importance of your suggestions and has asked me to give you his firm promise that there will be government-funded, high-dependency wards within five miles of every race track in the USA. Further, these will be staffed exclusively by pretty nurses wearing tight white uniforms. I hope that this will re-assure MCUSA readers.

“President Obama has also asked me to tell you that he agrees with you that the Matchless G.50 is the greatest racing motorcycle in the world and that anyone who thinks a Fireblade, Ducati Desmosedici or Colin Edwards’ MotoGP Yamaha is any good is a right-wing, Republican, neo-fascist.

Best wishes.

Hillary

P.S. Everyone at Capitol Hill thinks that MCUSA is a miles-better way of finding out what is really going on in the world than CNN.”

Having helped President Obama with his Health Care reform package, I am now seeking the assistance of any religious experts amongst MCUSA’s readership: here’s the problem. There are perilous few benefits in being ancient, fat and bald. However, it seems that the very last card I have left is a current race license.

A long time ago, in the late 19th century, I did in fact hold a full FIM International license which entitled me to ride in Grands Prix. Fortunately, for the safety and well-being of real GP riders, I restricted my activities to being miserably incompetent at smaller international meetings, rather than full-on World Championship events. Now, my license has been downgraded to a restricted international, which means that I can still go and play with the other ancient wrinklies in classic events. However, and critically, it still exists.

Money laundering regulations are now so strict in Britain that I’m surprised that anyone trying to change foreign currency into pounds sterling isn’t interviewed at Guantánamo Bay. So, I arrive at the Bureau de Change with a few hundred US dollars, a smile, my passport, driving license - and hope in my heart. The nice young lady looks at my passport and driving license and then, albeit with a degree of embarrassment, asks for a third form of ID. I offer to provide my left lung, or one testicle, but she says no, it has to be something bearing a photograph.

Thwarted at the last minute, I resign myself to another trip into town, another $10 parking charge and another wasted three hours. Then I remember: there is my race license, still in my wallet from last weekend. I flash out the race license, complete with fuzzy picture of me, but with very little hope of it being accepted.

How wrong can you be? The lovely young lady behind the armored glass positively swoons. She is, it turns out, a huge Valentino Rossi fan and is incredibly, overwhelmingly impressed by the fact that I, too, am a top international MotoGP superstar bike racer.

Do I, she enquiries with awe-struck admiration, race with Valentino, Dani, Jorge et al? And if so, does she know my name from the TV coverage?

I look her calmly in the eyes and explain that these days I don’t race regularly with Vale but now I am more of a tutor to the young chap. You know, I take him out for a few laps and let him follow me round and show him the best racing lines; help him set up his bike and plan his race tactics. Really, all the key stuff but, being modest, I like to keep in the background away from the TV cameras. At which point she almost faints and asks for my autograph. Being the co-operative superstar that I am, of course, oblige.

So here is the religious question. Clearly, I was not absolutely 100%, totally and completely accurate in conveying my relationship with Vale, so when I appear before the great Jury in the Sky, will the boss Angel smite me very hard on my Arai or will there be a suitable degree of tolerance by way of the fact that I was an ancient at the time of the sin and not many girls, pretty or otherwise, ask for my autograph these days?

I await your advice.