Today Colin and I woke up pretttttty damn early. We ended up leaving for the airport at 5:15AM. I have to be really honest, Internet Audience, I was really nervous last night and barely slept. I kept thinking about how dangerous motorcycles were and how I hadn't been on the back of one (which is more nerve-racking than being the actual driver) for years. I basically threw them aside when Manni passed. I especially hadn't been on a motorcycle on the freeway since a little bit before October 14th, 2005.
Lately Manni has been in my thoughts a lot because: 1. both his younger brother and father have commented on my blog about some of the past entries I devoted to him (Death's Anniversary, Happy (would-be) Birthday, Manni!, Goodbye, Again), and 2. his "anniversary's" coming up soon. I don't usually think about just his death, I mostly laugh about his antics. However, putting myself in nearly the exact situation Manni was in when he passed away couldn't help but make me feel trepidatious about the situation.
Needless to say, I know motorcycles can be dangerous but rides on them don't always end tragically. I knew I was just being (rational, yes - dying was a possibility, but mostly) overly-sensitive. I mentioned none of this to Colin and, instead, opted to hop on the back of his bike and brace (the bitter cold and) myself for the 45 minute trek to Luton airport.
I kept freaking out once the wind would hit us - not gonna lie. I'd see Colin's head bobble against the wind, I'd take a peak at the speedometer - cringe - and keep thinking: if I even look up one inch too high, the wind will catch my chin and launch me off the back of this shit and under the wheels of the big rigs riding beside us. I realized how small I am against the elements. I don't know I used to handle bikes on my own. More disconcertingly, I couldn't help but shake that impending feeling of death upon me. I was gripping onto Colin so tightly that my legs and fingers hurt when we arrived.
I had noticed during the ride that Colin was really punching it a couple of times. When I'd sneak peaks at the speedometer we'd easily be going 80-100 MPH - not Km/h., mind you. MPH! Colin proved to be an adroit rider, but I remember being a little pissed that he was testing our lives. It was just us on that thing - no metal shield of a car body to protect us. In fact, the metal car bodies would completely annihilate us if given the chance. I kept remembering that most motorcyclists actual mode of death after a crash is choking on their own vomit because they can't open the visors on their helmets. So, every time we hit a bump or I'd start sliding off of the passenger's seat (which was terrifying and happening quite often), I'd simultaneously stabilize my feet and get ready to unclick my visor. It was pretty sad that I was preparing so readily for death.
I kept telling myself to think of the ride as "exhilarating" and not "frightening" but I couldn't help but hear my mom's words to me when I got my motorcycle license: "You're my last baby, Tanya. I can't have any other ones after you. I don't know what I'd do if you got hurt. There is no greater loss for a parent than losing one of their kids." I started feeling really guilty. It's weird. I was more upset for my parents and family if I died - because it would have been my own idiot fault...and they'd be the ones left to grieve. Who knows maybe they'd throw a party! Kidding.
In the end, I got myself over all the negativity. I said a prayer. I said one for Manni. I tried to enjoy myself. Funny, it's probably one of the first times I've been more afraid of a ride to the airport than a ride on a plane... I started looking at the desolate city and the countryside. I started realizing I was experiencing London like I hadn't yet. I still clutched onto Colin for dear life, though...
When we got to the airport I thanked him a million times over and let out a tremendously huge sigh of relief. I was proud of myself. I hadn't been on a bike since Manni's accident. I overcame some psychological wall in a huge way and I was ecstatic to spend the day alone in Edinburgh, Scotland.
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