Ramblings

Of jam and motorbikes…

It’s 5.30 on a summer Sunday afternoon, the N3, between Howick and Pietermaritzburg is characteristically deserted. I’m on my Yamaha FJ1200 and my brother on his Yamaha 650 Turbo, we’re going settle, once and for all, whose bike is faster…

We pull out of Pmb and open up our bikes, the hill up to Hilton is twisty, my brother on the nimbler 650 is ahead of me by two bike lengths, I can’t get out of fourth gear before I have to tap down to third, I’m bouncing the rev needle off the redline at 9000 revs but the bike is just too damn big to wrestle thru the corners, through the left hander up to the Hilton flyover and now a straight lies before my front wheel, my brother is now four bike lengths ahead of me, third sees 140, fourth, 200 by the time I get to the bridge I’ve reeled him in and I’ve a gear left. We crest the hill and a kilometre of downhill waits for me to eat it up the motor is screaming underneath me, I hear the wail of the turbo next to me.

I change gears and time shifts…I’m flat on the tank, the wind trying to tear my hand off the bars, I can barely hear the motor it’s only a vibration now, if I blink I’ll die…
At 250kph you are covering a lot of ground very quickly and seconds pass and I’ve run out road, the right-hander before the Cedara straight is just in front of me I needtostopstopstopnow!!! Somehow, with the bike frame bending and creaking underneath me and with me hanging off the side of the bike I wrestle it through the corner sweatingblacksidewaystripes and my brother blitzes me on the inside fuckslamdowntwoandgomoremoremore but something doesn’t feel right at about 230 on the straight the bike is weaving… make a decision not to be stupid any more and back off, go home.

A nervous beer later and pull off the plastics because the tyres are ok, right temp, no punctures, alignment (to the naked eye) is ok. Then, I find the problem.

In pushing the bike past its limits, the frame cracked across two top sections, but I’m still alive. We sit and drink another beer in silence staring at the exposed steel where the paint has flaked off, I don’t know what he’s thinking, but all I can wonder is how is it that I am there, drinking a beer, and not strawberry jam across the fields of Cedara…

I had the frame welded, but I never trusted the bike again, and sold it shortly thereafter…

Going Before

Chloe watched the night retreat before dawn, and thought about moving. No easy task, she’d had surgery three weeks before and simple tasks, like breathing, were still sore. She’d tripped over her damn cat yesterday, and the fear of tearing anything as she rushed towards the ground had been so much greater than anything she’d been scared of, Before. “Not now not now not OW!” was her abiding memory of yesterday. Now, standing at her pre-dawn post, holding her empty coffee mug and craving a cigarette, she saw a curtain twitch in the house across the street and knew her charge from Before, was awake.

Before. Chloe grimaced. Such a small word didn’t deserve the weight of history attached to it. Before she realised who she was. Before the tears, the self-hate, the growing realisation that she was stronger than pre-she was, Before she took her life into her own hands and directed her future. Before better or worse. “I’d better move Before I get stuck here and Before it gets worse for me,” she thought to herself sardonically. As she did, Chloe wondered how Mikey was doing without her, if he had adapted to his new nurse, and she to him.
Mikey was an autistic child, and although his parents loved him dearly, they worked long hours so that he could get the best attention available. And pre-Chloe had been the best. She understood what it was to be locked in a world apart. It had been Chloe’s decision to walk away from Mikey, fearing her transition would confuse, and ultimately hurt the boy. Over five years, a deep bond between the two had been formed and now, a year later, she had rented a flat opposite the house, just to be closer to the child. Knowing she was nearby brought her a little peace.

Later that morning, sitting at her coffee table, she ran a worried eye over her finances. She had about six months of living at home left, and then she would have to get a job. The first week of being at home had been busy, with friends dropping in to congratulate her and do little odd jobs around the house, but she had still been processing where she was in her head, what she had accomplished and, dealing with hot flushes that threatened to turn her into a puddle of sweat where she stood. The visits had tapered off, and she finally had time for the fact that her transition was now over, to sink in. She was enjoying the solitude; her visitors discouraged by her obvious pain and need for quiet. Chloe had created a little cocoon for herself, and wasn’t in the mood to be nice.

Lost in reverie, it took a second for the sound of breaking glass to penetrate her world. Peering around her coffee mug out the window, her eye was drawn to a shadow slithering in through what was left of Mikey’s front window. Squeezing her eyes shut, thinking nonononono, she peeked again. The ragged reflection of her building stared back at her, despite her desperate prayer. A short scream served only to freeze the marrow in her blood, effectively making her part of her floor, unable to move. Glancing frantically around, she saw the telephone, just sitting there. Doing nothing. “Idiot, it’s not going to phone itself,” thought Chloe. The thought brought her back to life, and she dialled the emergency number…”Thank you for calling us. If you have an enquiry please dial 1….” Chloe slammed the phone down, there was no time, and the police were going to take ages to reach the village.

Pulling on takkies before waddling out the door, she was barely conscious of grabbing her broom as she left her flat. As luck would have it, the lift was on her floor and she was standing in front of Mikey’s gate a short while later. Out of breath and leaning on her broom, ignoring the pain that was starting to flood through her groin, Chloe could still remember walking out the gate, Before. The sound of breaking glass drove away her memories and she found herself against the wall of the house next to the broken window, watching a foot slide out.

It was almost funny the way the owner’s foot probed gently for mother earth. Just before it made contact, Chloe swung the broom, and later reflected on just how satisfying the crunch was as the ankle was squashed between the broom head and the wall. Surreal Bedlam. The thug came tumbling out the window, dragging his booty, curtains and a shower of glass, leaving a large chunk of thigh on the broken window, his shattered ankle refusing to play with gravity. A little surprised at a full grown man screaming that piercingly, she ignored his bloody attempts at art as he rolled on the ground, and climbed gingerly through the window.

The nurse was easy to find, lying unconscious on the floor of the lounge. Feeling as if she was there in the third person, she ignored the nurse as finding Mikey was paramount. He proved a little more difficult. He wasn’t in his day room, nor his bedroom, both of which were safe havens for the child. Chloe eventually found him rocking in a corner of his bathroom. “It’s ok, it’s ok,” she whispered to him, in her Before voice. After a few minutes of repeating this to him, he turned, still only looking at the floor, as he always did. When he reached a finger out to her takkies, as he always did, she felt her heart was going to break, but if there was ever a time where she had to keep her head together, it was now. Still in Before, and a little firmer now she told Mikey she was going to fetch his blankie, and his favourite dinosaur.

She left before he could look at her reflection in the mirror, making her usual clicking noises for him to stay in touch with her. The nurse had by this time woken up and had already called the police, and froze when she saw Chloe returning with Mikey’s things. Recognising her, the nurse gave a wan smile and started phoning Mikey’s parents…
As she went back to Mikey she saw with a shock he was observing reality through the corner of his eye in the reflections around him. It was too late to tie up her hair, so when he started rocking again, she spoke in Before, but gentler, softer, and it wasn’t long before he reached out again. Giving him his dinosaur and blankie, Chloe managed to coax him to his feet, and started him on his shuffle to his day room.

It was only once the police had left, that Chloe realised the nurse had left with them, and it was with a sense of despair she waited for his parents to get back. She didn’t want to face them now, it was with a sense of shame she had left, and she didn’t want to face the accusations in their eyes again. When his dad walked into Mikey’s room, his shock at seeing Chloe was etched into his face. “Who are ….Ti…is that you?” he finished weakly. Chloe held a finger to her lips, nodded and seeing the dinosaur had Mikey’s full attention, went with his father outside. Now was the time, she had to tell why she had left them. After she had finished talking, she was pale and exhausted. The silence stretched into aeons, and Chloe eventually stood up. “No,” said Mikey’s mother. “Sit. Your room is still here; I’ll go and get some of your things, who’s going to look after Mikey now? Please Ti… Chloe,” she stumbled over the unfamiliar name. “He needs you. We need you,” she pleaded gently, woman to woman, her hand resting on Chloe’s arm.
It was then, Chloe knew, it was going to be ok.

My hero dog.

A6820 Zak was a rusty red Olderhill German Shepherd. We met at the Police Dog Unit in Pietermaritzburg. He was five years old at the time, and angry with everyone.
He was donated to the Police because he used to jump of the farmer’s bakkie and savage the labourers. He was given to me because I had just joined the unit, and needed a dog before I could go on course. He was 52kgs of attitude that did not like anyone.
It took me a week to get into his kennel, and cost me about three hundred Rand in biltong trying to make friends. By this time he was so frustrated at being caged he was quite happy to get company. So was I, because sitting for five hours a day on concrete is no fun with a snarling dog wanting to rip your face off every time you moved, breathed or spoke.

When I tried to leave his kennel after first gaining entry, was the first of many bites. In the three years we spent together, we went through Dog School, (he lost 6kg’s, I lost 20kg’s, it was a nightmare for both of us), and Explosives course (he never really stopped wanting to bring me the bomb, he was so happy when he found it). I was at Dog school when 9/11 happened. We knew then the world was going to change…

We walked hundreds of kilometres of spoor, recovered much stolen property, we caught rapists, murderers and housebreakers. I was closer to him and understood him better than my own children. If we were alone in the vehicle he would sit in front with me, with his butt on the chair and his paws on the floor, he was that big.

He saved my life three times.

Leaving Zak behind when I left the Police was possibly the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. He has semi-retired now, and will be working as a personal protection dog. He loves working, lives working, and I hope when its time for him to cross the rainbow bridge, he is still at work, when he is happiest.