Inspired by Season 2 episode 10, The Wild Monkees, and done on request. Also, The Birds the Bees and the Monkees. XD
The Monkees always seemed to get into all kinds of trouble. It was a fact of life, the birds whistled, the bees buzzed, and the Monkees got into trouble. But another fact of life was they always got out of it again. Which was why Peter was fairly confident that one of them would win the Black Angels Olympics and save the town and to a lesser extent, themselves (Okay, maybe not that lesser of an extent).
So he put on his motorcycle helmet and his goggles, and he walked over to his bike, as did Davy, Mike and Micky. Butch growled and threatened them, and the Black Angels started their engines. As Peter mounted his bike, he felt a thrill of hope. He felt confident that one of the Monkees would win, and they would get out of this situation relatively unscathed. But what if he were the one to do it? What if he were the one to ride his bike across the finish line to victory, and be the hero? The others had all put themselves in harms way to save the day before, more than once, to save him in particular. He had a knack for screwing things up. He wanted to be able to do the same for them every once in awhile. He wanted to be the hero.
The gunshot went off, signifying the start of the race! A surge of adrenaline rushed through Peter, as he saw the Black Angels pull ahead, then the other Monkees one by one. His bike wouldn't start.
The crowd urged him to go, they shouted and cheered and yelled out encouragements, trying to get him to go.
"It won't start!" He called out. "The engine won't start!"
He tried several more times, but it just wouldn't start. The Black Angels had already finished the first lap, they came roaring around the bend. Peter felt a slow rise of panic building inside him. "My bike won't start!" He called out again, looking up to see Mike pass by, glancing at him absently. He was really focused on the race.
Peter continued to try and start his bike, and he looked up as Davy drove past, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and pity. Then Micky came by, looking actually a little scared, though Peter knew he would never admit to it later.
Several people in the crowd came out to try and figure out what was wrong with the bike as Butch went by again, starting his third lap. Peter sighed. He wouldn't win the race now even if his bike miraculously started. He took off his helmet. Funny. He was one of the only two racers of the day to think about safety, and he wasn't even in the race.
Peter watched as two more Black Angels rode by. If he wasn't going to race, he would cheer on the other Monkees. Whenever they showed up, that is. Several mechanics were now tinkering with his bike, finding several things wrong with it, discussing how they were surprised that it was still in one piece.
The fourth member of the Black Angels went by, tied with Mike. Davy passed by soon after. Then came Micky, with a... well, that was strange. Somehow, Micky had obtained a real monkey, it was riding on his back, holding on. Micky smiled nervously and waved to Peter as he passed.
Peter laughed. Leave it to Micky to manage turning a deadly motorcycle race they were doomed to lose anyway resulting in their imminent destruction into something laughable. Peter would never forget the sight of Micky on a motorcycle with a monkey on his back for as long as he lived. Even though, by the look of things, that wouldn't exactly be very long.
"Hey, kid, try starting it now," one of the mechanics said.
"Well, alright," Peter said. "But it won't do me much good now. The race is half over."
"How's that for gratitude," The mechanic huffed. "Here I am, trying to help, and that's how you thank me?"
"Sorry," Peter said, trying to start it. He felt a blast of air and heard a motorcycle go by, then two more.
"Step on it again," The mechanic said. "A little harder this time."
He stepped on it again. Another Motorcycle went by.
"Harder."
Again. Another Motorcycle went by.
"Harder."
He tried again, and another Motorcycle went by.
"Thank you for your help," Peter said to the mechanic. "But it's too late now. They're all on the final lap. They'll be coming around the bend any minute!"
The Mechanic sighed. "You're probably right," he said. "Well, tough luck, ain't it?" he joked. "Guess we know who's coming in last!"
He guffawed with some of the others, and Peter sighed.
"Wait," another mechanic said. "I think I got it! Kid, try it now!"
"But I want to watch the end of the race," Peter said.
"Yeah, but I think I got it!" The man said. "Come on, just try it!"
Peter tried it a few more times, and he heard the sound of motorcycles going by. One after another.
ZOOM
ZOOM
ZOOM
ZOOM
ZOOM
ZOOM
ZOOM
Seven motorcycles. The race was over.
He looked up and saw everyone slow their motorcycles down to a stop. Davy looked a little dizzy as he jumped down, he stumbled around a few times before smiling and heading towards Mike, who was sitting on his stopped motorcycle, clutching the handlebars and staring straight ahead.
Davy put a hand on Mike's shoulder, and Mike looked at him. Davy said something, grinning, and Mike blinked for a second before smiling back and getting off his bike.
Micky was still on his bike, but he was far from holding still. He seemed to be on some sort of adrenaline rush; he was practically jumping up and down in his seat, and he was chattering so loud that Peter could hear him from where he was, even though he couldn't make out any words.
His excitement seemed to hit the right note with the Black Angels near to him, they shared an amused glance with each other. It was like they were remembering their first motorcycle race.
Peter smiled. He was glad Micky seemed to have had fun. Micky looked over and saw him smiling, and he grinned excitedly. "PETE!" He yelled, jumping off his bike and running over to Peter.
"Peter, oh my gosh, that was amazing!" Micky said, entering the world of speed-talk. "At first, I got like, really nervous, cause the bike almost tipped over, and I went in a circle, but then I started to get the hang of it, and I was riding, and I saw Davy was in front of me, and I was trying to catch up to him, cause I figured, the best way to race is to just focus on whoever's in front of you, but that didn't really work out, cause I finished last, but anyway, so I was trying to catch up to Davy, and then this guy kept trying to push me away, and I don't know why he bothered, 'cause I was dead last, but he kept trying anyway, and then he threw a newspaper at my head, and I couldn't see, and I think I almost ran into Davy, but there was a hole in the paper right in front of my eye, so I could see, and then I finally got the piece of paper off and the guy tried to hit me again, but I dodged it and he drove away. Then I felt something furry, and there were fingers, and I looked around, and there was a monkey on my back!"
"Yeah, I'd wondered about that," Peter said with a laugh.
"I don't know where it came from!" Micky laughed. "And it rode on me for awhile, then it disappeared and I don't know what happened to it. And I saw Davy, he was riding his motorcycle, and he put his feet up onto the seat!"
"I'll bet Mike didn't like that," Peter noted.
"I don't know if he saw," Micky said. "But if he did, I'll bet he didn't! But then everyone else was so far ahead of me, I figured there wasn't any point in trying to catch up, so I stopped and hid behind a shed, and when Butch stopped there to get a drink of water, I tied his bike to a tree, but he just pulled the tree up and drove away with it! And then when I was getting on my bike again this guy came out of nowhere and dusted me with a feather duster!"
"Maybe he doesn't like dirty dusty bikers," Peter suggested as Mike and Davy walked up to them, watching the exchange with amusement.
"Maybe," Micky said with a laugh. "And then I drove really really really fast, and I caught up to everyone else, except I was a lap behind, I never finished the final lap. And everyone was driving to the finish line, and it was so loud, did you hear all those engines!? And the wind in my face was to die for! Man, Peter, that was so much fun! I really wish you could've felt what it was like!"
Peter smiled. "Maybe I will," he said. "If the Black Angels leave us alive, maybe we can go riding, without it being a life-or-death race."
"Sounds good!" Micky said, and Mike shook his head in awe.
"Peter," he said. "You're the only person I know who can understand Micky's speed-talk enough to be able to hold a conversation with him while he's doing it."
"Hey, Chickens," Butch said, walking up to them. They all clucked instinctively.
Butch grinned menacingly. "We all won," he said, indicating himself and the other Black Angels. "As soon as the judges say so, we have the rights to destroy you!"
"Well, that sure dampens my spirits," Micky said, as the girls stepped down from behind their judges stand. For a second, it looked like they were running towards the Monkees, but they rushed right past them and hugged the Black Angels. But then Davy decided not to waste a perfectly good hug, and so the Monkees all shared a group hug before turning to Butch, who asked who wanted to be destroyed first.
Before he could do any destroying, however, Queenie stepped in and complained that she was done with life on the road, and wanted to settle down and build illegal motorcycles. So The Black Angels all agreed to settle down, and the jerk hotel manager who'd caused all this trouble in the first place got eight new henchmen. Peter inwardly shook his head at the manager's folly. He would soon learn that hiring eight rough, delinquent criminals to help run his hotel for the elderly wasn't a very good idea.
But, it made Butch and Queenie and all the others happy, and that meant that the Monkees wouldn't be destroyed.
And so, Peter made good on his promise, and one of the Black Angels lent his bike to Peter, and the Monkees all went for a motorcycle ride through the country. As Peter felt the wind on part of his face (safety first; he was wearing his helmet), he smiled. Riding a motorcycle was just as fun as Micky had described.
Then he caught a bug in his open mouth, sputtered, slowed down enough to spit it back out, and continued on the ride, this time with his mouth firmly closed. Riding a motorcycle was almost as fun as Micky had described.