When I started that motorcycle, Ayah called out.
"Bawak motor molek-molek."
I smiled, waved back, said Bismillah in my heart and began my ride to the PSM. I was late.
By 11.00am, I arrived. Many were waiting for their turn, most of them were students for tomorrow's JPJ test. AC was one of them. Since I'm a newbie (and a late one), Pok Jat called me the last. Around 1.00pm was when he finally resorted to me. I bet I was one of his worst student in history. But I have never hurt any of the 'tiang', so he should consider himself (and me) lucky.
"Awak bawok je keta. Saya nak bawok Siti ni gi Cherating dulu ke...hahaha," he said. I frowned but he was confident to leave me doing the parking and the '3 penjuru' alone, so I walked to the car feeling "Why shouldn't I feel confident?"
So I did it. I did the parking and 3 penjuru stuff four times, although I was sure my side mirror hit a 'tiang' once. All in all, I think I wasn't bad. But I don't think any JPJ guy will give me a passing grade.
Then I was tired. I parked the PSM car under a 'kelapa' tree and I called Pok Jat. I told him I was done.
"Doh awak gi ah minum air dulu."
"Ke pok nok suruh saya 'naik bukit' (one of the driving requirements) dulu?"
"Dok lari eh bukit tu. Balik ah dulu. Hari Khamis pulok."
So I grabbed my bag and off I go with AC riding with me.
I drop by AC's house to drop AC (obviously) and to take first look at her infamous new DSLR. It was a nice piece of machine and I kept encouraging her to take photography but she had her mind made up for architecture.
"Bawak molek," she said as I was leaving.
From her house, I had to do a U-turn at the first legal opportunity (haha)to make my way home. I turned left at the junction before the biggest traffic light in Kemaman (4 junctions, traffic light with numbers???) into the road alongside the Padang Astaka. That was where the highlight of today's short story happened.
Just when I was in the junction, the back tire of the motorcycle was going to the sides. It felt funny and unstable because the front tire was straight. This is not good for fast rider like me. So I stopped and called Ayah.
"Tunggu situ. Ayah gi."
Then I waited. My father came in a Myvi (like my own personal hero) and brought a foot pump. He pumped the back tire and asked me to ride to the nearest workshop. He'll drive alongside me.
The ride, though short and slow, I would say one of the most dangerous ride I've ever been on. And I have been riding a motorcycle since I was 8! (I've always been tall. Go figures.) That's a decade worth of riding.
The motorcycle was going to the right and to the left like an untamed horse. But I kept on a steady face. I'm an experienced rider, am I not? (don't judge the L on the motorcycle. I should be a competent rider already).
"Come on...don't do this. I've been good, haven't I? Haven't I?" I whispered to the motorcycle while wondering if all the miles and speed I've put it through did it any harm.
Fortunately, the motorcycle did not hold grudge. He brought me to the workshop, safe and sound. I made a promise to myself that I will wash him someday. To pay back all the good miles and speed.
No comments:
Post a Comment