Milan wasn’t quite as easy to escape as I’d anticipated. I got lost three times before I found the main highway out.

Being chased by police didn’t help – every time I heard a siren, I’d turn into a sideroad or alleyway and wait to see if anything would pass. When they didn’t Henry and I would slip back around the corner while I tried to work out which way I’d been going.

Eventually, I found myself on the highway. A large sign indicated that France was only 240 kilometres away and I threw back the throttle so far that little Henry began to whine. Still, it wasn’t quite enough to keep up with the cars that flashed past us. I kept well to the right, but even then, the rush of wind and occasional spraying of gravel were my constant companions.

I’d been on the highway for half an hour when two things happened at once. Firstly, I noticed a blue and red flicker in Henry’s sole wing mirror. Turning my head and wobbling, I saw a police car weaving its way through the traffic in my direction, I revved Henry a little harder.

The second thing I noticed was his fuel gauge sitting on empty which put to bed any ideas of trying to outrun the cops.

I’d spotted what looked like a petrol station around a kilometre back and considered pulling a U-turn. However, four lanes of speeding cars to my left made me rethink this idea.

I peered back; the lights were getting closer. My orange fuel light had come on. Time to make a decision Danny.

So, I did, there was a ditch next to me. Nothing too deep, but enough to cover me and a scooter named Henry.

I slowed slightly, watching my wing mirror until the police car’s view was blocked by a large truck, then I swerved into the ditch.

Poor Henry’s suspension gave a crack as we left the road and his engine died as we landed in the ditch. I didn’t fare much better. The ground slipped from beneath us and my arm got crushed underneath Henry.

While I rubbed my elbow the two of us crouched in the drain, waiting with bated breath for the police car. Five minutes passed, then ten. I unscrewed Henry’s wing mirror and held it up, using it like a periscope to check the road. No police cars were in sight.

I pulled Henry’s keys from his ignition and placed my distinctive pink helmet to one side. Moving in a crouch, I made my way back along the drain towards the petrol station. When I got there the pump attendant was watching a television screen. On it, police helicopters were flying over the city.

I bought a small jerry can and filled it with petrol. The attendant hardly looked at me when I paid for the fuel, as I placed the money on the bench between us the man said something in Italian and pointed at the screen.

Then he frowned and an odd expression came onto his face. He turned back to me.

I grabbed my fuel and left. Walking towards the drain as fast as I could without actually running. The man came out of the store and shouted something at me in Italian. I didn’t turn around.

The moment I got within sight of the drain I was sprinting. By the time I reached Henry, my throat felt raw.

I grabbed the key, unscrewed his tank and poured the fuel into it, spilling a little as I went.

With the tank full, I used a piece of rubber to tie the spare fuel onto Henry’s seat, then hauled him up onto the road again.

Panting, I kick-started his motor and the sweet little scooter roared to life immediately. I threw on my fluro helmet and sped away.