Gurriers (13 page)

After taking the last exit off the roundabout, I could see housing estates on both sides of the road. It was daunting to know that I had to find one among so many houses. I did see a sign saying Blakestown Way on it which helped ease the muddle in my head slightly. It was also encouraging to know that I hadn’t erred yet.

As I overtook a bus, I thought I heard my number being called, but wasn’t sure because of the noise of the bus’s engine. I had to be close to the left that I was to take into Sheepmore - too close to worry about the radio.

There’s a left there, that has to be it. I thought.

“Four Sean.”

No mistaking that one, but I’ve got to make sure that this is Sheepmore. All I could see was a vandalised frame where there should have been a road sign. Do I turn or not?

“Four Sean, Four!”

I knew that I better answer him first. I pulled over to the kerb at the corner, scanning the footpath for a pedestrian who might confirm that this was indeed the left that I was to take.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“How’re you gettin’ along there, Sean?”

“I’m in Blanchardstown, just about to turn into Sheepmore, I think.”

“Good man. Call me when ye have that one on board, I have another one out that way for ye…Eleven Giz’, go ahead.”

As my attention diverted away from the radio his voice seemed to fade away into obscurity, almost as if I was turning down the radio instead of just concentrating on something else. Then a lady walking her dog, came into view. Finally, I had
someone to ask for directions.

“Excuse me, hello.”

A friendly looking elderly lady and her over-groomed poodle made their way to the bike.

“I wonder if you could tell me if this is Sheepmore, please?”

Gesturing into the run down looking estate, she replied, “We –eh –ell,” The lady turned slowly through 270 degrees and back, surveying her surroundings studiously. “I live in Ashfield, that’s the other side of the roundabout. Now I know it’s around here somewhere.”

Her finger went to the lip as the brow furrowed in concentration. I didn’t have time for this, and I didn’t like the way her dog was sniffing around my front wheel. I heard Aidan call Gizzard again and turned down my radio to facilitate the thought process of the lady and end this waste of my precious time that I had set myself up for. I should have just taken the turn instead of looking for confirmation, especially with Aidan waiting to despatch more work to me.

“That’s Whitestown over there …er…” she continued.

I pushed the right side of my handlebar with a jerk just as her poodle lifted its leg, catching it in the foot with my front tyre and causing it to give an indignant little yelp as it jumped away. It was time for me to move.

“This must be it so, thanks very much.” I slipped the bike into gear and drove down what I hoped was Sheepmore Avenue.

Unbeknownst to me, Sheepmore was one of the roughest estates in Blanchardstown, but it didn’t take long for me to get the heebie jeebies. Every door and window had bars and other fortifications on it. None of the front gardens had any sort of decorative qualities and there were bricks, half bricks, brick segments and all sizes of rocks strewn all over the road and footpaths. There were a lot of youths hanging around but no children out playing. I got the distinct impression that these youths threw a lot of rocks and I definitely didn’t want to hang around to become target practice. I accelerated a little bit harder than would be recommended in a built up area, diligently watching out for the many rocks and bricks that I had to swerve around
on the way.

There’s a left turn-no, wait; cul-de-sac, it must be the next left. Flashbacks from the map helped keep the state of panic at bay.

Oh shit, the radio! I thought, as it had been forgotten about whilst asking for directions and avoiding the little mutt pissing on my tyre. My right hand instinctively went straight to the radio to turn it up, leaving the throttle in the process. This was my first ever attempt at turning up a radio on a moving bike. I had just got the flap up and my finger to the dial when my hand had to shoot to the throttle to prevent the bike cutting out. I pulled in the clutch, dropped a gear, revved hard and released the clutch. I kept the power on a fraction of a second longer than usual before clicking back up into third gear as a gesture of irritation with myself for nearly letting the machine cut out, but also because I was now frantic to get to the pick up to turn on the radio. There was no way was I going to bring the bike to a stop in these scary surroundings and I wasn’t going to take my hand off the throttle either.

The only other option was to get to the pick up and then turn it up. Having work waiting to be despatched to me increased the chances of being called by Aidan, and I could just hear enough of the radio to know that he was calling somebody.

Now I felt huge pressure on me to get to this house. My already racing heart almost skipped a beat when I saw another turn to my left that just had to be the correct one and I wrenched the throttle a fraction harder.

I was touching 40 mph when I braked late and hard while gearing down to throw the bike into the bend too low for comfort with all of the rubble on the road. I was fortunate that I had made it safely, although the back wheel caught a large rock and sent the bike into a bit of a wobble. Now I had the task of looking out for a turn on the right, and there it was! I navigated the bend a little bit easier after the fright the other one gave me, hoping not to see any dodgy looking youths hanging around. The only scary people hanging around here were four hoodie-clad teenagers but they were at the corner of the left turn that I
knew I had to take onto Sheepmore Way.

This had to be it! All of the hooded heads moved to follow me as I turned the corner, looking to the left to see what way the numbers went.

“One…two… Okay, eight more houses down on the left.”

A glance in the mirror revealed to my horror that the hoodies had started to amble down the road in the same direction as me. I nailed it down the road as far as number ten and right up the driveway to the front door, turning up the radio as I got off the bike in a hurry.

I knocked the bare letterbox hard and fast three times, casting a nervous glance to my left to monitor the progress of the scary undesirables that were heading in my direction. They were passing what I figured to be number three. They were going to get to me unless Jackie was pretty damn prompt with my consignment. I began to steel myself mentally for whatever confrontation might be in store for me.

“Six Dave, goin’ to get you movin’ cos I have one out that way for ye. Giz a shou’ when ye drop Milltown. Who else is callin’ there? Gerry, go ahead.”

At least he hadn’t been calling me while I had the radio turned down.

The door swung open quickly and a tired looking middle-aged woman spoke to me hurriedly. “Aer Arann?”

“Roger, I mean yes.”

Her left hand appeared from behind the door holding a small envelope.

“Thanks very much.” I smiled appreciatively, as I shoved the letter into the pouch of my bag with the door already closing.

I jumped straight onto the bike, put the keys into ignition immediately and fired up without delay. The group of hoodies were just over half way as I turned the bike around in her driveway. They hadn’t got a chance of getting to me now, not with the engine on and me facing the right way. I was safe!

I nailed the bike the length of her driveway and then flung the machine hard to the right without braking as soon as I got it onto the road, sending some pieces of rubble skittering across
the road in the process. I then half engaged the clutch and gave it full throttle while the bike was still leaning at an angle, then releasing the clutch, causing the back wheel to spin a little with a delicious rubbery squeal of protest. I resisted the temptation to beep triumphantly at the hoodies as I sped past them, partly because they might still have been able to hit me with a rock and because they might have taken it out on the poor unfortunate woman in number ten who had the misfortune of living in this God-awful place.

“Four Sean.”

“Go ahead.”

“I have that Sheepmore on board.” Meaning that I had picked it up and high-tailed it back out as far as Blakestown way before calling him.

“Lovely place, isn’t it? I have one for you now up in Symantec in the Ballycoolin Industrial estate. That’s at the top of the Snugborough Road where it meets the Ballycoolin Road at a T. Anne in the purchasing department will give you one comin’ into Booterstown. Vinno, go ahead.”

I decided to consult the map immediately while the words Snugborough and Ballycoolin were fresh in my head. There we go: page eight, D4. Flicking onto page eight, I located Ballycoolin road without much difficulty since there wasn’t a whole lot else in the square D4. I could also see the road that met it perpendicularly that ran across C4 onto page seven where it had its name printed on it - Snugborough Road. It came down to the bottom of the page with Corduff on the right and Corduff Park on the left. The blue triangle at the bottom told me that the map continued downwards onto page 18, the page I was on at the moment. As I opened page 18 my eyes were automatically drawn towards the square that I knew I was currently on, which was D1, on the top left hand corner of the page. This actually threw me off because I wrongly traced Blanchardstown Road North, which ran parallel to Snugborough, down as far as the Navan Road and then continued it onto Blanchardstown Road South, delighted with myself because it was right beside my cur
rent location; so delighted that I never double checked it. I was going roughly the right direction but there was one big difference: Snugborough Road ended at a T when it met Ballycoolin Road, a T that I would be watching out for, but Ballycoolin Road was just a right turn off the Blanchardstown Road North, which then continued on for miles into the middle of nowhere before meeting the Cappagh road at a T behind and beyond my destination.

As I proceeded north along Blanchardstown Road North, I noticed that there were masses of houses on my right but fields on my left, most of which looked like wasteland. This should have sent alarm bells off in my head, but I foolishly put my feelings of trepidation down to the unfamiliar surroundings, telling myself that I felt uneasy because I had definitely never driven these roads before, as I proceeded up the wrong road.

I carried on up past a college on my left and then the houses on my right were replaced by big green fences behind which I could see factories. This was actually the Blanchardstown Industrial estate. Had I been on the right road with the front of this estate on my left instead of the back of it on my right, I would have been able to see the Ballycoolin Industrial estate in front of me. I kept going, past the turn for Ballycoolin on my right without knowing what it was.

To my surprise my surroundings changed totally after that turn. The road narrowed considerably to the size of a country back road, with twists and bends in it that I had definitely not seen on the map, and hedges adorned both sides with whatever glimpses I could steal through them revealing only green behind them. The traffic seemed to disappear. After another mile or so during which I only had to overtake one car, I knew that I had travelled a lot further than I should have and that the likelihood of coming across a T junction with an industrial estate at it was pretty damn negligible and diminishing with every foot I progressed. Something was wrong here and there was no doubt about it.

I came upon a left turn and slowed down to read the sign that pointed up it, the naive part of me hoping that it would say
“Ballycoolin Industrial Estate”, but no. Instead it said, “Hollystown Golf Course.”

I was indecisive. Several options presented themselves in my mind and I did not know which one to pick. Would I: turn back, keep going, stop and check my map, call the base for help or give up and go home?

It took a very deep breath for me to calm down enough to begin eliminating options. I was determined to find this place without help from the base, I wasn’t going to give up and go home with work on board, and I had been moving in roughly the right direction so I couldn’t be too far away. I was going to proceed forward until I found a safe place to pull over and read the map.

Then out of nowhere, like an oasis in a desert, I saw a road sign declaring that there was a T-junction ahead. Perfect, a place for me to take out my map and a feature to help me pin point my location when I got it out.

I pulled over and stopped the bike just before the T-junction where there was plenty of space and it could be clearly seen by any traffic coming in any direction, with whatever traffic that came behind me already slowing to stop at the T.

The map came out immediately. I should have done this the second I knew I had gone wrong.

“Four Sean.”

Oh, no. Not now! I thought. What am I going to say?

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“How’re you gettin’ on there?”

“I em…erm…well I-”

“Have you picked up Symantec yet?”

“No.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I…er…went a bit wrong” I informed him, feeling like such a plonker. If only I had time to look at the map before being called. Had he known that I had gone wrong just because he hadn’t heard from me by now? Was that how tight for time things were in this industry? Was he going to be on my case
every time I went astray by a few minutes?