Soaring high into a new life

This had to be the stupidest thing I had ever done. Nearly killed me the first time, so what ever could have possessed me to want to try again, now, at my age?

At least the first time I had an excuse. I was just seventeen years old. It was my first motorcycle. A powerful off-road model just made for stunt riding. I was forever pulling wheelies or roaring around impossible bends, digging the road up with the foot pedal, leaning the bike further in than even I had thought possible.

Of course, if I hadn’t had the accident, I would never have met my beautiful Jenny. The vision of her angelic and untroubled face, looking down at me benignly, was one of the last things I could remember before drifting into unconsciousness. The soft touch of her hand. That, and her name badge: Nurse Jennifer… I couldn’t quite focus enough to read the surname.

When I regained consciousness three weeks later, the other clinical staff told me that just I kept asking for “Nurse Jenny” in my delirious state. I also remembered snippets of conversation between some of the staff.

“He looks so cute, with his tight curls… such a shame… accident… hurt… so young.”

“… and you a single woman, Jenny…”

“… away with ye, he’s far too young…. no cradle snatcher…”

I later learnt that she was 26 years old. Seemed so much older than me at the time… older in a good way. So much more grown up than I was and, of course, far more mature than most of the girls I knew.

Nine months, I was in that hospital and although there were so many nurses, doctors, physiotherapists and others who helped me through that time, Jenny was like an anchor to me. An inspiration, an angel of mercy. Not babying me, but helping me to work up the courage to keep on going through all of the struggle and the pain.

When I was finally discharged and returned to the care of my mother and father, I wanted to ask her for a date, but couldn’t quite pluck up the courage. She would have taken it as just the dopey infatuation of a some kid she had nursed back to health. All part of a day’s work to her, but she meant the world to me.

I wanted to send some flowers or a card or something to say thank you but I just couldn’t think of the words. In the end I just resigned myself to never seeing her again. Then, about a year later, quite out of the blue, I happened to stumble into her at the mall. She was with a young man and I almost let her walk by but I just had to say hello.

“Jenny… hi… it’s…”

“Chris!” she interrupted. I was all set to remind her who I was before she blurted out my name. I couldn’t believe she remembered.

”Chris… fancy seeing you here.”

“Freddie…” she said to the guy with her. “Freddie... this is the boy I told you about… last year… motorcycle accident…”

“What… the lad who tried to jump his bike over the quarry gap?” He spoke as if I was some kind 0f sporting legend. some kind of a hero. “That was some stunt you pulled there, mate,” he continued.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Shame I stacked when I hit the gr0und, though.”

We all laughed at that.

“Chris, this is my brother, Freddie… Freddie this is Chris.”

I shook hands with Freddie and my day brightened up instantly, knowing that they were siblings, and not a couple as I had thought. After we had all recovered from the surprise meeting, I agreed to join them for a McDonald's, and we chatted for about an hour.

It was such a relaxed occasion, I felt at ease enough to ask if we could all meet up again, maybe for a coffee. Sure, they both said and we exchanged numbers. We arranged to meet the following week but Freddie had to cry off at the last minute. I was of course disappointed… or rather, not at all disappointed.

One thing led to another and Jenny and I started to meet regularly. The age difference didn’t seem t0 matter and after a few more dates we became a regular item. The rest is history, as they say. A Valentine’s Day proposal… not from me. I couldn’t believe my eyes when she got up from her chair in the restaurant, sinking to one knee.

“You do know it’s a leap year, don’t you?” I was horrified at what people might think but the whole restaurant cheered when, without a moment’s hesitation, I said yes.

A brief engagement, wedding, budget honeymoon in Brighton. Two children, boy, girl, school, university, high-flying jobs for the children, doctor and architect. Then the illness hit. Time for me to take on the role of nurse and carer this time around, as I watched my beautiful angel fade into a shadow. At least the end was merciful.

Feeling my own life was over, I kept on going for the sake of the children, knowing that was what my darling, sweet, sorely missed Jenny would have wanted. This was a year ago. A year to the day since the funeral. Jenny made me promise, when we married, never to ride a motorcycle again but, after she died, I needed something to keep me going. I bought another off-road motorcycle, another bike built for stunt riding.

Of course I was now thirty years older and much more mature and sensible but I couldn’t st0p thinking about that stunt. What did I do wrong? I went over it again and again in my mind. I figured I had the approach-speed about right, extending my legs to hold the machine at the right angle and adjusting the grip throttle to the correct engine revs. It was the descent that was at fault. I lent just a little too far forward. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Astonishingly, the ramp was still there, the quarry deserted. It had closed down a year or two before my first attempt and was still derelict. There was a lot more vegetation but the ramp and the run up were still pretty much clear of obstruction.

Slowly, I approached the ramp, checking the ground was still level enough for the run up. This was it. I just had to try again. The adrenaline started to surge just like the first time but I was remarkably calm. I wheeled around to the start of the track and pulled up, revving the engine, taking a final mental run through of the approach and jump, figuring my position as I launched across the void, calculating, mentally, the angle of descent, and how I would pull up the front wheel before landing. I was all set. No going back now. This time, I just knew I would make it.

Releasing the clutch, I opened the throttle, while checking the tendency of the front wheel to rise. This was no showy streetside wheelie display. I was on my own. Only I would know if I succeeded. Failure was not an option.

Building up speed, I eyed the ramp, seeing the void beyond and thinking how much the blue sky was my friend. No hesitation, I gunned the engine as I covered the final few hundred yards to the ramp. Hitting the board with a crash I felt like an astronaut on the launchpad, rockets kicking into life. I was at the top of the ramp in an instant, launching into the wild blue beyond.

Time seemed to slow down as man and machine described the perfect arc, higher and higher bef0re curving around for the return to earth. The bike perfectly under control, I descended gracefully, almost in a state of grace. Unlike the first attempt by the teenage boy, this flight was under perfect control. It was as if there was an invisible road, an arched bridge carrying me across the gap. Unlike the first time there was no fearful crash, no crumple and crumble of metal and bones, it was as if I had landed on a cloud of velvet.

Having completed the leap, I didn’t stop and do an impressive skid-turn as I had imagined I would do, but carried on riding. On and on I went with the machine, as if riding a rainbow to heaven.

“How’s he looking?” I heard someone say. It was a disjointed voice I could not place. Eerily distant, yet so close.

“Not looking good… lost a lot of blood… multiple fractures including pelvis and spine… but he’s a fighter…”

Then a voice I recognised…

“He looks so cute, with his tight curls… such a shame… accident… hurt… so young…”

“He’s going into VF… cardiac arrest… start compressions… need to shock him... stand clear…”

I couldn’t understand what was happening. A vague notion of a tingling sensation, a bright flash… a burning smell… multiple electronic bleeps then a continuous tone, and those voices coming from the clouds. And who was the young man they were talking about?

Each time I heard the word “clear” I felt my chest heave, like someone was hitting me with a sledgehammer. Again and again I felt the blow. Then it stopped.

For a moment... silence.

“Okay, I’m calling it. Everyone agree? Time of death: 03:17."

“Such a waste of a life… just 17 years old.”