Tuesday, 8:25am

I arrived in Bordeaux about 10:30 yesterday morning, and since none of my coworkers were on this particular flight with me, I took a cab to the office, sweating my ass off the entire time. (For all the bitching I do about the weather in New Jersey, it is hot as balls here. Hot. As. BALLS.)

Anyway, I get to the office - tired, sweaty, stinky, not feeling like doing anything related to work - just in time to hear Nicolas discussing lunch plans. Ah, lunch! Lunch I can do.

He hands me a helmet and a heavy leather jacket.

"What's this for?"

"You will need this for the ride."

"That's a motorcycle helmet."

"Oui."

"Uh..."

You know, in all fairness to Nicolas, I could've simply said no. But here it was, a beautiful sunny day in the South of France, and like they say, "When in Rome..."

I'm not sure quite what I was envisioning. I guess I was thinking it couldn't be any worse than being on a waverunner, the only difference being the asphalt that could grind me into a sticky paste should we happen to wipe out.

Nicolas helped me on with the helmet and jacket he had borrowed, showed me where to hold on, and off we went. You know, for about two whole minutes, as we were winding our way out of the office complex, it was actually fun. Then he gave it a little gas.

"aaaaaaaahh!!"

I don't think I've ever had a death grip on something quite like I did at that moment. As we started flying past the cars around us, I started sceaming, "Stop, Stop, STOP!!"

VRM VVVRRM VVVRRRRMMMM

We only went faster.

In a split second, all these thoughts went racing through my head. "One bump and I'm gonna fly off of here.... mom's gonna kill me.... will insurance cover me in France?.... Sweet Jesus, make it stop!!"

We came to a red light.

"Ca va?"

"Can't you hear me screaming??"

"Non, I cannot hear a thing!"

VVVRRMMMMM

I know we had to be a sight - pulling up in front of this little outdoor cafe - two potentially cool bikers, until you see that one of them is literally quaking in her stylishly strappy sandals and little capri pants.

"How are you doing?"

"Super."

"I felt a little tension in your hand."

"Yeah. That was it. Tension."

After a nice long lunch, and his assurance that we really weren't going that fast, I had no other choice but to get back on the bike, unless I wanted to endure merciless hazing for the next three days.

Suck it up, P.

And just as I was starting to feel a little bit comfortable, Nicolas leans back, pulls my arm tightly around his waist, and says, "You might want to hold on for a minute."

VVVVVRRRRRMMMMMMM

It's a ride. It's a ride at Disneyland. It'll be over in a second. Suck it up.

When I peeled my body off of his long enough to peek over his shoulder, I saw the speedometer pass 150kph. This was no waverunner.

I remember feeling very helpless. The only thing I could do was close my eyes, say a prayer, and hold on for dear life.

When we got back to the office and I peeled the helmet off my sweat-soaked head, he said that he just had to give me "a little taste". Well that taste is quite enough to hold me over for the rest of my days. I know my limitations.... some people have the taste for it flowing through their veins.

Me? I'm just happy to be alive.

feeling... I miss my kitties
listening to... trouble --coldplay
miss something?
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out of the loop - 2005-04-09
a quest for clarity - part 1 - 2004-08-30
no plan for a sequel - 2004-08-27
slacker of the month - 2004-08-26