Gurriers (18 page)

In the moments that I had been concentrating on writing down jobs and putting on equipment, it had started to rain – hard! The expression “cats and dogs” came into my mind to accompany the overwhelming, “Where the fuck did that come from?”

As I reluctantly closed the door behind me, I caught a scrap of conversation from Naoise and the others

“An’ it’s due to come down all day. Goin’ to be a we’ one, boys!”

I remember actually enjoying the rain as a child. It was great fun to get soaked on the way home from school; there was something refreshing about being splattered by many raindrops, which made everything feel and smell so different, especially knowing that a mega helping of mothers’ affectionate attention was waiting as a reward for enduring the elements. Of course, it would have been a different story to get soaked on the way to school and have to sit in wet clothes but that never occurred to me then; my father always brought us to school in the car on his way to work.

Even as a sullen teenager the rain presented no great source of misery or, to be more accurate, no source of added misery. I do remember writing a poem when I was sixteen about how unfair it was for me to be rained on but that was really a metaphor for how unfair it was for me to be alive in which the rain received some bad press which wasn’t genuinely felt.

My first experiences of driving in the rain were in a car – being taught by my father. He was himself a cautious driver and was very particular about hammering home the hazards of rain to the motorist. To me it added a little extra spice to the whole
process, another danger to be overcome by our hero – the learner driver. I loved to drive my father’s car in the rain while he nervously harped on about the visibility and stopping distance and reducing speed.

I got my first motorbike (much to the dismay of both parents), when I was nineteen and in college. I felt as if I had mastered the discipline of driving on two wheels instead of four with ease. I felt confident and in control, high on my KMX 125, a road developed trailie type (high straight handlebars, upright sitting position, bouncy suspension) of a small-engined machine that was ideal for a beginner. I could never adequately explain to my father why I opted for two wheels instead of the safety and comfort of four. The best I could do was to say that it was a passion generated by the acceleration and balance and control involved. I was always wary not to mention the attraction of danger, which was what really got my heart thumping.

I even got him to try driving it himself in an attempt to ease his mind. He gave it too much throttle and let the clutch out a little bit too quickly, causing him to pop a wheelie. Had anybody been grading him on this stunt he would have scored high because the front wheel came up smoothly, held position at its peak (him having killed the throttle immediately), before descending onto tarmac again in the same straight line. He had my respect for not panicking and sending it all over the place. The whole episode did not have the desired effect and he has not driven a bike since.

Driving the bike in the rain was, of course, a misery – but living only three miles from the college greatly limited the extent of that misery suffered. I had made sure to get leather trousers and motorbike boots with the bike (as much for image as practicality, I must admit). Leather has got an element of water-resistance to it (especially if it is regularly treated with dubbin – which my leathers always were), so over a short distance it would take the most horrific of downpours to cause any water-induced discomfort. I’m not saying that this never happened and I distinctly remember one particular afternoon with a wet crotch, but even in this waterlogged climate, it was rare to be caught in enough rain to
soak through leather over that distance. If the rain was that bad I would simply catch a lift or even get the bus. It was, however, the beginning of my hate affair with the rain.

I had that bike for almost three years, by which time I had finished college and got my first job in Swords – fourteen miles from my home in Blackrock. I braved this trek on the 125 every day through the winter of ‘94 into ‘95. Despite wearing the best of gear (and with the addition of a pair of light waterproof leggings to be worn over the leathers), I frequently arrived at one destination or the other freezing and/or soaked. I learned the true meaning of metrological misery that winter and by February, the very sight of a dark cloud through the office window was enough to send my spirit spiralling downwards.

Towards the end of February, a particularly ferocious soaking on the way home left me determined to take action. Driving the 125 that distance through the winter had me considering trading it in for a car. There was only one thing to do when I found myself weighing up that sort of option and I did it – I bought a bigger bike!

It was a five-year-old CB 350 road bike. The riding position was forward leaning, which offered less resistance to wind and rain than the bolt upright position of the KMX. The bike was smaller but heavier and more powerful and therefore better for driving in strong winds. I had had several scary moments on the tall, light KMX throughout the winter.

Apart from commuting to work, I never rode a bike in bad weather those days, opting to either stay at home until the rain stopped or take some other form of transport.

I thoroughly enjoyed the year and a bit on that bike. When I got offered a better job in Western Technologies in Ballinasloe Co. Galway in March ’96, I treated myself to its big brother – a brand new CB 500. The 350 would have been well able for the journey to Galway but you need a bit more power on the longer journeys. The 500 was the first brand new bike that I ever had and I loved it, but driving from Galway to Dublin on a regular basis introduced me to another dimension of disaster with the
elements – long distance rain.

When setting off on a 100 mile journey across Ireland there is always a possibility of rain, regardless of the conditions at the start of your journey. The worst soaking I ever got was in September of ‘96. I had come to Dublin for the weekend for Eoin and Marie’s house warming party. Saoirse had been unable to come with me because of work on Sunday and I was eager to get back to her. It had been a fine morning and I set off in haste without waiting to get the weather forecast. That was at about 11.30 am. At that moment the violent storm that had been coming in from the west, heralded by every weather forecast in the country, must have been somewhere in the region of Kinnegad bellowing its ugly way towards me because we met just before Maynooth. The heavy and persistent rain pounded me relentlessly for every one of the remaining 85 miles of the journey on that miserable day.

I was depressed, dejected, freezing and exhausted, as well as soaked to the bone when I finally and gratefully reached my destination. Had I known about the impending weather front I wouldn’t have set out on my journey until later that evening. Indeed, after that horrific drenching, I cancelled any long distance driving plans I had whenever the forecast was bad.

Now, ten months later, the job, the home and the woman are gone: there’s just me and the bike and this crazy courier venture of mine that is bringing us into the next dimension of rain-induced misery. No choice! I had to get on this bike and drive it all afternoon and the weather could just do whatever the hell it wanted to us.

The weight of powerless depression wore heavy on me, as I fished my light waterproof leggings from the bottom of my bag. It felt as if every instinct in my body was acting to drag me back into the dry canteen as I struggled with the task of getting them on over my boots. I could almost hear myself persuasively ponder, I wonder would he mind if I waited for ten minutes more to give the rain a chance to ease off? Then I thought about it for a few seconds and ended up calling myself a gobshite.

The scorning scoff at myself was so angry that I nearly shout
ed it. Not only was I thinking stupid thoughts but also stumbling over awkwardly trying to move my legs apart when they were hindered by the leggings, barely saving myself by getting a hand to someone’s petrol tank.

Easy does it, Sean – the more haste the less speed, I thought. There we go…now just the last tricky little bit…couriers can’t dodge the rain. I’ve got to be prepared to drive in all weather for this job. Shit! I’m gonna have to get better at putting this crap on also. If only I could just get this bit over my heel.

“Glad to see your mother wasn’t wastin’ her money on all them ballet lessons, Sean.”

I hadn’t heard the door opening and Vinno – en route to his top box – caught me totally off guard. Instinctively, I jolted upright in shock, causing a blow to the side of my head with a mirror. On receiving an unexpected tap on the head, I reeled away from the offending object with every bit of my startled momentum, which, of course, caused the damned leggings to tangle my legs so much that I was sent into a dive combined with a twist that sent me banging into the canteen window. I was lucky that my shoulder blades took the brunt of the collision with the glass and that my helmeted head didn’t go through the window. The timing was perfect for Vinno to finish the sentence immediately after my awkward jittery carcass came to a halt.

“You’re still as nimble as a mountain goat.”

“Yeah, I’m really glad that I wasn’t allowed to play football with all the other kids.”

I don’t know where the little bit of wit came from but it inspired enough composure for me to finish putting on the leggings while Vinno fished around in his box. I made sure to keep my back to the window all the while though, I was sure that everybody in the canteen was still staring out at me after the bang.

I even avoided looking through the window as I started up the bike and pushed it backwards through a quarter turn to leave a forwards arc to get me through the gate. Satisfied with the angle I had, I clicked the bike into gear whilst turning the
handlebar from far left to far right. The click made Vinno look up from his rummaging.

“It’s not an afternoon to push i’ too hard, man.” Again the solemn tone accompanied by a serious stare. “Ye don’ have to fuckin’ impress anyone. D’ye know where y’er going? Rie, take i’ easy!” He went back to his rummaging as I – feeling that I had his permission to do so – gradually let out the clutch and gave my full attention to aiming my machine at the gap in the gate.

The rain intensified almost as if it had been saving itself for me in particular.

By the time I had collected my two pick–ups I could feel the extra weight of the water trapped in my jacket; it was advertised as water proof but the outside soaked itself to capacity in no time at all. Upon calling Aidan to report as instructed, I was told to head straight to Booterstown.

The four destinations repeated themselves constantly in my mind as I trundled along Pembroke Road aiming myself for the low road south: Booterstown, Blackrock, Dun Laoghaire, Dalkey; German Embassy, Heinz, Stradbrook Road, Tesco, Marine Road, Journey’s end, Colliemore Road. Cementing my planned route in my head with repetition was definitely the best way not to go wrong.

The rain was miserable but things in general weren’t all that bad. I was delighted to know Marine Road in Dun Laoghaire and Colliemore Road in Dalkey. So for this run I was not going to lose my way – at least I was going to be spared that misery for now!

The first three jobs went handy enough for me, although I drove past Heinz on Stradbrook Road and had to double back on myself a little before locating it. I had also gone to the supermarket in the shopping centre instead of their head office, which was in a totally different part of the building on the top floor. I was a little bit surprised to look at my watch outside the Dun Laoghaire Shopping Centre on Marine Road and discover that it was already three o’clock. I would have expected time to drag in such persistent rain, especially driving a bike in it, but
it only felt like a few minutes previously that I had left the base at ten past two. Where had the time gone? I guessed that I had been a while finding Heinz and in reception areas and stairs and shoving things into the bag and dragging things out of the bag and battling with the rain dodging element within me every time it came to leaving a dry office to brave the curse of these angry elements.

I had not been called since I had left Dublin 2 and I was almost sure that I had heard another courier being given a pick up in Dun Laoghaire – but it was only almost; the radio was a hell of a lot harder to listen to under these nasty conditions. I decided to wait and not call Aidan until I had dropped the last one in Dalkey – although I was itching to tell somebody how well I was doing.

I was taking the disc lock off the bike, shuddering occasionally as my bent over position allowed a dribble of water to run off my helmet and inside the collar of my jacket, when a creaky but firm old voice behind me intruded on my inner dilemma about whether or not to call the base.

“Bad day for your job!” He was a little wizened old man in a tweed cap and an old fashioned raincoat, the lonely type that would come up to you no matter what you were doing and make some sort of conversation.

I instantly perceived him as a man that spent way too much time alone, desperate for some sort of outlet for the thoughts that had accumulated during his solitude.

“Well, it could be worse; at least I know where I’m going this afternoon! The rain’s a bitch, but being lost is worse! I was in the middle of some very dodgy housing estates in Blanchards-town this morning without a clue where I was and wait til you hear this: some bitch rang up and got me to come to Lucan to collect a cabbage to bring to her mother in Sutton. A cabbage! I hope none of the others find out about that – I’d be the laughing stock of the place! They’d be turning off my petrol every time they saw my bike anywhere and taking off my gear selector and all sorts of stuff that I don’t even know about yet!”