"Hi. It is time to report that Turf is dead.” That call was not entirely unexpected. Because Turf had lived under the motto “You must ravage life”.
Today, a young Turfje would have been an interesting 'case' for a few dozen psychologists, social workers and health care workers. They could have jubilantly analyzed and labeled him. Because with a little good will, Turf was good for everything from ADHD to something that started with a 'z'. But when Peat was still Peat, such pursuits had not yet been invented, recognized or acknowledged.
Add to that the fact that Turf's parents both came from wealthy progressive backgrounds and thought that raising them according to current standards was maliciously bourgeois. This apparently led to a fairly unstructured, open-minded approach in which Turfje came into contact with free love, alcohol, drugs and a free roaming existence at an early age. Until Turfje's parents came to the realization that such a so-called child actually turned out to be an obstacle to the further development of their own unique selves. Fortunately, Turfje could be dumped in a cross between a boarding school and a community. Exit mom & dad. But Turfje became Turf and from the age of eighteen he received a monthly allowance from his loving parents.
That allowance was so large that it didn't really inspire Turf to finish his studies—because he was smart enough—or to look for work. At sixteen he had worked for a few weeks, but the concept had not really appealed to him. What had hit him was the motorcycle of his neighbour, a young ambitious concrete worker. So there had to be a motorcycle. That became a Kawasaki 900 four-cylinder and a lifestyle that would have brought shame to the men of the Joe Bar Team. Driving as fast as possible everywhere, bravely blowing weed and drinking heavily like a templar. So he regularly went off hard. But possibly due to the maximum relaxation from the doping and drinking, he always miraculously escaped unscathed until the union of guardian angels expelled him.
Then he became an interesting medical experiment for quite some time and was clean for more than a year – apart from the alcohol and drugs smuggled into the hospital and the rehabilitation clinic. That gave me peace and space to think.
So Turf decided to have a Harley chopper built. That decision was made even easier by an inheritance following the death of his paternal grandfather. Peat went, as his body just about started functioning again for customization. Outside of physiotherapy, he took up bodybuilding. And in anticipation of things to come, he already had the tattoos associated with his new vision of life. In the years that followed, he proved that hardtail chopper drivers could also put in as many kilometers as BMW Fahrer and Goldwing mates. In the meantime, he had begun to function slightly better socially through targeted medication. His two children were from two different mothers.
But that's not so uncommon these days. In addition, he had become a coach for aspiring ex-addicts from better circles. And in doing so, he brought the world a bunch of extra motorcyclists. After all, motorcycling is a therapy that helps against just about any form of mental discomfort. Under the flexible guidance of the mother of his second child, his drinking changed from eccentric to healthy Dutch. And if he took another blow, it was just a moment of rest.
He even got married. Then his father died and he received his child's share. He was married in community of property. And that lasted until his Love ran off. With half the money. Turf grabbed some stuff, his bank papers, left the front door of his house open and disappeared into Europe. His journey came to an end in Biarritz. He slipped in the bathroom and broke his neck. In his wallet was an old, crumpled note with names to be called after his death to thank them for the good times together.
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It's easy to go your own way with money, without stress and accountability peat was just spoiled, allowances legacies well that way everyone can play the free boy.
Yes. I'm jealous too. But still alive
What a life and what an end.
Turf is immortal.
You're not dead until you stop being talked about.
And although Turfje was often strongly condemned for his behavior, it was precisely that behavior, life, the wish of the masses. Who dare not live, for life is deadly. Unavoidable. And Turf knew that.
Turf has no regrets. And if damage and disgrace leads to wisdom, people should have listened and watched Turf a little better. He didn't need to be understood. People had become wiser.
Peat was alone, but never lonely. Peat was still connected. Connected to everything. And the devil looked straight at me, not realizing that he thereby acknowledges Turf's faith. One does not exist without the other. Turf already knew that.
“Come on waitress, pour us more wine
To drown our grief
for Johnny Make Believe”
cheers
Story from a boy's book;
Exciting, but unfortunately with a fatal outcome.
What a wonderfully beautiful story!!!
Live the life!!!
The rest is uncertain.
It remains one to the end, not in the harness…
…..have read this a long time ago…….
Dolf, you are a rock!
No. I'm just messing around
Then you still have a memory as before the digital age! Congratulations!
Condolences on the loss of a friend.
And I'm so jealous that I don't dare to live like Turf anymore.
Every bit helps
*
I really stared into space for an hour after reading Turf's life story. A bit jealous of Turf I think, tackling life without inhibitions with or without parental approval. You can always see from the wear of motorcycle tires how high the “Turf” content is of a motorcycle owner. I always keep an inch of unused rubber on the side of the tire. I was not “Turf” worthy, raised too “careful”. But I'm still alive and I don't have a bath. Another beautifully described subject Dolf!
It's better to see people like Turf than to be
A lighter and more intelligent version might appeal to me more. A boy who can immediately buy what he likes: no, that irritates me. Quiet motorcyclists who also help you if you don't drive with 'their' brand or with a scooter: those are the true motorcycle enthusiasts.
I already have spring fever like a bull who takes the bike just out of winter storage again in spring, ready for the first ride of the year.
A bit rash but fully enjoying the first ride.
Hopefully the ride ends well to be able to grab a nice beer at home and not like Turf at the end of his turbulent rough life.
Enjoy life the way you enjoy your first spring ride.
Amen!
Amen
Yes, they sometimes say: “Live as if it were your last day”. Well, to let today be the last day, that's another thing. And if you've lived like Turf, then a neck-breaking slip in the tub is a very sad end to such a throbbing existence. Shame. But no one will know where Turf is now and whether, who knows, he may have enjoyed himself even more elsewhere than here on earth.
He has lived for at least a handful of "normal" lives I think cautiously.
Very sad to come to an end by slipping in a bathroom.
Plaguing life is certainly an inspiring cry!
Doing something dangerous every day, doing something naughty every day and driving 200+ every day is also doable 🙂
And then preferably retire "in armor" at an old age, just leisurely tinkering with a two-stroke cross bike or a racing Manta.
Gas it up, mvg, Kees.
Too much bathing is dangerous!