Over the last few weeks I had been staring at the LTNZ reminder notice that sat by my computer silently telling me to go on-line and order my registration label. Its something that I have written about before as it’s an issue for most people with anxiety and depression problems like me. It could just be a man problem….it doesn’t matter really because it reiterates what I always think about when I write this blog….its alright writing about it and preaching your issues, you can preach all you like, but if you don’t practice it, then shut-up till you do. So here is a story I thought I would share with you.
Some of you may remember the little story I wrote about a 50 cent piece (50 cents for your sanity)that lay on the floor for several days. That 50 cents cost me nothing because I picked it up….eventually. This next story will outline to you that I lean’t nothing from that exercise and even though I wrote about it, I don’t practice what I preach and despite everything I have been through I have learned nothing. !!
On the 12th of December 2016 I was working at Auckland Central. Lovely place to work but an Auckland city eyesore that should have been demolished years ago. It was built years ago when cars were a lot shorter and narrower and people didn’t eat MacDonald’s. Nowadays its like a parking lot and getting into cars involves fighting with wing mirrors and ensuring you don’t impale yourself on the gear stick as you clamber across from the passenger’s seat.
Anyway Monday was one of the days at work when I wandered round with good intentions but accomplished very little. I had the enthusiasm but struggled with actually completing anything as my energy remained under normal operational levels. I had started at 6am and when 2pm came around I’d had enough and relied on my LTNZ reminder notice, that had sat there for months, to give me an excuse to cut my ties with the 6th floor and get to VTNZ and get my warrant of fitness and renew my registration….two days late….what could go wrong !
I limped down to my locker, put my jeans on, sucked in my stomach and did the zip up. It was hot outside so I dispensed with the jersey and put my motorcycle jacket on. Black and brand new it always adds about 6 inches to my shoulders and subsequently gives me that chiseled V look that all woman love….apparently. I wandered up to the middle deck of the police station carrying my little plastic lunch box and approached my pride and enjoy…my British racing green Suzuki Bandit 1200. I opened my Givi top box and threw in my lunch box and cellphones and locked it shut. I put the keys into the ignition and slid the choke forward and started it up.
I grabbed my Shoei helmet and slid it over my head and entered into a world of impregnability. Once that helmet engrossed my head my inhibitions vanished and I all of a sudden I was alone with an in-line four and 1200cc of Suzuki throbbing between my legs. I put my gloves on and slowly rode away and out of the station. My trip home takes me about 10 minutes usually but this time I was heading for the vehicle testing station to get my warrant and registration. Away I rode and headed for the motor way and the Auckland Harbour Bridge.
It didn’t take me long before I was cruising along in a queue of traffic minding my own business. I was stuck behind the usual “numpties” driving Honda Fitz and who’s drivers only purpose in life is to piss everybody off who wants to drive to the speed limit. Still I didn’t let it get to me and I settled into the outside lane behind some blue car who in turn was stuck behind a line of traffic. As we headed north and reached the top of the bridge I was confronted with a sea of red lights as every brake light in front of me illuminated my visor and advised me to stop. Stopping suddenly when you only have two wheels under you throws you into a panic, a 1997 Suzuki isn’t equipped with ABS, so therefore some semblance of skill is required if you don’t want to examine the parcel shelf of the car in front of you. I didn’t have that skill and I slammed on the front brake, locked the front wheel and then proceeded to take a closer look at the bitumen as the bike slid from beneath me and allowed me to feel what is like when you’re a rubber tyre. I slid along the ground for what felt like an eternity and as I struggled to control my appendages I had an awful feeling that a concrete barrier was going to be my resting place. It was, but luckily for me my hips and knees had done what my tyres should have done and bought me to a stop before my face got acquainted with the barrier that was waiting for me. The next thing I remember my head and limp upper torso were lying between a concrete friend and the rear tyre of the car in front of me. I was waiting for the car behind to use my arse as a ramp but he had more sense and managed to stop.
As I lay there I managed to get some semblance of order into my self and looked for my bike. She had come to rest on her side, wheel spinning aimlessly and her fragile body ripped to bits by her owners inability to control her 150 brake horse-power. I got to my feet and rushed to her lifeless body hoping that she wasn’t as bad as I thought. I was wrong, she was nursing wounds that all her previous owners before me had protected her from. I had let her down and she knew it. I propped her up on her stand and then looked backwards and noticed the bridge traffic had come to a standstill. I was going to be responsible for 1000’s of people getting home late but to be honest I didn’t really care, I was bleeding from my knee, I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable all down my right side and I knew that somewhere below the myriad of clothing I was wearing there was going to be further injuries that were going to make the removal of clothing decidedly painful.
I didn’t know what to do so I “faft” around with my wallet for a while thinking that my licence might be useful but in my confusion I couldn’t find it and blubbered my way through several conversations with people I never knew. I eventually heard the scream of the sirens and a police motor cycled weaved its way through the traffic and came to my assistance. I hadn’t taken my helmet off and had been prancing around on the harbour bridge like some frenetic spaceman from a b grade movie. I’m sure everyone thought I was a mad-man and I probably wouldn’t have looked out-of-place on a Doctor Who episode. The cop was an instrument of calm and got me under control, told me what to do and took over the mess that was in front of him.
Eventually the ambulance arrived and I was ushered away and left the scene of my crash to a person who knew what they was doing. The door of the ambulance shut tight…I’d been here before I thought !! This time at least my injuries were not self-inflicted and when I spoke to the staff I wasn’t blubbering away like some lost child. I was reasonably comfortable that I hadn’t broken any bones but because I wasn’t a doctor they took no notice of what I was saying and toddled off to the North Shore Hospital where I took possession of a bed that should have been given to someone who actually needed it. After having various woman prod different parts of my body, none being the right ones, I was given the all clear, patched up and after two hours sent on my way with my wife who had been accustomed to rescuing me from hospitals.
And so there I was, my pride and joy bashed up…and my motor bike. I was now about to move into another gear and hurtled towards self-pity and a heap of regret about what I hadn’t done. Sure I was on my way to get it done but it was now two days out of date and I was worried…more self-inflicted stress. I had looked at that reminder for months and always found something else that was more important to do, it wasn’t but to me they were far more pleasurable than spending $550 on ACC levies. I should have spent that $550 dollars, I could have got one months “rego” for $50, but no it was all too hard. As a result I’m am now stressing out about whether my insurance will cover me. The bikes only worth $4000 but that’s not the point, the stress I bought to myself was implemented because I was lazy and concentrated on the negatives of spending the money rather than concentrating on the satisfaction of getting it done. I regretted spending that money but I know in myself that if I had kicked myself in the backside I would have been a lot happier. I’m now faced with a $4000 bill and $550 seems like a drop in the ocean.
Have I learn’t from that 50 cents that sat on my floor, nope I hadn’t, I learn’t nothing. Maybe leaving some skin on top of the Auckland Harbour Bridge will drive it into my thick head…..we will see…….the one positive of that crash….I was moving forward (Moving On…..).
Categories: My Story 2016
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