I Got a Job!
Trip Start
Sep 09, 2004
1
133
393
Trip End
Ongoing
Christchurch,
New Zealand
Saturday, July 16, 2005
It all got confirmed yesterday afternoon. I was driving Amanda's car at the time. She'd called a couple of days ago to ask if I could drive it to the breakers for her, as she needed to get rid of it before she leaves New Zealand. She can't drive it. It's a manual and she's American.
I start next Thursday but need to be there a little bit earlier to do 'the paperwork'. It's perfect, as it will give me my days, a total bonus, as I'll still get to do stuff. Things are looking up and it won't be long before I can kiss goodbye to all the pangs and withdrawals I've been getting from not being around the mountains. Oh the longing.
Back at the Top 10 I started to look at my options, namely how best to spend the next three or four days. This job's going to see me through the remainder of my time in New Zealand so on a desperate, last chance whim, I've decided to hit the West Coast in the morning. Soon I'll be 'without ocean' (if there's such a thing) so I need to make the most of things and get one last fix. I've spent good time soaking up the tranquil mood of the Pacific over here on the East Coast. It's time to go rough, wild, and reckless and head West to where the Tasman Sea mercilessly pounds and punishes, and where the sunsets warm your soul. It'll be a squeeze and a rush to whizz through in three or four days, but it's the only chance I've got. It's stunning and I can't wait.
So I was sat in the kitchen all sprawled out with books, options and dilemmas when the piercing shriek bellowed through the kitchen.
'Scotteeeee!' From the sound of it I had absolutely no idea. It actually sounded like a little girl and for a brief moment I pictured my dinner suddenly diminish by half. There is no way Anna could have tracked me down here. I looked up and in bolted an energetic Kieran; face all lit up and smiles a beaming. I couldn't believe it. He must have shot all round the South Island in a flash. We laughed, shook and sat down and were joined shortly after by Flo. It was real good to see them and watch the enthusiasm as they shared their experiences of the lakes and mountains, the rivers and of course, the Fiordland. I think Kieran was a bit blown away by the mountains too, more than he would admit to and definitely more than he thought he would. He'd got that look in his eye. 'I thought you were weird when I first metchya, on about missing the mountains and all that crap. Thought you were talking out yer arse. I see what you mean now, just amazing.' He'd got something from them too, without a doubt.
He was full of life and like all of us, he should be. I'd forgot to mention before but Kieran shouldn't be here, well, by the law of averages anyway. He had a motorcycle accident a couple of years back and as a result, is now sort of part flesh, part titanium - like a little terminator. It's the maddest bike story I've ever heard and so unlucky, yet so incomprehensibly lucky it doesn't bear thinking about. The circumstances were very simple. He was riding along quite leisurely on a long straight road on a quiet day. The next thing that happened is so stupidly simple, yet has changed his life forever. The accelerator got stuck on, shooting the bike forward at a frighteningly increasing eye-popping speed. Moving the throttle back and forth did nothing. He tried that. It had become stuck on, stuck open internally. Poor bastard. In a matter of seconds, he watched in horror as the speedometer shot from around 80mph to way over 100mph. Imagine the thought process at that time, knowing you've got less than a couple of seconds to make, potentially, the most important decision you're ever going to make. Well he made it. There was a bend approaching in the distance and he had only one option: to say goodbye to the bike. He explained with a deep breath how he placed both hands on the tank, said a quick prayer (I imagine) and threw himself off. At that precise moment he knew and fully believed whole-heartedly that his time was up. He was about to go, forever. At the time he jumped he was travelling at almost 140mph. That's one hundred and forty miles per hour. And the daft thing is he just slid along the road for a few minutes, stopped and got up. Alright, he smashed his foot in to what was an inevitable, eventual obstacle, and was probably hotter and smellier than he'd ever been in his whole life, but he lived to tell the tale. If the circumstances had been any different, chances are he wouldn't be here. What better reason than to remortgage half your house and go see the world?
After plenty of banter, I went and took the van to get the oil changed before the long haul over to the West. While he'd got his head under it, the mechanic at 'Oil Changers' pointed out that the fan or cam belt (I couldn't hear) 'won't need changing for a long while. Whoever's serviced this has kindly written his name, date and time'. I chuckled to myself. Damo. The legend lives on!
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