A Final Goodbye
March 2, 2008 at 5:08 pm | Personal | No comment
The time had come; I’d said a hasty goodbye to the people at work and rushed home to see Kim before I left.
When I got in Kim seemed to be in surprisingly high spirits, after helping me pack my final effects we got stuck into something more wholesome.
A couple of hours later my dad pulled up into the drive (not really the romantic exit I’d imagined on my wheeled horse) and I threw my stuff in to his car.
I went back inside for the last time to say goodbye to Kim, our embrace lingered, each fleeting second delaying the inevitable departure and intensifying the emotions.
My shoulder was wet, she’d started welling up and I was not far behind.
“Goodbye Kim, I have to go.” I tried to sound comforting through my deep ragged breaths.
“No! You don’t have to; you can change your mind.” She clenched my hand tighter.
“I’ve got to Kim, I have to go.” I started pulling away.
As I made my way to the door Kim kept clutching my hand, resisting my movement, repeating over and over that I could change my mind and stay.
It seemed to take all my strength to take my hand from hers; I opened the door and walked backwards to the car, tears streaming down my face.
She pressed her nose up against the window and watched the car pull out of the drive; I waved a final goodbye and we were out of sight.
My phone rang moments later “Kim” it declared in its demanding tone, I waited for the ringing to stop and shut it off.
I turned it back on when we arrived in Newbury, I was bombarded with missed calls and texts, apparently I’d left something behind, but I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t leave her again.
I responded to her texts and even spoke on MSN for a while, but the theme was always the same, her asking me to visit, me saying no.
In reality there was nothing I’d have liked better than to go back to her and make it all better, but I’d made a promise to myself, I had to fulfil my dream.
The next day I explained to Kim that I wasn’t going to reply to her texts or emails any more, I had only replied before because ignoring her felt cowardly, but talking to her solved nothing and simply prevented her from moving on.
She claims I used her, she accuses me of leaving her for another woman, if these accusations are what I have to suffer to allow her to move on, so be it.
Now all I need to do is move on myself…
Frustration
March 5, 2008 at 8:41 pm | Bike | No comment
I finally found a BMW F650 GS Dakar on Ebay, for the right price no less!
Downside it was in Rotherham, which is a good 3 hours drive away.
I cheekily asked Alex to give me a lift yesterday to go and see it, but he declined the thankless and tiring task of driving for 6 hours.
The next day I arranged to get a train up, (quite how it worked out at £29 at 9am and £58 at 10am I haven’t the faintest, needless to say I opted for the earlier!) but as the chap works nights I couldn’t get a train that would arrive before he left, so I booked one for the day after with the promise that if I liked what I saw, he’d let me have it for £2,100.
Less than 3 hours later he rings me back and informs me politely that some-one has just been to see the bike and given him £2,500 for it!
Oh well, such is life and I spend 10 minutes wrestling through automated telephone mazes attempting to cancel my ticket, only to be told to go to the website to cancel it (usefully neglecting the address, which I had since forgotten as I’d been referred through more places than your average ISP tech-support query!).
After tearing my hair out to find the address, and swearing and shouting so loudly (admittedly quite unnecessarily) that the neighbours resorting to playing the piano (badly) to drown out the racket, I eventually find the site!
As you may already have guessed by this point, at the end of it all they did not in fact grace my card with a refund as I was “ineligible” for unexplained reasons.
I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t chosen to go on an F650 Dakar, and I certainly wouldn’t have had they been as rare when I was buying the first one as they are now!
Quite why the entire world has suddenly decided they’re the best thing since sliced eggs and are tripping over each other for the opportunity to sell their granny for one I don’t know.
I think a non-dakar will have to suffice.
My original plan to buy a Kawasaki KLR was scuppered today by an email from Kiwibob (reseller of all things Jesse) informing me that the racks required to attach my panniers to a KLR (which is the only bike cheaper than the F650 that they’re compatible with), would have to be made to order and shipped from the US, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, they were always backlogged with orders for them.
Still! The F650GS standard is a fine bike, and I’ve found one nearby that is cheap, the right age and seems in fairly good condition!
So fingers crossed some cunt doesn’t come along and offer twice the asking price for this one!
They’ve found it!
March 7, 2008 at 11:35 am | Bike, Trip | No comment
I can’t believe it, it’s a miracle! My prayers have been answered! Thank you jeezus!
This morning I got up at the crack of wossname (well, 7:30 anyway) and grabbed a taxi to go and see a regular old road-style F650GS.
Half an hour, £35 and lots of backseat navigation later I’m inspecting the bike.
A fine specimen indeed, no leaky fork seals, engine starts first time, no scuffs scrapes or bumps but I have an underlying feeling of disappointment, and despite dressing up in bike gear and bringing my helmet along (not to mention a wodge of cash), I decide to pass on the bike.
On the taxi ride home I mull over my decision, which had surprised me as I just felt the need to get some wheels under me and was expecting to just take a cursory glance of the bike, give the guy his cash and jump on it.
But for some reason I didn’t and I couldn’t work out why I’d just spent another £35 on a taxi when I could have a bike right now. Don’t get me wrong I didn’t regret my decision but I didn’t know the reasoning behind it.
But my decision was retrospectively justified when I got home and found my phone had a voicemail on it.
“Good morning Mr Martin, Thames Valley Police. Just calling to say we have some news on your stolen vehicle”.
I think to myself “Nah… they can’t have found it.. even if they have it’s been torched I’m sure”.
I return the call, trying not to get my hopes up (and failing miserably), I quote the reference number and the lovely lady on the other end of the phone elated informs me that they’ve found my bike!
She doesn’t know what condition it’s in though, so I have to ring the recovery company (and pay them a fee!).
I finally get through to some-one at CMG and YES, it’s in one piece!
Unable to contain my excitement I eagerly ask what the damage is.
“Mmm, snapped gear lever, busted ignition, broken front brake lever, fucked right handlebar, punctured front tyre, broken fuel cap and some scuffs and scrapes”
I chuckle to myself recognising some of the things he’s listed as damage that was already on the bike, thank him profusely and put the phone down to find some-one to pick up and fix the bike so I can ride it down to Newbury.
What a result, it’s made such a difference to how I feel, where previously I was feeling low and fatalistic, I’m now determined and rejoicing!
Angry Farmers
March 10, 2008 at 11:36 am | Trip | No comment
“What about this one?” Alex asks.
I inspect the side road; it’s hard to tell in the dark. “Worth a look.”
We roll up the road and find lovely grassy fields fenced off on either side.
“Perfect” I declare, leaping out of the car and throwing stuff out of the boot.
After parking up Alex joins me at what is starting to look like a reasonable camp site, Rip the Jack Russell cross looks on with interest.
With setting up camp out of the way we turn our attention to the food and the newly acquired petrol stove.
Filling it up is a bit of a messy affair, with not inconsiderable amount of petrol getting spilt on the grass.
“Careful Alex, that’s one flammable bit of field”
We get the stove going eventually and set about trying to fry bacon in a saucepan.
“It’s not frying” Alex tells me disconcertedly.
“What?”
“It’s not frying, it’s boiling”
Sure enough, the cheap petrol-station meat has had so much water injected into it the damn thing’s actually boiling in the saucepan instead of frying.
But despite our setbacks we have a rather good meal of couscous, chopped tomatoes and boiled bacon.
I start cracking open a bottle of wine when suddenly “WHOOMPH” and a large portion of the field sets ablaze.
“Holy shit!”
Fearing an explosion that would level our little campsite I fling the petrol can as far away as possible, then start stamping wildly at the water bottles that have ironically caught fire.
“I didn’t think it would do that…” Alex admits rather sheepishly.
We both burst out laughing, and having averted disaster (and second degree burns) we sit back down to our meal.
Three bottles of wine and a solid few hours of sleep later I’m rudely awoken by
“Oi, what d’ya think you’re doing?”
I wriggle out of my sleeping bag through the haze of a hangover and wrestle with the zipped tent door for a good three minutes.
“Morning!” I reply.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“We’re peaceably setting up a tent!” I slur.
“Well you can peaceably piss off, and take your shit with your, else it’s coppers!”
“Fair ‘nuff”
We hurriedly pack up our shit and get out of there, but not before noticing in the brisk light of day that the field we’d chosen to camp in was just off the main road to the farm house!
Oops.. Not quite the out-of-the-way spot we’d thought it was in the dark!
Two weeks into no job!
March 16, 2008 at 7:09 pm | Bike, Personal | No comment
Well it’s been two weeks now since I quit my job, left my girlfriend and moved to my dad’s house as a staging area.
I’ve been trying to prepare for the trip as best as possible, I’ve been buying god knows how much stuff (my ‘preparation budge’ is disappearing faster than I’d hoped!).
The repairs on my bike are going to cost more than I’d initially anticipated, £391 vs £250, and that doesn’t include things like indicators (some cheapo ones off ebay are in order I feel!), that’s simply to get it legal on the road.
My dad’s been away on holiday in Sri Lanka for the past week (he got offered a job out there just a few days ago as it happens!) and he’s scheduled to be away for another week.
I’ve set myself the challenge of not buying any food while he’s away, so I’ve been keeping myself alive on couscous, rice, pasta and the contents of the freezer (which was 5 oven chips, a VERY expired pack of pork chops and a rather tasty seabass!).
Since Alex came round last weekend and we got very drunk I’ve decided to abstain from drinking for the moment.
While living with Kim I got into the habit of drinking every single night and as soon as I stopped I realised that I had become a bit of an alcoholic.
Every evening after about six I would viscerally crave alcohol; the first few nights after I stopped I would just sit at my computer thinking “I can’t have a drink, I can’t have a drink, I want a drink, I can’t have a drink”.
On the third night it felt like I’d spent a month without drinking and broke down and allowed myself to have a Gin and Tonic, fortunately we were out of Gin, but I made myself an &T anyway!
It’s been a week now, and the cravings have all but abated, but I’m still finding it very hard to get to sleep at a normal time, hopefully this will resolve itself eventually!
I’ve been trying to learn Italian for the past week using a program called “Before you know it” which is basically a large set of digitised flash cards.
The learning method of flashcards works very well for me, but it’s very limited, it covers virtually no conjugation and the creators seem to have forgotten all about nouns and pronouns!
Still, I feel I’m making progress, and even if I have to go back to the audio method of learning (which I really don’t get on with, I’m very much a visual learner) if I stick with it I’m sure to get somewhere.
My days seem to whisk by these days and it certainly doesn’t feel like two weeks since I turned my life upside down.
The time has been split between researching incredibly boring things (such as HT bolts, *yawn*) , learning Italian, reading and wasting time on the internet, the latter of which seems to take up a disturbing portion of if…
I’ve finally decided that I’m not going to take a laptop on my trip, I’m going to simply write (shock horror) using a pen and paper and use my MP3 player as a dictafone.
I’ve managed to get the fundamentals of my paperwork through, namely my health insurance and my Carnet de Passage, once I’ve got my bike back (end of next week) and fixed it up with the panoply of sprockets, brake pads, chains, fork seals and other (supposedly) disposable parts there’ll be nothing stopping me going!
I ended up going with Navigator Travel insurance, mainly because they were the only people that covered areas that the FCO (Foreign Commonwealth Office) recommended against travelling to, but also because it’s run by one guy (not a fly by night, I’ve checked!) called Richard who seems bizarrely enough to have something of a passion for health insurance and spent absolutely ages with me on the phone explaining the situation regarding FCO areas and all the other innumerable questions I had for him.
I finally got round to fixing my panniers (from the crash back in December lol), Kiwibob sent the hinges through last week and after using a car-jack to get it back into shape (see photo) and using some Quiksteel to finish off the edge that had cracked open, it was good as new!
Desensitised to life
March 20, 2008 at 8:57 pm | Philosophy | 1 comment
There are people who fall to pieces if their cornflakes go too soggy, and there are those that can have their entire life fall about their ears and still have a smile on their face and a positive outlook.
I like to think I’m in the second category, but how, and at what cost?
The way I deal with Anger/Sadness/Pain (ie; all mentally perceived negativity) is to ignore it, push it aside.
When I see people who don’t do this, who become incapacitated by their own emotions, I blithely tut to myself and think “Geez, just fuckin’ deal with it already”, probably because I assumed that’s what I was doing.
But… That’s not what I’m doing, that is in fact the exact opposite of what I’m doing; I’m avoiding the issue, dodging sideways and letting it pass me by.
Which I always thought was great! Absolutely fantastic! An enabler of my conscious, a way of vanquishing my inner demons and allowing me to get on and do things that I wanted to.
However, it’s have a profound effect on my ability to comprehend the significance of… anything…
The past week I’ve been trying desperately to summon forth some emotion about breaking up with Kim.
I’ve been trying to relive the last precious moments I spent with her, the smell of her hair, the tight clasp she had on my hand as I finally left.
But I can’t, all I can do is remember these anecdotal details and recount them as if I’d read them from a book.
Whenever I try and relive any point of significance that’s had any negative connotations from any point in my life I can’t. I simply bounce off the edge of the memory as if I’ve hit a rev limiter on an engine, and no matter how much I put my foot down I can’t break through.
Don’t mistake this for me wishing to dwell unnecessarily in the past; the very last thing I want to do is become obsessed by moments or people that I’ve lost.
But these events in my past deserve recognition, significance and above all the ability to remember them if I choose.
I originally developed my auto-repression technique (as I like to call it) in my late teens, when I was trying to become more socially adept.
The problem I always faced was worrying about making a fool of myself.
I couldn’t walk up to a girl without subconsciously and spontaneously thinking about all the ways in which I could fuck up the conversation, and how utterly dejected and self loathingly embarrassed I would feel afterwards.
When I even got as far as inevitably making a fool of myself I would obsess about it for weeks afterwards, I put myself through the humiliations so many times in my mind after they happened, I’d go to any length to avoid them in the future.
The only way I could think of to overcome this was by simply stopping being embarrassed about this, and this was achieved by not thinking about any embarrassments after they happened, which in turn was achieved by repressing the memories.
Unfortunately now, I’m repressing not only memories of bad events, but those of good events and even future hopes and expectations!
It’s been very nearly a year since I originally decided to quit my job and up sticks and move, but I have completely repressed any excitement or anticipation about it.
Less than a month remains until my departure date and I’m looking forward to it about as much as my evening meal, I’m completely indifferent to it.
This is stupid! I can’t go through life being indifferent to everything that happens to me.
Sure it might make me ‘stable’ or maybe even ‘capable’ but Christ it’s no way to live!
I need to taste the highs, feel the anticipation of plunging my feet in to the Mediterranean for the first time in over a decade, the fear of the unknown, the remorse of leaving behind everything I know and love.
Back to Milton Keynes
March 27, 2008 at 8:32 pm | Personal | 1 comment
I wasn’t really cold, just my hands, the idea of three pairs of gloves hadn’t worked.
Bombing down the A34 at 1am is a fairly serene experience, so much so that I often had to be careful not to be distracted by the stars, as target fixation dictated that rather than poetically drifting towards the stars, in cruel reality I drifted towards oncoming traffic.
This trip was not quite so calm however, as after picking up my ‘repaired’ motorbike from Milton Keynes and whiling away a few hours with Chim, I set off into the night and discovered that my main headlight wasn’t working.
“Never fear!” I thought to myself as I switched to high-beam and immediately illuminated a bleary-eyed owl in a nearby tree instead of the road surface I’d intended.
Fortunately the scatter of light that made it to the ground was enough to crawl my way through the unilluminated sections of the A421 by positioning myself a couple of feet to the left of the cat’s eyes.
I reflected upon the day that was now technically yesterday, pleased at my own strength of will in not going to see Kim, despite being sorely tempted.
She had sent me a message on Facebook the previous night saying that things weren’t going well and that her mother was trying to stop her from going to the adult-literacy evening-class that I’d paid up for her. Fortunately Kim was ignoring her for the egocentric destructive old bat that she was.
The previous day I had daydreamed about playing the night in shining armour, turning up unannounced at her doorstep to see the all-encompassing grin that spread across her face as she leapt into my arms.
But I knew it would make nothing better, and would make everything worse.
At the beginning of the week I had been starting to feel depressed by loneliness and a fatalistic view of my trip that saw my loneliness pervading.
It would have been a wonderful few hours as Kim and I caught up in more ways than one.
Kim would have exercised her special talent of making me feel the most intelligent, capable, stable and important person in the world.
I may even have started to wonder why I was going away…
But in the end I would have gone, I would have had to suffer the heart-wrenching minutes a second time as she saw me slip through her fingers into the night and tried desperately to make me stay.
It would have taken her back to the beginning of the month, and all the progress she’d made in getting over me would have been shattered and for naught.
I knew all this, but still in my heart of hearts I wanted to go and see her, and make everything all better, if only for a while.
The night before I went to Milton Keynes I had a dream, I’ve been dreaming a lot lately, after the past 10 years with probably fewer than 10 dreams remembered I’ve had three in a row…
The dream started with me travelling on the coach to Milton Keynes, whiling away the hours reading, the next thing I knew I woke up (still within the dream) on the floor of Kim’s living room, with a thumping hangover and Kim and her mother standing over me disapprovingly.
For reasons I couldn’t fathom Kim was angry with me, and I knew that I had fallen from my pedestal of her opinion and that she would never respect me again.
Then I woke up for the second time.
The dream had served a very stark purpose, it effectively destroyed my subconscious desire to go and see Kim; I was free to visit Milton Keynes without the temptation to see her again.
The day in Milton Keynes was spent mostly in Ye Olde Swan in Woughton on the Green, which was only ever ‘my local’ in spirit, as my true local was ‘The Eagle’ where you were as likely to get a slit throat as a pint.
I whiled away an hour or so waiting for Chim by sitting in my favourite chair at my favourite table with a half of Fosters, alas I had come a day too early to get a half of Staropramen.
When Chim arrived I was standing outside the pub next to my bike, desperately trying to get it on to the centre stand so I could see how much coolant my leaky radiator had wept.
He grasped the bike firmly by the grab handles and irritatingly hefted it on to the stand first time, I made a mental note to step up my fitness regime.
We passed a couple of alcohol free hours talking about our respective life-changing-trips before heading off to town to play pool and catch a movie, though in fact the game of pool seemed to revolve primarily around us potting the white in increasingly complex and convoluted ways.
When the film had finished we walked slowly around the outside of the Xscape building, discussing the highlights and flaws of the film, before wishing each other luck and going our separate ways, we were unlikely to see each other for a very long time.
I coiled the back-breakingly heavy Almax chain into my rucksack, sat astride my bike and left Milton Keynes for the last time.
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