Back to Northern France – Auto Motor Klassiek

Again to the north of France. That worked out fine last year.

Not far away. Not touristy. Not expensive. Fine. And during the previous excursion we noticed that only helpful people live there. The area is pleasantly empty and much less popular than the local tourist office tries to claim.

At Hardinghen, in the Pas de Calais, it is almost as flat as Groningen.

Still, a flight of wood pigeons from a bush suddenly appears for me. One of the animals is flying in my front wheel. Another head away with my helmet. The Olympic song 'Duifkoppen op Ouwe Motoren' is not going to be. With a razor sharp stitch it shoots in my back. As if someone is ramming a blunt screwdriver between my shoulders. The pain pulls down.

Stupid beast! I roll out and can't do anything anymore. With my feet on the ground every movement of my back hurts a lot. I can't go anywhere. I see a car coming in my mirrors. I make powerless fluttering gestures with my left arm.

The car stops.

Two middle-aged ladies come out who politely explain why I am flapping. In France you are blessed if you speak French. With a crooked head and a cup of pain, I explain what happened. The ladies consult. “That thing (the jiffy position) must be stuck out. Then we can lift it off ". The one squats to unfold the jiffy and looks at her dirty hand with disapproval. The engine is now based on its jiffy. The ladies discuss further and discuss my format with concern.

The somewhat younger thinks there is enough talk and wriggles my one backwards. I almost cried with pain and leaned forward. That gives room to my leg. My leg is over the buddy. I lie on my stomach on the tank. The ladies are meanwhile a bit giggly and deliberate. They conclude that it will hurt, but they don't seem to mind.

In my misery I notice that they are doing pretty well.

With some push and pull they get me so far that I stand with two feet on the floor while my upper body is on the buddy. Then the story ends for a moment because the North French people rescue are too small to get me up. One of the two is talking to me calmly and kindly. She says that her girlfriend has called the local doctor.

A muddy Toyota Jeep stops.

The passenger also appears to be a familiar one. He is the regional cattle doctor with his miniscule assistant. The man listens to the story, walks to the back of his jeep and returns with a heavy leather doctor's bag. The person who called the doctor calls the doctor. “Toute sera bien. Marcel est ici ”Everything okay because the vet is there? Marcel comes smiling happy with a huge injection needle, makes space between my jacket and pants and rams the needle inside.

While everyone talks pleasantly, I feel the pain disappear and I can get up again. After ten minutes I say thank you and say goodbye. I drive like a young god again. Still curious what was in that syringe.