Dry. Almost sunny. And only sixty kilometers to the little hotel we remembered from an earlier trip. More or less. Sometimes we don't remember exactly. Then we nod to each other with satisfaction: "Korsakov light." And that while alcohol is actually just a vitamin with an image problem.
Yet?
But smoking breaks are sacred. Rolling tobacco and cigars provide peace, a moment of reflection. "Your smoke can be harmful to others" the box states. But yes!! Then they won't come to my cremation!
We were standing in a quiet parking lot just outside the noise of two Slovenian trucks with roaring cooling systems. Apparently it wasn't that cold after all. The early twilight was starting to give us a pleasant late summer feeling. We looked around calmly.
As experienced motorcyclists you notice when something is wrong. There was something wrong with the Tuono that was now rolling into the parking lot. The moment the thing stopped, we were standing next to it. We caught the apparent rider. From under the helmet came a motorcyclist with red, tear-filled eyes and a snout full of snot. She stumbled to a picnic bench and burst into tears again.
We’ve been men for years. We know how to deal with sad wives, children, and pets. But this one needed immediate help. The measuring cap came off the hip flask and was filled to the brim with 12-year-old single malt. “Hoppa!” She took a whooping breath and gasped for air. The “Fisherman’s Friend+” effect.
Text came. The lady had found her Beloved kissing someone else at the campsite. That had made her decide to end the relationship on the spot. And to sweeten the revenge she had taken the Tuono, for which she had partially guaranteed the financing. With the papers. Exmans was at that moment away with his holiday flame, and Gitte herself had only just had two motorcycle lessons on a Cbeetje.
Her first real drive had now lasted a tank full and the warning light for approaching low fuel was screaming. She was at the end of her tether.
We siphoned a few liters of juice from the Guzzi tank into the Tuono tank, installed Gitte after some brief instructions on the much more comfortable Guzzi and strolled the last sixty kilometers at a slow trot. Such a modern motorcycle rides quite nicely. And Tuono means 'thunder' and not 'tuna'.
We decided to temporarily coach the amorously ruined motorcycle thief. And a double room always fits a folding bed. We invited our find to the table. In between all the emotional draining, she seemed to be gnawing away quite nicely.
For therapeutic reasons, we made sure she never saw the bottom of her glass. She got angry instead of sad. Did we want a Tuono? Here and now? For nothing? Because at least we were cool guys? We were already on red meat and didn't need tuna.
It was time to take Gitte to her basket.
Later, on the terrace, we discussed the pros and cons of resilient women with the hotel owner. Ernest concluded neutrally that he also had a resilient wife. She took care of the tax forms and did the bookkeeping. And all that kissing with strangers on the campsite? Oh well, we didn't want to know how much strangers were kissed in his hotel.
We happily and proudly told them that our Loved Ones were also resilient. The hotel owner frowned his impressive eyebrows and raised his glass. “That’s why we don’t kiss strange women.”
It's just a matter of standards and values. The next morning our freshly showered foundling felt a little shaky, but still angry. And just as determined.
She had no hangover. She went on home. To the far Dutch Wervershoop, just south of Murmansk. Another four hundred kilometers on her Tuono. Without a driver's license. But she should be able to get that without any problems after almost 500 km of experience.
We said goodbye with a short hug.
They waved her goodbye.
With such a character, things will be fine.
Nice story, in Grünnen we say; it could have been worse!
AWESOME.
Another great story Dolf. Wonderfully taken from life. From the sound of it, that lady won't be going down easily from 'headwind'. She'll make it.
Wonderful story!
Girrrl Powerrrr
Zwervershoof, just next to Andijk, known for the polder Taliban (extremely Christian corner of the Netherlands)
She is a West Frisian, so they are usually tough ladies who can handle it.
A gripping piece of adventurous prose that once again makes it clear that there is not enough Dolf in the AMK.
LOL
Thanks. I will pass it on to the editor-in-chief. On the other hand, it should not degenerate into work. And it does not have to be for the money. With 50+ years of riding a motorcycle and 40+ years with my Love, I am already the richest man I know. But do you have a subscription to AKMK? That costs almost nothing and then you get even more texts from me. I try to avoid the beaten track a bit. For example, we will soon have the comparison between the WLA and the M72. The difference? More than twenty grand!