Praying for rain

God I hope it rains today. Hard.

Last night we heard the squeal and pop of a car crash. Right outside our building. I ran out onto the balcony to see a crumpled motorbike and a guy lying on the ground. I screamed to the Mister “It’s a motorbike. There’s a dead guy. Dial 911!” (God I wonder if that works in NZ as we’re so brainwashed by American TV that in an emergency all we know is 911. Luckily he actually dialled 111).

Three hours later in the wee hours of the morning, feeling sick and freezing cold from standing stone still in my PJS transfixed and panicking, after fire, police, ambulance, tow trucks, investigators and crowds left I came to the conclusion that the guy died. The ambulance drove off slowly without it’s lights flashing. There were numerous photos taken and diagrams drawn. A couple were taken away in a police car. When the tow truck arrived it collected a car with a smashed windscreen that had been previously hidden from view and had had us wondering for the previous 2.5 hours what the motorbike had crashed into. I think the people that were taken away were from the smashed car. I think they were turning and the motorbike was going straight ahead.

This morning on the road there is pink investigation paint around the motorbike skid marks and a huge blood stain. I feel sick. It needs to rain. Hard.

I’m dreading seeing any news of it as I think my worse fears will be confirmed.


#1 Jif on 12.13.07 at 8:58 pm

I was going to get motorcycle lessons in Petone but every time I tell someone, they all say "they’re unsafe you’re going to hurt yourself" and now that you posted this I think it may be divine intervention.

Maybe I’ll just buy another car again instead!

#2 Jolene on 12.14.07 at 12:06 am

Ugh. I was driving home one day and there was a bit of traffic built up, which was surprising seeing as it was after 9PM. The emergency crews were just finishing up cleaning up the aftermath (blood, metal, bits of glass) from a fatal motorcycle crash. This was about 2 weeks after I saw two motorcyclists playing "chicken" in rush hour traffic on the expressway – weaving in and out of cars to see who could get ahead. One of the motorcyclists actually wiped out about 30 feet from my car, which caused me to experience a pain in my gut like someone had kicked me. Hard. He did get up, though. He shook himself off, and got right back on his bike. Where he resumed his game of "chicken". I do not understand why people drive so aggressively on and around motorcycles – they’re so vulnerable! I lost a cousin and a dear friend of mine to motorcycle deaths.

I do hold a vision of myself as a 70-year-old gramma riding a bright-orange Harley (matching helmet, of course!) on the winding roads of the Smokies with my grandkid on the back keeping herself occupied by coloring in my shoulder tattoos with markers, though.

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