Motorcycle Explorer November 2016 Issue 14 | Page 115

Close call
We’re in the third day of our journey across
Romania. We’ve already decided to get out as fast as
possible. With the benefit of hindsight I later realise,
without missing the irony, that this may have been a
mistake. For now though, we’re in the process of
paying for this unwitting mistake.
fast. A split second of looking forward instead of
backwards and I’m still not sure how I’m here. The
trials of the last two days, while a world away from
enjoyable, have helped me sprout eyes
in the back of my head. Eyes which I’m pretty sure
are the only reason I’m still upright on the bike now
and have the luxury of swearing with a fury that
feels as if it will consume me. Of course, that
gratitude is lost on me at the moment and it’ll be a
little while until I’m able to connect to it again.
I’m stood on the garage forecourt raging, gloves
strewn on the floor moments before, helmet barely
restrained from following them and every
colourfully foul expletive I can muster from my
memory banks is being emitted from my mouth in a
constant stream of profanity. I’m literally screaming. Mickey looks on. A couple of times he takes a half
People are looking. Uncharacteristically, I don’t care. step forward and looks like he’ll say something. Each
time he stops, wisely deciding to let me burn myself
It’s the continuation of a rage that began a kilometre out. Through the berserker mist that’s gripping me
I’m vaguely aware of an expression on his face that
or so up the road when the murderous idiot in the
isn’t familiar. He’s unsure, maybe a little afraid, out
car decided he needed the patch of road I was on
more than I needed my life. I’d have happily yielded of his depth. Later – much later – when we can laugh
a little again, he’ll tell me that he’s never seen me
to him had I known he wanted it. No passive
like that before. It’s true. I don’t lose my temper
aggressive British closing of gaps or holding of
ground here. Even if I wanted to I could never forget often. I don’t like anger, and later I’ll hate the fact
that I lost it like this and beat myself up for a while,
just how vulnerable I am and I play by the rules of
before it’s finally pointed out to me that a little
the road we’re on, not the ones that we came from.
anger is justified when your life is threatened.
But he came from several cars behind and he came