| Submitted by: Ren Withnell , United Kingdom |
| Submission Date: 02 October 2005 |
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Those I talk to are subdued and talk is of homes and familiar places. The Scottish crew will not feel quite at home for another 2 nights as they are booked into a hotel in the Lake District to break up the 600 mile journey home. I’m still considering another nights camping to break my journey home, but inside I know I want to see the gf and I won’t be able to wait.
The gf. Lord only knows how much I’ve worried over her. The last messages were both positive and negative. Her mother is out of the hospice that means she has improved a little, a great relief. She went to see a Physio earlier in the week who hurt her and she has been suffering with her back more than ever. She still wants me not to worry and to enjoy myself but I cannot switch of my concerns. I feel, more than ever, that I have left her to go and have a great adventure whilst she stands and sits in all kinds of strange ways trying to get some relief. I feel so guilty.
The day wears on with nothing to report. I’m constantly checking my kit on the chair, considering changing into the pants I’ve put into my plastic bag, wondering where I can shower and if anyone will let me stow my kit in their room. I don’t like to ask favours and it would only lead to confusion in the morning when we disembark. The entertainment in the evening is another cheesy “resident” band and another cheesy show from the same magician and his beautiful assistant. The applause is muted tonight.
On my lonely wanderings I spot next to the kids pool a toilet that feature a shower, presumably for those coming out of the pool. But at 1130 there is no-one about so I get my towel and go in there. I shower and wash away the day’s sweat. Only I did not plan for my clothes getting wet. I spend the next hour out on deck trying to dry myself in the cool sea breeze. Needless to say this did not work.
I wander around one last time. There is nothing to do so at 0100 I go to the room full of crappy fake leather chairs to see about sleep. Out of the 20 or so folks in there only 2 are using the chairs. The rest are on the floor between the rows or in the corners, propped up on mounds of sheets from the cupboard in the corner, and snoring loudly. I grab the last remaining sheets, make a pillow and bed and wedge myself into the gap between my chair and those in front. It is not comfy but with earplugs, fatigue and boredom sleep finally arrives.
Day 14
I’d like to say I wake, but that would imply I have slept. I’ve had fitful moments of sleep between tossing and turning, fighting sheets and jackets and plastic bags, removing and re-inserting earplugs and rubbing cramped limbs. At around 0600 I finally give up and un-wedge myself from between the chairs. I tidy up my mess and sort out my belongings much to the disgust of the guy in front who scowls at me then shuts his eyes hard again.
I start my now usual wanderings. I stand at the back of the ship and watch the wash slipping away. I note how the sun is shining but the heat is different, not as hot but stuffier, we are getting close to England now. I sit with some of the Hull crew and breakfast on cereal whilst talking of the trip. I learn of more shenanigans and who was trying to do what to whom, who has drunk what and details of bike failures. The Scottish crew surface from their enviable rooms and slowly the ferry comes back to life. I do some more kit shuffling then change into my bike kit far too early, we are still hours from port.
I sit alone at the front of the ship, staring hard to see when my long lost home country comes into view. Finally out of the sea haze I spot land. Sweet land. Land that contains people who speak my language, land where the food in the shops is familiar, land where people drive on the correct side of the road and where tea is served in big cups with milk. Tea, I’d kill for a cup of proper tea right now. I walk round to the side of the ship and dig my mobile phone out of its bag and switch it on. I’m excited when I see “Orange” rather than some odd name. Then I get some messages, nice one, everyone will be welcoming me home.
No. A message from the gf telling me not to worry, but she’s had to go into hospital, contact her sister for details. Another from my mother telling me the gf is in hospital but don’t worry. Why do folks do that?! Don’t worry, yeah like I’m not going to care at all about someone I’m connected to both physically and emotionally. It’s ok she’s only in hospital. My last gf died suddenly only 18 months ago, is it all happening again? Worried? I’m practically sick!
Frantic calls reveal her legs have swollen badly. It seems after seeing the Physio she has been in a great deal of pain, then on Thursday her legs swelled up. One doctor told her to go home and rest but in the evening she was in so much pain she called out the doctor. Another doctor came and told her to go to hospital, no ambulance, get yourself there. After much trouble sorting care for her kids her very helpful brother-in-law finally took her in. Now she is waiting to find out what the problem is.
I’m stressed, angry and frustrated. I should be there, I want to let her know I care, I want to tell her how thankful I am to be with her. I want to say all the things I never got to say to my last gf. Bill and Susan talk to me and offer sympathy but it’s not helping, I’m not in the right mood. The ferry seems to take and age to dock, the wait in the garage is slow and maddening, I want to be thankful for being home safe but all I can think about is getting back home and finding out what is going on. I smile as I note my kit is all present and correct yet this seems so stupid now.
I ride off the ship, I don’t look back. I don’t have the chance or the energy to say goodbye to the Scottish crew. I show my passport to the official then hit the highway hard. Plymouth is busy and it takes half an hour to get out onto the dual carriageway. I’m back in the old dispatcher mode, cutting through lines of cars, blasting past on the inside of slow traffic and gassing through junctions.
I’m back home and I should be happy, it’s what I’ve been thinking of for a few days now. But I’m 300 miles from where I should be. 300 miles of motorway and slow British traffic. I did not realise how slow British traffic is compared to Spain. On the Autovista overtaking is done quickly, here we all sit in the middle and outside lane while the inside lane is almost empty. This is my lane today, I’m passing car drivers all moving like sheep in the herd, stuck in the middle and outside lane because it takes too much thought to pull back in after overtaking. I curse the British for being such crap drivers.
I curse the volume of British traffic. I curse the way we cleverly use our motorway network as a car park when the cities are too busy. I curse the mindless drivers who do not look in mirrors to see the crazy eyes of the fool squeezing between them. Spanish drivers are lunatics that drive too fast, but in so doing they need to be awake and alert, here we move so slowly we simply switch off. On the odd stretches of clear road I get up to speed and think of what to do when I get home. It will be too late to go to the hospital and I don’t even know which ward she is in. I will make calls and see her tomorrow, but it might be too late tomorrow.
The road rolls by slowly. I stop between 60 and 80 miles to refuel and smoke and check the mobile. I try to reflect and calm myself by telling myself she is in the best place and no one seems too worried, just concerned. It’s not working though and my arse is starting to hurt on this tortuous seat. Mile after mile after mile after mile I ride and finally the signs tell me I’m getting closer to home as the evening draws in. It is with huge relief I join the M61, only 10 miles to go.
Home, sweet home. The house is still as it should be and as I left it. Neat piles of post greet me but I ignore this and get on the phone. I speak with the gf’s sister, my mother who is pleased I’m home safe and then try to call the hospital. It takes a while to track her down but then I hear her sweet voice. I cry a little as I ask her the most stupid of questions, “How are you Angel?”
She’s ok. My body slumps with relief and I notice the long sigh coming from my chest. No one seems to know what the problem is, various tests need to be done, some have been done, she’s in some pain but not as bad as before and I can see her tomorrow.
I dry my eyes and start to unpack.
Aftermath
The GF:-
After 5 days in hospital and lots of frustration with tests being arranged then unarranged, I took her home. The swelling went away on its own and no cause was found. She did however get different pain killers which are helping. We still await proper treatment but we now suspect this may become a way of life. She can function and we have had some good trips together. She is not fixed, but she is living her life as best she can with a smile.
The Scottish Crew:-
Various e-mails have passed between us. I was hoping to meet up with them at the Stormin’ the Castle rally, but I was in Cornwall with the gf that weekend. I intend to go and visit them before the year is out. I hope I have made some friends who I can catch up with from time to time
The Stag Do Crew:-
G and AM are now married, my son has a step father! I was there at the wedding in my medieval costume to wish them the best. No doubt they will continue to bicker relentlessly for the rest of their lives. I think they like bickering, it’s a sport for them.
Me:-
Not working but spending all my time getting my website sorted out. No plans other than to get a smaller bike to save on the high cost of fuel, and to do more trips so you can read about them here!
Thanks for reading.
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