Recently there was again a repeat of the film 'The hell of 63'. A bitterly cold Elfstedentocht, deprivation, suffering, pain, but still make it through. Oh yes: and Love conquers all.
In the film, by the way, it was clear that there is nothing new under the sun: Apparently, in 1963, everyone just drove classic cars, weather or no weather.
Driving on classic cars in winter still works fine. We still remember 'The Hell of 2013'…
It is cold, wet dark. Even in the lee of the large ex 'Caribinieri' windshield of my V7 special who has spent his working life as a police motor in the Naples area.
It is storming and wet blobs of snow are coming down. My bright lights stung reproachfully in the white slurry. It is a quarter to eleven as in '22.45 hour'. I am tired and on my own all the way and twenty minutes from home. And I have to pee a lot. The water is right in my mouth, but before I have found my hide-in-hide in this misery behind five layers of textile? I don't have to think about it and give it more gas.
Someone is waving a lantern. To prove the absurdity of the system, there is a completely equipped alcohol and paper control team around 22.45 in a wet snowstorm. The policeman tells me in an accusing tone that I was driving too fast.
My papers, I can easily reach that. I give her my wallet and call over my shoulder: "Of course I went too fast. I have to piss enormously! Be right back!"
It takes a while before everything is stored away again. The law enforcement officers are all back in their van with double-glazed windows. The side door is open. Due to my unique, 'supersize me' format due to a five-layer appearance topped by my Difi thermo-overall, there is no chance that I can reach it. So I stay a little bent next to the van. The officer still remarks that my toilet break lasted very long. ”Staggering through five layers of clothing and then getting hold of a refugee crawling backwards with cold fingers is difficult! If you could have done that faster you would have had to walk along. I think you also have fewer cold fingers. "
The agent becomes assertive. An older male colleague gives me back my wallet and asks kindly “But why are you on a motorcycle with this bad weather? A bet or something? A birth. Quarrel at home? "I point outside." Nothing wrong. It was a little later than I thought. That thing out there is just my car. Handy with traffic jams and such. "
The officer raises a bushy eyebrow and says, "In this weather, I'd rather be in a traffic jam." The agent reports that the breath test prescribed in the scenario has not yet taken place. The older officer kindly asks: "Have you been drinking?" "Not yet, but if you have a drink for me please."
“We shouldn't do that, you go. Take care and have a good trip. "The officer corrects him:" But this gentleman was driving too fast and he has not blown yet. "The chief guard looks at his puppy paternally.
“A motorcyclist who is on the road in this weather or very stupid or very experienced. And if it had been very stupid, it would have killed itself much earlier. So he didn't drink and only drove too fast because he had to pee. ”I put on my helmet and put on my gloves. As a goodbye I press my horn button. The double FIAMMs give their highly illegal loco of 142 dB (A). Beautiful. Home.
In the meantime, it's 4 January and yesterday I drove through 50 shades of gray to the Praxis and back in the same Guzzi in jeans and windbreaker…
Let 2016 come!