I knew my time was limited as I had to get to the airport by 5 to catch my flight home.
The sun was shining down on me, my decision to wear black skinny jeans was once again backfiring as my legs were burning.
Everytime a bike went past I held that feeling inside for a little while longer. That feeling you get in your tummy and in your heart as they go past, almost like a punch of excitement and adrenaline, mixed with this hard emotion.
Everyone is aware of what a motorbike sounds like. I hear them enough as they speed down a road near to my house. But nothing prepares you for what these bikes are capable of. I've never really got it when my brother has said "Cor, that sounds good doesn't it?". My usual reply being "Erm, yeah?!" Actually just thinking that they all sounded the same. I expect if I said that now he would totally disown me, but I stand corrected. I realised that there are some that sound better than others, some have that "WOAH!" sound, some have a deeper sound than others, some are louder.
I suppose on the roads in the UK, snug in my car, as a bike goes past I'm concentrating more on where they're going than what they sound like. It wasn't something I really thought about or paid attention to.
But here, as soon as I heard the bikes during the race on Wednesday I totally got it.
There were bikers all over the island, so general bike noise was a common sound. Laying in the tent you get used to hearing them through the night and early in the morning. I soon came to find it quite comforting. Of course it's not the same as hearing the Superbikes, but still, it was a noise that became normal and I realised quickly that it was a sound I would miss.
So this time last week I paid a little more attention. I listened a little more closely. I watched, selfishly without care of whether or not I was in anyones way. It was my last day, they had more to come. I felt overwhelmed and the thing that was keeping me from breaking down was hearing those bikes.
I suppose from a psychological view I did that thing where I attached those sounds to a feeling. That feeling of being me, being free, being happy. And more than that, being connected to my brother. Understanding his passion and feeling it too.
I wanted to soak in those sounds, soak in how my heart felt, that knot and excitement. I wanted to fire up that feeling so it wouldn't leave me as soon as I left the island.
As we drive in the car now, I spot a bike on the other side of the road, he's going at around 60mph or 70mph, so not 170mph+ like I had been experiencing, but still, I closed my eyes. Ready to hear that sound as he rode past us.
I closed them so tight. I clenched my fists. And waited.
And then, my eyes immediately filled with tears. Tears I couldn't let fall, but could privately let sit in my eyes for as long as I needed them.
Those feelings, that I desperately needed, came back.
And as much as I longed for that church wall, those burning legs, the force of the bikes speed making my hair fly all over the place, the smell, and the excitement around me, this was a good enough alternative.
That feeling will never be replaced and I won't get near it until next year. But for now, that alternative will be enough.
That sound of happiness.
That sound of freedom.