I know I haven't blogged for a while, things with the knee and getting back to work have just left me feeling, well yuk!
I thought in this blog I would open my soul a little and talk about me for a while...lol. No, not like that, I'm not one to blow my own trumpet. Or even party whistle for that matter.
The thing I want to talk about is some issues I have been facing, some for a long time and others more recently.
I have battled depression and anxiety for many years now. I know that it's nothing new, or even that uncommon these days. Most of the, oh shit, twenty five years or longer it hasn't been a biggy. Yes many years ago it was hard to manage, I didn't know what was wrong with me, didn't know who to talk to and so forth.
I suppose talking about it today is a big issue, not so much admitting to suffering with it, but describing it and how it makes me feel. How can you describe something to someone else that you don't understand yourself.
This is why I like riding so much. I, like many others who ride and battle this illness say the same thing. Riding gives a freedom that is rarely possible in ones' mind. It clears the head and takes away the blackness that plagues you.
Riding is something that I have to do. When I don't ride it is restricting, constricting. But motivation is necessary. Sometimes the darkness closes in too much stifling that motivation. I can't help it, it just happens.
But I miss it, it makes me angry, anxious, nervous when I don't get to ride. It builds up and I let it out in other avenues, drinking, binge eating, anger, frustration...
The last eight to nine months have been difficult. With the knee injury it's a case being not able to ride.
You know, I loved my racing, my training, the kilometres under the belt. They kept me sane. Yes, I did loose my love, and the joy of touring was a great renewal. No pressure, no challenges, nothing to do but ride. It was fantastic, and I've spoken about it in detail before. The one thing I haven't spoken about is why it has been difficult.
This is the reason why I hate driving so much. Only my close friends know about this and now I'm ready to spill it to the world. It's not only driving that I hate, I hate our road culture with a passion.
If you have read through my previous blogs you will find that for a large, very large, part of my life I've been a truckie, or truck driver. Many of those years have been spent interstate, long distance and always away from home jobs, constantly on the highways of this great nation. Even a vast majority of the local jobs that I've held have been long hours. Truck driving is not a 9 to 5 job.
Over the years I've seen my fair share of carnage and experienced plenty of close calls. You shrug them off and toughen up. You think you become immune to them and think that they'll never rattle you. But in the end the indisputable happens. The one thing, or the final thing happens that rattles your cage so much you just can't do it, nor deal with it anymore.
Slightly over four years ago, late August 2014 on a Thursday morning early I was heading out of town on a run that would take me through to Biggenden, Munduberra, onto Gladstone and then home. It was typical long day, nothing unusual. I headed out of the depot at around 5.30 am and headed west.
My truck was speed limited to ninety-nine kilometres per hour. This never worried me, I was never in a hurry. I had spent too many years on the road, I wasn't a cowboy who had to speed and be a hero. At my age there's nothing to prove, I had learn't by working my way through the industry from a ripe old age of eighteen.
The morning started normally. I got into work around 5 am, clocked on, checked my deliveries, my load and strapped it all down. Checked my oil and water, tyres etc and allowed my truck to warm up thoroughly before leaving the yard.
My first drop was Biggenden, one hundred kilometres west of Bundaberg. I knew they opened early and I was one to prefer to leave early so I could finish early.
I headed south-west along the Isis Highway, the road that runs from Bundaberg to Childers and all the way through Biggenden to a place called Ban Ban Springs.
Being early I wasn't expecting too much traffic. Most traffic would be the normal back packer transport heading out to certain farms for their day's picking, plantings or general farm hand duties.
I was about twenty kilometres out of town, the morning's rays were just lighting the sky and I cruised out of town without a care in the world...just another day.
As a truck driver of many years, my mirrors were a priority, always checking them for following vehicles, the load you are carrying etc. Through this habit I had noticed a set of headlights a reasonable distance behind me. They didn't seem to make any ground on me, they seemed happy to just sit at the same speed as me just cruising along. Something I liked on the highway.
It wasn't long before I noticed an extra set of headlights behind me at around the same distance as the first. Paying no mind I kept the throttle down, the limiter doing it's job.
Several minutes after that I noticed something in my mirror, the shape of the first headlights had changed from round to square. Thinking nothing of it I just kept driving.
Several kilometres past this, the sun just starting to break over the horizon behind me, I started to pull up a small incline in the road. The truck had bugger all weight on it so it didn't loose any speed up the small rise. The small rise however, was enough to create a reason to change from broken lines to double unbroken lines.
I then noticed the square headlights practically up the arse of my truck. It sat behind me for a brief moment and began to overtake me, over double unbroken lines and up the incline.
As I was in a truck my position was taller and I could begin to see over the rise. To my disbelief another smaller car was heading towards me, driving towards Bundaberg. I looked again and the Ford Falcon wagon that had began to overtake continued in the opposite lane, continuing on it's way past me.
Now as a truck driver with many years up my belt, you know not to slow down. If I brake I could hinder them from braking and getting back in behind me. I kept my speed and moved as far left as I could, to the point that I was in the gravel on the side of the road. I couldn't move any further left as there were culverts, and that meant the chance of rolling if I had hit one.
The Falcon continued as the small silver car continues on it way. Who was going to give first? We eventually reached the crest of the rise and the overtaking Falcon never made any attempt to slow up and run back in behind me. It never made any attempt to speed up and hurry in front of me either, it just continued.
The small silver car, a Ford Focus saw the impending doom that lay before it. The driver attempted to move over but lost control on the roadside's gravel and ended up back in the lane...then THUD!!! It happened, around four feet, or just over a meter from my drivers side window. I felt the impact I was so close.
I was actually bracing myself for one of the vehicles to make contact with the truck sending it's carcass under my drive. That meant, at the speed I was travelling that I was a goner as well. It meant a flip or roll over for sure. That didn't happen, and I was lucky enough to get away with a badly stained pair of underpants.
I pulled over as soon as I was able to get back to the incident. The car with the round headlights following pulled up shortly after and a vehicle following the small silver Focus pulled over as well.
The Focus had come to rest in the centre of the lane it was travelling in. The Falcon wagon that had overtaken me was off to the side of the road. As I got back to the site a gentleman who was a rescues trainer from one of the mines pulled up. He checked the vitals of all involved, the two men travelling towards Bundaberg were dead. The lady driver of the overtaking vehicle had slid out of her car and crying for help. Able to still walk, she reached inside her car, grabbed a cigarette and lit it. Her passenger, still inside the vehicle with a broken leg.
I, and another man controlled traffic as we rang 000 for assistance. I was there for around half an hour before police arrived. We were a way out of town. Not only after that, as I was the primary witness, I had to hang around to give a statement etc.
Eventually I got on my way and thought that I could continue. My employer did offer for me to come home, but I was a truckie, I took another spoonful of concrete and hardened the fuck up and got on with the job. That's just what you do.
I kept reliving the incident throughout the morning thinking I'd be right. But when I got to Biggenden for my first drop I realised just how close it all was. There was windscreen glass in the side of my tray and on top of it. I was that close to it all happening that glass was able to land itself on my truck. I then began to think and think and think, but I still had a long day ahead of me.
Let's now fast forward to four years later...I'm a mess. I still suffer sleep deprivation, I am still haunted by the vision of two innocent men screaming to their deaths. I still cry...
This is the straw that has broken the camel's back. Four years later I hate driving, I hate being on the road in a car and I still see the visions of the incident as vividly as the day they happened.
I continued to drive for the company I was working for for another twelve months after that. They were a good company, looked after me, respected me and were decent people. But I couldn't do it anymore. My increasing anxiety, the anxiety I had worked so hard to control was no longer controllable. I was no longer able to focus on training for racing, actually it was hard to focus on anything.
I began to become reclusive, as much as I loved my friends I just found it hard to mingle. All those years of battling depression and anxiety with success, now I felt shame, guilt, worthlessness all over again.
My mother became ill in September 2015, it was the perfect opportunity to escape. I quit driving and headed off to Grafton to help my mother. I then returned home in January and began to work in the schools as a cleaner.
After twelve months of this I struggled financially and I was offered a job driving again. Thinking all would be ok I took the job, local and delivering milk. It soon became apparent that I was no longer able to drive. Anxiety returned, even suicidal thoughts began to consume me. I would break down into tears for no reason, and the vision of the innocent men began to haunt me once again.
I now have PTSD, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I still have trouble driving for any longer than two hours, I still have trouble being in a vehicle as a passenger for any longer than four hours, I still have trouble with traffic, I still have trouble with cars in general, I still can't sleep, I still see the two men that didn't deserve to die, I still feel guilt and shame, and I still cry...
This is why I love my bike...
Cheers all and as always ride safe.
