Friday, August 01, 2014

The Gokwe Kid – Rouge Rhodie on a Roller : Part 7

Day Five – Wednesday 30th July

So much for chatting on FB last night. The camp site owners had organised 'entertainment' for the riff-raff. Place up at the bar, some old berk sat in front of a keyboard and to the most caterwauling of sound, yowled his head off singing 'catchy' tunes in gibberish. I gather that was the local lingo. This was all backed by computer enhanced hacking and pumped out two massive speakers.

I stuck around long enough to force the pizza that I had ordered (it looked vaguely similar to what my dog use to sick up), down my gullet, grabbed a glass of rather nice red wine, and went back to my room with a view. There, ignoring the terrible sounds of pain the nutter was howling, I engrossed myself in my book – Game of Thrones. I rather like the fact I have seen the series first, that way I have some cool faces to match up to. Then to bed (it didn't rain and I didn't need a wee).

So today broke to the sounds of quacking ducks, farting neighbours and carp plopping as they caught insects. Whilst waiting for the 'bistro' (ha-ha)to open I packed most of my gear (far too many clothes), and then zipped off into town to the next petrol station. Here I met the village idiot. He was hanging around the pumps in the uniform of the place. I hadn’t a clue what his job was but presumed he had one. Perhaps filling cars up, you know, like they did in Rhodesia?

He wanders over to me and looking at his embroidered name on his tunic, Dipovstick, I should have guessed he was a complete imbecile. Using sign language, he happily concurs to fill the scooter up. To my complete amazement he shoves the nozzle as deep as it could go and pulls the trigger. The tank is for five litres. The pump switches off automatically when it thinks a tank is full. Idiot is rather surprised when it does exactly that after half a litre of juice.

I show him that you just place the end at the rim of the tank and sure enough four more litres go in. Then I decided to take the precaution to fill up my one litre cannister (an oil bottle supplied by Mickey Obergrussberger), and the clown manges to fill it not only to the brim - but all over my hands as well. I didn't bother giving him a tip.

Packed and ready to rock and roll, I down a couple of caffeine loaded 'wake me up before you go go' and at 10.00, hit the road. I had made a note from the large detailed map at the entrance to the camp site, of all the little villages I intended to go through, thus avoiding the main road. That was a complete waste of time because the places must be so small the government can't be arsed putting up any direction signs.

Still, besides being nearly wiped out by huge trucks overtaking me, it was an uneventful three and half hours drive from Trebon to my next port of call Telc, 60 kms away. There were a lot of hills, meaning the roller with no name was often reduced to 20kmh. But there was another reason....

Deciding it was a bit of a schlepp, I threw caution to the wind and connected up my MP3 player to my helmet with speakers I had built in myself. Tootling along and laughing as I listened to 'we're on the road to know where', that guardian angel must have whispered to me as I saw a sign saying 'PlinkyPlonkyOlov – 30km' - I had a queer feeling I didn't recall seeing that town on my route.

Pulling over and checking the map, I discovered not only was I going the wrong way, but over 16 kms. I had no option but to turn back, find the correct road and now happily listening to 'Bat out of hell', eventually got there.

At Telc, I parked up and went to the centre. By now the sun had come out and as it had been overcast and cool on the roller, I was clothed in jeans, sweatshirt and jacket. Walking along I was soon sweating buckets. I was gagging for a beer but had a hamburger and coffee instead.

As you can see, the place is really lovely. I climbed the bell tower, which nearly killed me, and took a couple of videos which are on FB – TGK. (If you are wondering why they are not here, that is because I have them on my phone have not worked out yet how to transfer them to the blog.)

After a lovely 90 mins, I was back on the scooter heading for Trebic, where I intended to spend a couple of nights. This place was 40 clicks away. I knew because of my slight deviation, it would be a close call with the range of the scooter which I had calculated did about 120 km on a full tank.

Then things started to go very pear shaped... as they do with me. Detour! Oh-oh.

Now I was on some serious tiny roads where trucks struggled to pass each other. It was twisty, winding, steep ups and downs, through forests full of man eating bears and savage wolves and the fuel gauge was on empty. I pulled over a couple of times to see where the hell I was going but the occasional flea bitten peasant village I went through that had as much activity to it as Tombstone, didn't show up – neither did a petrol station. Oh shit.

Oh shit all right, because just as I had gone through another dump, with a giant fart, the roller gave up the ghost. Luckily I was out of the woods and only 100 paces from the entrance to a place that was aptly called Bit Of Wank.

All a bit of a laugh and giggle, so with much moaning, I unpacked, found the emergency fuel, topped up, packed up, mounted up and hit the start button. There was plenty of whining but no brumming. Oh oh. Now what, and I recalled the words that Jan, the owner of the Afrika shop had said to me - “Do you have any mechanical knowledge in case you break down?”

I had just laughed and replied “No, because nothing ever happens to me”. Now I was about to have a nervous breakdown, never mind the roller. I pushed the machine down a small slope, thinking maybe the fuel will feed in better. Nothing. I parked up outside some drive and taking off my helmet, shutting down the MP3 player, just as it was chirping out Sniff 'n Tears hit 'Driver's seat', I got off my seat, placed an index finger in one nostril and scratched at my hole with the other. This was how I usually thought of how to make a plan Rhodie style.

The time was now 5.00pm. It was warm and no hint of rain, although I could see storm clouds on the horizon. It was now I had to cast back my memory - back into a long lost time of when I was a policeman in Gokwe. Those that have read TGK will recall when I had a Landrover that had fuel problems in the middle of the bush. (A broken pump.) It was whilst looking under the bonnet that I had noticed a little glass jar that I presumed should have petrol in it. I had then made Thomas, my batman, blow into the tank to create enough pressure to fill the glass.

This had worked but each time we only went about two clicks and after blow jobs, Thomas was spaced out of his head. So I decided to look for something similar and starting nosing around under the scooter. At the bottom of the fuel tank there was a thing with two tubes leading off it. One tube went to a semi-transparent small container with the word 'flow' and an arrow and it had a tube wandering from its bottom into the engine. The other t,ube just wandered off deep into the guts of the machine.

Shaking the container I concluded it was empty – bingo! But how do you make it full. And no, you do not blow into the tank filling hole because you cant access it with your lips, even if they were ten times the size the ones Thomas had. I removed the end of the tube at the top of the container. No juice came out, so I thought maybe there is a blockage and blew with all my might. Well, it came like rocket and filled my mouth with enough stuff get me pulled over for drinking and driving. As I tried desperately to replace the tube, it pissed all over my top and jeans and onto the still hot engine block. Hah hah, such fun and games.

After cleaning up a bit and pouring what was left of my drinking water onto the engine, I saw that the container was full and so I felt quite pleased with my pure genius. The roller refused to start. I could hear that the battery was struggling. I hopped up and down on the kick starter in desperation until my leg fell off. I had only one more option before bursting into tears. Have a look at the other pipe. I removed the end from the thingy and nothing came out. All rather odd. I couldn't blow into this one so I took out my tooth pick from my Swiss Army knife and poked that into its orifice. Zilch happened.

I need a bit of pipe the same size, but there wasn't exactly any lying around the place. I then recalled
how in the film 'Das Boot' they needed some wire to save them and somehow they found some connected to something no one had a clue what for and what it worked for. So I sniffed around underneath - a lo and behold I found a bit of pipe just hanging down from some part that was behind some other part, so after much tugging I pulled it off. I connected that, blew into it and...

That was that. I was up shit street without a roller, in the middle of who knows where. Where I was doing my Boy Scout stunt were a couple of women nattering in the garden. They of course had not bothered to rush over and ask if they could be of any assistance. I asked if I could park the roller in their drive whilst I looked for a mechanic. One of them looked at me blankly but the other had a bit of grasp of the lingo and said it was okay. I asked where could I find a man to fix my machine (my money pouch was busy vomiting away), and they pointed in the direction of Bit Of Wank.

It took me ten minutes to walk through the dump. I was busting for a fag and concluded that most of the petrol on me had dried, so took the chance. Obviously I was right otherwise - I would be in all the papers. There was - Nothing! No shops, no mechanic, no petrol station - just a few houses. I passed a teenager talking to a couple of kids. On the way back I asked him if he spoke English? He replied “Little bit”. When I asked him about a mechanic and gave sign language for broken down roller, his eyes rolled in his head and he lifted his cap and started to scratch his head like a monkey and I realised that I was actually talking to Bit OF Wanks idiot!

I found another bloke mowing some lawn and again with sign language, I gathered that in the last place I had passed through there was just the person I was looking for. It was a two click walk. It is 5.30pm. I have the heavy daypack on (notebook etc) and slog my way down. There I find
'Kelly Auto' who was just shutting up his one garage door, spoke nothing but the local lingo and made it of obvious to fuck off.

No idea what the poxy joint was called but Bit More Wank would have done, as at least it had a shop. The owner was Vietnamese and fluent in it. I bought an energy drink, forgot that actually a bottle of whiskey could be more appropriate and walked back to the roller. I was so confused I even forgot to buy food. Game over.

I considered my options. It was 6.30pm. There was no point in trying to hitch to any town where there might be a mechanic. I looked at the farmer's field as a place to camp. I could have asked the women if I could use her garden but they hadn't seemed that friendly. So having picked a possible spot, I went to the machine to push it down the road. Half heartedly I tried the starter again and she immediately roared into life, chortling instantly into a steady rhythm. I looked up into the gathering clouds in time to see my guardian angel fly off.

Within seconds I was back on the road. After five clicks I came across a sign - Trebic 20km. Oh oh, I had less than a litre of juice. But I reckoned if I broke down again (I guess it was air blockage and it had just needed time for the fuel to eventually get to the engine), I would simply try and hitch to the next petrol station with the emergency bottle.

Running on fumes I reach the outskirts at last. There was a large street plan and a couple of clicks later, I strip down again and fill up. The same plan had given me directions to the camp site and just before 8.00 pm, I was there.


A nice clean and tidy place, rather new and modern and there was a jamming session going on with about 30 odd people in the covered patio by the bar. I hit two beers in quick succession and then built up the tent, threw in my stuff and returned to the bar. I ascertained that they had no WiFI and they were a bit cheeky with the prices of camping and the beer and also the only food was local sausage but I wasn't hungry.

Knowing that my sponsors might be worried I may have done a runner with their dosh, I sent a text To Daniela, my Ex, to post on FB TGK that after some hilarious and scary adventures I was safe and sound. I then poured over the map, wrote up the kms – I had run dry at exactly 133 and altogether did 157.

It didn't take long before returning to my place with a fresh beer, I was asked by a couple of blokes in their thirties where I come from. Well, that’s what they said after I replied “Do you speak English or sprechen sie Deutsch?” They preferred the former and when I showed them Rhodesia on my sweatshirt their was some blank looks.

“It is in Africa, but called Zimbabwe now.”

One of the lads, then said in amazement - “You came all the way from there on that roller.”

I explained – was then invited to join them and a merry chat occurred. By 11pm everyone went, including my new pals who had to go to work the next day. It turned out that the place was used by the locals as their local!

So feeling well chilled and relieved, I couldn't but laugh over the days events. I was looking for adventure – I certainly got it!

Day 6 – Thursday 31st July

Besides having to go to the toilet at 3.00am, and it raining all night, sleep was not a problem.
Waking up was because it was to the sound of small arm fire. Even with my back crippling me at the moment (trapped nerve), my deep inbedded training took over -

“Don't shoot, I am sorry, take all my money and you can have the ex too and shoot her if you want.”

The shots stopped and as I wasn't full of holes, I wiped the urine from my legs and cautiously popped my head out. 50 police officers had surround my tent. Nah, actually it was a police firing range just down the drag, but it did give me fright. I haven’t heard that sound for some time.

Since the lazy owners only open up shop at 1.00 pm, it was make my own coffee time. This meant getting out the brand new gas cooker. I brought along four cartridges but now have a feeling I will be lucky to use one (make a note about this for next trip). After farting around for ten minutes in a rather blurred state, I decided that perhaps putting on my glasses and finding the instructions might make a difference. And it did and lo and behold FIRE. 30 seconds later I was supping on a pathetic Aldi's own powder mix. Still, beggars can't be choosers.

As I got my head around last night's beer overdose, I contemplated today's plan. Obviously, priority number one was to write up yesterday’s struggle of life and death. Then I would need to sort the pictures out so that when I went into town and found some joint with WiFI, I could upload everything. And talking about uploads, when I was in Telc, there were three free accounts. I mention this in a video. When it came to do the trick – none of them worked. Very clever way of promoting tourism - the lying swine.

With that in mind I wandered over to the bar area where there is a wall socket, plugged in and was soon typing away. At this very moment in time it is quarter to three and I am still at it! It is just as well that at 10.00 the sky decided to piss on my parade and it hasn't stopped. Even if it did, I am on my second beer and got to keep an eye out for the cops which was not to difficult because three of them were sitting at the next table, supping on coffee and chatting to the owner whilst giving the clientèle the beady eye one over, and as I am the only one in the camp - I received a few.

It was just as well they left before the golden juice would twist my mind and make me tell them what a hero I was in the police and all that guff. I most probably would landed up pointlessly paying for my wet tent's accommodation for tonight because I would be in hospital with several major bones broken. I couldn't exactly take a picture of them but did a cheeky as you can see. In the background is my tent and roller.

I am not bothered I am not going anywhere today. This writing stuff and pictures takes up a lot of time. Now talking about it – looking at the amazing distance covered in almost a week (most people could walk it), I have decided to shorten my ambitions some what. I will leave out Warsaw. I am not concerned about this, that alone would be about 300 odd clicks more. I don't want the stress and honestly, this is great fun. I must remember to get a few food supplies in, just in case I get stuck somewhere. As for food today, this joint offers giant sausages with mustard and bread. That’s all the choice and that will do.

Weather could be a problem too. Just have to wait and see.


Sue D said...

Rib achingly funny. Didn't think it could get any better but it does. Will need to read it again as I was blinded at times with tears of laughter. Good on you mate!

Paul Cullen said...

Love it Karl.. Good your ok.

Karl (aka Lore) said...

Thanks hey.