Last Of The Rhodesians: The Gokwe Kid – Rouge Rhodie on a Roller : Part 8

Day Seven - 1^st August

I need to get the hell out of this place before I drown. It pissed down all night and when I had a peep out the tent, it was just a gentle 'guti'. Inyanga style. Rhodies are hard core and with the most terrible moaning and clutching my poor back, I considered throwing in the towel. Well, I had to - there were some puddles in the tent but they were clear of any hint of yellow, so it wasn't my fault.

Ah, bollocks. I stood in the mud and using the concrete ping-pong table, wrapped up everything in large bin bags. Strapped up roller with no name (she looked very miserable), and in jeans, sweatshirt, west and jacket, hit the road. I had this plan that if it lashed down I would wear that cheap plastic poncho – then I remembered it was under my seat! (Another lesson learnt.)

This time I kept an eye on the signs and my map. Next destination – Oldmouc. Rather a bit of a drive – but no pain no gain and along the way I learnt about the former. I stopped at a load of directions on a shield. All very confusing, but a great spot to have a crafty fag, remove the helmet, blasting out Supertramps 'Crisis, what crisis', and carefully sussed out that after 4 hours on the road, petrol tank hinting it could do with feeding soon, I was actually going the right way.

Then, something terrible happened. I had parked up on a slope. His name was Van der Merwe. The problem was that it was not an up/down slope but a sideways one. When I reached for the day pack, which resides between my legs as I brumm along, the roller rolled. I could not hold it. The back is too heavy and in an instant I was down and out with my right leg trapped underneath the horse with no name.

I writhed around, screaming like a girl who has just noticed her breasts are getting larger, and realised I would die of thirst whilst suffering the terrible pain of a broken leg in multiple fractures.

Yeah, nice try. Actually, the side packing of sleeping mattress and chair protected the roller, my leg I wiggled free, and at that moment some bloke on a motor bike stopped and together we got the roller back up. The joke was that not only did I not understand a word he was saying, but my head was being pumped full of Supertramps 'Asylum, don't send me too).

My biggest fear was that when I rolled the roller over, it had gone over the daypack. Inside was the notebook. I have already had to pay half its price for a new screen. So had visions that I had yet again a stuffed PC. Not only that, I could not post or do anything!

I didn't check. I was traumatised enough and just pondered the whole scenario as I hit the road again. At some place, I forget its name, I pulled over, ate a kebab (3 out of 5), and with much moaning popped into the local petrol station and loaded up. This of course took half an hour.

Just as well, because it turns out I had a lot of clicks still to go. Then, as I wandered the roller that was now going mental with relief that we were out of the rain and into the sun, the thing was going mental and for short stretches on 45 degree slopes , hit 60kmh. Till – the ultimate bollocks, another detour. Now what?

Okay, I clocked that over the last two decades the Czechs are jacking up their shit pot holed ex Commie donkey and cart tracks - But why must I try those out? I tell you, they were so bad that I think they released my trapped nerve in my back. It was just as well I had topped up, as scooter with no name was chewing it real time hey.

Eventually, I pull over and decide, “Where the fuck are we?”. Just as I was about to contemplate breaking into tears and start a fire so I can throw some ashes over my head, I noticed that trucks and foreign number plates were also teeth rattling past, so guessed I really was on the detour.

Man, I tell you, this was as bad as Tanzania, scooter with no name was screaming in agony, trying to shake me and the load off. I fought the shuddering handle bars at a dangerous 10 kmh, as we struggled our way through this hell on earth (slightly tarred).

Eventually, all things come to an end and I pop out on some major drag. Juice is low, but in theory, I can crack it. Now, where ever I was, on some heavy road, I follow the sign to Olomouc. In theory, that was supposed to be a place of interest. Also... in theory it was about 30 clicks down the road. A lot of theory hey!)

What happens next verges on the insane. Check out the Czech sign for AUTO BAHN, or,in English- MOTORWAY. Now I know that this is a big no-no, so I get my trusty map out and clock it. As far as I was concerned, it was just some kind of fast road.

Yeah, it is fast. I am on it and totally illegal. Even the scooter was shitting itself. We are going at full whack on the hard shoulder wondering how the hell we get off!

I take the next turn off. Fuck me up the arse with a frozen stave (ex BSAP Morris Depot saying),

if the pigs catch me, I am well and truly not needing a camp site for a few nights.

Next thing as far as my pooping brown eye can work out -I am still on the autobahn... going backwards.

The sweat is easy to produce - scooter is going mad in fear of spending a few nights as deposit in some Czech jail as a deposit for my fine.

After 10 clicks, with scooter at full throttle, I clock an exit. Any -I didn't give a monkeys, get off this motorway before I die (I am on the hard shoulder the whole time),

Amazingly, I am just four clicks from the centre of the place. Cool beans. So, thanking guardian angel, I wander on. Of course, with a roller, it is easy to park up. Anywhere.

I up the scooter by a map in the middle of Olomouc. I am not impressed. Very big, very busy, full of twat tourists. Weather has changed, sun is shining more than it does on TV, and I clock the 'I' sign for idiot tourists. Wandering in to the office, it took a short while to find out that the nearest camp site was about 20 clicks away, direction....Poland. Yeah... what ever.

Well, I ballsed that up but only by 10 clicks and here I am in a camp site. Although.. the entrance did not bode too well.

So I am in a neat tiny town called Sternberk - 218 kms later.. Sun is shit hot as is should be. I am flirting with the bar maid and getting well oiled. I think I stay here a while. Like...I mean – holiday.

Next Day – Saturday 2^nd August

As you can see, these nights are paid for by – Eish - dangerous place hey! Till I discovered the queer entrance.

Into town, met my new girl friend, where she runs a coffee shop, when not at the camp site, and otherwise I chill, write and drink...lol.

Marcela, was brought up in the middle house of the square. She makes no money working so hard. Eish....

bars at a dangerous 10 kmh, as we struggled our way through this hell on earth (slightly tarred).

Well, I ballsed that up but only by 10 clicks and here I am in a camp site. Although.. the entrance did not bode too well.

Next Day – Saturday 2^nd August

As you can see, these nights are paid for by – Eish - dangerous place hey! Till I discovered the queer entrance.

Into town, met my new girl friend where she runs a coffee shop, when not at the camp site, and otherwise I chill, write and drink...lol.

Marcela, was brought up in the middle house of the square. She makes no money working so hard. Eish....

But..still a little woozy in the head, and frightened of the local pigs, I made the perfect Rhodie plan. When you are scared shitless of the wolves, where would they never look for you?

I checked out the local exhibition - man, I have no time for this shit -

But..still a little woozy in the head, and frightened of the local pigs, I made the perfect Rhodie plan. When you are scared shitless of the wolves, where would they never look for you?