Moto Moto Novels & Stories

Casually shrugging his shoulders, Tim remarked, “I’m not concerned with those matters. Right now, I’m only concerned about Estelle. It’s clear that she wants to leave and doesn’t want to stay here with you.” He approached Estelle and spoke gently, “Let’s go. I’ll take you and the kids back.” Estelle, who had been staring at the motorcycle in a daze, finally looked away and inquired, “What brand is this motorcycle?” “MV Agusta. Why? Are you into motorcycles?” Tim responded.

I’m going to need every inchof the road. He didn't head for the main exit where the hit squadsexpected us. Instead, he led me toward a parkedHusqvarna 701 Supermoto—a bike he had "confiscated" and hidden earlier. It was lean, loud, and built for the kindof verticality Istanbul demanded.

My eyes searched the many vehicles for the nice black motorcycle I saw when I left for school earlier that day. It had moved since I last saw it. No longer right up front, but off to the side with the other finished cars and bikes. Rick once told me that a row of finished cars represented his money. When the owner came to collect, so would he. The motorcycle was black all over except for a silver plate that read Kawasaki and the grey letters on the side that read Ninja. It stood apart from the other bikes on account of how clean and new it looked.

Although each of them was different, there was something about them that screamed that they were together. The first motorcycle, a gleaming black cruiser, stood out with its sleek yet imposing design. Its body was adorned with chrome accents that sparkled under the sunlight, lending it an air of sophistication. The curved lines of its frame gave the impression of fluidity and grace, contrasting with the raw energy it held within. The leather seat, worn but well-maintained, hinted at countless journeys taken. Even though the bike was parked it seemed ready to jump into action at any moment, screaming off into the sunset leaving a trail of dust in the wake.

There is also an infrared at the helmet appears when they push the red button at the helmet. There is also a screen with map and the telecommunication tools between all the motorbike at the helmet like a small microphone . They are also shocks when Duan said the motorbike can be keep in their space with the bicycle and they might used them in the jungle also the motorbike didn't need the gasoline .

He announced and Suddenly loud beating drums rang out as the huge gate that was opposite where we were standing began opening with a creaking sound. Our gaze darted to the gate and there, we saw two handsome motorcycles. The motorcycle on the left had the designs of a cheetah and I believe it belonged to Ace while the one on the right had a dripping blood design on motorcycle's body and I also guesses that it might be the bike he kept for me but I didn't like either of them. No motorcycle could ever beat my Wolf Bike. He was the best out of a million bikes. Plus I couldn't trust Ace. He might have tampered with the engines of the motorcycle or given me a low powered bike that wouldn't give m

My adrenaline was sky-high, and I was pissed that I’d turned my back on the fourth guy. “Hey, I’m Whitman,” one of the fighters said, and sat on a chair in the corner. I turned toward him and held my hand out. “Kai.” We shook hands, and he smiled. “Who are you up against?” he asked me, as I placed my phone and wallet in the locker. “Some guy named Falcon,” I said. “And you?” “Falcon?” he asked me, with big eyes. “Do you know him?” “He’s some crazy guy from Montana. He’s been overseas and hasn’t lost a fight yet,” he said, and I smiled.

Logan stiffened beside me. “I always win.” Conceited much? “My name is Maurice,” he introduced himself, grinning at me. Logan instead said, "We should get going," and dragged me away before I could even open my mouth. I staggered along, attempting to keep up with his long stride. “Who exactly were they?” I inquired of him. “They are no one you should be concerned about,” he replied. My eyes widened as we came to a halt in front of a motorcycle. “Is that a Ducati?” Logan was taken aback by my inquiry, clearly not expecting me to be familiar with the brand. Well, I'm a little obsessed with these things.

Yet she wasn't even aware of what pain is waiting for her. Along with the 30-minute habal-habal ride, Viola held tightly onto Connie's waist. She leaned on her back with her eyes shut close out of fear. It's called habal-habal because, in one motorcycle, three to five people can join the ride. If the motorcycle had extension seats, it can carry up to ten people. Habal-habal originally came from the Bisaya or Cebuano term habal which means the sexual intercourse of animals, however, it has evolved into a mode of transportation as such because when looked at the larger perspective, the motorcycle with a centipede line of people seated very tightly next to each other, with no means of a gap in

“I’m okay with it. I could actually use that money to buy a ticket to next month’s Moto National Race in Sangela City.” Maddison’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were into bikes. It slipped my mind that they were coming to town next month.” “Hold up, you’re from Sangela City too?” asked Morgan, showing a little more enthusiasm than he was comfortable with. “I probably should have mentioned it earlier but you didn’t ask,” said Maddison in between laughs. They spent the next fifteen minutes talking about their favourite bike models, Moto National racers and their favourite Moto National Racing season. The waiter came by with the bill which they split and Morgan tipped the man. Morgan walked