The Gokwe Kid - Rogue Rhodie on a Roller: Part 18. Fruitcakes and burnt bums.

Day 27. Sunday 24th August

I awoke to find that I was actually not a bloated corpse floating around in the river and promptly getting sued for killing the fish with alcoholic poisoning for nibbling at their free breakfast. In fact – I was in my tent,but after some confusion about where the stupid zip was so as to get out and to release several litres of gut rot I had consumed as well as the recycled dog's dinner I had cooked up the night before, I looked out.

I started going into a panic attack. I could hardly see! The rocket fuel I had drank with such enthusiasm at the jamming session had destroyed my eyesight , along with my mind. There was, like, hard core cataracts over my eyes and all I could see were these ghostly images wandering around in circles making strange sounds and flapping their arms about as the approached nearer.

Luckily, before I started screaming and releasing my pent up abdominal poison into my skants, the adrenalin kicked in and I realised it was just some serious fog/low cloud and the spectres were

actually the loonytunes (who had all gone to bed drugged out their gills but sober) , were now wide awake, wandering around lost and grunting/shouting in Czech “WhereDaFukRwe?”

I didn't fancy explaining that actually they were so lost they would struggle to find their brown eyes to wipe. Still, I knew where mine was and it was due at any second a serious going over, so I wandered off to the place where you get rid of bad things.

Returning, I was not impressed. The fog was lifting but my new fans had decided to use my tent as the centre of some weird magic circle. Grabbing MY nutcase pills, coffee, milk, sugar, cup and the stove, I gapped it to the verandah. Burning my finger whilst trying to stir the mix, I peeped at them and wondered when the whistle would get them in some form of order before they started chanting “Death to the pig.” 

When the whistle did go off, they were then gathered in some form of crazy legionnaire’s square and were put through a keep fit routine that consisted of waving arms and legs about. I thought this a bit odd as most of them did it in their waking hours, or for all I know, whilst asleep. Then off they went into the fog and soon disappeared into the surrounding forest of soaking wet pine trees. I presume it was their morning stroll to work up an appetite for breakfast.

Whatever, I used the opportunity to pack up pronto. Man, it was cold and I had on just about as many clothes as possible, making me look like the Michelin man. My jeans and shoes were covered in mud. Everything was damp and smelling a bit. I didn't care. One more night and then I would be in my cosy pad.

With everything packed, I started to load the scooter, which, whilst a routine, was still a formidable 30 minute task, when lo and behold – the foggy heavens, knowing I must hit the road, decided to give me a taste of drought prevention. And how. Just for good measure some hailstones the size of coconuts were thrown in to make the whole scenario of a lovely summer holiday a picnic in the Antarctic.

Time wise, I wasn't that bothered. On paper (as in stupid useless map), I had 80 clicks to the border. From experience gathered so far – double that, work around three hours plus one. Plenty of time as the Argos bought el-cheepo Sekonda watch creeped towards 11.00am. Then I burst into giggles. My warped brain likes to change lyrics of songs and one line from Mac Author's Park had just popped into my head – 'Someone led the fruitcakes out into the rain...', because I just realised they hadn't returned.

After an hour, it stopped, I finished loading my trusty scooter with no name and started the last part of the Czech adventure. Much to my annoyance, with the distance covered going to fetch petrol and beers in the local town across the bridge, plus stupidly missing the turn off, I had wasted half a tank of juice, so reluctantly 30 mins later pulled up to top up. I was getting sick off this performance.

But what cheered me up was the strange set up of the forecourt. I have never seen anything like it.

It was - like the entrance to a parking zone. Only difference you didn't need a ticket to get through the boom. You paid for the gas and then the cash babe would hit a button and let you out. Weird – must be a lot of skellems around ('bad people' for none African readers). With the roller I could have easily done a runner. Yeah, not that I would get far and all for what? Three pounds worth of petrol!

So of we go. Scooter hitting a maximum of 17 kmh an hour as we climb, climb, climb. At one point I thought I might have to get off and push (no chance), as at snail's pace I overtook two push biking Canadian couple in their early fifties, with proud maple leaf flags sown onto their packs, as they PUSHED their two wheelers up a gradient that most Everest climbers would shit themselves with fear. I reckon, coming from Canada, they must be used to it – but why spend all that money getting here to torture themselves through countryside similar to their own? Nuts.

I was also alarmed with a strange clattering noise that appeared to come from the scooter just as we passed a skiing resort. Actually, it was my own teeth. There was no snow yet, but I reckoned judging by the fact that I think my bladder had a frozen block of urine inside it, I must be cruising around 35.000 feet at temperatures below ultimate zero – I reached some pinnacle and it was all down, down, down. I gave the scooter its head. Considering it had taken two and a half hours to crawl 40 clicks (not planned), it was time to catch up. The machine went berserk, almost sensing we were heading home.

Despite I was freezing and damp, it was rather exhilarating doing 63 kmh on a scooter legally registered to do a maximum of 45, but with the heavy load I was carrying, turning some of the extremely sharp bends made me prudently use the breaks after I twice nearly ended up doing an almost perfect replication of the final scene of Quadrophenia. Namely – a scooter flying off the end of a cliff.

Then as it was sort of flattening out, I came across some tourist resort which had one of those 'things'. I had to pull over and contemplate. No idea what they are called, but they should be banned. This huge contraption is a sort of dry sledge run. You sit in a daft little 'sledge' with a brake handle between your legs and off you go having a great time. The problem is – I had done this once- 25 odd years ago in Austria. Dressed in shorts and T-shirt. After the first few boring bends – I decided to do this hard core. I laid almost flat on my back, and just like they showed on the TV during the winter Olympics, I soon gathered some serious speed and using my body as counterbalance was soon going like a demented rocket. Man this was so cool, till...

The fact that I didn't actually manage to leave the half tube of fibre glass covered in rubber matting was amazing. The plunge would have definitely killed me, but I did manage to do a sideways 360 degrees. Two things then happened. The dumb sledge, back on its wheels, less the driver, was more than happy to follow gravity. Meanwhile, I had landed on my ass at about 25 kmh and was astonishingly using the back of my thighs, bum cheeks and elbows as some form of brakes, leaving skin and blood behind me.

Not understanding the gravity of the situation I was now in – (this bit is really insane) – I jumped up and started RUNNING down the chute, howling at the bloke in front of me to pull up. I will never forget the poor kid's eyes of terror as my sledge piled into the back of his, and him stopping and observing a man dribbling blood from his arms and legs running up babbling incoherently!

Thanking him in whatever language, I climbed aboard and carefully wandered the rest of the way down. By the time I arrived at end station – yeah, the pain had hit me, so hard that Danny, that was waiting for me said - “You bloody idiot. What have you done now?” There was a first aid hut. I mean, what kind of pleasure ride was this that needed a manned 'save your life' crew? I was in a bad way.

I was popped onto my stomach and had my shorts full off skid marks removed. (External ones, hey!) The bloke asks me how many times have I gone down their tube of insanity.

“This is the first time,” I mumbled in a delirium of pain.

“Congratulations! We normally get idiots like you after they have at least tried the run twice. Now, unfortunately, the track is full off rubber granules that come from smart people braking. About a quarry's worth is now inbedded in your 2^nd degree, burnt skin. They are full of bacteria, and faeces dropped by numb skulls, such as yourself. In other words – so you will not die of lock jaw, I must swab them out with 100% alcohol. Sadly, we are not registered to use morphine, and I regret to tell you, since you also broke another record of wearing just shorts, the area of damage is so extreme, that I suggest you bight on this stick. Try not to vomit and if you pass out – be grateful.”

What happens next is hard to describe. The last time I felt such pain was at my birth when I was dragged screaming and kicking out of my mother's womb by a giant pair of pliers and the swine who did it saying -

“This one looks like a bad 'un. Are you sure you want to keep 'im? I could toss him into the bin with the placenta. No one the wiser. After all this - is the NHS.” (My mother stupidly refused the obvious.)

I nearly fainted. Then for good measure I was coated in some purple/pink stuff, and helped back into my shorts, I staggered outside into the loving arms of my wife with a wide legged stiff walk of a scarecrow who had accidentally slipped off its perch and had fallen on a huge carrot now inbedded in its brown eye (now painted). Actually, since she was now in the arms of family and friends laughing hysterically...

Bastards...

Back to the present....

Yeah, with my buttocks twitching in sympathy, we hit the road again. Destination – Horni Vitavice.

I had looked up the local camp site. Turn right just before the river. Again, with the gauge touching 'E', I pulled up, and after the usual performance tanked up. Upon paying I asked if I was near. Yeah, two clicks down the road...

(To be continued.)