Over an early morning coffee I got to talking with my roomy. From Northern Ireland; he is a constable in the Royal Ulster and served in Kosovo; very broad accent. We discovered that we were both heading to Portsmouth today.
"Sure, if you want a lift yr welcome to get on the back of me bike"
Yeah... think... suitcases...
"Oh, sure it'll be fine"
His bike was a 650cc Korean/Japanese monster. I must be mad.
Straddled precariously behind him; gripping on to a side thing with my left hand, a death grip on my bag over my shoulder, trying my hardest not to lean back on the strapped-on suitcases.
"Sure, they'll be fine like that". He was mad.
With my eyes glued to the speedo and my knees seizing up gripped to the saddle.
Such a thrill. Ish.
Especially when he opened the throttle.. 65mph...70mph... we even touched 88mph - hah! A breeze! The worst part was after roundabouts and the g force that tried to send me into the suitcases and off the back.
Terrified. Exhausted. After 30 minutes with his sat nav taking me to Esk Vale hotel in Portsmouth just after 10am and I couldnt get off the bike. My legs and knees had frozen.
Fantastic though. But never again.
Thursday, 19 May 2011
Monday, 9 May 2011
Durham City
And I was welcomed into their house as a stranger to one and a friend to another.
Constantly coffee’d and tea’d, wined and fine dined.
What a wonderful whirlwind five days of beaches, castles, waterfalls, museums, churches and ancient buildings that culminated on a final evening with two hours of jamming (guitar and voice) and three hours of clubbing.
Breathless. Intoxicating.
Life as it should be: drinking from a pail and not a cup.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)