COMMENT The aroma seduced my nostrils. And as I prepared to dive into the delectable plate of steaming hot chicken rice, she popped a question that left a queer taste in my mouth.

What is your opinion about gay marriage?

But before I could muster a sensible response, she hit me with another devastating blow below the belt.

What about yourself? Are you strictly heterosexual? Do you have bisexual tendencies?

This was not exactly a palatable topic for dinner conversation but since she offered to pay for the meal, I decided to humour her. And so I broke the news. I am a hetero-motoro-sexual!

She was taken aback but I could tell that she was curious.

NONEHence, I explained that unlike meccaphiles who get too intimate with their cars, a hetero-motoro-sexual is attracted to the opposite gender as well as to two wheels attached to a steel frame, housing a powerful V-Twin engine, with tail-pipes that let out a monstrous roar.

With 2013 drawing to an end, and the same old regime still living to rule until the next electoral skirmish, it is time to take a short break from politics.

Though I am not too fond of politicians, I am passionate about the art of politics, for it exists in every facet of our lives. There is politics at home, at work and even among relatives and friends.

Heck! There is even politics in public toilets, with graffiti on the walls denouncing this politician as corrupt and that politician as a sodomite.

But I have decided to write about another passion, albeit a painful one, for it has left me nursing several fractures and a dislocated ankle over the last two months.

NONEThere is a popular saying among bikers that four wheels move the body but two wheels move the soul.

In the aftermath of my accident, I reflected long and hard on this, arriving at the conclusion that two wheels could also move the soul out of the body and leave the remains on four wheels, as in a hearse.

Hell, no! I was born to ride

But the often asked question is, would I stop riding? Hell, no! I was born to ride.

This is not the first time that I have crashed, though I keep my fingers crossed that it would be the last.

I have a collection of scars dating back from the time I got my first bike as a teenager, a Honda EX-5. Then came the infamous RX-Z, a machine designed by Yamaha to bring the lives of Malaysian youths to an unceremonious end.

It was on the RX-Z that I encountered my most memorable accident - losing control at a sharp bend when attempting a knee-scraping-the-road-Moto GP-like cornering. The end result: crashing into the living room of a house as the owner, his wife and two children were having tea.

And as all of us sat there in stunned silence. My friend, who was riding behind me, came darting into the house. "Anand! Machan! Are you o..."

He never completed the sentence. For he had caught sight of the house owner's beautiful daughter, who was sobbing in shock with a piece of kuih lapis still dangling from her mouth. At that point, he later confided, I had ceased to exist.

It was a miracle that all of us survived unscathed, including my friend, whom I had wanted to clobber to death with a helmet. There were no broken bones nor furniture, just a few patches of blood on the marble floor.

There is something about a motorcycle, and the experience it offers, which leaves one hard pressed to find the right words to describe.

The open road, a sense of freedom, the wind caressing your face and the thundering note from the exhausts in the background. It would not be an exaggeration to call it a mechanical-induced orgasm, one that leaves the rider addicted and craving for more.

Always dreamt of owning a big bike

Since as a kid, I had always dreamt of owning a big bike. And that dream materialised a few months ago, just as Season Five of the 'Sons of Anarchy' mini-series on Fox Channel came to an end.

Following this, a chance meeting at a workshop led me to become a member of a local MC- Motorcycle Club. But unlike the Sons of Anarchy, this was not a ‘one percenter' outfit.

For the uninitiated, one percenter refers to clubs with criminal links, such as the Hells Angels and Bandidos. The term came about after the American Motorcycle Association stated that 99 percent of clubs are law-abiding while one percent are not.

Our club members often joke that we are one percenters as well. However, unlike our counterparts in the United States and Europe, who deal with drugs and guns, our outlaw bikers consist of those with no licence, expired road tax and who make a quick U-turn when there is a police roadblock ahead.

But we are people of all races, religions and walks of life, brought together by a common factor: the love for motorcycles.

NONEOur founder and president, well-known by his moniker Reaper (right), is a former air force pilot and engineer, who cannot sit in a car for more than 15 minutes without feeling nauseated. He would wind down the window and stick his head out.

A biker to the bone, Reaper, who refers to his Harley Davidson Softail Heritage as his wife, shocked his generals when he decided to quit on the brink of being promoted to a higher rank. But what shocked the generals even more was that in his resignation letter, Reaper simply wrote, "I want to resign because I want to ride."

And when we gather on Friday nights for our RV (short for rendevous), the conversations, often dragging into the wee hours of the morning, revolve around motorcycles, destinations to ride to, potential modifications to be done, accessories to be fitted, individual near-death experiences and so forth.

But now and then, Rosmah Mansor and diamond rings would crop up. It seems that even the one percenters are drawn to her bedazzling character.

So the conclusion is... You can ride, but you can't hide. Politics in Malaysia is everywhere now!

RK ANAND is a member of the Malaysiakini team.