Gurriers (100 page)

There were two couriers there, but they were both sitting on the wall and not in a position to help me as I nailed it through the red light towards the Pepper Canister. At the Pepper Canister I swung a sharp left onto Herbert Lane. This was an on the spot gamble, knowing that Herbert Lane was a hive of activity with just about every mews building – from Herbert Street to my right and Herbert Place to my left – containing some sort of business. There were several motor repair shops and panel beaters, travel agents, a casino and a courier company - City Express - a studio and many other businesses that I wasn’t familiar with along the 200 or so yard narrow lane. There had even been a motorbike workshop there at one stage, run by a super cool ex courier called Sharpy. At the top it swerved to the right at 90 degrees to bring it to Herbert Street just a little bit away from where Herbert Street met Baggot Street.

My gamble was based on the hope that she would be delayed and I wouldn’t. City Express was a very small courier company with only a couple of couriers, but at this time of day there might be one of them arriving at or departing from the base who could possibly do me a favour. As for the motor repair shops – I had narrowly missed crashing into a car being reversed out of one of them the previous year when on my way up the lane to collect tickets from the travel agents. Hopefully the same thing would happen again, with the mechanic slamming on the brakes after I had sped by and blocking up the lane long
enough for my pursuer to have to stop.

There were cars parked sporadically all along the lane and lots of people going about their business, but no obstacles to hinder the pursuing garda. I didn’t even have to beep anybody out of my way, though several people made exaggerated and unnecessary leaps to safety while a couple more made indignant “slow down” gestures at me. My gamble to use Herbert Lane actually cost me time because once again she was able to gain on me along a straight stretch, especially since I had shepherded the pedestrians into safe positions. I needed help, or she would surely catch me.

I flung the bike to the left when Herbert Lane met Herbert Street, heading towards Baggot Street, which had heavy traffic moving in both directions. This was going to be the making or breaking of me – get through and clear or crash and caught, it all depended on the moving gaps that I was going to have to go for.

As I approached the junction, too fast to be able to stop in time, I spotted a car in the first lane indicating left, to bring it onto Herbert Street, which would leave an ample gap for me to get through. In the other lane, level with this car was a number ten bus. The traffic on the other side of the gap in the island, however, was moving with no gaps whatsoever. On fire as I was with adrenalin, I felt a fresh surge as my intention became clear to me.

I was probably going to make it across that eastbound traffic, but I would be moving way too fast to be able to stop for the westbound traffic at the other side of the gap in the traffic island. I was going to have to back wheel steer and bash off a car sideways too make the turn.

Before I had a chance to convince myself of the stupidity of my plan I was committed to it and could only beep in the hope that the bus would brake early and increase the crucial gap between it and the car in front of it, but not so early that it didn’t block the path of my pursuer when it came to a stop.

He heard the beep, he saw my path and must have known
that I was just about on a collision course with him, but the bus driver didn’t brake. He beeped back.

Typical scumbag bastard bus driver attitude.

They would rather let their indignation be known than to avoid a collision, once they’re not in the wrong. I hate them all so much!

I don’t know how much I made it by, but it was way too close for comfort and it involved me instinctively swinging my bike to the left, giving me more to do with the back wheel to get my bike pointed west.

As soon as I (just about) cleared the bus I flung my machine hard to the right and slammed on the back brake. The back wheel stepped out and again only the suspension of the XR stopped me from high siding and again a saddle punch in the nuts for me. This allowed me to move into the westbound traffic at a sideways angle bashing into the side of a Renault Megane in the process. The driver swerved when he suddenly became aware of what was going on, which greatly minimised the effect of the impact on me. Of course, with the amount of adrenalin being pumped through my system, I felt no pain yet, but I knew that there was no serious injury to my left leg, which hit the driver’s door and my left elbow, which clipped off the roof.

Because of the angles involved I slid along the side of the car after the impact but didn’t come to a complete stop. That meant that, after dropping down two gears, I was able to wrench the throttle and away, ignoring the abuse being shouted at me by the dickhead bus driver out his side window, just glad that his attention was focussed on me and not the gard that he was blocking with his bus, it having come to a halt completely blocking the gap in the traffic island.

The stupid and dangerous risk that I took paid off. She was brought to a halt by the bus and all of the other stationary traffic that my antics had halted. However, she read the situation well and responded in such a way as to minimise my benefits.

With sirens wailing and lights flashing, she drove along the side of the bus against the normal direction of traffic, swung left at the end, across the back of the bus and bashed the ST1100
onto the traffic island in time to see me turn left onto Lad Lane. She then nailed along the island past the stopped traffic and clattered off the island in front of the damaged Renault at the head of some stationary vehicles quickly enough to turn onto Lad Lane just ahead of the couriers from the front of the shop that had scrambled after me to block her progress. This woman was determined and then some!

I turned onto Lad Lane to go past Lightning’s base, in general hoping that one of my old comrades would be in a position to help me out and in particular hoping that Gizzard would have gone straight there after I took her off his case and had time to tell all there what I had done for him. (Not knowing the history between me and her and her doubtlessly would have led him to credit my actions with the sole purpose of saving his hide).

I knew my luck was in the moment I saw the front wheel of a bike appear at the entrance to Lightning. Here was a courier in a perfect position to pull out in front of my pursuer. The only question was how quickly whoever it was would cop on to the situation and how well he (or she, if it was Dolores) would act on my behalf.

In the second or two that I sped towards the wheel, beeping short attention– grabbing bursts on my horn, I found myself hoping that it was one of the older, sharper couriers that would probably have that little extra savvy about the situation and be likely to be that little bit more effective at helping me out. It was Six Dave.

I couldn’t have hoped for better.

I took my left hand off the bars just before I passed the gate to clench it into a fist with my protruding thumb pointing behind me with which I gestured frantically in a pointing movement in the hope that he would understand that I needed help with something coming behind me. On hearing the sirens he would surely put two and two together even if the Gizzard hadn’t gone to the base and told them of my actions.

As it happened, Gizzard hadn’t gone to the base, but as soon as I had taken the chase he went straight onto Channel Two and told everybody to be on standby to assist me if they heard sirens
and to let any couriers that they met know the same. By the time I was going up Lad Lane not only did all my old workmates know that I would be in need of assistance in a chase situation, most of the couriers in Dublin did too!

Fair play to Dave, he did exactly the right thing for me with impeccable timing. He heard the sirens turn onto Lad Lane and – having torn up the lane at speed himself so many, many times – judged the exact moment to shoot straight out the gate and across the lane into her path.

Just as I was turning right onto Cumberland Road at the top of the lane, she was slamming on her brakes and flinging the ST to the left as hard as possible to minimise the damage caused by the impending collision with the Bros 650.

Instinctively, for the same reason, Dave flung his bars to the right.

The result of the evasive actions was that her front tyre hit his at an angle of approximately 45 degrees. Both bikes were knocked sideways and downwards but, being so much lighter and having so much less momentum, the Bros came out the worst of it and hit the deck while, with the help of a favourable bounce off the kerb opposite combining with fantastic instincts, she managed to prevent the ST from keeling over.

If she hadn’t the chase would have been over because Dave, who had rolled uninjured from under his toppling machine, or the three couriers coming after her would not have helped her lift it up and nobody can pick up one of those monsters off the ground unassisted.

The three lads who had followed her saw their chance to achieve their objective and swarmed around her.

“We saw what happened.”

“He didn’t have a chance.”

“Look what you did to his bike.”

“You better report this, get your lot down here.”

“An’ probably an ambulance as well!”

She was too well trained, too experienced and too fired up to tolerate any delay to her mission though. “I know damn well
what yiz are all up to, now get the fuck out of my way or ye’re all gonna spend tonight in cells gettin’ fuckin’ clattered with telephone books. Move. Now!”

Meanwhile I was flinging the XR hard to the left into heavy traffic where Cumberland Road meets Fitzwilliam Place, ignoring the beeps from motorists that I was bullying into swerving and/or braking, hoping that the gods of the traffic lights would be shining down on me at the next junction, where Fitzwilliam met Leeson Street, a spot where I could really have done with a green to take me through – past the kiosk – onto Adelaide Road and home. I had decided that this was my best – and probably only – opportunity to make a break for it and run for home.

Not only were the lights red, my luck relating to the positioning of garda cars had run out. There was one stuck in traffic on Fitzwilliam Place waiting to cross Leeson Street, about halfway between the red light and last car in the right hand lane.

I eased off, slowed right down and did my best to sneak unnoticed past on the inside of the left lane, knowing that a left feeder arrow went green the sequence before the straight ahead/ turn right green and hoping that it would happen for me before she came around the corner after me. I was also hoping, of course, that she hadn’t had time to use her radio and have every gard in the city on the lookout for me. My efforts to sneak by unnoticed failed. Two of the four Gardaí heads in the car turned before I even drew level with them. I had contemplated going past them in a nice and cool manner but decided in the end to just nail it.

The two passenger side doors of the Garda car opened and two gards piled out of it as the siren came on. Had I been a fraction slower on the throttle, the front one of these guards would have got a hold of me when he lunged between the two cars to the left of the Garda car, but I just barely got far enough and fast moving enough in time so that one of his hands just brushed harmlessly off my right arm.

In a panic, I sped along the very narrow gap between the traffic waiting to turn left and the kerb up to the red light and through to the left with barely a glance at the southbound traffic that I was fleeing into. A fast moving BMW had to swerve violently to avoid hitting me and by doing so bashed into somebody in the lane to his right, doing me the great favour of blocking the two lanes that the Garda car would have used to come after me.

The traffic lights on the far side of the bridge, where Mespil Road met Leeson Street, were thankfully green and I nailed it away and through heavy southbound traffic as the noise of the Garda car siren faded away behind me like a bad memory.

There was no relaxing now though, because now I knew that every garda in the city would be after me. The only thing in my favour was the time. It was coming up to two o’clock when I first took the chase, so it would be just a bit past it now.

All couriers knew that the gards changed shift at 2 pm and at this time of day were much more likely to be hanging around their respective stations exchanging pleasantries with their workmates as they finished / began their shifts than be out physically patrolling the streets. The two exceptions to this were detectives and traffic cops, but statistically speaking this was the best time of day to have my description being broadcast on every frequency as I sped towards home. Or, more accurately, as I sped towards Millmount Grove.

Vinno and I had had many conversations about chase situations and how to beat the gards that would be after us. For my part, I was always convinced that these situations we were discussing were fictional, considering it simply foolish for a full time driver to risk his licence by taking a chase instead of just facing the music for whatever action had led them to wanting to talk to you.

During those conversations Vinno always said that any time he was chased he would aim for Millmount Grove and dump the bike there and walk the short distance home, having an escape option if a Garda car happened to see him turn into the cul-de-sac. This escape option was in the form of steps leading up to the bollards and back onto the main Dundrum road at the very back of the residential laneway.