A Curious Girl: Pillion

I rode pillion on Stephen's motorbike.

He came to pick me up from work on Saturday. Handed me a jacket and a helmet, which he said would be slightly too big. Um... quite. He strapped me into it, tutting me for pulling the visor right down and misting it up with my warm breath, and advised me to leave it slightly open. He gave me a rundown on things I should do and things I should never do on the back of his motorbike. By this time, I'm scared out of my brains, and beginning to regret the pizza I'd just eaten. (I get motion sickness). He tells me how to use the handles, but looking at them and my gloved up hands, I haven't a clue how I'm going to hold on, and assure him I'll feel safer gripping his waist.

He got on. Told me to get on. I have to pull myself up on his shoulders, my legs are too short. Feet on pillion pegs, head pointing over Steve's right shoulder, I can see my apprenhensive self reflecting in his right wing mirror.

He started to move. 'I'm just going slowly.'

'Doesn't feel very slow.'

'It's twenty miles an hour.'

'It's OK - just doesn't feel slow.'

He speeds up a little. I feel safe enough, but not slow. He accelerates around a car.

'Wooohooooo!' I scream into his ear. Then apologise.

Soon enough, we're on the main road. The sky is gloriously peach and clear, the road is streaked yellow with the afternoon sun. The wind is blowing a heavenly cool breeze through the visor and onto my face. The world is flying past at and exhilarating rate. This is the best fun I've had in ages.

Soon enough, we got home. I got off, and Steve smiled at me.

'I'm going to kill you Stephen.'

'Why?'

'You've ruined me for cars for life!!'

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